Coming Back Home

She hammed up a recoil, waving her hand as if to dispel fumes. "Don't light any matches in here."

"Fuck everyone."

The humor left her eyes. "What's the matter, Will?"

"Nothing." I re-capped the bottle and moved back toward the den. She followed me. As I turned to settle back into my chair, my stomach muscles spasmed and I gasped. She was there instantly.

"What's the matter?"

"I got punched," I admitted.

"Let me see." Again, she out-stubborned me. When I unbuttoned my shirt, she gasped. I looked down at my stomach. The blood pooling up under the surface of my skin had turned it reddish-brown. It was going to be colorful in a day or two.

She wormed the story out of me. At the mention of Patrick's name, her mouth tightened.

"Hey, speaking of the Mackeys," I asked, "why aren't you out with Drew tonight?" It didn't come out as cleanly articulate as that; I was feeling my drink.

"How can you ask that?"

"I thought you two were a thing. And it's Saturday." That sounded selfless, and I wasn't, not by a long shot. It took a ton of effort not to lump Drew in with his father. But just because Patrick was an asshole didn't mean I had to be one. Being waspish about Madison's boyfriend would definitely be asshole material, so I made the effort.

"But ..."

"If he makes you happy, my beef with his dad doesn't mean anything."

She contemplated me with an owl-like expression that dragged on for a small eternity to my drunken brain. The horn rims that she'd finally admitted to needing sometimes—I'd seen them in her stuff way back that first night, so they weren't a surprise—added a serious note to "fresh-faced teen," a cute study in contrast.

"Well, the truth is, I'm not with him anymore." At my befuddled look of surprise, she explained. "I was willing to cut him some slack at the beginning because of what you said ... you know, he was listening to his dad. And, like, when Avery said a few things and he agreed—"

What?

"—I was still okay because I wasn't sure either. But after I told him what I heard Anne say, he was all, like, 'You don't know what you're talking about.' So, I dumped him."

"Umm, sorry?"

She shrugged and settled into the other chair. She looked at the TV. "Why do you watch this crap?"

"I dunno." I tried to focus. "If I stop judging and just watch, it's kind of funny."

"The jokes are totally corny."

"Yeah. That's what's funny." And then the alcohol made me say something honest. "And they remind me of back when this was my town."

She didn't say anything. She pulled a comforter up and tucked it around her feet. When the episode ended, she watched the glass go from the end table to my mouth and back, empty.

"Can I have one of those?" We hadn't dealt with an in-house policy on underage drinking.

"Why?"

"Because I'd like a little alcohol, and I don't totally hate the taste of whiskey."

"Okay." I started to stand, thought better of it when my gut complained. "Pour me another too."

Later, I don't know how much later, I felt myself being shepherded. "I can stay here," I protested foggily. "I sleep down here a lot."

"Shh."

"Maybe one more." I was in that danger range: drunk enough that another sounded like a good idea, not drunk enough that my stomach was rebelling.

"Shh."

I was pushed and tugged and coaxed until I'd swallowed some water and had some vague discussion involving aspirin. I wasn't much help. The bed felt warm. I hadn't used it much in the last year except when Avery was over; I'd gotten too used to falling asleep in my armchair while zenning out on something mindless.

I snuggled into the cozy warmth and let blackness come.

I awoke to a face staring at me from the other side of the bed. It was disorienting because it wasn't right. The dark brown eyes were okay, but it was framed by hair the color of beautifully aged mahogany instead of the toffee color of oiled teak ... the shade I expected in my half-waking bleariness. There were freckles, also unexpected.

"Good morning," Madison said with a smile.

"Umm."

In panic, I did a quick check. I was bare-chested, but sliding my hands down, I encountered cotton. At least I had underwear on. I could see the neck of her blue T-shirt peeking above the covers.

"You need to go brush your teeth," she said.

"Umm."

"Please." She wrinkled her nose.

I did, twisting away as I slid out from under the covers to hide the morning wood. Glancing back as I shut the door, I saw a smirk that said I probably hadn't fooled anyone. Like an automaton, I brushed and peed and ran a wet washcloth over my face. Then I went back to face the music. She lifted the edge of the covers.

"Come on."

I got past "umm" this time. "What's going on?"

