It had gotten hot in the evenings, now. Wind poured through the open windows and screen door, and all it served to do was rustle up the newspaper sitting on the kitchen table and spread a shock of heat through the room. There was no cool refreshing breeze to this summer wind. Half past seven o'clock, and the sun still hadn't relinquished its hold over the earth, yet. The shadows cast by the mailbox at the end of the drive and the tiny poplar tree just planted out front, seemed to stretch on for miles.
Letting the screen door bang shut behind me, I walked out onto the front porch to bring in the sun tea I had set out in a jar earlier that morning. It's a poor substitute for an ice cold beer on a day like this -- a glass of iced tea -- but it would do. Shading my eyes with the flat of my hand, I looked out across the fields. Couldn't see you. Knew you must be out there, somewhere. That is, unless you'd gotten lost in the corn. Thinking this made me laugh quietly; it reminded me of some godawful horror movie with screaming co-eds and dumb heroes who save the day. "Lesbians Lost in the Corn: Part II --- the Dykes Meet Doomsday".
I walked back in the house and set the tea on the counter, retrieving a couple of glasses and filling them with ice cubes from the freezer. Pouring the tea into the glasses, I watched as the dark burgundy liquid, almost black the color is so deep, swam down around and over the frosted cubes. The glass filled quickly, and the cubes popped as cool ice met hot tea. That was the only sound in the entire house, other than the soft yet sharp tick-tocking of the living room clock. Sometimes I crave silence, need it as desperately as water or air. But tonight I needed something slow and musical, like good scotch for the ears; or what deep red velvet would sound like, were it to have a sound. Walking to the record player, I brought the arm back over to the grooves of Billie Holiday. Dinner was ready, tea was waiting, and I sat out on the porch, letting Billie croon out through the screen door on the hot summer breeze, and let my body fall into the rocking chair. I lit up a smoke just as I noticed you walking slowly up the path from the barn.
"Come on up here. Made you some iced tea," I said, handing you a glass as you climb the three steps to the porch. You sat in the chair next to mine and groaned. "Thank you for all your help, Mary. I don't know how I would have been able to do this, without you."
"Oh, don't worry, you'll make it up to me," you grinned, your eyes sparkling over the rim of your glass.
"Of course I will," I smiled back. I looked out over the front lawn and the field and the barn. For a brief moment I wondered what I was thinking, buying this place. Then I remember, I was thinking that I'd fallen in love with it the way a person is supposed to fall in love with a woman. I stretched my legs and arms and rose from the chair. "Dinner's ready, when you want it," I said, crossing to the door. "If you want to shower before dinner, I set out towels in your bathroom. I'm going to go for a ride."
People aren't supposed to have lives like this, I thought to myself as I changed into a tank and a pair of levi's, donning my boots and heading back down the stairs. You were already in the shower, I could hear the water hitting the shower wall as I walked past the bathroom door, and for a moment I closed my eyes and imagined you, naked beneath the stream of the water. I shook my head to remove myself from the reverie, and continued on down the stairs and out the front door. I had to force myself to not run for the tack room, to stroll casually like a grown woman with some sense of decorum. There are many things I can't quite get used to about being successful in what I do; but none of them excite me so much as the fact that I make enough money and have enough land to finally have a couple of horses and cows. And one very obstinate goat named Jeffrey that my sister thought would be a hysterically funny housewarming gift.
Having just bought the property eight months ago, I wasn't quite prepared for the twister that set down last month; and though in its finnicky ways it left my barn and house alone, it set down endless debris from other souls less lucky than I. I had been griping about it on the phone with you; wondering how I was going to clear up the land all on my own. When you offered to come down to help-- it's not such a long trip, really, to this tiny Kentucky farm from where you are -- I accepted only with the stipulation that a.) neither of us work too hard, and b.)you spend most of your visit relaxing. And, c.)we remember that you are still married.
As I rode the chestnut mare beneath me out into the fields behind my house and up into the bluegrass hills, I wondered why the fuck I'd made that damn rule. Watching you, laughing with you, wanting you, and being unable to so much as let it show in my eyes because I knew where that would lead... It was driving me insane. What made it worse, was that you seemed to be handling it just fine. The courteous thing to do, I chastised you in my mind, would be to at least appear slightly put out that neither of us can put out.
I turned the mare back towards the house, my blood pounding in my veins and the hot air zipping through my hair, billowing my tank as the horse pounded her way back home. Raised up in the stirrups, I leaned down until my face was just barely above the mare's long, lean neck; her mane whipping against my face and tickling my nose. I lost myself in the sound of pounding hooves on grass and the scent of horse and woman and summer.
I reined her in, after walking the excitement out of her, and set to work on cooling her and brushing her down. Saddle and cloth and bridle all went to their respective hooks and nooks and crannies. I loped back to the house just as the sun was finally slipping beneath the sheets for the night. You were on the couch, in your boxers and t-shirt, by the time I walked in the door.
"Did you eat?" I asked with a smile.
