Vision of the Spirit Ch. 05

While he waited, Tom strolled into the lingerie aisle and pictured Hannah's dark hair flowing over white lace. He held a wicked Merry Widow in his hand when she came out.

"That's sexy. I like your taste, but I think it would put us over budget. If you'd rather buy me that, I can always wear your clothes home."

Quickly, he put it back, and said, "Nah, you don't need it."

"How do these look?" She spun on an imaginary runway and wiggled her bottom. The cheap denim hugged the long legs and firm ass like latex. Her body would make a brown paper bag look like haute couture.

"They'll do, in a pinch." And unable to resist, he did.

She grinned over her shoulder, while sashaying back to the fitting room. A few moments later, she called, "Tom, would you help me a sec?"

Standing next to the door, Tom said, "I'm here."

The door opened. A nude Hannah handed him the jeans. "Put these in the cart for me, please," she said, letting him get an eye full, before she slowly closed it.

His heart pounded and his crotch tightened.

Standing motionless, with a perplexed face, and cradling a pair of jeans, attracted a salesgirl. "Can I help you, Sir?"

She looked like a college coed, home for summer vacation. Straight shoulder-length blond hair framed a heart shaped face with sky-blue eyes. The smile was beyond perfect, every tooth straight and white, an orthodontic masterpiece. "Do you need help finding the right size? Is your wife about my height and weight?" She took the pants from Tom and held them up to her waist. "These would be too big, if she is."

At that moment, Hannah appeared at his side. "I'm not his wife. I'm just a friend." Running fingers through his hair, she said, "Isn't he cute?" then waggled her eyebrows up and down, and added, "He's single and a good kisser."

The girl turned a bright red, suitable for well-cooked lobster. "Oh, then, if you don't need any help, have a nice day." She began to rearrange sweaters on a round hanging rack, from small to extra large.

Tom glared at Hannah.

She whispered, "What's the matter? I think you two would look great together. She seems very nice -- sweet and innocent."

Dragging her by the elbow, Tom rolled to the checkout counter.

Hannah whined, "I didn't get a new shirt."

"We'll wash the Denver tee-shirt and you can keep it."

"Oh, you're so sweet. I was hoping to get it for a souvenir." She put her arm around his waist, hugged him sideways, and said, "I really think you and Blondie would make a nice, sweet couple."

Tom growled, "I told you before, I'm not nice and I'm not sweet."

"Why are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"When you get uptight, you jingle the change in your pocket."

"I do not!"

"You're even cuter when you get flustered."

After paying, Tom marched to the truck, as a sprinkle of rain fell.

Hannah jogged to keep up. "Why don't you want to be called nice? What's the big deal?"

"It always sounds like you're mocking me."

For a while, the only sounds were soggy footfalls. "Well… maybe I am a little. Maybe, I'm jelous. Maybe, because I know I can never get back what I gave away -- my self-respect."

Tom stopped short and Hannah bumped into him. He grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm's length. "Listen to yourself. Think about what you just said." Her eyes were as wet as the puddle under their feet. "Self-respect comes from in here," he said, poking her forehead. "You decide if you have it or not. It's not something you lose, like your virginity." He let go of her and resumed his march to the truck. "I think you've traded your self-respect for self-contempt. Don't rag on me because you're weak. Don't be a quitter. Start over, like you promised."

When they reached the truck, Tom unlocked the passenger door, and held it open.

Hannah slid onto the seat, and said a weak, "Thanks."

The short ride to the Flat Rock Laundromat was long enough for Tom's stomach to churn the pancake breakfast with guilt. Maybe he'd been too hard on her. It just seemed like such a waste. A woman with her beauty and talent shouldn't give up. And she was playful and good-natured when they were alone. Those were fine qualities. Why would anyone with so much potential throw it away? Finally, he decided everyone makes mistakes. Just leave her alone and let her go back to her life. She'll sort things out. If not, it's no big deal.

Tom parked next to the front door and pulled the dirty laundry from the back of the truck.

Hannah carried her new clothes inside and removed the tags.

After dumping the laundry into a basket on wheels, Tom began to sort the colors from the whites. Hannah pushed him away, and said, "I'll do it. Go get some soap and quarters."

Her movements were quick and her face serious. She looked pissed. By the time he returned from the vending machine she'd already loaded two adjacent washers. Handing her the small box of Tide, he said, "I'm sorry. It's not my place to judge what you do with your life." He dropped quarters into the coin slots and started the fill cycle. "I'm going to the police station and check in. Will you be here when I get back?"

Pouring detergent into the machines, she answered with an unconvincing, "Yes. I promised I wouldn't leave. Remember?"

Tom moved up behind her and slipped sixteen quarters into her baggy pockets. "Here's money for the dryer." Leaving his hands in her pants, he pulled her back and pressed against her. "I like you, Hannah. I like you a lot." His hands rubbed the tops of her legs. "I think you're all that, and a bag of clean laundry."