"Jesus, Will. I've been here since I put you in it last night. Come on. This is letting the cold in." She shook the edge of the covers.

There was a touch of early morning chill, so I slid into the bed, careful to keep my distance. "What's going on?" I repeated.

"Last night I decided about the kind of guy I want in my life. I decided to sleep with him. Unfortunately, he decided to get wasted and that screwed up my plan."

"What happened?" The previous evening wasn't a total blur, but I didn't remember her joining me in bed, so clearly, there was some part I missed.

"You faded out fast. You did sorta snuggle around me. You said it was warm and my hair smelled nice and"—she giggled—"you did kinda spend the night holding my boobs."

"Oh my God. Madison—"

She shushed me.

"I didn't mind. The only thing bad was that I was, like, horny and nothing was going on."

"So, we didn't ...?"

She shook her head.

"You ... umm ... in the middle of the night you were kinda ready ... if you know what I mean. But it felt a little too rape-y when you were obviously not sober."

She paused for a long moment.

"You're sober now."

We locked eyes in a drawn-out moment fraught with unsaid things. Then she squirmed under the covers and her arms came up, drawing the blue T-shirt over her head. She tossed it to the side and looked back at me, the covers dropping down a foot or so from her actions.

Of course I looked. They weren't even remotely the curves Avery had, and that was beyond fine with me. Yeah, I had been distracted by big tits for a while. They were a novelty to me, something I hadn't encountered in my limited sex life. But what I've always loved, always fantasized about, always checked out when I hoped no one was looking, was the girl-next-door look. Kate Mara over Kate Upton any day of the week.

I looked back at her eyes and was surprised by the tentative look in them, belying the confident front of the last few minutes. She was afraid of being rejected. Even a social maladroit like me could tell that.

"I want this," she said. A simple statement of desire and reassurance.

I said nothing, a conflict raging in my mind. She was eighteen——those weren't the eyes of some naïve high school kid.

She slid her hand across the bed and ran it up my arm, raising goosebumps everywhere she touched.

She was eighteen——I'd turned down her offer once; she knew she didn't need to do this.

Her hand trailed across my shoulder. She smiled a little as she caressed the muscle that long hours of chopping a winter's worth of wood for both my house and Doug's had put there.

She was eighteen——"I'm an adult," she had declared to everyone who saw her video and meant it.

Her hand slid down over my chest, over my belly. Then, drawing confidence from the fact that I still made no move to stop her, she slid it under the waistband of my underwear and surrounded my cock with the warmth of her fingers.

She was eighteen, and she was sexy as hell, and I was thirty-five ... and I wanted her too.

My mind, which can find a glass-half-empty side to anything, even the delicious sensation of hand-job foreplay, suddenly seized up. We'd never hide this, not for long. And then everything people said about my taking in Madison would be true.

Except no, not true. She had my help no matter what. If she suddenly stopped and climbed out of bed with a muttered "this is a mistake," she was still welcome in my house with no more consequences than a bit of mutual embarrassment.

Except yes, or so they'd assume. A town willing to believe what they had about Anne and me, wasn't going to hesitate in assigning motive if I was actually sleeping with a woman half my age.

It was almost a mini-panic attack. I hadn't set out to bang a teenager, but ...

... but nothing.

I hadn't set out to bang teenager, and the fact that both of us came to want it was the only thing that mattered to the two people whose opinions counted.

I sighed, both in acceptance and pleasure, and my hand traced a line up her flank to settle on the curve of her hip. I leaned across and kissed her.

We feasted on each other's lips and tongues. One of her hands caressed along my shoulder and upper arm, the other occasionally stroked my length in fits and starts as she remembered she was holding it. Smiling, I reached down and grasped her wrist, pulling gently.

"Put your arms around me," I said. I used one of my legs to split hers, bending it up so that my thigh pressed against her mound. Then I went back to kissing her, letting my hand trail over the curve of her butt and along her ribs in that borderland of pressure between tickle and caress that sends shivers. I felt her hand tighten against the back of my neck and her tongue grow more searching.

I shifted my attention to behind her ears and the hollow of her throat, smiling at the ever-so-faint motion as she rocked herself against my leg. I listened to her breathing get heavier. Shifting lower, I kissed her shoulder, along her collarbone, the hollow between her breasts. I ignored the small mewl as she lost contact with my leg.

