Together—You and Me

"Now, on your back," she directed.

Amy turned her back to Dean and then threw her leg over his body. With her back to him, she lifted herself up as she took Dean's swollen hard member in her hand. She slowly lowered herself down onto his penis. grabbing his ankles to steady herself. She began to lift herself up and back down on his penis. She would rise up so much he would nearly fall out of her then she pushed him back into her.

"Jesus...you're tight." Dean said as he ran his hands along the back of her thighs and up her bare back. He ran his fingers up and down her spine, causing Amy to arch her back and making her long black hair brush against his chest.

Amy gyrated back and forth on Dean's penis. She held onto his feet and lifted herself off again, but this time she used her muscles and held onto his cock and squeezed it with her sex.

"Oh...Jesus... Jesus... Amy!" Dean cried out.

She released him and squeezed again. Dean cried out with delight as he grabbed for her breasts, just out of his reach. His breathing was fast and heavy as she continued to ride him.

Amy turned around, still keeping Dean inside her and leaned over, her hair falling down onto his face. Dean grabbed her thighs. She picked up the pace and several strokes later, she felt Dean's contractions as he filled the condom with his hot seed.

Dean's body was on fire as his chest glistened with sweat.

"Amy!" he cried out. "Ohhh... God... I'm cumming..."

She brushed the hair from his eyes and stared right into them. She wanted to see the pleasure in his eyes as his hips rose again and again, his face grimacing with each thrust.

Then it was over. He pulled her down and then rolled her onto his side. Running his fingers along her side and up her legs, Dean said, "Jesus, wow, that was unreal!"

They both felt his cock growing limp and it slid from between her legs. Amy tilted her head up and kissed him deeply. She reached down between his legs and pulled the condom off.

"Thank you," Amy said.

"For what?"

"For wearing this for me. It meant you cared about me."

"It's not a problem," Dean said. "Amy, I was thinking. Would you like to stay tonight? Share my bed with me?"

"I was hoping you would ask. I'd love to. I brought an overnight bag with me this time. I like to wash my hair before I go to bed, would you like to help me?"

"I'd love to." Dean almost jumped out of the bed.

Amy retrieved the small bag she had brought with her, then took Dean's hand and led him to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature. She opened the bag and pulled out a bottle of shampoo and an extra pair of panties and a new bra.

She pulled Dean into the shower. As the hot water poured over their bodies, Dean held her and kissed her shoulders. Her wet hair lay over her white breasts. He rubbed in the shampoo and ran his fingers through the soapy foam running it deep into her scalp. He pulled her hair through his fingers as Amy closed her eyes, a smile on her face. With soapy hands he cupped each breast, slick with soap, small bubbles formed and slowly slid down her smooth breasts. Water drops fell from her nipples, hard even under the warm water.

Suddenly, Amy reached out and pressed her hand against the shower wall to steady herself.

"Amy?"

"Mmmmm, please don't stop."

With her back to Dean, he pressed his body into hers. She could feel his cock wiggle between the cheeks of her butt. Amy felt his fingers approach her sex and she spread her legs apart without hesitation. She felt his warm wet finger enter her.

"Ohhhh," she gasped as his finger probed her sex.

"You know how to touch me," Amy cooed.

Dean fingers worked their magic on Amy's secret place and within minutes Amy was twisting about in the shower, hot water flowing over her hot flesh.

"Ohhhhh God..."Amy called out.

She held her legs together, squeezing his hand between her thighs as she climaxed. She reached out with both hands and steadied herself, Dean's hands around her wet body, holding her. As her second climax ebbed, Amy turned toward Dean, drops of water falling from her cute little nose.

"I've never cum standing before. Jesus, that was intense!"

He rinsed the remaining soap from her body. She turned the water off and they stepped out. Amy wobbled a bit and Dean instantly reached up and grabbed her.

"You okay?"

"Oh, wow," Amy said.

"Here's some towels," Dean said. "I have a hair dryer, too."

Amy giggled. "I'll need both."

Dean pulled a towel around her waist and tugged her in close, stealing a quick kiss as he moved down her legs, drying her skin. They took turns drying each other off, enjoying their nakedness. Dean lifted her and placed her back down on the bed. He sat down beside her and turned the hair dryer on and slowly began to work a brush through her hair.

"I've always wanted to do this," Dean said.

