My Son's Best Friend

While Jonah was gone, it was a good time to touch base with Margaret. It had been weeks since we'd talked last. So I called her and asked if she wanted some stuff from my garden. She was enthusiastic about that possibility.

She came over in the evening, after a long day of work. She had her business clothes on, and we sat on the porch at the little table. I had cut up little baby carrots and summer squash I just picked, and made a dip with my homemade yogurt cheese and lots of cilantro, also freshly picked.

"You look so uncomfortable. You want something to change into?" I offered.

"That does sound tempting," she replied.

"Come on, let's find you something."

My cotton dress looked a little incongruous on her - not her style at all - but at least it was comfortable.

Then we settled back in at the table.

"Iced tea?" I offered.

"Please.

"So," she ventured diplomatically. "How are things with you and, uh, Jonah?"

I grinned. "They're good. Really good. I took your advice, and we went grocery shopping together today, and it was - fine."

"My advice?" she questioned.

"Well, yeah. You know - when I saw you last, we talked about not hiding my relationship with Jonah - being open about it. And that's what we're starting to do - slowly."

"Ah, I see," she said.

Well, I suppose it hadn't exactly been advice. It had been more of a conclusion on my part. But since that time, progress had been made, because I was now acting on what had only been an idea at that time. I felt good about that.

"We went camping," I said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. It was really wonderful. Jonah made a weapon and went hunting, and picked wild plants, and cooked it all for our dinner."

"Hmmm. Nice."

"Yes. It was."

Suddenly, I felt like I didn't have much to say. How could I put into words all the things that had changed because of Jonah? I didn't know if she could relate to any of them. She had an occasional dinner with a local bachelor - one of the psychotherapists in private practice, or a doctor from the little hospital, or the guy who owned the downtown bookstore. All very conventional, and in my opinion, boring.

How could I tell her about the wild rides Jonah gave me to places that weren't of this earth? How could I explain what it felt like to swim naked with him in the river? How could I tell her about the admiration I had for him as such a unique person?

These were all things that didn't translate easily into words, or into the mindset in which she lived and worked. I felt mute. It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps that's how Jonah felt a lot of the time.

"So, tell me about you," I tried.

"Well, I have this big mess in my office right now because there's this big land dispute up at the Ranch. Enoch wants to sell off this parcel he says is his, and Ritter says it's not his to sell, and Montoya claims it never should have been subdivided in the first place..."

She shook her head. "I have to go to the Assessor, and get back-records, and surveys, and who-knows-what-all. It's a big headache; and all these men want to do is fight with each-other. None of 'em will budge an inch. Enoch and Ritter hate each-other, and Montoya hates both of 'em. It's just crazy..."

I shook my head too, but I really had no interest in any of it. I always marveled that Margaret could give a care about the stuff she did. To me it was all ridiculous nonsense, and I stayed as far away from that kind of conflict as possible.

But Margaret had this starry-eyed delusion that if she did enough research and unearthed enough facts and followed enough logic and reason, she could find a way to make these men happy. Good luck with that!

She continued to reel off facts and details, and my mind began to wander. I wondered when Jonah would come home, and if he would bring any paintings to show me, and what I would wear tomorrow...

When my thoughts came back to Margaret, she was still rattling off figures, and I don't think she had really noticed I wasn't listening. We just weren't in sync tonight. I wondered if there was any topic we could find to connect on before I begged tiredness, or the lateness of the hour. It was still light out.

She stopped, and I gave a random grunt to indicate sympathy, or something.

"I'm sorry, Margaret," I apologized. "I feel a little distracted tonight."

"Are you okay?" she asked, with genuine concern.

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine. I'm really feeling happy these days. It's just different, you know. My life just feels real different. Like I'm changing, things are changing, and I don't know exactly where they're going to end up, or exactly who I am any more."

Margaret stared somewhat blankly, her furrowed brow indicating that she was trying to understand, but not quite succeeding. I was ready to give up on the evening.