I grasped the inside of her thigh, high enough that the inner edge between my thumb and index finger became a ridge, a narrow line that concentrated contact as a replacement for my thigh. My mouth captured a small, pink nipple. She gasped. I drew first one already-hard nub in and then the other with my tongue and just the merest hint of teeth as she worked herself against my hand, all subtlety about what she was doing gone.

I felt the first bit of dampness coat my hand. I left her breasts and kissed my way down over her ribs and belly button, sliding my body lower as I went. When I reached the line of her panties, I rolled her flat onto her back so that both of my hands could be used. I kissed my way down behind the retreating cloth: the slight convexity of her lower belly, the close-cropped dark fur, right atop the damp pink that peered out below it, along the inside of a thigh, alternating with little nibbles once I got there. I reached down and drew the sodden garment off over her feet, then turned back and dove into the apex of her legs, pushing them wider with my hands.

I licked and I teased and I delved. I feasted on her because I love going down on a woman. I love the squirms and the catches of breath. I love the hands in my hair and the heels on my back.

"I'm ready," she said, pushing at my head to lift me. "You can go inside me now." She reached over to the nightstand and picked up a foil-wrapped packet I hadn't noticed.

"What are you talking about?" I was truly startled; her squirms and gasps had made it clear she liked this. Then I realized she thought I was getting nothing out of this. I grinned up at her.

"We're going to be at this for a long time. This is half the fun. Oh, well, maybe only a third of the fun because you have to figure in blowjobs plus actually doing it. I'm not sure of the proper ratio." I was deliberately acting clownish. "Or maybe just twenty-eight percent because I think playing with breasts is great. I mean copping a feel when no one's looking—"

"You're such a nerd," she said, her usual accusation. But she lay back in a boneless sprawl, a huge grin on her face.

I returned to what I was doing, reveling in it, gradually drawing her to a small, purring orgasm. I ignored her expectation that now I'd ask for her to return the favor. I switched to soft kisses while I waited out a woman's refractory period that every man on the planet would kill for, watching for the slight rise in her hips, the slight loosening of her legs that said, "More would be okay."

Then I got more determined. I found what brought the biggest "mmm" sounds and did more of that with lips and tongue and fingers until her hands tightened and her breathing grew raspy. I didn't stop when the sighs turned to moans nor when her muscles began to clench. I didn't stop as she began to squirm in earnest. I rode out a bucking monster of an orgasm with my mouth glued to her sex, never letting up until she practically screamed.

The hands loosened but didn't let go. She tilted my head back to expose my dripping face.

"Oh my God, Will. That ..." She shook her head. We stared at each other for a long moment, her expression delighted but not satiated, mine I hope with a twinkle that conveyed how much I'd enjoyed that. "Please," she said, lust making her voice husky. "Give me one minute and then can we fuck?"

Conscious of my stomach, she urged me onto my back and threw her leg over me. It didn't take me long, even wearing a condom. Her eyes were glued to mine as she watched the ineluctable result of burying myself into a tight warmth while watching a lithe, sexy body sway over me. The endorphins of ecstasy overcame the small jolts of stomach discomfort. I felt the molten sensation boil up out of my center despite my efforts to stave it off a little, just one tiny second longer, and spill into her willing body.

"Am I too heavy?" she asked when my brain unscrambled.

"No."

"Okay." She leaned down and kissed me. "I want to go again so I come this way." She smiled when I nodded. We took our time, making out and fondling, and then she moved down and took me in her mouth and got me hard again, and we did it again until it was her turn to cry out in pleasure, and then continue until I did.

Hours later spooned against me, she murmured. "That was different."

"How so?"

"Well, I never spent an entire night with a guy. That was a first."

"But we didn't do anything during the night."

"Well"—I heard a little huff of humor—"that could be another first tonight."

She wiggled back, pulling my arms more firmly about her.

"Can I tell you something kinda icky as a way of telling you how much this was special?"

"Uh, I guess."

"I know I once told you I was on the pill for my complexion. I was. But I also had a boyfriend." That wasn't a shocker. "But he never had oral sex with me. I mean, like, him on me."

