Chapter 2

When I finally woke up, Christy was still spooned against me, and I was still cupping her breast in my hand.

I don’t think either of us had moved an inch.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I had actually slept for eight hours solid. While that might not sound unusual for a lot of people, but it was virtually unheard of for me.

In the three years since my wife and daughter were killed, I don’t think I had slept more than four or five hours a night. And even then it was never solid, uninterrupted sleep.

Once I finally fell asleep, I would wake up anywhere from 30 to 45 minutes later. Then I would get up and read a book or magazine for another 30 minutes to an hour before going back to bed.

After tossing and turning for a while, I would fall back asleep and usually this time I would sleep for about two hours. After that, I would either start reading a book, or try watching some television for an hour or so.

Back to bed, and I would usually sleep for another hour, or sometimes two. I would go to bed tired and wake up tired.

Today, however, I felt better than I had in a long, long time.

Once I realized Christy was sleeping beside me, and I was still holding her breast cupped in my hand, I tried to move my hand, but Christy immediately put her hand on top of mine.

I had not realized she was already awake.

“Don’t move your hand, Bill,” she said. “I have been awake for nearly an hour, just waiting for you to wake up.”

“How do you feel?” I asked Christy.

“Better than I have in a long, long time,” she answered, giving the hand that was holding her breast a hard squeeze.

“Actually, though,” she said, “I have a better idea.”

Christy took my hand away from her breast, rolled over until our faces were inches apart, and put my hand on her hip. Her very naked hip, I realized.

“I’m not drunk, I’m not hung over and you would not be taking advantage of me,” she said with an impish smile.

“Well, as glad as I am you are not drunk, and that your head no longer feels like it’s going to explode,” I started, “I think you have forgotten one thing.”

“What’s that?” she asked, with a big, beautiful smile.

“That,” I said with my own answering smile, “is the simple fact the inside of your mouth probably still tastes like a kitty litter box.” I gave a theatrical sniff. “At least your breath smells like a kitty litter box.”

Christy’s face turned bright red as she sat up in bed. And this time I don’t think it was completely because of embarrassment.

“I ... I can’t BELIEVE you would say that to me,” she declared. “Is this your idea of how to sweet talk innocent, nearly naked girls into giving up their virtue to you?”

I smiled at Christy.

“Well, after hearing last night what you want to do to me (her face turned even redder), and what you want me to do to you (she was already past Coke and Marlboro red again), I’m not sure just how much virtue you have left.”

“And if you keep talking like THAT,” she tried to say in a very stern voice, “you will NEVER find out.”

Then we both began laughing like children. We must have laughed for 10 minutes before we finally calmed down.

“I STILL can’t believe you would say my breath smells like a litter box!” Christy protested, then cupped her hand in front of her mouth and exhaled. She sniffed her hand, wrinkled her nose in disgust and added, “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

I told her there were a couple of brand new toothbrushes in the top right vanity drawer, along with several different brands of toothpaste.

As Christy got out of bed, she seemed to take far longer than was required to do that simple task. That was probably caused by the simple fact she kept making sure I knew she wasn’t wearing anything under her t-shirt.

Once she knew I had gotten an eyeful, and a very beautiful eyeful, she finally started walking across the bedroom towards the bathroom. Actually though, I am not sure you could term what she was doing as “walking.”

I waited until she was almost in the bathroom before calling out, “Oh, a couple of other things, Christy.”

She stopped and turned around.

“After you brush your teeth ... four or five different times (those words earned me a middle finger salute), and use most of the mouthwash (that earned me a pair of middle finger salutes) you might want to take a shower in case I somehow missed any places last night.”

Christy turned as red as she had at any point last night (which was actually early, early this morning) and started glaring at me.

Then she smiled very sweetly and said, “I have a better idea.”

Christy turned around until her back was to me, bent forward slightly at the waist and flipped the end of her t-shirt up, giving me an unobstructed view of her beautiful little butt. Her naked, beautiful little butt.

“Why don’t you take a shower with me and show me all the places you washed last night?” she asked. “Then we will both know if you missed anything ... ANYTHING!”

I started grinning, before ruefully shaking my head, “No.”

“You have no idea how much I would like to take a shower with you,” I answered, “but I think ... look, Christy, I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us...”

“You are seeing someone else,” Christy immediately asked in a stricken voice as she almost ran back over to the bed.

“No, NO,” I stated, “Believe me, there is NO ONE else.

“Christy, do you trust me?” I asked.

“After last night?” she declared. “I trust you more than I have ever trusted ANYONE.”

“Then ... then do me a favor,” I asked, “After you take your shower, get dressed (I pointed over to the clothes on the dresser), and then we need to talk. And don’t look like that (she had an absolute crestfallen look).

“I promise it is not bad, but like I said, I just don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. Okay?”

“Okay, Bill,” she said, “we’ll talk ... first. But afterward we are coming back here. Back to this room. Back to this bed. And when we do ... there will be no talking, just action.”

Christy was now only standing a foot or so from the bed. She grabbed the end of the t-shirt she was wearing and pulled it over her head.

This incredibly beautiful young woman was now standing completely naked just a couple of feet away from me.

Without saying a word, she balled up the t-shirt and threw it my head, then did a very slow turn and started ... well, again, “walk” does not even come close to how she moved from the bed to the bathroom.

She looked back over her shoulder a couple of times to make sure I was watching her. Believe me, wild horses couldn’t have kept my eyes from staring at her very firm, very shapely and very sexy butt.

When Christy walked into the bathroom – but not before she looked back one final time and wiggled her butt at me – I got up and went to my bedroom. I was still wearing the same clothes I had when I worked yesterday, and had slept in those all night as well.

