A Gift For Emmet

Emmet had recently celebrated his eightieth birthday. His beloved wife of fifty-five years lay dying in a hospital bed.

I envied their love and loyalty for one another, sometimes thinking it was too good to be true. They were the picture of devotion in the gentle, and now poignant, things they said to one another when together.

And I had observed their home life before Ella had entered the hospital, and marveled at their consideration for one another. After all those years, familiarity had not left them irritable or short-tempered with eachother, nor given license to wound or jab. They often reached to hold eachother's hand: a token, it seemed, that there was nowhere else, and no one else, with whom they would rather be.

So Emmet had come to the gathering that day without Ella, to share in the feast our mutual friend had prepared.

The tender, juicy meat had just been plucked out of the oven, along with sizzling peppers, onions, and mushrooms. The hostess dropped a mushroom on the ground off the tray she was transporting into the house, where hungry revelers waited.

I was standing outside in the courtyard with Emmet, as he gingerly stooped over to pick up the wayward mushroom, still hot and dripping with grease from the meat. He straightened up and gently brushed a little grass off the mushroom.

"I think it's still good, if you'd like it," he smiled at me.

He held it out to me with his characteristic generosity and I took it, mentally agreeing with him that good food should never be wasted--particularly this succulent mushroom just off the grille.

I put it to my lips, prepared to eat the whole of it, when I was suddenly struck with a thought, and a feeling. I bit into it, savoring its flesh, the juiciness, and slight tang of salt on it, then held out the remainder to Emmet's mouth, which he opened.

I fed it to him, catching his gaze with mine, and suddenly glimpsing the soul within: the ageless, golden soul of this man now burdened with a body that no longer expressed the suppleness and vitality within.

I felt my heart open to him, and a yearning swell in it to do something for him--something of love. I moved closer to him, feeling drawn to him and somehow knowing that this was a Moment out of Time, a window, a chance for something special and unique and outside of Accepted Reality: a wrinkle in time, as it were, that no one but the two of us would ever know about or remember.

My intuition was confirmed when I glanced at the house, and saw that the french doors were closed tight and glazed with a grey fog, where only moments ago they had stood open, admitting the cacophonous sounds of a small crowd having a party.

There was a yellow brightness in the courtyard, and I knew those french doors wouldn't open again until Emmet and I wanted them to.

I looked at Emmet again, and realized that my thoughts had only taken up the space of time it took him to chew the mushroom with great enjoyment, because he was just swallowing it. I watched his adam's apple bob in his throat, and felt a surge of energy run through my body, causing me to thrill with every sensation of the sight and sound of him.

The energy registered immediately in the way I held my body, the subtlest movements I made, and the look I gave him. They were read and recognized immediately by Emmet, who looked suddenly surprised, but pleased.

His eyes darted to the right for only an instant, and back again; and I knew his misgiving.

"She loves you, Emmet. She always will. And if she could, she would do this." I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"And this." I caressed his smooth white hair.

"And this." I moved my lips to his mouth and began kissing him softly, tenderly; tasting the mushroom flavor that lingered there, sucking it from his tongue and kissing deeper.

He responded, as I somehow knew he would; just as I suddenly knew that in his day, he had been a great lover; and that he and Ella had spent many hours together transported in Love.

He put his arms up to me and grasped, kissing me back, allowing the pleasure to fill up his body. We stood for a while, kissing and pressing our bodies together, pulling the Life Force out of the earth, into our legs, up through our torsos, and out our heads, as it surrounded us with a rose-colored glow.

Looking toward the french doors and the porch, I spotted a large lounge covered with a flowered cloth cushion. I put my finger to his lips and broke from his embrace; pulled the cushion off its frame and laid it on the green grass.

I sat down on it, patting the spot next to me, and Emmet came and lowered himself slowly and carefully on it, maneuvering his stiff body as he was accustomed to doing, and removing his shoes and socks.

We stretched out on the cushion, and I molded my frame against his, wriggling and undulating against his clothed flesh, wanting to be close, and closer, and closer still.

I slid my hand up over his thigh and pelvis, and his trousers scarce camouflaged the mound of flesh there, growing bigger and tighter by turns.

"It's been five years," he confessed quietly. "I'd almost forgotten."

He clasped me to him then, pressing it against me, pushing and undulating with me; kissing and tracing my contours with his hands, kneading my back and sides and breasts.

I unzipped his trousers and reached inside his boxers, finding his pole warm and full and pulsing with life. I wrapped my hand around it, squeezing and pulling it toward me; then reached lower to caress and hold the soft, malleable balls.

He reached up my skirt, rubbing the skin of my thighs until he was pulling at the edge of my undies, tracing along them with his fingers; finding the wet, warm jelly-spot where he suddenly plunged in.

I gasped and grabbed him, wanting to grease his pole like it had never been greased before! Pushing my panties to the side, I rolled him on his back and mounted him, sliding oh-so-slow-ly down that smooth, long pole, until I had swallowed it up, cinching tightly with my muscles as it answered with a contraction of its own.

I placed my hands on either side of his head, just above his shoulders, and began to move up and down on him, holding his eyes to mine as the electric waves moved out and out and out over my whole body from that pole.

His eyes were full of love and desire, and bespoke a pain I could only guess at. My heart was full of love, and life, and all that is good; and wanting to give it all to him in that moment, for all the years that were past and the eternity to come. Wanting to give it to him to make up for the betrayal of Time to his body, his life, his wife; for all the trickery and unfairness of old age--for the young man he had once been and the soul that would never age--for something to take into the next life and beyond; for some sort of compensation for the disappointment of life on planet Earth.

All that and more I gave to him as I moaned and wailed with the exquisite agony of pleasure, as I pulled the orgasm out of him and into me, and gave it back again, shuddering and convulsing with the overwashing waves.

It permeated our bodies with a sweet, pervading glow that burned long and languid between us, as if it knew somehow that this would need to last for a long, long time.

I sat up on him and grasped the edges of my shirt with crossed hands and pulled it up over my head, tossing my long hair out of it and dropping it on the cushion. I unclasped the waistband of my skirt and pulled it over my head. Then I reluctantly pulled my leg over him so I could wriggle out of my panties, already askew and twisted.

I unbuttoned his white short sleeve shirt, and he leaned up so I could pull it off along with the soft cotton T-shirt under it, stroking the fine white hair that covered his chest. Then I pulled his trousers off, bringing with them his boxers. I laid beside him as he turned to me, pressing skin against skin, and feeling the late afternoon heat of the sun on our naked forms.

I laid my head on his shoulder, and we murmured hushed phrases for a while, closing our eyes and taking our own Time. We talked of the past and the future, and I gave all the encouragement I could give, and all the love I knew how, to Emmet for the days ahead. There was still much to face, and much-needed grace; but he knew now that the journey to the next life could be navigated successfully; and that he would find his way and not be afraid.

So we rested, and stroked gently, and drifted into an infinite sleep; eventually waking as from a dream, to replace the flowered cushion and don our clothing, and open those french doors to enter and savor the best roasted meat and vegetables and red cabernet we had ever tasted with our friends.