"You're dying to say it," said Marjorie Whitcomb to her lover, Barry Chambers, looking resplendent in his black tux, spit-shined shoes, charcoal boxer briefs, freshly barbered hair and a dash of his favorite cologne, "Driven" sold by the former door-to-door ladies. "Go on, Barry. Say it. I'm waiting to hear it."
The dark haired man beaming from ear to ear tried to serious up as he looked directly into the full length mirror. Even he had to admit that he cut a dashing figure. "The name is Bond, James Bond." He immediately burst out laughing as his exquisite lover embraced him and pressed her cheek against his chest. It had been close to a year since the last time they had been together. Their embrace was one of longing now fulfilled. It continued and he kissed the top of her shiny blonde locks, smelling of lavender. Each time he saw Marjorie, his heart skipped the proverbial beat. She had filled out some since the last time, although it wasn't fat, but toned muscle. She cared about herself and he cared that she cared. It was why he had taken to eating roots and berries for breakfast and lunch and joined a neighborhood gym when they had that mid-winter half price "cut the love slabs" special.
Beauty was in the eye of the beholder and sometimes his lack of self confidence was transferred to her in that he wondered what she saw in him. Rose color glasses had been discarded during their time apart. Many was the night before the fullness of sleep arrived that he wondered if they were just in deep lust or if it could blossom into something more. For him, it had. Yet fear was so rampant within him that Barry was afraid to broach the subject of future in any tangible way lest his lover be scared off, leaving him once more like Charlie Brown and the little red haired girl. He wasn't sure what it would do to him if she left. Last night, as he restlessly patrolled one of the twin beds in his hotel room, he came to the decision that the only thing he had to fear was loneliness. And he had been alone before. The sole question was when to act to quench the never ending thirst for her presence in his life, not just for an orgasm, or a few sweaty nights but forever.
Back to the moment, Barry let his fingers trace her strong back, gently pausing at the clasp of her bra, debating whether to unclasp it and..."What's that I smell, Marjorie?"
"Dinner, silly. I told you I was cooking dinner for you. Did you forget?" she slapped his shoulder.
"I hope we're having something smoked because it looks like that's what is coming out of the kitchen." Heads swiveled to see the first wisps of smoke coming from the kitchen. They rushed over there only to be greeted by the shrill scream of the smoke detector on station on the ceiling. Flames licked the outside of the stove as Marjorie tried to open it and put out the chicken which had become a flambé in the blink of an eye. She was overcome by smoke. Barry opened the windows and the back door then grabbed two dish towels, soaked them in the sink and grabbed the roasting pan and threw it out the back door into the swimming pool. It sunk like a rock.
Choking back a coughing fit, he guided his lover outside and hosed her down with a nearby garden hose. She did the same to him lest there be any errant flames searing their skin and lungs. There they stood for the longest moment. Marjorie was almost in tears as she looked down at her sopping wet body. Barry splish-splashed his way over to her and stuck out his hand. "The name is Bond, James Bond."
Rather than laugh, Marjorie just started to cry. "I just wanted everything to be perfect. And all I did was make a big mess. I'm so sorry, Barry." He embraced her and continued to rub her back to calm the oncoming dry heaves as she started to feel the pain of her perceived failure.
"It's okay, baby. I'll take you to dinner."
"No! I promised I'd make you dinner and dammit, I'm going to do it," she said. "Just as soon as I stop crying."
"Consider it done, m'lady." With that proclamation, Barry scooped her up in his arms and dumped her into the pool. "There you go, shaken, not stirred." He added the Welsh twist as a famous Bond had done so well so often.
"Barry Chambers, you Sonuvabitch!" said his lover, between flailing in the pool and laughing her ass off. "I'm going to drown."
He stood poolside and crossed his arms like Atlas overseeing the earth. Dry to the bone Marjie was the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered, regardless of the ten year age difference between them. He told her once in his best Bogart, "We'll always have AARP." But dripping wet she was a goddess, nipples at the ready and the soft downward curve of her stomach caused him to ponder jumping into the pool and taking her right there. "Marjie? You're in the shallow end. Just stand up."
"Oh," she said, and did so. Once inside, they jumped in the shower to rid themselves of the smoke that adhered to their skin. The warm water cleared the senses for each as they came to the realization that this was the first time since the oral pleasure in her office when the ice had been broken that they were completely alone and free to do as they pleased. She looked at him with a caring he had hoped he would always see in those crystal blue eyes. Her skin felt wet but so good to his touch.
Exploring her up and down with his fingertips and then the strong palms of his hands as she surrendered to the warm water rushing down over her shoulders, over her breasts, glistening in the overhead fluorescent lighting which brought an inner glow to his love for her. She had to know. She wasn't naïve or dumb. Marjorie was smart, a take charge woman who, for this moment, was very content to let him be in charge. He would not let her down.