I stripped, took a quick shower, followed by shaving and brushing my own teeth. I put on clean clothes and walked back to Christy’s room.

Christy had been waiting for me, because as soon as I walked in, she walked over to me, put her arms around my neck and pulled me down into a soul-shattering kiss.

I honestly don’t know I had ever received a more passionate kiss in my life. Christy’s tongue was wild against mine. Her hands were actually grasping my butt as she pulled me tightly against her and Christy was wiggling her entire body against mine.

By the time we broke the kiss, both of us were gasping for breath.

“Are you sure ... sure you want to TALK first,” Christy asked with a huge, huge smile.

“No,” I admitted, “I’m not sure. But we really do need to talk ... just TALK ... first.”

I could see the look of disappointment, and yes, perhaps apprehension on her face so this time I leaned down and kissed Christy.

The second kiss was, if anything, even better. Our tongues were like unstoppable forces of nature, determined to get what we wanted. And what both of us wanted was each other.

I am not even sure how it happened, but we ended up with Christy’s legs wrapped around my waist, her ankles hooked together behind my back, and my hands holding her butt. I was pulling her lower body tightly against me and Christy was thrusting her fully clothed lower body against mine.

By the time we broke that second kiss, we were both gasping for breath again, and Christy started whispering, “I want you, Bill. I want you in every way it is possible for a woman to want a man. I want us to do everything we talked about last night ... EVERYTHING!”

Christy started to pull my face against her for another kiss, but I pulled my head back before admitting the truth.

“If we kiss again, Christy, then we ARE going to do everything we talked about last night ... or this morning ... or whenever it was. EVERYTHING!”

“But you want to talk first,” she said.

“It’s not that I WANT to talk first,” I told this incredibly sexy creature, “It’s more that we HAVE to talk first.”

It seemed to be a lot easier – and I admit a lot more fun – just to carry Christy like she was now than to put her down, so I carried her to the kitchen. The entire time I was carrying her, Christy was showering little kisses against my neck and the side of my face.

I could actually smell her arousal and had no doubt that her panties must be soaked. I also knew Christy could feel how hard I was, pressing against her.

“I do promise you one thing, young lady,” I told her after we were in the kitchen and before I put her down. “You aren’t getting out of this house until I have you begging ... begging for me to make love to you.”

Christy smiled one of those 1,000 megawatt smiles, before saying, “The only problem with that is YOU may be the one begging ME to make love to YOU.”

Before I put her down, we kissed for a third time, only this kiss was a lot different. It was a lot more sensual than overtly sexual, a lot more playful than passionate. Somehow that very playfulness seemed more passionate than the earlier passionate kisses we had shared. This was more of a promise of what was to come, rather than an immediate demand.

When I finally put Christy down, I think we both groaned a little.

I asked Christy to sit down at the kitchen table while I got us both a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

As I handed her a bottle, Christy actually started the conversation, catching me completely off guard.

“Why did you never tell me, Bill?” she asked.

“Tell you what?” I responded as I uncapped my bottle and took a drink.

“I heard what you said last night,” Christy said.

I really didn’t think much about it since I had said a LOT to her about drinking and acting irresponsibly.

“What part do you mean?” I asked, “I said a lot of things last night, or early this morning or whenever it was.”

“I kept falling asleep and waking up last night,” Christy said. “One of those times when I woke up, I squeezed your hand even tighter against my breast and told you, again, that I love you and ... and ... and you leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

“Then you squeezed my boob and you said you loved me too and had been in love with me for a long time,” she said, very slowly.

My hand that had been lowering the bottle of water froze.

I had actually said those words out loud? I thought it had been a dream!

Then I articulated those thoughts: “I actually said that out loud?” I asked Christy. “I thought it had been a dream.”

“More like a dream come true for me,” she said.

“Are you really sure you heard me say those words?” I asked with a grin. “I mean drunk people have been known to hallucinate before.”

“If you say anything else like that then I know at least one sober person who is going to be hallucinating I kicked their butt,” Christy shot back.

We smiled at each other, then I reached over and took both of Christy’s hands in mine.

“Yes,” I said, but wasn’t smiling now. “I love you, Christy. And, yes, I have for some time.”

“For God’s sake, why didn’t you ever tell me?” she asked.

“That is one of the things I wanted to talk to you about,” I said.

“Tell me, Christy, tell me out loud how old you are.”

“You already know how old I am,” she said with a somewhat confused look on her face. “You have certainly kidded me enough me about my age in the past three years.”

That was certainly true. When I first met Christy three years earlier, she looked like she was about 14 or 15. I think the first thing I ever said to her was to ask her if her local junior high school had some kind of work study program when they allowed especially bright seventh or eighth graders to receive academic credits for working?

She looked at me, arched her eyebrows and asked if the local senior citizens center had some type of program where they allowed their mentally slow elderly residents to work part-time?

We both laughed and introduced ourselves, and Christy said she was 18 and had just graduated from high school.

I told her I was 33, and had ran away from the local senior citizens center.

After that I was constantly kidding her about her youthful appearance and she was always kidding me about old people.

“I know, Christy, but please, just say your age out loud,” I again requested.

“I’m 21,” she said, then I could almost see the thought form in her mind as her face turned red – and this time it wasn’t from embarrassment.

“Oh, I get it,” she said in a very angry voice, “this is where you tell me I need to find someone my own age, and someone I have more in common with, someone who enjoys doing the same things I do!

“I don’t buy that,” she said, “and you aren’t going to get rid of me that easily.”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you, Christy ... my love,” I answered softly. When I added the part about “my love,” you could see the tension leave her.