Remembering Him -

I rolled over in bed, sighing as I felt his fingers move down the curve of my arm. Smiling, I rolled over and reached out to caress him back, but it was just me, alone, as usual.

Clutching my thickest pillow as if to simulate a hug, I reached over to the far nightstand where his photo lay face down. I couldn't bear to see his face. But the loneliness was too much for me. I pulled the chain on the lamp, and brought the frame closer.

There he was. I shed a tear as he smiled, waving down at me, from the top of a rock formation. My mind retraced the romantic events of our last camping trip to the high desert. I shuddered, trying in vain to suppress the tears that threatened the corners of my eyes.

Pulling his picture to my chest, as if to press it to my heart, the floodgates opened, and I cried myself to sleep.

*********

"Scott," I implored, "We're going to get through this together."

Taking a deep breath, my fiance looked me in the eye, "I know we will."

Playfully, my index finger traced the shape of his right hand over the blanket. His left hand reached up and cupped my own, his thumb tracing the bones on the back of mine, comforting my fears. I looked down at the I.V. and up at his sparkling eyes. His face had a rosy glow I hadn't seen in a long time, and I hoped with all my heart that he would get better soon.

*********

I walked into my supervisor's office. "The hospital called and told me he was being discharged. I want to down early, to pack up all his belongings." Sherry, my supervisor, nodded.

When I arrived, he was dressed in his pajamas, sitting up on the edge of the mattress, smiling at me. Next to him were two plastic bags already filled. From his boyish grin, I could tell he was eagerly awaiting the nurse's okay to leave.

I walked up and without sitting, I lightly straddled one of his legs. He looked up at me and the emotion that lay behind his one word, "Michelle.", said it all. I leaned down, and slowly kissed him. One of his hands caressed my short brown hair, before gliding down my neck and shoulder.

"I hope I'm not disturbing anything." The nurse's form filled the doorway. She held a clipboard and had a rolling blood pressure monitor at her side. She looked somewhat annoyed.

"Oh, sorry." I blushed and turned away.

She walked over to Scott and got to work. After recording his blood pressure, temperature, and pulse oxygenation, she ripped open a tiny package and pulled out an alcohol wipe. She untaped the I.V., sterilized the wound, and as she removed the needle and covered the spot with a silly cartoon bandage, it finally felt for real that he was coming home.

We lived separately on opposite sides of town, but as his illness progressed, and he spent more and more days in the hospital, it became clear that we would have to consolidate our residences.

During the weeks that he was undergoing daily infusions for his blood cancer, I went into his apartment, and brought all of his possessions to mine. I didn't have anyone to help me, so I just left the furniture behind, letting his security deposit cover the removal. The extra money would have been nice at a time like this, but I had bigger worries.

He sat in the wheelchair, smiling cheerily as I wheeled him out to the car, his two bags swinging from the handles. We were going home. Together. I hadn't felt at peace in over a month. But here he was, buckled into the passenger seat of my car. Sure he was a little thinner, and a lot balder, but I still saw him as attractive and wonderful as ever. As we pulled out of the parking lot of that awful place, I told myself that I would take care of him, that I would save him.

He slept a lot, that first week home. But when he'd wake up in between naps, he'd smile at me in his twinkly-eyed, sleepy way. His face was still pale, but every day it seemed there was a little more rose in his cheeks.

Day nine, I rolled over, and there he was, sitting up in bed. He was petting my hair. The curtains were open and the sun shone down on him. His skin was illuminated by the sky's morning glow as he leaned down and lightly kissed me.

My mouth opened to receive his kiss, and as his tongue met mine, I felt his hand move down my nightgown. My hand glided over his pajama bottoms, and I felt a familiar bulge. He took a deep breath and panting heavily he laughed, "Not today, I don't think."

He laid down next to me. We became a symbiont circle as his arm wrapped around my body, and mine, his. I closed my eyes, and as I fell back to sleep in the warm glow of the window, the last thing I felt was a gentle whisper of a kiss on my forehead. Soon, we both were back asleep.

The next couple weeks went much like that. Other than work, he was my world. I spent all my time caring for him, and when I was out of the house, he lived at the edge of all my thoughts.