He ran his hand up her hair, taking a handful with each stroke and carefully pulled a brush through her locks. He continued to stroke and brush out her hair until at last it was dry.

Amy closed her eyes as Dean fanned out her hair out across her bare breasts.

"Earlier this evening, I told you I'm not the type of girl that jumps into bed on the first date. How I felt a connection to you I've never felt before. I was right! It was deeper, it was more. I felt loved.

"Would you mind running out to the living room and getting my clothes?"

"Sure, not a problem."

Dean came back with her pink sweater and the pair of pantyhose she had worn earlier.

"Here you go," he said as he laid them on her lap.

"Where's my jeans? My shirt?" she asked as she placed her bra over her breasts then pulled the straps up her arms.

He dropped his hands down on her bare shoulders and slid his fingers across her shoulders catching the straps of her bra. He slid the straps down her arms, catching her bra as if fell.

"Just these, if you don't mind, for a little bit," Dean said.

Amy smiled, "Just my sweater and hose will be fine."

Dean watched her wiggle her pantyhose up her legs and pulled the sweater over her head. She flipped her hair out from under her sweater.

Dean sat down at the end of the sofa and Amy placed her head on his lap. She ran her hands and fingers along her thighs, touching her legs covered in the sheer nylon. Amy spoke very softly, as though she was thinking out loud to herself.

"I'm twenty-six. I've had my share of men, not a lot, but enough. None of those guys ever noticed my legs, only what was between them. Not until tonight did a man go out of his way to admire them, to look at them, to touch them, to caress them. I used to say I had skinny white legs. I'll never say that again. As a matter of fact, I've got the legs a super model would die for!"

"You sure do..." Dean said as he pulled her up against his chest. He reached down to the end table and picked his tie up and handed it to her.

"Would you do the honors? I'm really rusty at it."

"Are you serious? I mean, may I?"

"I checked my notes. They said something about a tie and a warm fire, lots of kissing going on."

Amy's hands shook as she manipulated the soft silk tie into a perfect Windsor knot.

"Jesus, this is nice," Amy said.

"We have a warm fire, I'm wearing a tie, so let's find out how good you can kiss. Together—you and me."

****

After that night, Amy and Dean were a couple. They enjoyed each other's company and Amy gradually moved some of her clothes and other personal items into Dean's apartment. However, Dean seemed reluctant to ask her to move in.

After some weeks, Dean confided that he suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It was gut-wrenching for Dean as he tried his best to describe how sometimes his mind would drift off back into the war. How he could become emotionally dull at times as his memories twisted his emotions. How Sandy had left him because she couldn't deal with the outbursts. Dean told Amy that he couldn't do the psychotherapy as he found it almost impossible to open up to a stranger.

Early one morning the telephone rang, startling Amy out of a sound sleep. She tried to focus on the clock on the nightstand. It was a quarter to two in the morning. She reached for the phone.

"Hello?"

No one answered and she was about to put the phone down when she heard a weak voice say, "Amy, I need your help..."

She threw on some clothes, grabbed her car keys, and drove to Dean's apartment. She fumbled with the locks and then pushed the door open.

"Dean? It's Amy...Dean?"

No response. The apartment was unusually quiet.

"Dean, I'm here..." Amy called out again.

She walked toward the bedroom and as she crept closer she could hear a soft whimper, like a lost dog. She pushed the bedroom door open, and there curled up on the floor, shivering, was Dean. He looked up at Amy standing in the doorway.

"Make 'em stop. Please!" Dean begged, tears running down his face.

"Jesus, Dean, what's wrong? Make what stop?"

"The voices! Can't you hear'em? The screams. They won't go away. Please, make the voices stop..."

He started sobbing again. The strong, assured man who had come to Amy's rescue a few months ago was curled into a fetal position on the cold floor, rocking with fear.

"I'm here, Dean. It's Amy. You've got to help me a bit, you're too heavy for me to lift. Help me get you back into the bed."

With his help, she got him back up onto the bed. She kicked her shoes off and sat cross-legged next to him. She held him, rubbing his arms, stroking his hair, trying to calm his tortured soul.

"I don't know what to do, Dean. What's wrong? Tell me and I can help you. Remember what you said: together—you and me."

"You wouldn't understand..."

Amy rocked Dean gently back and forth. Softly, Amy began to sing a lullaby, one her mother had sung to her as a child. Amy could feel Dean's body relax as she rubbed his arms. Amy pulled her hair from behind her back and let it drape down on his shoulders.

