Day 22
When Caitlyn woke up, she was hungry, and as always there was the disorientation of the unfamiliar surroundings. But these surroundings were coming more familiar by the day, and it was only a few moments before she realized,
Oh, it's the apartment, that's my chest of drawers and we're in the big bed, and the hum is the computer, and it's New Year's Eve (on a
Monday
, of all days!), and it's our own place and Jon is here and I'm happier and freer and better than I've ever been in my life.
She felt Jon stirring behind her. "Good morning, my love."
"Mmmm," he said. "Hi."
"We should get up," she said. "I'm hungry."
"I'm tired," he said. "We should go back to sleep."
"Why? We slept all yesterday."
"That wasn't sleeping, baby."
Okay, so it hadn't been. The nightstand was littered with condoms; they'd spent almost all day in bed, rising only to order a pizza at about 4 PM. True, they had slept in between sessions, catching a nap here and there, but for the most part they'd lain naked together, talking, whispering, laughing... And having sex, of course. They'd run the gamut, too, from raw physical lust to tender, emotional lovemaking, and once he'd simply slid in while they talked, chatting on as if he wasn't buried to the hilt inside her. It was more sex than she'd ever thought possible... And more fun, more relaxing, more loving, than she'd thought possible either.
This must be what honeymoons are like. Why do people travel? It'd be a lot cheaper to just do this at home.
But maybe they were making up for lost time; the previous week had been less than relaxing. After getting moved in, Jon and Caitlyn had spent the entirety of Thursday shopping for needed supplies and materials—dishes, utensils, pots and pans, groceries, a couch, a somewhat larger TV than the 12-incher Jon had bought from a friend three years ago, a stand to hold it to eye level, and even some rugs and wall-hangings. It was the first time Jon had ever been to an Ikea, but not Caitlyn's; unfortunately, her experience with the store did not cover the subsequent furniture assembly (Jon: "This is like Legos, but
worse
"). They had also cooked dinner, a first time for both of them: Jon had dabbled at cooking before, hoping his father's talent at the stove had somehow come down to him, but never pursued it seriously, and Caitlyn was a fine hand at desserts and baked goods but had almost nothing else. The results were relatively edible, but not as good as could have been hoped for, and they'd stayed up a further several hours spreading out rugs, hanging pictures and juggling the arrangement of couch, table, bookshelves and other things.
They had made great progress, and Jon had then had and carried out the semi-inspired idea of inviting his family over for dinner on Friday. When they awoke, they were still tired and somewhat cranky with the unexpectedly-complicated logistics of putting a home together. The previous night's efforts had also not alleviated their concerns about their cooking skills (or lack thereof). It was a mood that not even sex could avert. They had spent the whole day arguing over the menu and then cooking the chosen items (a fairly simple list, to be sure: spaghetti with a slightly-spicy meat sauce which in itself was the most challenging item, homemade garlic bread, a spinach salad and one of Caitlyn's pans of patented brownies for dessert), and while the dinner was a success, they still felt nothing but weariness when they dropped into bed.
On Saturday, they slept in late but rose without their customary morning lovemaking, which Caitlyn was already beginning to miss if it didn't happen. She ended up devoting most of Saturday to harp practice, since she had barely touched the thing all week except to help move it to their new apartment. Moving it on Sunday would be nigh-impossible with only the tiny Celica on their side, but a quick phone call to Jon's parents fixed that problem. Jon had spent most of the day on the computer, trolling Craigslist, calling in favors and trying to get a feel for the job market. He wasn't entirely sure what his skills were worth anymore, and what he should realistically shoot for or expect. He also checked out the local car dealerships, cross-referencing places where he could trade in Buffy for something with more trunk space, and which cars provided that necessary space. A pick-up truck would be ideal: the harp had over 2,000 pounds of pressure on its frame, and if damaged in a car accident it might flat-out explode, throwing chunks and splinters with deadly force. Sheer safety mandated a separate storage compartment: "That's why all my family's cars are SUVs or trucks," Caitlyn explained. Jon agreed, but he simply wasn't sure he could
drive
such a thing.
Sunday after church (without car accidents) had been their first chance for sex since the morning of the 24th, which (Caitlyn thought) might have had something to do with the decision to devote the entire day to it.
Or maybe we were just glad to be free. Jon was right: now that things are out of boxes, this place looks like a
home
now, not just some apartment people are living in. And it's
our
home. We don't have to worry about... We don't have to worry about anything but what we think. ...And maybe the neighbors too. But what they don't know can't hurt them, right?
"Maybe it wasn't sleeping," she said, "but we just got... What, like, nine hours."
"Yeah, but we woke up at three to do it some more."
She remembered that one well. He had slipped in from behind, but then turned them both over and begun to ram into her. She had found herself flattened beneath him, her face pressed into the pillow, his hips connecting with her butt on every stroke, and loved every minute of it. "Okay, so, six uninterrupted hours," she said.
"That's not enough."
"Plus the three or four we had before that?"
"Used it up doing you from behind."
She turned. His eyes weren't even open, but he had a grin on his face.
"You just wanna stay in bed and have more sex," she said.
"Yup," he said, reaching out with one arm and gathering her to him without ever opening his eyes. "Another lazy day in bed sounds fine to me."
It did to her too, but two in a row... Wasn't that kind of excessive? Maybe in a month. Or a week.
Or tomorrow.
"Jon, it's New Year's Eve. We should at least get up and celebrate. Maybe with your folks. Maybe with your friends."
"So, what, that'll start at, like, 10 PM? That still leaves us all day to play around."
"Jon, if we don't get up, you won't ever want to. We'll just end up spending all day in bed again."
"Says you. How do you know?"
Because I wouldn't want to get up either.
"Look. If I have sex with you now, will you get up so we can celebrate the New Year?"
"Oh, I see how it is. Bargaining. We haven't been married for a month and you're already leading me around by my dick."
"Why, sweetie, I thought I was doing that from our first date," she said sweetly.
"Of course," he said. "I only married you for your pussy." His hand slid down her back, over her buttock, down her leg. "And your boobs, of course." He bent to kiss her. "And your mouth... And your tongue..." he murmured into her mouth. "And your sweet neck..." He kissed down the length of her throat as he spoke, and on down her body. "And your cute little ears... But most of all..." His lips landed at the top slope of her breast, the left one. "But most of all your heart. That little beating thing that makes you so kind, and patient, and wise, and brave, and everything you are that makes me love you."
She felt the first touch of his hand at her nether lips while his mouth found her breast. And then she was gone at his fingers on her clit and the deep, satisfying pull on her nipple. She didn't feel her arms clutching him to her, but he did.
Abruptly—it seemed like mere moments, but it might have been an hour for all she knew—his lips left her breast and his hand her pussy, and she felt a moment of vast confusion before his lips landed on her abdomen, kissing their way south. She felt the tickle of his lips and tongue down her stomach, over her navel, and then through the sensitive, tingling patch of hair at the bottom of her body. And then the first touch of his tongue, slipping between her legs. She moaned and arched to him, allowing him easier access, suddenly noticing his arm around her waist, her hands holding his head to her, urging him on, urging her pleasure.