So I went to default mode. "I guess I'm just tired tonight. Maybe this wasn't the best time to get together. We should do something another day - soon."

She looked at me sympathetically, and I laughed self-consciously.

"You know I love you," she offered.

"Of course I do. Let's do lunch soon, or maybe a movie. We haven't done that in a while. That would be fun."

She agreed, and we both stood up.

"Your clothes are in my room," I reminded her.

She followed me back, changed, and hugged goodbye.

"Good luck with that case," I encouraged.

"Thank you. And good luck with..." she stopped, a little flustered. It was seldom that she didn't have the perfect words for any occasion.

"...with...your life," she finally mustered.

I smiled, taking her words at face value. "Thanks."

After she left, I realized I hadn't given her anything from the garden. Oh well, it was one of those times.

* * * *

The garden needed some definite attention, so I gave it. I loved being in the midst of all the growing things. It reminded me of being at the river with Jonah. It had the same feel to it. I carefully watered the plants, cleared out some squash leaves that were starting to get diseased, picked a bunch of peppers for pickling before they got too hot, trimmed some dead tomato vines.

Then I sat in the dirt, wishing the whole world was one huge garden. I lay back with my head pillowed on some dead weeds and went to sleep.

I was awakened by soft footsteps, and looked up to see Jonah standing over me. He sat down cross-legged in the dirt, leaned over and kissed me. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and my eyes fixed on his brown nipples.

"Hello sweetness. I'm glad you're home."

He rested his hand on my belly, massaging it gently while he looked at my face. I stroked my hand up and down his thigh, moving under the leg of his shorts; watching his face, noting the little dots of black on his chin and cheeks, the dark fuzz on his upper lip, the cut of his long jaw line. He put his hand under my shirt and rubbed all over my abdomen and ribs, and I buried my hand further up his shorts, reaching all the way to his pelvis.

He undid the clasp of his shorts, and I reached in from the top, massaging his stomach and playing with the furry growth at the intersection of his legs. I could see the evidence of his arousal growing, and he lifted his butt off the ground so I could pull his shorts down and give it more room. Then I pulled them over his legs and he put them under his butt for ground cover.

He pulled my top off and leaned over to reach my breasts. I grasped his pole with my hand and captured his nipple, the tip of my tongue playing over it.

Mmm. It was just what I wanted. I thoroughly licked and circled it with the tip, then closed my mouth over it and sucked. Then I went to the other one, licking and sucking it into my mouth. His fingers were on my nipples now, and that meant that my cunt was coming to life, so I unclasped my shorts. Underwear was out of the question these days.

He moved his hand down, gliding over my belly, his middle finger sliding through the wetness and moving up and down, finding the bud and massaging it. His mouth covered mine, and his tongue moved around my lips, along my teeth, into my cheeks; then it penetrated my mouth while his finger plunged in below, pressing into the spongy walls, finding my G-spot. I wet my hand and gripped his pole, moving up and down on it, pulling it toward me.

He slid down to lay next to me, and I pulled off my shorts and turned toward him, bringing his cock close to my entrance. It just touched the outside, and he pushed it gently against the barrier, knocking, knocking. As he continued to rock toward me, the aperture gave way slowly, opening gradually, becoming moist, and then wet, and then slick, and then slippery, so that he slid inside further and further and further, until he was holding my hips and pumping all the way to the back, his hips driven with this intense, controlled, undulating motion.

I loved that movement, and I pushed my hips toward it, matching the rhythm, feeling him go deeper and deeper and deeper, finding the underground stream, drawing it up to the surface, drilling a blowhole for the geyser, ready to blow sky high!

Then it blew, and the jets were spraying everywhere, sizzling into mist, leaving us panting, and appeased, and gratified.

Jonah's skin was slick with sweat, and he slid off me and lay on his back in the dirt, the wind wafting over us, drying the moisture.

"I need a shower," I mumbled.

"Me too."

But nobody got up yet. It was too peaceful. Too lovely. Too perfect to move yet.