About two months had gone by since he left the hospital. He had canceled a couple of oncology visits. He said he was tired of them making him feel ill, and wanted to enjoy at least a little time at home. Although I was worried, I supported his decision. After all, he was getting better every day.

The afternoon commute was worse than usual. Hailstones pelleted my windshield, and that meant everyone on the highway was going extra slow. I wanted to get gas and stop by the grocery store on the way home, but I was just too exhausted.

I trudged up the apartment stairs, and unlocked the door. Immediately I was taken aback. He had the radio on, and I heard the sizzle of food on the stove. I walked in the kitchen, and found him in nothing but his boxers and socks, sitting on an office chair, frying up fajitas on the stove top. I chuckled at the funny sight. He looked up at me and glided the chair across the kitchen floor. I cracked up as he whizzed toward me, like a playful boy on out of control skateboard. But that turned to shock, as he stopped suddenly and grabbed me around the hips.

"Welcome home." He smiled.

"Did you do all this?" I asked, in wonder, looking over at the bell peppers and steak on the griddle. Tortillas were stacked in a warmer. And there were avocado skins on the counter top, next to a messy bowl of homemade guacamole.

"Yeah, I wanted to thank you for all you've done for me since I got sick." He turned off the griddle and stood up. I trembled a little bit. I had forgotten what it was like to look up at him, standing. Although he had lost weight, his muscle tone was still there, and his black hair was coming back in, curlier than before. It looked good on him, and I could almost forget the hell we had been through over the past couple months.

He put his arm around me and I helped him limp over to the couch. I put down my purse and went over and stirred the fajitas for him, before returning to the living room and plopping down at his side.

He reached over and cupped my jaw, drawing me closer to him. He kissed me very gently and as he opened his mouth, I opened mine.

He was breathing heavier, and so was I. As he was lifting up my shirt, I gasped, "What about dinner?"

His eyes grew large, "Oh that's right!" He got up with a lot more energy than I had seen in a long time, and hobbled back to the kitchen. As he plated the food, I looked in the fridge.

"It's a fancy occasion. How does mimosas sound?" I asked.

"It's alcohol that doesn't taste like alcohol!" He playfully exclaimed. "And it'll get you drunker easier. Do you even have to ask that?"

I laughed and pulled out the orange juice.

Soon we were back at the couch, eating our food. I remarked at what a good cook he was. Yes, the steak stayed a little long on the grill, but I didn't mind. It was still delicious.

Our mimosas were gone, and we had since followed up with a couple glasses of wine. As we got louder and sillier, the glasses turned into good old fashioned swigs from the bottle.

I tried to stand up, and we both laughed as I stumbled and fell back on the couch. "Guess we match now." He said, with a glint of fun in his eye. I tried standing up again, and he caught me around the waist, and pulled me down onto his lap.

I was nearly out of breath, gasping, as he pulled me tight to him and kissed me. His hands were up the back of my shirt, caressing me, and mine were running down his hairy chest. My fingers caught for a moment on his nipples before I grabbed him around the back and kissed him harder.

He reached down and pulled his cock out of his boxers. I felt a tightness in my belly, as a soft, wet spot grew inside my panties. I stood up and pulled off my office slacks. Before I could remove my panties, he pulled me back onto his lap. Sliding my panties to the side, he pressed his cock against my vulva, and I trembled with unspoken pleasure as he entered me.

My knees were up on the couch, and he sat back as I rode him hard, with a lust I didn't realize I had built up inside of me from the two months of going without.

He smiled and groaned as I grasped the back of the couch for leverage, and bounced even faster. His hands around my hips helped me keep rhythm. The angle of his cock against the exquisitely sensitive top wall of my pussy caused me to moan with every bounce. I leaned into his body, my face against his neck, as I came hard, saturating his cock with my juices.

As I was recovering from the trembling, G-spot orgasm, his hips rose up and he began pounding me from underneath. I screamed, and held onto him as he ferociously beat my pussy with his body. My clit was hammered over and over with his thrusts, resulting in repeated orgasms.

At a point where I was so sweaty and tired that I couldn't go on, he quickly pulled out, splashing the both of us with assaults of his warm sperm. I didn't care if it was all over the front of one of my work blouses. My boyfriend was back. He opened his arms for me, as I collapsed onto him, with my head resting on his shoulder, talking about nothing in particular.