Dead Write Ch 04

* This is a repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit.*

Chapter 4

Concealed in the shadowy hallway, Sam gazed into the sun-streaked bedroom, transfixed by a sense of déjà vu.

Sharon posed in front of the full-length mirror, wearing Jan’s lingerie. Twirling left and then right, she inspected the provocative image. Her hands smoothed the fabric, making it conform to her curves. Turning away from the mirror, she looked over her shoulder to see the back, while Sam enjoyed the front. The low neckline and high hem left only the most intimate portions hidden. The smooth friction of the fabric, or maybe an erotic thought, had aroused her breasts.

Deciding voyeurism was only a synonym for frustration, Sam boldly walked into the room to face the consequences. To hell with propriety.

When his reflection suddenly appeared, Sharon gasped, "Sam!" and hugged her body.

Striding to the bed, he dropped her folded clothes onto the quilt, picked up her discarded robe and laid it over his arm. Silently, he faced her, and took time to enjoy the statuesque vision, while fighting to maintain a neutral expression.

Her pale skin blushed. "Sam, I’m so sorry! I wasn't snooping, honest. My clothes weren't here, so I was looking for something to wear. I felt too naked in just the robe."

Sharon had a sexy way of squirming under his solemn gaze. So he prolonged her embarrassment. "Pardon me for noticing, but aren't you almost naked in that?"

"Well, you weren't supposed to SEE ME IN IT!"

Sam liked her combative tone, as well. 'The question is, have I found anything about her I don't like.'

"I noticed Jan's clothes were still in the closet, so I thought maybe her underwear would be in the dresser. When I saw this, I couldn't resist trying it on. It's a girl thing -- we try on each other’s clothes -- and this is such a lovely piece. I know it was wrong of me. Please forgive my intrusion."

Tired of the hard-nosed act, Sam sat on the bed. "I haven't had the heart to pack away her things. It's something I’ll have to do soon." He paused, and stared between his feet. "I used to be able to picture her wearing them, but even that's getting difficult. And I'm not sure how healthy it is to fantasize about her." After one more appreciative glance at the nervous woman, he held out the robe.

She ran the ten feet, and wrapped herself in the white terrycloth.

He looked up, and said, "Green makes you look phat."

"FAT?" Sharon marched back to the mirror and flashed herself. "I DON'T look fat!"

"Not F-A-T, fat. P-H-A-T, phat, pretty hot and tempting." He stole a peek in the mirror, and then looked down.

"Hot and tempting?” She asked, and sat beside him. “I haven't heard a compliment like that in a long time. Thanks." Placing her arm around his back, she gave him a sisterly squeeze, then folded her hands in her lap.

"I want you to keep it. And I'm sure Jan would be happy if you'd go through her clothes and take anything you want. The rest I'll give to the Salvation Army." He looked at her face, and watched her eyebrows knit together. "Whatever's bugging you, just say it. I'm a big boy."

Sharon smiled at him. "Yes you are, Sam. And a very kind one." She paused, took a deep breath, and said, "This must be a difficult time for you. So just tell me to shut up if I start to make you uncomfortable.” Another deep inhale and exhale. “Here's the condensed version of my dilemma. When the notebook came in the mail, I was shocked and embarrassed. The personal things Jan wrote,” she stopped, considered her words, and then continued, “I know how much she loved you.”

She crossed her ankles and put her hands in the robe pockets. “And I was flattered that she thought of me as someone… compatible with you, as a friend and maybe more. I won't lie, and say I hadn't thought about you after Jan's death. I don't think there's a single woman in the county over 30 who hasn't. And probably some under 30." She laughed. "You need to know, for your own protection, how attractive a man with a faithful track record is, especially to women who were in bad relationships. They all want a shot at the title -- Mrs. Sam Colton."

Embarrassed, Sam said, "There must be slim pickings out there."

She patted his knee. "We know a good thing when we see it."

They sat quietly until, in an anxious whisper, Sharon said, "The problem is, I want a title shot too. I like you very much, Sam. But I feel like I'm living in a dream world, and I'm starting to feel like an inside trader. I've been given unfair market information.” A frustrated pause, then, "I'd like to say in my own defense that I wasn’t plotting a strategy to seduce you... at least, not at first." She smiled, tight-lipped. "I've been alone for nearly seven years, and happy, for the most part. When Jan died, I felt very sorry for you and Chris. I pray that someday you will remarry so Chris will have a mother. I even pray you would be able to have biological children with a second wife. I know how much you and Jan anguished over not having your own."