"Yes, thank you." You seemed nervous... shy. Now that the work of the day was over and there was nothing between you and I but half of a living room and will power. I stood in the archway and stared at you, the flickering light of the television casting its shadows over your face.
"What are you watching?"
Your answer was so soft, I almost didn't hear it. "You," you whispered.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak or focus on anything other than your eyes locked with mine and the electric heat that was spreading through my belly, my chest, and my sex. Jesus, I wanted you. I wanted my hands in your hair and your face in my pussy and my breasts in your mouth and your skin beneath my hands and your cries, your moans, entangling with my own the way our legs and arms entwined. I wanted to ask you to sleep in my bed. I wanted to say, "Turn off the television, Mary... for God's sake, make love with me." I wanted to cross the room and straddle your lap. I wanted to slip out of my tank and jeans in front of you and watch you rise from the couch and come to me, pulling me hard against you, claiming my mouth as your posession as your tongue sends rippling need through my body and your lips devoured mine in passionate desperation. I wanted to feel you hard against me, fucking me into oblivion as I rode you hard and fast, screaming for more. I wanted to know what it felt like, my hot wet sex grinding against yours, my throbbing clit rubbing against yours. I wanted to discover your taste, your scent, your need. I wanted to hand my body over to you.
I quickly walked out of the room and into the kitchen, gasping for breath and trying to calm down. I needed something to focus on, other than the images tearing through my head, and began opening drawers and cupboards in search of something I knew I wouldn't find in my kitchen... a way to keep myself from falling into you.
"I'm sorry," your soft voice came from behind me, in the doorway. Turning around slowly, I met your eyes in the darkness.
"Don't be." The ache to kiss you was so strong, it was ripping me apart.
"Maybe I shouldn't have come."
Were we online, our usual carefree banter would have had me saying "You haven't cum...yet," and as this pops into my mind, the realization that I can't say that to you now, here, just a few feet from your arms, also enters my thoughts. So instead I opt for sentiment rather than sex. "Of course you should have. It's meant so much to me -- and I love having you here, Mary. You know I do." I let my gaze travel out of the kitchen window across the back field, searching for something else to say. I could see the lake out back, glittering like mercury in the light of the full moon. More of a pond, I suppose, I checked myself; but it's still my own natural swimming pool. All at once, a cold swim sounded like the very thing I needed. To clear my body of this burning need for you; to clear my head of these agonizing thoughts of you; to stop my heart from running to your hands once and for all. I returned my gaze to your sweet eyes and smiled. "We're big girls," I said quietly, "we can do this. Even if you do look absolutely fetching in your boxer shorts." I turned around to close the cupboard behind me. "I am, however, going to go for a swim in the lake -- pond, out back," I said to you, over my shoulder. "Need a bit of an immersion tonight, I think. Do you need anything before I go?"
I turned back around to face you in the darkness, and saw you begin to say something, stop, and shake your head. You remained in the doorway, and it quickly became apparent to me that you weren't going to move; I was going to have to walk right past you, my body brushing against yours, in order to leave the room. The thought made my heart beat faster, and I knew if you reached out and so much as touched my arm as I walked past, there'd be no hope of behaving myself. But as I crossed the room, and moved slowly past your body, you kept your hands --- if not your eyes --- to yourself.
Women are so strange, and I am one of the strangest; because even though I had laid down the rules, even though I had been praying you wouldn't reach out to me as I walked past, I still felt the unmistakable sensation of sadness, disappointment and hurt that you kept your hands to your sides. Maybe that is why I did what I did next. I turned immediately for the front door and called out I would see you in the morning. "Don't you need a bathing suit?" You asked. Turning slowly, I smiled at you. "Won't be wearing one, hon. Cool water feels best on naked skin."
Unfair, I know. You can cry foul till the cows come home -- although mine already are home -- but I can't say that I'm sorry. And I don't think you really are, either.
I let the door bang shut behind me, smiling wickedly as I trotted down the front steps and turned to walk around the house. The heat of the day still lingered all around me, even though night had control of the skies. Following the path lit up by the moonlight, I sang to myself as I closed the distance to the pond. When Lynn and I were still married, she had told me that my voice sounded like silver angels; for some reason, that made sense. I thought about her briefly as I shed my clothes at the edge of the pond. I still loved her, in many ways. But we were far better off apart than together.
The water, as always, and as it never fails to baffle me, was intensely cold, no matter the heat of the day. I fought against the trepidation and doubt. "Do not go quietly into that good freezing-ass water," I prepped myself. Taking a deep breath, I fell forward, letting the baptism surround my flesh and soul. I turned around beneath the skin of the water, and shot upwards to break the surface, smoothing my long hair out of my face. I felt the heat, both weather-related and you-related, slowly begin to seep from my body as I swam slowly across the length and breadth of the pond. Flipping onto my back, I sighed as the quiet night wind rippled across the water, my face, and my breasts. A splash came from my right, and I slowly swam away from it. I didn't want to have my serenity broken by an errant fish. All at once my body was grabbed and pulled, and even though one little firing synapse in my brain said, "Don't worry, it has to be Mary," the rest of the firing synapses made my yelp like a little girl.