"Listen to my voice," Amy said, "All you can hear is my singing. The voices will fade away, and then they'll be gone. Here, in my arms you're safe from all harm."

"Dean, I'm going to stay here tonight. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Amy knew how much Dean liked her to sleep naked next to him so went to the bathroom and undressed. She was about to return to the bed when Dean came in. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared out into the bedroom. Amy looked over at him.

"Honey?"

His voice was hollow as he began to speak. "I was in a convoy with several other Humvees on our way to Kunduz when two of our vehicles hit IEDs. Just minutes before I was talking to my buddy. When the IED exploded, it filled the inside of our Humvee with white-hot steel; a piece of it came flying up under my buddy's helmet. My friend, whom I had been talking to a few seconds earlier...his brains were splattered all over the front of me. I picked off pieces of his skull and wiped him from my flak vest. Somehow, I was unhurt. As I crawled out of the Humvee, we came under small arms fire.

"That's when I heard the screams. The Humvee turned into an inferno and the rest of my friends were inside. They were screaming my name. I crawled back. I dragged some of them to the safety of the rocks. I couldn't get them all. They were burning to death because I couldn't get them out. It's my fault! They screamed! They screamed out my name. They were begging me to help; screaming. I looked down for a second at my hands and all I could see was their blood dripping off my fingers falling onto the sand.

"Every night when I try to sleep and I close my eyes, I taste the sand in my mouth. I feel the grit between my teeth. I smell the pungent odor of nitroglycerin, sawdust, and graphite. I feel the pressure waves as the RPGs slam into the rocks.

"But worst of all, I hear their screams. I hear my name being called out. Every night... All night... It never stops.

"Even when I'm awake, sometimes out of the blue, I look down at my hands and I still see their blood dropping from my fingertips. I wash and wash my hands; I can't stop the blood from reappearing."

Dean stopped talking. He looked like the very weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders.

"I've never told this to anyone... Amy, will you sing to me again, just for a bit longer?" he asked.

Dean stood, and without saying another word went back to his bed. Amy curled up next to him. She drew him in as tightly as she could.

"It wasn't your fault... You're a good man... We'll get through this. You and me."

Amy softly began to sing her lullaby.

****

Weeks passed without Dean showing any outward sign of his internal turmoil. On a cold Saturday night, Dean looked over to Amy as they sat on the sofa.

"Would you like to go out tonight? There's a place I'd like to take you to," he said.

"Dressy place?"

Chuckling, Dean said, "Oh, far from it."

"Let me see what I got to wear," Amy said as she made her way to the bedroom.

Fifteen minutes later Amy came out, wearing a short gray skirt with a row of buttons down the center, and a blue pinstriped jacket over a light blue shirt. Black high-heeled boots came to just below her knees and contrasted with the thick gray tights she wore.

Dean came out from the bathroom, disappointment on his face.

"Amy, would help me?"

"What's wrong?"

"I can't figure out how to tie this tie. I'm more than just a bit rusty."

"You told me this wasn't a dressy place."

"It's far from that. I thought I'd do this just for you," Dean said.

Amy smiled and pulled Dean in so close his black dress pants were between her legs. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she said, "You're mine! You're never leaving."

"Let's go, I don't want to be too late," Dean said as he ran his hand down her back to her small waist.

****

Dean held the door open as Amy stepped inside Molly's Bar. The place was old and dark, illuminated only by a few small light bulbs, each one centered above one of the dining booths that lined the walls. A few tables, with a candle burning inside a mason jar on each one, were clustered around a large stone fireplace in which several logs were burning. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Amy saw two gumball machines near the door silently waiting for a few nickels to drop, but the layer of dust that covered their glass globes suggested a stale treat in return.

As Dean and Amy made their way back toward a booth, they passed several old men sitting in low back wooden stools, their shoes constantly polishing the brass rung that ran along the bottom of the bar. A few younger men were leaning on the bar as they checked out Amy and her short skirt.

The men sitting at the bar were arguing back and forth while solving the world's problems. The ones not arguing studied their own faces in the large glass mirror mounted on the wall behind the bar. Bottles of whiskey and spirits of all shapes and colors sat on glass shelves in front of the mirror. A young barmaid constantly wiped the top of the dark walnut bar with a dirty white rag. She smiled at Amy as their eyes made contact.