He smiled at her, and nodded slightly. "I know you do."

Sharon looked away, but Sam noticed the shimmer in her eyes.

There was another stretch of silence.

"I'm 45 years old, Sharon. I may never be able to look at a mother holding her baby without a twinge of regret, but I'm beyond the desire to father a child. I just don't have the energy, anymore. Chris is my son. I'm more than satisfied."

Tears trickled down her cheeks. "You're lucky to have such a wonderful boy."

'Lucky?' he thought. 'I haven't felt lucky for a long time.' Sam reached out and, with the back of his finger, lifted a tear from her right cheek. "How long has it been since you've felt lucky?"

Sharon blurted a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "Oh, I hate it when my words get turned around on me,” and smiled sheepishly. "I guess I shouldn't have said lucky. Blessed would have been a better choice." A pause for thought, and then, "I'd given up hope of having a... The day I received Jan's notebook I began to feel hopeful about being part of a... I thought maybe... Oh damn, this all sounds so hokey. I'm sorry." She stared hard at her knotted fists.

'Stay hopeful.' The parting words from Jan's letter echoed in Sharon's voice. Sam’s heart was full, and lubbed thickly in his chest. Temptation pounded between his temples. He put his hand over hers, knowing it was sinful. But their shared loneliness had a stronger pull.

She met his eyes and smiled.

Was this one of life’s opportunities? Sam asked, "Did Jan write about the little silk number you're wearing?"

Sharon raised an eyebrow and grinned. "No, she didn't."

The change of subject seemed to please her. Sam wanted to please her, but knew this was more about feeling like a man again. "It all goes back to when I was a child."

She gave him one of those, 'Yeah right' looks.

"No, really. My parents were poor farmers. For years, my father worked like a mule to eke out a living. He didn’t want to sell the land that had belonged to the family for three generations."

Sam stood up. "Are you in a hurry? Because this will take a while."

"Well, I had planned on weeding the garden longer, but I don't think I want to risk causing anymore property damage."

"In that case, if you're willing to listen to my boring life story, I won't press charges."

"Are you blackmailing me, Sam?" She tried to look worried, but the corners of her mouth couldn't suppress the urge to curl up.

"I caught you red handed wearing stolen property, and you still have the nerve to question my motives?" he held out his hand, "If you agree to listen and be remorseful, I'll commute your sentence to time served."

She gave her hand, and he pulled her up. Neither let go. They stood close. Sam's eyes left hers to sweep the thick hair, smooth cheeks and full lips.

"How will you know if I'm remorseful?" She asked, flashing the crooked smile he was very fond of.

"By your willingness to participate in the rehabilitation process."

She groaned, "I don't think I can survive another one of your step-by-step lecture, slash, tease sessions."

By the hand, he towed her to the mirror and turned her around to see their reflection. Bending, he placed his mouth to her ear and whispered, "You've graduated from the how-to lecture series to the show-and-tell portion of your rehabilitation." He lightly kissed her ear, and she shivered. In the mirror, he watched a pink flush spread from her chest, to her neck, to her ears and cheeks. "You're not going to burst into flames are you?"

Her face relaxed, "I don't think so. But you've certainly raised the temperature in here."

"Are you uncomfortable?"

She turned her head, her lips just a fraction from his. "Don't confuse my blushing with discomfort, Sam. I'm blushing with feverish anticipation. I hope you won't disappoint me again."

No further encouragement was necessary. He closed the distance until their lips touched just enough to tingle, "Then let's begin." One quick peck and he strode to the desk, grabbed the straight-backed chair and placed it behind her. "Please be seated, Sherry."

Sharon sat down, and faced her reflection. "Sherry? Why am I Sherry all of a sudden?"

"I looked up the definition. 'Sherry, A fortified Spanish wine: a wine that has a higher alcohol content and ranges from very sweet to very dry.' You are an intoxicating woman, and I thought it fit. If you don't like it I won't use it."

She purred, "Fine with me.”

Standing behind the chair, he rested his hands on her shoulders and began a soothing massage. The mirror showed how good they looked together.