I got uncomfortable immediately at the personal topic, glad we weren't face to face. "I'm sorry."

"No. That's not the icky part." She squirmed to find a better fit. "And also—" She stopped talking for a moment. When she continued, I could hear a faint artificiality, like she was pretending it was no big deal.

"Drew sorta went through the motions, but I could tell it was just 'cause he, like, thought he owed it to me because I did it for him. And he didn't really know what he was doing."

I understood her tone then, telling me she'd slept with Drew. I felt a little flare of jealousy. I fought it down. We all have our history. She paused after saying that; I guess waiting to see if I'd react. I stayed silent.

"But he isn't the icky part either, just background." She took a deep breath. "The icky part is the one older guy I had to ... sleep with ... because—" She broke off, gave a little shake of her head as if saying that, no, she didn't want to go there. She felt my arms tense and pinned them with hers more tightly.

Another long pause. I was trying to figure out how to respond. It broke my heart, but I was just so inept at this stuff. Ask so she knows that she has someone to talk to? Don't ask because it's her private life?

I thought about what I'd want and realized that was as good a guide as any. I murmured, "I'm sorry. Talk about it if you ever need to, and if that time is never, that's okay too."

She gave a little twitch and then burrowed back into me even more tightly as if she were trying to get every square inch of our skin in contact. "That guy knew what he was doing, but for him, it was just to get me ready because I wasn't turned on. I decided maybe that was what it was all about for men. An obligation or a means to an end." Her statement when we'd been having sex suddenly made sense.

"Until you."

She turned her head in the circle of my arms to kiss my bicep. "Thank you." I felt a drop of moisture hit my arm and realized she was crying.

"Armour."

"Will." The handshake and grin were genuine. Armour was a Dannreuther, a second cousin once removed. He owned the local Ford dealership.

"I'm bringing a good friend of mine around tomorrow. She needs something super cheap but reliable. I'd consider it a big favor if you'd treat her like family without making a big deal about that."

"You lookin' for her to get something at cost?"

Armour did that for his immediate family. The rest of us got the you're-kin treatment. Whether it was a fully loaded Mustang or an old beater for someone who just got their license, Armour was more than fair to us and we repaid him with loyalty. But he'd offered an at-cost deal to me when I bought a new truck post-Anne, his gruff way of showing support once the rumors started. I'd refused, as I did now.

"Nope. Treat her like me when I bought that first F150."

He smiled at the memory. "That did well by you. Benjy bought it when you traded it in," he said, referring to another cousin.

Madison was nervous the next day. It had become clear that her life as a suburban, middle-class girl hadn't included a lot of responsibility, and the life-skills she'd had to acquire in her run from home were in a different category altogether.

"You can be honest with Armour about your budget," I said. "He won't cheat you and he won't try to upsell you into something you can't afford."

"Mark here'll show you what we've got in used cars," Armour told her, handing her over to a younger man. "You and me'll talk when you find something you like."

I sat in the corner of the showroom, knocking off a fair bit of The Art of Fielding while I watched her go for several test rides, her nerves visibly dissipating as she adjusted to the fact that she was buying a car.

Several hours after we set out, a beaming Madison pulled her new-to-her, bright red Escape into my driveway and climbed out. "Her name's Kendall," she announced to me.

When she got back from Bothwell that day, she stuck her head into my room. "Let's go get pizza."

"I'm working."

"Stop working and let's go get pizza. I'll drive."

I laughed at the obvious "I just bought a car" excitement, grabbed a coat, and climbed into the passenger seat.

On the way home, she took a detour out by the lake. Pulling into one of the dirt lanes along its shore, she said, "Let's christen Kendall."

"What?"

My slow-moving brain was jerked up to speed as she popped her seatbelt, turned, and demonstrated that a central console wasn't too much impediment to a lithe, young woman's agility. Straddling me, she leaned to her left and hit a button. As I went backward, she said, "It has power seats!"

It had probably been sixteen or seventeen years since the last time, but getting laid in the front seat of a car was still just as exciting and unbelievably awkward as it had been back then. We were both laughing at the contortions it entailed despite her wearing a skirt. Even bumping her head on the roof brought smiles along with the "Ow!"