Chapter 4

“The man who gets on best with women
is the one who knows best how to
get on without them.”
-Charles Baudelaire

The next week was interesting. We got to know each other again, and I noticed something different about her. This may sound strange, but it’s true. Celeste had mostly dealt with the fact that she was dying, and in some strange way, it had freed her. The cruelty and hate and bitterness that she’d felt toward the world for all those unknown reasons had fled her, and she was once again the woman I’d originally fallen in love with.

She smiled and laughed more than I remembered, or expected, and we found a wonderful warmth and closeness still existed between us. Celeste waited three nights before joining me in my bed, and it came as a wonderful shock and surprise.

I’d put her in the guest room, not wanting to make any assumptions. But we’d been touching more, hugging more, spending time on the couch, watching old movies on TV and just stroking each other. That night, I’d kissed her neck and gently tickled her ear with my tongue, and she’d moaned and pressed herself against me. The movie ended ten minutes later, and I’d turned in, still excited by the taste of her skin and the warmth and closeness of her body.

I was almost asleep when my mind announced that there was someone else in the room. I’d long ago understood what the concept of the Second Amendment meant, and had a Baretta 92F 9mm pistol under my pillow ever since. My hand closed around the grip, and I softly took it off safety. I wasn’t sure who it was, and my half-dream state, I had forgotten that Celeste was even in the house.

My hand relaxed when I heard her voice. “Are you awake?” One of the most inane questions in the world.

“Yes,” I said softly, and turned to face her. The moonlight was streaming in from my skylight, casting her in a silvery puddle of warmth. She was wearing one of my button-down shirts, and apparently nothing else. Her hair was combed out and rested on her lovely shoulders. She had a haunting look on her face, like she was afraid I was going to send her away. I peeled the sheets back and patted the bed next to me, and eagerly, she joined me.

Celeste turned her back to me and snuggled up in spoon position. The years apart had put some steel into my backbone, and I didn’t shy away from her, letting her feel my throbbing need pulse against her buttocks.

She laughed, a short, sweet giggle that seemed to fill the room. “My, my,” she said, “is that all for me?” I just grunted a little, hunching my hips against her.

Turning to face me, Celeste pressed her palm against my cheek and softly kissed me, letting me taste her lips for the briefest of seconds. “Make love to me, Brad. Please. Make me feel alive.”

Taking my hand in hers, she slid it inside the shirt and around one of her breasts. The night we’d spent together flashed across my mind again, and I knew I didn’t want a repeat of that particular morning-after.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

She frowned. “It’s not catching, you know.” I laughed with her at that.

“No ... I know that. I was just remembering the last time we did this.” Finally, the words had been spoken. Celeste frowned and then understanding flew across her features.

“I’m sorry ... about the way things went that time,” she said. “It was ... difficult for me to get close to anyone. And you weren’t ... what I wanted, what I thought I needed then. But now-” I silenced her with a kiss and started exploring her body, the body in thousands of my dreams, with my hands and mouth and lips and tongue. She was slightly sweaty and salty under my mouth, and I rejoiced in each discovery. It was like going back to your childhood home, finding all the nooks and crannies, all the hiding-spots you remember from your youth.

Slowly, we became one with the night. Our bodies joined and separated, making gentle, passionate love as the moon slowly marched across the floor. Celeste was wet and warm and welcoming, her legs caressing my side as I gave pleasure the best I knew how. We tasted and sucked and kissed and caressed as the night drew on, and when I finally spent myself inside her, we collapsed against each other, sweaty, sticky bodies adhering with the moisture of our passion.