"So anyway, back to the story. My family was so poor that our barn rats used to bring us food. Still, somehow Mom and Dad made every Christmas special. The secret to our happiness was not in how much our gifts cost, but how they were given. Each year, one present was designated as the "special gift". And some years, that was the only gift. We always knew which one was special by the way it was wrapped. It was always concealed in our favorite color. We would open that gift with particular excitement and appreciation because, no matter what it contained, we knew it was the best our parents could do. I remember one year my father wrapped up his old Swiss Army knife in shiny green foil. I still cherish that knife..." Sam's eyes glistened and his caress slowed.

Their reflections smiled. Sherry briefly touched his hand.

He began to pull out hairpins, until her hair was free and draped over her shoulders. Slipping his fingers through the fragrant strands, he rubbed in patient circles.

"Mmmm, I like that." Sherry relaxed her neck, and let him support the weight. "More story please."

Sam continued, "How does all this relate to the swatch of green you're wearing? Well, I bought it for Jan when we were trying to conceive. I'm sure you remember what a passionless experience that was, not very romantic. Every sexual urge had to be postponed until the right day, temperature, moon phase, solar flare; you name it, we scheduled by it. Sex really sucked!" He picked up a hairbrush and began slow strokes.

"I remember those days. Bob whined and complained. And when it was finally time, he couldn't perform.” With eyes closed, she added, “He was such an ass."

Sam knew, 'That's when the asshole hit you,' having read about it.

Aloud, he said, "So, to put some romance back in our lives, I bought that little green aphrodisiac, and we made a deal. Whenever she felt discouraged or in need of some TLC, she’d put it on. That was my signal to treat her like my "special gift". No schedules were kept, no timers were set, just pure adult adoration."

Sam stopped all physical contact and she opened her eyes. "So, you can imagine what kind of thoughts raced through my head when I saw you wearing my green-for-go pennant."

Sherry smiled, "I imagine you wanted to run me up your flagpole."

Who is this woman with the smug grin? Sam had read about her. About how she married her first love, how the callous bastard abused her and left for another. About how she'd moved on with life by teaching other people’s children, never able to have her own. He'd experienced her sweet honesty and quick wit. She was a survivor, and he admired her enduring kindness. A fine woman sat there, willing to share herself.

The moment was a frightening mix of the known and the unknown. The room, the silk, and the racy repartee were his past. This lovely woman was possibly his future. Old feelings of guilt transformed into a sense of wonder that Sherry, a soloist for so many years, would perform this physical duet with him. His joke about rehabilitation struck closer to the truth than either would admit. Both of them needed a renewed sense of quid pro quo with the opposite sex, their mutual attraction strong enough to overpower their moral restraint.

"Sam?"

Her soft voice roused him from the wonder. Sam laid his palms on her shoulders. Seeing her concerned reflection, he asked, "Sherry, would you like to be that special gift?"

The rosy flush spread anew. She stood, turned and knelt on the seat, facing him over the back of the chair. Wordlessly, her hands reached out to cup his cheeks and draw him down to a tender kiss. Her mouth, soft and warm, moved against his in an act of resuscitation. His pulse raced. His fingers tangled in her dark halo as she revived him. Moans were exchanged -- echoes between hallowed hearts.

She pushed away, and said, "In case you were wondering, that's a yes.” The nervous tremor in her voice seemed at odds with the answer.

The Jacuzzi clicked off, leaving a thick silence.

They smiled.

Sam said, "Wow, nice dramatic effect. How’d you do that?"

"I was wondering the same thing,” Sherry said, as she stood.

Sam put the chair back at the desk, asking, "Would you like some music? Pick something out." He pointed to the CD rack, curious about her choice.

She scanned the titles, then turned away empty handed. "Sam, you have a lot of good music, but I'd prefer not to have any distractions."

He understood, completely. "Then, the time has come for the show and tell portion of the story. Come here, please," he said, holding out his hand.

Sherry walked over and trustingly placed hers in his.

Spinning her toward the mirror and folding his arms around her shoulders, he hugged her close.

Her hands moved up and covered his.

"The first step in accepting my gift is taking time to appreciate the wrapping." They both admired the reflection of a man in denim shorts and yellow polo shirt hugging the barelegged woman wrapped in terrycloth white. Her height, only a few inches less, made it easy to bend and kiss her neck.

Sherry’s head tipped in surrender. With eyes closed, she reached up and toyed with his ear.

