Chapter 4: Love

It's hardest at night, when there's nothing to distract me.

In the night I'll remember sleeping with Elizabeth, or not sleeping. I'd be on my side and she would push herself up against my back. I'd be almost asleep and then I'd feel her breathing, first her chest, then her stomach, moving rhythmically against me. Sometimes her face would touch me straight on, and her breath would heat a spot in the middle of my back. Her breath was the warmest thing in the bed.

She wasn't always like that, not nearly so romantic or dreamlike a sleeper. I found out that first night. I awoke at one point with her arm across my face. She was sprawled almost diagonally, spread all over the place. Later I woke up cold. She had pulled the comforter away and wrapped it around herself. It was nearly morning, but way too early to get up. Should I wake her? Hellfire. Not for anything. She was so damned cute, wrapped in my pilfered comforter. I walked around to her side of the bed and pulled it free. Gently. I spread the comforter out, then tucked it around her to make sure she stayed warm, but she corkscrewed back into it before I even got back to my side. Oh well. I pulled it back over, far enough to cover me, and gripped the edge until I fell asleep.

The next time I woke up it was morning and I was lying on my back. Elizabeth's head was pressed against my shoulder and a hand was squeezing my arm. She was already awake, and grinning at me, looking about as superior as you can. "You were snoring, sweetie."

"I'm afraid to tell you what you've been doing."

She moved in with me that day. Or we moved back and forth with each other. Her place. Mine. It didn't matter. We slept together almost every night. That morning she wanted to show me she could suck me without crying, and she could. We spent hours in bed, sipping hot chocolate and reading the Sunday papers and bothering each other.

Once we finally got up, she stood at the living room window, looking over the mass of alleys and buildings and the occasional tree. You could see a bridge in the distance.

"This is so beautiful."

"Well, maybe if you're going to stand there all morning you should put some clothes on."

"Don't you like me like this?"

"Everyone will like you like that."

"Aren't you proud of how your girl looks?"

"Yes, but I don't want to show you off that much."

"Why not?"

"A nice lesbian couple lives across the way. We're friends, so I'd rather not have to fight them off."

Elizabeth spread her front all the way across the window. Shy girl.

When did I ruin it?

It wasn't the day I passed an antiques shop in Brighton and saw an Art Nouveau lapel pin in the shape of a cello. Oh, she'll love that! I bought it, though it was more than I could afford. While the shop owner wrapped it in tissue and put it in a small, white box of folded cardboard, I plotted how I'd give it to her. I finally decided to place it atop her pillow and let her find it. I could hardly wait.

It didn't happen a week later, when we sat for forty-five minutes over lunch, in the middle of a park on the Charles, in bitterly cold sun, bundled under the comforter and drinking hot tea from thermoses, because Elizabeth missed the sunlight. I didn't ruin it then.

You want another scene? Imagine this. We're naked, as usual, on my couch, nuzzling each other, and I'm stroking her puss. One finger quick down the middle. Caress. Repeat. We're kissing and I like how her breath goes just so. I'm affectionate, but there's her ass, and I want it again.

You'd think it was only her ass. You'd think it was only the sex. No, but God bless, to be in there. Why do I want that? Why do you want to know? Why does anyone want anything? I play with her crack, with her rim. I wet her and slip a finger inside, then two.

"Do you want my anus again?" I can't tell from her voice if she's curious or disapproving.

"You have such a sweet ass, sweeter than any other." And it feels so fucking good.

She turns toward me. There's a look to her.

"Have there been many others?"

"None as sweet as you."

"Have there been many other asses?"

"None like yours. I love being in you."

"How many have you been in?"

"You're the sweetest, every part of you. Anyone else was just practice, so I wouldn't fumble too much with you."

She looks away, and I keep petting her. Curly black fuzz pushes back against my palm.

"Sometimes fumbling can be good." Her breathing has changed. I don't care if she complains. It's almost time.

"When you fumble with me."

"Isn't that good?"

"Yes. When you fumble. My girl should learn on me." How did the lines go? "Rapidly backwards and forwards, the early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers."

"I know that one. 'The Naming of Parts.'" She puts her face to my throat and her breath wets me. Now.

"You do the fumbling. I'll name all your parts and assault your flowers, rapidly, backwards and forwards."

I make her get up and walk to the table. She can use a pillow for her face and arms, for cushioning. She glances at an empty beer bottle as she leans forward from the waist. The bottle is sitting on the side of the table. She's careful not to touch it. Spread your legs. Hold yourself for me. Two fingers with slippery jelly go in easily. In, out, and around. Next my penis, nice and fat, just for her. I want to stretch her completely today. I'd like to go too far. Yes, I would. Don't ask me why, damn it! If I could shove too far, force more than she can bear, and still have her take it, I would! I love her, but I would.

Take it, Elizabeth! Take it!

When she opens I slide right in and she goes "Ohh!" and it's to the hilt. Yes, yes. Stay in. Play with her puss again. Fingers in. Pull on it. Thumb goes around in a circle while she holds herself for me.

Now for the beer bottle. I think Elizabeth knows what I'm going to do with it. I've been thinking about this ever since I used it in on Erica. Put it to her flower. Push it in. She grunts wonderfully. What is it like for her? I push the bottle in hard, and twist it, and hold everything tightly inside her, together, so she can experience all the pressure before I use the bottle on her. I'm still holding my dick motionless so I don't come too soon. I think I can bring her off first, but she's perfect no matter what. She'll let me do anything.