Down on one knee, he squeezed her inner thighs as she gently parted them to allow access for whatever he wished to use to please her. Of course, she had her preference, but this was his show. All she needed to do was let him please her anyway he wished. He would know. She smiled as her decision was confirmed with the first of his fingers sliding into her waiting pussy. He probed each side of her while searching the pubic hair for that clit which was so sensitive it could be used as a motion detector for an orgasm. She raised up on the balls of her feet when he found it. A nearby towel bar helped her steady herself as he rubbed his rough tongue against her throbbing desire for him. "Oh god, that feels good."
Barry couldn't hear her, but he knew she was enjoying his ministrations. Her free hand was at the back of his head urging it toward her pussy. She tasted so good. Her ass was in his hand. He squeezed it in time to each lick of her clit. Her moaning was loud enough to be heard above the shower. His tongue left her clit and kissed her inner thighs on each side alternating with little nips of her freshly showered skin. Was this the right time to tell her he loved her?
Perhaps not with a mouthful of shower water.
Those strong thighs tensed and collapsed around his face. He was so intent upon pleasing her; he almost missed its beginning. He kept licking and probing until she pushed his head away with both hands. "Stop, you'll give me a heart attack and I'll drown in the shower."
"Okay," he replied, like a petulant child told to stop pulling pigtails. She guided him to his feet and they embraced. Steam enveloped them and fogged the glass shower stall. He slid his arms around her neck and pulled her as close to him as he could and placed his mouth next to her ear. "I love you," he said, and waited.
His life had time to pass before his eyes in both DVD and Blu-Ray before she answered. "I know Barry. I'm not blind." Not on the list of top ten responses that he expected to hear. He held on hoping there would be more. There wasn't. "Let me take care of you now."
"Maybe later," he said, knowing her non-response had totally taken the wind out of his sails.
The temperature in the steamy shower had dropped like that flaming chicken into the swimming pool in the blink of an eye. Both knew it. Neither spoke of it. She barred him from the kitchen, which still reeked of burnt entrée. He contented himself with a classic movie channel showing "High Society" with Bing, Frank and Grace. He would have given an internal organ to be dropped into that movie set rather than sit in the living room of a woman who didn't love him. He didn't mishear her. And she didn't misunderstand what he said. It just wasn't in the cards for them. Now the question had become, how did he get out of there and back home so he could sort this all out. Dinner was ready.
The table was set with fine crystal, linen napkins and goblets that were fit for King Arthur and his Roundtable. Silver platters with handled domes covering their contents were before each of them. She sat at one side of the table when he held her chair out. He poured the wine, giving her way more than he did for himself. Emotions were harder to keep in check if one was imbibing too much. He wasn't sure how much self control he had to begin with. Had he morphed into a metro sexual? Let's not get crazy, Barry, he thought. Time to be tougher than your anti-perspirant.
"I hope you like it. It's not what I had planned originally, but I think you'll be pleased," she said brightly. It appeared that he had kept those emotions in check very well because Marjorie was acting like she hadn't broken his heart a few moments ago. She removed the dome from before her to reveal a deliciously presented plate of spaghetti and meatballs. It looked great but the emptiness in the pit of his stomach wouldn't be sated by food. "Aren't you hungry?"
"Not really." She shrugged and started eating with a gusto he had once found endearing. Dashed hopes had a way of stealing one's appetites. "How are things back home? How's Jeannie?"
"Your daughter? After our last time together, it was three days before she talked to me. I called, left messages, sent flowers and even went over to her place, but she wouldn't answer the door at first."
"Do you think I should talk with her?" said Marjorie pausing between sips of wine. "I didn't think she minded that we shared you."
"I would agree, but that last time, I didn't want to share. I called out your name as I was pumping in her. She was offended. As I would have been," he confessed.
"Oh Barry, I'm so sorry. That must have been difficult for you."
"At first it was. But she finally talked to me after I cornered her in line at the coffee shop and she was short a couple of bucks to buy this designer coffee that had the DNA of a meteorite. I paid for it and she sat and let me talk.
"I told her I was sorry but that I didn't love her, that I loved you. That sex with her was just that, sex and not an expression of a lifetime to come. Or at least I thought it was," he said and gulped his wine in one determined move.
"What is that supposed to mean?" said Marjorie, putting down her fork and tenting her fingers before her face, a bit flushed.
"It means I love you, and you don't love me."
"I never said I didn't love you."
"In the shower, I told you I loved you. And all you could say was, 'I know.' It doesn't take a Mensa graduating class to figure that out."
She frowned and still looked lovely. "You're being childish. Did you ever think that I was as scared as you were about how I felt about you? No, you didn't. Did you ever think that I was as surprised for my feelings for you and what to do about them? No, you didn't. Barry, I care about you because of the person you are. But I need to breathe. You can't do everything for me, and that includes doing my thinking for me. If one person gives 110% in a relationship, what is there for the other person to give?"
Barry felt shell shocked. Marjorie continued. "Look, I don't feel a rush to move this along faster. It will develop a pace of its own. Can you be patient? Can you let things grow, or not? Let's be realistic, when I got married and had Jean Alyce, I thought it was forever. It turns out forever has a shelf life."