She laughed once -- a tight, uneasy chirp. "Not yet, I'm not. Give me another hour and the clothes will be done."

Tom spun her around and kissed her quick, then walked to his truck. Before he drove away, he looked back inside. Hannah watched him through the window, stroking her hair.

The police had nothing new on the plane crash. In fact, they were surprised to see him. Tom had the impression they hoped he'd disappeared. The investigation probably ate into their summer pastime of ticketing tourists for imprudent speed. No personal aircraft had been reported missing. The bad weather kept the Feds from flying up to check his story. So, after thirty minutes, Tom gave them his temporary Midway Motel address and then drove back to the Flat Rock.

Intentionally, Tom parked the truck out of view, and walked to the window to peek inside. Hannah had company. A tired young woman loaded a washer, while Hannah stood by, holding an infant. The child kicked and squirmed, while she made goofy faces and nuzzled its tummy. The baby grabbed fistfuls of Hannah's hair and delighted in tugging on it. Occasionally, the mother would glance at them and smile.

Tom could understand the baby's delight with the soft strands. A mental image of Hannah in bed with him, playing with their baby, burst into his mind with unsettling ease. He shook it off and went inside.

Hannah smiled at him through a web of taught hair. "Look what I found in the dryer."

"Hmm, I always thought babies came out of the oven, like buns."

The weary mother finished loading the washer, and said, "I wish." She took the baby from Hannah, and said, "Thanks."

"My pleasure." Hannah looked pleased. She grabbed Tom's arm, and said, "Tom, this is Andrea and Zachary."

"Hi, nice to meet you."

Andrea looked at Tom for the first time, and smoothed her curly hair before extending a hand. "Hi, nice to meet you too." Her gaze remained fixed on Tom, as she said, "I don't recall seeing you guys around here before. Are you on vacation?"

"Well, kinda. I'm might stay a while, if I can find a job. Hannah just dropped in for a visit."

Andrea looked at Hannah briefly, as she bounced fidgety Zachary in her arms. "Enjoy your stay," she said, and then headed for the magazine pile.

Hannah pulled Tom over to their machines, while whispering, "Did you see that look? She can't wait until I'm gone. You'd better watch out." She leaned against the washer and smiled. "So, I just dropped in for a visit, huh? That's pretty funny."

Placing his hands down on the white enamel top, he trapped her, and leaned in close. Tom pressed her against the washer, and the spin cycle vibrated through her body. Hannah put her arms around his neck and rubbed noses. If only they were alone, he'd try some washer-top sex. It would require a few more quarters to get the heavy-duty agitation. He glanced over at Andrea and caught her watching.

"I suppose you want a baby someday," said Tom, feeling the weird tenderness again. Maybe it was simply man's natural desire to breed.

"I don't know. I guess so, if my life was different and the right man was the daddy." She met his stare, and asked, "How 'bout you? Do you want kids?"

"No, I can live without that self-inflicted misery." It was a lie, meant to put a stop to this foolish topic. He was sorry he'd asked. Actually, Tom wanted to make a whole tribe of kids. Growing up as an only child, he'd always wanted to live in a full house.

"That's too bad. I think you'd make a good father," said Hannah, and then spun around to throw wet clothes into a basket. The long hair kept getting in the way. She constantly had to tuck it behind an ear to keep it out of her face.

Tom gathered her hair, pulled a spare rubber band from his pocket, and slipped it over the thick rope. After letting the black softness slip through his fingers a few times, he said, "There, now you have a horse tail."

"Thanks. You're nice AND kind." Hannah wheeled the basket of wet clothes to a dryer and transferred the load. "So, let me see if I understand your horse tail metaphor. If your new Indian name is Kicking Horse, does that mean my horse tail belongs to you? Are you calling me your piece of tail?"

Pressing into her back, Tom said, "Allow me to get the quarters." His hands slipped into her pockets and used the linings for mittens to tease her skin while collecting the needed quarters. "I would never dis you like that, Hannah. But what man, in his right mind, wouldn't want to call you 'his'."

She leaned back, laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered, "Stop it. Stop making me want to stay."

Tracing the crease of her sex through the pocket lining, Tom toyed with the quarters in the other.

Her eyes closed. "You're jingling your change again. Am I making you uptight?"

"Yeah, I'm uptight." He pressed harder against her. "But not up tight enough to suit me."

With a slow motion grind, she worked her ass against his crotch. "Well then, I have something to look forward to." With a sudden thrust of her hips, she pushed him away.

Tom handed over the quarters and Hannah started the dryer.

Seventy-two minutes later, the laundry was dry, neatly folded, and placed in the Midway Motel dresser. Prying one foot against the other, Hannah pushed the muddy sandals off her muddy feet. "Now what?"

"You should wash your feet."

"Then what?"

"Would you sing for me?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You want me to sing?"