He inhaled deeply, soaking in the familiar herbal scent. A nostalgic rush swept through him. How many times had he held Jan just like this? And now he held another woman. His heart ached with the transformation. There was no going back, but he didn’t have to go forward either. Not now, not here.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and blue pools of tenderness smiled at him expectantly. “Is everything alright?”

Unable to answer without telltale emotion, he nodded yes and massaged her shoulders. After a few moments to regain control, he said, "I always shake my presents for a clue,” and lightly shook her. “You don’t rattle easily. I like that."

Sherry smiled but made no comment. She watched his hands slide down the robe sleeves, then stop at the fabric belt knotted in a bow.

"The next step is to carefully open the present, preserving the gift wrap for another occasion."

They watched his trembling hands pull out the bow to reveal the fist glimpse of green silk.

He lifted the robe from her shoulders and let gravity pull it off. A soft thud marked its contact with the floor, and her exposure. The man in the mirror smiled. The woman bit her lip. Her eyes watched his wander over her body.

"You are so beautiful, Sherry."

She remained silent but smiling.

Sam glanced down at the bare shoulder. A small red welt blemished the ivory flesh. He kissed it and blew cool air across it. "How are your stings?"

Eyes closed, she leaned her head back on his shoulder. "I think you will have to kiss them all to make them better."

"Gladly!"

His palms moved to her stomach, and teased the slippery material against her skin, knowing her breasts would respond to the soft friction. Their arousal was soon reflected in the appearance of two enticing points, poking out. His hands slid up to cradle their weight. They watched his coordinated hands fondled her breasts, the thumbs gliding back and forth, teasing the sensitive tips.

Sherry closed her eyes once more, and leaned further into Sam. Her pink neck became the desire of his lips, while his hands continued to caress. A responsive moan escaped her lips, and the warm scent of her femininity floated up to his nose. She filled all his senses.

Thrilled to elicit such an erotic response and afraid of loosing control too soon, he moved back, and slipped his palms up over her breasts to her shoulders. Together, they watched him push first one spaghetti strap and then the other off her shoulders. The slick green fabric began its descent, then stopped and clung to her chest.

"And now it's time to finally see what has been given me." He wouldn’t touch her. This final unveiling was up to her.

Sherry waited, eyes moving from her image, then to Sam’s. Realizing he wouldn’t, she gently pulled the fabric and let the silk sheath float down to cover her feet.

Sam moved forward, encircled her with his arms, and smiled at her apprehensive face. His beaming countenance rested on her shoulder, drinking in the beauty. A renewed blush covered her; less noticeable where it crossed into tan. Her warm skin against his bare arms was a sensation that time only made better. He turned her around and pulled her tight into a passionate kiss.

Stopping to gaze into her hooded eyes, he said, "Once the gift was unwrapped and ‘thank you’ said, I’d take the gift to my room, so I could study it, and learn its secrets."

“Thank you,” he said, and scooped Sherry into his arms, then laid her on the bed.

Propped on an elbow, she watched him disrobed. "Not bad for an old geezer."

A bit self-conscious, he asked, "How old are you?"

"Old enough to know what I want." Sherry held out her arms.

Resistance was futile. Lying down, he covered her in the first, all-inclusive touch of skin on skin, and enjoyed the womanly contrast of soft and firm.

They lay entwined for minutes, kissing. Hands entangled in hair to defer additional exploration, happy to enjoy this beginning.

"Roll over, Sherry."

She obeyed and he knelt beside her.

Starting with a bee sting on her shoulder, he kissed a damp trail down her back, playing connect the dots.

Sherry giggled. "That tickles."

His lips jumped over her buttocks and landed on a welt at the top of her left leg. He felt her body stiffen.

Placing a hand on each rounded globe of her bottom, he began to knead the pale flesh, working his fingers into the tight muscles until she relaxed. His hands moved down, massaging one leg, reaching under to rub her thigh, around her knee, down her calf and then the foot. His thumbs pressed into the soles firm enough not to tickle, each toe given individual attention.

"Mmmmm," she encouraged.

Switching legs, he repeated the act.

When finished, he bent her right leg at the knee and let it drop. She was relaxed.

"You have magic fingers, Sam." Came a muffled statement from the head buried in the pillow.

"You ain't felt nothin' yet."

"Are you bragging?"

"No Ma'am, just the facts." He moved up to her side. "Time to treat the stings on the front."