Two large glass jars sat at either end of the bar, each one containing a gastronomical delight of unknown description. A large red rubber band held several sheets of waxed paper around the neck of each one. Several large paintings hung from the walls, each one covered with decades of cigar and cigarette smoke with a heaping of fireplace soot thrown in for good measure.

Dean helped Amy with her coat and they sat down. She wrapped her hands around his arm, "Oh Dean, I love this place. It has so much character!"

He smiled back and said, "I've been coming here for years. To me, this is home."

The booths were made of darkly stained plywood, and the grain of the wood showed decades of wear. Red plastic table cloths covered every table. A large sugar dispenser was sitting on the table along with a well-used bottle of ketchup, obviously refilled hundreds of times over.

He folded their coats into a neat pile and set them down in the opposite side of the booth. Amy slid in first with Dean beside her. Amy looked around, a smile on her face, taking in more of the atmosphere of this hole-in-the wall establishment.

An older, buxom woman wearing faded out white sneakers ran by, her silver-white hair sticking out from underneath a hair net. She wore a black skirt with stockings rolled up to just above her knees. Her lips were painted a bright red, a pencil stuck out behind her left ear, and a pad of paper was jammed down the front of her apron, which was dirty from a day's use.

"I'll be right with you two," she said as she moved toward the kitchen, carrying a tray full of empty beer glasses.

"No need to hurry, Molly," Dean said as she went by.

Molly stopped in her tracks, sat the tray down on a table, and came back to the pair sitting in the booth.

"Dean? Is that you?" Molly asked.

"Why, of course it's me," Dean said.

"My God, that really is you! I couldn't tell when you two first walked in. Look at you! Christ, I must have died and gone to heaven. Harold, come over here. It's Dean, and you'll never guess what he did!

"And you must be Amy. Oh, it's so nice to meet you at last. That's all we've heard around here for months is 'Amy this' and 'Amy that.' It's great to put a face, a pretty one as well, to a name." Molly turned and yelled towards the bar, "Hey everyone, this is Amy, Dean's girlfriend!"

A chorus of 'Hello, Amy,' 'Welcome, Amy,' 'Hi, Amy,' seemed to come from every corner of the room. Amy sat in amazement and wonder at the warmth these strangers heaped upon her.

"Amy," Molly said, "you're even prettier than Dean said you were."

A short chubby man, clearly up in his years, waddled out from the kitchen, wiping his hands clean on his apron as he continued over to the trio.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Harold said. "I've seen it all now. I'd never have dreamt it was possible. But God, I've seen it all now."

"Hey guys, check out Dean!" Harold said with a big grin on his face as he walked back behind the bar. "I need a drink for this one!" Harold pulled out a bottle with an inch or so in the bottom and poured a shot. He threw his head back and swallowed everything in one huge gulp. He shook a bit as the liquor hit him.

"Damn, that's cheap booze!" he said as he walked back to the kitchen.

Amy sat quietly, wondering why everyone was so interested Dean and finally asked, "I'm lost here. Can someone fill me in?"

"First things first," said Molly. "We need to get you two to the best seat in the joint. Follow me!"

As Molly led Amy and Dean over to another booth, Dean leaned over to Amy and said, "The best seat in this place is the one without the rip in the plastic seat cover."

"I heard that, Dean," Molly interrupted. "You don't mind him, Amy; he's part of our family. Everyone in here knows Dean."

Molly pulled out a rag from her back pocket and wiped the table down.

"Here you go," Molly said with a flare of pride in her tone.

"Molly, can you tell me now?" Amy asked.

"Well," Molly began, "this, and may I say extremely handsome, young man came in here years ago and said not once but hundreds of times since then 'there's not a woman on the planet that could talk me into wearing a tie.'"

"That's not really true," Dean interjected.

"Really!" Molly replied. "If I recall, you didn't wear a suit and tie for your wedding to Sandy."

Amy pushed herself up against Dean, "Is that true?"

Dean was clearly embarrassed by all the fuss everyone was making but said, "I don't recall the actual words I used, but it might have been something like that."

"Yeah, I'm guilty," Dean replied.

Amy reached over and touched the silk tie Dean had around his neck and pulled him a bit closer to her. In a low, sultry voice, she said, "I'm going to jump your bones when we get back."