"Yeah, I'll get my guitar."

While Tom sat on the edge of the bed tuning the guitar, Hannah was in the bathroom washing her feet. She came out wearing only his blue flannel shirt, and flopped down beside him. "So, what do you want to hear?"

The temptation to say 'forget it, let's just fuck' was hard to resist. She looked cute with the long sleeves covering her arms and hands, while her legs were bare all the way up.

Tom said, "What do you know?"

She began to pace, while he played softly. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her legs flex, back and forth.

"I know some Joplin, some Carol King… lots of stuff."

"How about Sonny and Cher?" He strummed a few chords, and said, "I Got You Babe?"

Without hesitation, she sang out in a sultry voice that rivaled the original, "They say we're young and we don't know, We won't find out until we grow."

Tom was ready. "Well I don't know if all that's true, 'Cause you got me, and baby I got you."

"Whoa, nice Sonny."

"Babe…"

Then together, "I got you babe, I got you babe."

Hannah freed her hair from the rubber band, and swished it back in unerring Cher-ish style. "Wow, you're good," she said, before beginning the next verse. "They say our love won't pay the rent…"

Tom stood up. Hannah moved close and bumped him with her hip from time to time. She blew in his ear, licked it, and generally teased the hell out of him when it was his turn to sing. On the final "I got you, Babe" they were nose to nose, battling for the longest note and the biggest smile.

Tom quit first, and laughed.

Hannah grabbed the guitar from his hands, tossed it on the bed, and put her arms around his neck. "You're something special, Mr. K. Horse. I can't remember when I've had so much fun." Her eyes closed, as her mouth touched his.

He'd wanted to go slow, enjoy the moment. But when she kissed him, it felt so loving and he'd waited patiently all day with pent up desire, Tom couldn't hold back any longer. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. The kiss intensified. His hands slid down and under the shirt to fondle her bare ass.

She jumped forward and wrapped her legs around his waist, knocking him backward onto the bed. He heard the guitar clatter to the floor. She pulled on his shirt. Buttons popped and fabric tore. Her intensity only inflamed him more. Grabbing two fistfuls of her shirt, he ripped open the front to expose her chest. A gasp escaped her lips, as she continued to rend his clothes.

Her semi-nude, frantic struggle to get him naked was the supreme erotic vision. She was a wild woman. Her breasts swung in and out of view beneath the torn shirt. When his pants were undone she tugged on the legs, practically dragging him off the bed. Down to his tattered shirt and jockeys, she dove on top and kissed him, while pulling his arms out of each sleeve. He tried to slow her down, but she fought him off and yanked down his briefs.

"That's what I need!" Instantly, she had it, kissed it, sucked it.

Self-control was not an option. Their passion seemed to be one burning fuse connected to identical sticks of dynamite, timed to ignite equal explosions.

His cock was now fully erect in her mouth. Reaching down, he gripped her hair and pulled her off.

She glared at him, saliva glinting on her chin.

"Come here."

On hands and knees, she crawled up, and blanketed their heads in hair. Grunts and groans punctuated a mashing kiss. She ground her pussy against his cock. He could feel its wetness on his skin. The realization that he brought her to this height of arousal felt surreal, unbelievable.

Gripping her tight, Tom flipped her and reversed positions.

She screamed and laughed and smiled with feral eyes. "Come on, Babe. You got me. Now do me," she said, wrapping her legs over his ass and pulling him down.

Lined up perfectly, no hands required, Tom's length slid in.

Hannah groaned and closed her eyes.

Hips remained locked together, while mouths danced. Tom's finger traced a breast and teased a nipple, while Hannah drew invisible designs on his back.

"You are so beautiful, Hannah." Tom began to thrust. He felt her hand exploring at their juncture.

"You are so handsome, Tom. And nice." Her torrid gaze made 'nice' sound like a compliment for a change.

Tom pushed aside the remnants of her flannel shirt to expose both her breasts. They moved gracefully liquid with him. He tasted one.

Hannah groaned. "Fuck me, Horse." She kicked him. "Do it."

Two strokes later, Tom was at full gallop. He held her tight, chest to chest, and stared into her eyes. They were half-closed and unreadable. He felt her hand stirring between their stomachs. She was playing with herself, racing him to the finish. His tempo increased. Her eyes closed but her smile widened. "Look at me, Hannah." He studied one brown eye and then the other. Her pupils dilated, almost eclipsing the iris. Her breathing became ragged pants.

"I'm coming," she gasped.

Her body clamped around him, urging his release. Several strokes later, he felt it too. The needful pressure, the wonderful tingling. "Hannah" was all he said to announce his critical moment.

She understood and writhed beneath him, bringing physical pleasure to every nerve, inside and out.

Nose to nose, they watched. Eye to eye, they read the other's bliss. Eye to mouth, they witnessed smiles of satisfaction. Mouth to mouth they consumed the other's 'thank you'.