Then there's what happened after the scene. Once we were cleaned, and rested. She had put on her undies, in case there was seepage, and a Red Sox sweatshirt.

"I was thinking of you," she said, "and it came to me. It's just a little thing."

She took down the cello, dressed in sweatshirt and panties, in front of the fire, and she started playing. She began with four notes. She repeated them, as in a round, three or four times, then she played four higher pitched notes, then introduced variations on the rounds, and finally she spilled seamlessly to a lilting sequence that took her back to the original notes, where she began again. She had been thinking of me. It was something simple, and lovely, and for me.

What can you say? What can you do? She looked down shyly when she was done. She wasn't sure about showing off. I wanted to pick her up and whirl her around until I could run off with her someplace. Instead I told her it was the nicest thing I could remember anyone ever doing for me. Nothing cool came for me to say.

How did I ruin it?

It wasn't that she found I had set up her audition with Robb.

"What makes you think that?"

"He told me. You got lunch out of it, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"Edward!"

"Maybe. Maybe I happened to let it slip that you were talented. You know, wonderful on the cello, far more wonderful than any musicians I'd heard recently. Wonderful enough to need an audition. Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe Robb was lying."

"Edward! He only auditioned me as a favor to you."

"Maybe. But I wasn't the one who passed the audition." I waited a second. "Are you angry?"

"Maybe. Maybe just a little peeved. But please don't do that anymore."

"Would it help if you punished me?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I could eat you..." I moved my tongue up and down, slowly, in a licking motion.

"Is that a punishment?"

"Maybe not."

I'll tell you how I did it. I ruined it by carrying out the fantasy that first attracted me to her.

I did it twice. No, that's not right. That's partly right, but it's also true that I didn't do it even once. Even that's not correct. I experienced it any number of times, over and over, while jacking off or screwing her. That's the nice thing about fantasy, isn't it? The downside is that it's not real. It isn't flesh. You need flesh to make it real. And that's what did it, when the fantasy was made flesh. Yes. Then it cancelled itself out. But no, that's wrong too. It more than cancelled itself. It destroyed us. That, at least, is completely true.

I did it with Elizabeth. Or I started to. I'd told her what I wanted. My pliable girl, do this for me, do it, do it now. Justine's away, let's play, let's play. I'll sit on the stool, the firelight warming me, my dick curving upward, while you hold your cello and squat down toward me. That's right, my dear. Oh Lord, your bud is tight. Sweet Jesus, come down. Carry me over. Take me to the Promised Land.

"I can't do it."

I was too big tonight, too excited. It was too much when she sat on me.

"Come down some more."

She was trying to hold the cello and lower herself, and I was guiding her. Down. She squatted. I lined up the head on her. "Come down a little more." Her legs were trembling. I found her hole, moved around until it was pressing into her.

"Oh!"

"Come down some more."

"It hurts."

"Just a little." She lowered herself some more and I was wedged in her. The sensation was incredible. "Some more."

"It hurts!"

I grabbed her hips and pulled her downward to me, far enough down that I was halfway up into her, and I was feeling her wonderfully soft flesh slide along me, when she cried, "Ah! No!" and jerked. She tried to bring a hand back to her rear, and the bow went flying, and she leaned first left and then right to get off me, pushing with her legs, and suddenly she was off me and lost the cello, which banged as it hit the floor.

She cradled the cello like a sick child.

Oh, we didn't really fight. I apologized and said I'd pay to have the fiddle fixed. I don't think there was anything really wrong with it. But after we'd dressed and she'd played with it for awhile, she sent me home.

What bar is this? Oh. Yeah. I have more of a buzz than I should. I'm almost folded over the side of the chair. El foldo. You have to know when to fold 'em. I keep seeing her fold. Fold, fold, folderol, what the hell did you do to your doll?

Someone is talking. Mickey. What's he been saying?

"That musician. I hear yer going with her. The fiddler."

"Elizabeth Peabody."

"Yeah. Her. Billy Boy told me."

"Okay?"

"So I know those two chicks over there. One's a spare. Want to help me out?"

What fuck's he talking about? The bar is smoky. It's breaking the law, but who cares? It reminds me of a pub in London, one that Dickens used to use. It has the same low roof, the same smog. Did Dickens have woman trouble? Mickey's girls are smoking. Not their looks. Cigarettes. I think they belong here.

"Sure. Which one do I get?"

"I just thought ya might not wanna."

"Because?"

"On account of yer girl. I shoulda knowed you'd help me out."

Shit. Fucker.

"Why shouldn't I help you out?"

"Well, ya got a girl. But everyone knows ya wouldn't let that stop ya."

Shit. Fucker. Shit fucker. Fuck shitter.

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm no different from any other guy. You chase tail all the time. Everyone does."

"Well, yeah. I didn't mean to imply nothing, Ed. It's just that ya got a girl."

"So?"

"Well, I shoulda knowed that wouldn't stop ya. Not you."

"Hell. I'm just diligent. I work at it harder. Anyway, she's not my girl. Not anymore."

"I was just sayin'."

Does the ceiling need to be that low? You can't breathe in here. The smoke is so thick. I can't stay. I need some fresh air. I need to get out of here.

"Yah. Sure. Well, I have t' go, Mickey. You'll have t' do both girls yourself."

I don't want to get to the next part. I've been avoiding it. It was soon. A day. Two. Whatever. Elizabeth had told me anal was out. She wanted to be fair and tell me during the day so it wouldn't come up in the middle of something. No pun intended. She was so correct about it all that she enraged me.