Chapter 14

Eventually I nudged Jill awake. She was in my arms, her head burrowed into my chest.

"You probably need to be getting back home," I whispered.

"No," she said petulantly. "I like it here."

"Your mom," I reminded her.

"She knows where I am," said Jill.

"She'll be mad."

"She'll get over it." She burrowed against me and draped a leg over mine, rubbing her wet, sperm-drenched pussy against my thigh. I could feel the smear she left there.

"What about Zack?"

She pulled her head back from my chest and looked at me through tousled hair.

"Zack might be in my bed," she said. "Besides, this is my bed now," she said softly. "Our bed," she corrected. "This is where I want to be, and where I belong."

Have you ever had one of those moments where you were in the presence of something miraculous? We had made love three times, which was astonishing enough in and of itself, but the fact was that the second and third times had seemed so natural to me that I hadn't even thought about it until it was over. I was dog tired by then, of course, and was pretty sure my dick wouldn't get hard for two or three days. It would dangle around down there unable to even look up at me with a frown while it grumbled about abuse and violation of warranties and such. But when she said that ... when she said it was OUR bed now ... the finality in her voice sent something through me that was almost electric and a minor miracle occurred.

My dick got half hard almost immediately.

She didn't know it, because I was lying on my back and her knee wasn't touching me there. And what was even more shocking was that I could enjoy the feeling of that penis lifting it's bleary-eyed head up and looking around, saying "Whazzit?" like a man does after a night of hard drinking.

It was so comfortable there with her in my arms, and there was the sudden knowledge that, in the morning, that half hard penis could be awakened again and would actually perform if instructed to do so! That was the rest of the miracle. I felt completely comfortable letting the opportunity pass, because I knew there would be another one whenever I wanted it.

That calm faith in the future I was feeling, and which kept Jill there in our bed that night, was completely lacking a quarter mile away.

Zack was lying in bed in the guest room (Lynne HAD cleaned it out) with a completely hard penis, thinking about stroking it. He didn't want to, which was a bit odd, because he'd beaten off every night for the last two weeks, thinking about being here in this house, with the woman who was down the hallway from him this very instant.

But she had always been a fantasy before. Now he had actually spoken to her, and seen her and even held her in his arms. Now she was a real person to him and now that he knew what Lynne was really like, the fantasy seemed crude and low class. It was like the difference between looking at a fine oil painting of a nude in a museum, and a cartoon in Penthouse. You just didn't beat off in the museum.

Down the hall Lynne lay in her bed. It was the same bed she'd lain in for years. She hadn't gotten rid of it when Paul died, but since then she'd somehow taken over the whole thing. She wasn't aware of tossing and turning in the night, but she often woke up across the bed from where she'd fallen asleep, or found herself lying sprawled across the whole thing, arms and legs spread out comfortably.

She couldn't get comfortable tonight, though. She felt hot in the old, thin flannel shirt she always wore to bed as a nightgown of sorts. It had been Paul's ... her favorite ... and was normally comfortable, like an old shoe. But tonight it seemed to pull and bind at her.

Her mind had been a whirl when she first closed her bedroom door and leaned on it, like she was afraid he'd follow her in there. She had a very quick fantasy in which he DID follow her in, and what flashed through her mind left her gasping for air. It was rape ... except that in her mind she didn't resist in any way. That had been discounted ... pushed firmly away because she knew he'd never force himself on her. She just knew that. She didn't know him well at all, but she was sure of that part.

Now as she squirmed in bed she realized she was excited, and began to examine that. It wasn't from that short, violent fantasy. That was gone, like a dream of seeing a purple cow would be gone once it was examined and found to be flawed.

She remembered his arms around her. How long had it been since a man had held her like that? How long had it been since she'd felt a man's passion pressing against her? How long had it been since a man had been brazen, looked her right in the eye and said "You excite me!"

Dennis didn't count, because she couldn't actually remember him holding her. One minute they had been making out like teenagers, and the next he had been groaning and whimpering in his completion. It had been almost devastatingly unsatisfying, and she was absolutely sure that Paul had been staring down at her, frowning.

She looked around the dark room and then closed her eyes, still rolling them, looking for any hint of the spirit of her dead husband.

"What should I do?" she whispered to the still room. "What do you want me to do?"

There was no answer and she opened her eyes again. It didn't seem crazy to her at all to have a conversation with someone who wasn't there.

"I mean I know I can't do anything with him," she said, thinking of Zack. "He's just a boy. And Bob is taken by our baby. Can you believe that?" Her voice went up. She flung her right leg to one side and shoved the covers down. "She really loves him. It's obvious. It's crazy, but I can see it. And he's just head over heels for her." She stared at the ceiling for a while. "Maybe that's the problem," she said softly. "It was all right at first. I missed you but I was able to go on. She needed me. But now she doesn't need me any more. She needs Bob, and that leaves me all alone. And you're not coming back."