Hanukkah's Gifts

"Here, let me." He undid it and pulled it out altogether, letting it fall on the floor.

She undid the button on his fly and pulled down the zipper, fingers fumbling a little. And then, when her fingers felt the naked skin and twined in the curls of his pubic hair, her breath quickened and she sucked it in, biting her lip again. He liked that thing she did with her lip, taking a corner of it into her mouth which pushed the rest of her lower lip outward, making it even fuller than it was.

She wore a silky black top that put her breasts nicely in evidence, a zipper going all the way up from the bottom to about an inch above where he imagined her cleavage must be. He ran his hands up her sides slowly and ended by cupping the underside of her breasts, a nice full fit in his large hands.

He felt her slide her hands down, pulling his jeans open farther, one holding the flap open while the other reached for his cock with a soft but firm touch. It was his turn to suck his breath in as he felt her fingers close around him, smooth and warm. She squeezed him, just the right pressure, then let her fingers wander over the head, exploring the mushroom head with one finger, dipping it into the crevice across the top. Her other fingers held him right below the head, when she began to slide her hand up and down. Slowly at first, then faster. His cock twitched in her hand and he, helpless to control himself, bucked into her hands and closed his eyes briefly.

She kept stroking him while he, enjoying the tightness and softness of her grip, leaned in and, looking at her the while, gripped the zipper pull on her shirt with his teeth and slid it down. Her hands stopped in mid-motion on his cock. He pushed the shirt off her, and slowly slipped her bra straps down her shoulders. Their eyes were fixed on each other's, registering every twitch, every intake of breath, sigh, chewed lip. He undid the bra clasp in the back and pushed the cups down to release her breasts. Large and soft, topped with pink nipples that stood erect and contrasting the pale white skin surrounding them, they beckoned him, and he brought his hands underneath their curves, pushing them up and together. He dipped his tongue into the cleft he'd made and licked up, then went back and sucked one of the nipples between his lips, gnawing on it softly.

"Harder, please!" she whispered.

He complied with her request and bit first one, then the other, chewing on them though not daring to bite down too hard.

She sighed loudly, "Oh, god!" and pushed her breasts forward against his hands, filled to capacity with her flesh.

And then she smiled, a "come hither" look in her eyes, and turned away from him. She looked over her shoulder at him as she leaned on the bed one hand and lifted her skirt over her bum with the other. She rubbed her butt cheeks against his erect dick, back and forth a few times. He, hands on her hips, watched as her globes rubbed across him, mesmerized by the contrast between the white flesh of her buttocks and the dusky almost purple skin of her vulva plainly visible and seeping even more of the same viscous fluid he'd already tasted.

He took his shaft in hand and started to stroke the tip across her nether lips, pushing a little between them now and then but being careful not to go too deep. He was teasing both of them mercilessly and he was having a hard time holding back. All he could think about was sinking himself between those purple lips, deep into her wet mysterious channel, wondering how it would feel. That first time sliding into a woman, impaling her with his cock, was always delicious.

"Please...," she asked, eyes pleading.

And he did what both of them wanted, his cock parting the cleft open, sliding into her impossible wetness, her tight cunt yielding its mystery to him.

"Aghhh," he grunted, helpless to hold himself back from moving in and out of her. She pushed herself into him, demanding, setting a harder rhythm with her hips, and so he let himself go, lost himself in the tempo of their skin slapping together, feeling his balls swing against her.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god!" She cried, and squeezed his cock with her cunt, moving even faster against him.

He bent over her and took her swinging breasts in his hands, feeling the plump flesh fill his hands, squeezing her nipples as she squeezed his shaft in return. It was too much.

He arched his back, crying "Simone, I'm cumming, Simone!" and exploded, his cock spurting his cum deep into her. As his throbs and spurts continued, he felt her spasm around his cock, letting her moans and cries escape, holding him tight.

When they were done, she stretched her arms out ahead of her and pushed her pelvis into him, stretching like a cat on his bed. He let himself collapse on the bed and pulled them both on their side, spooning her into his own larger frame. He laid his lips against her back and hugged her.

"That was spectacularly good, Simone. Thank you."

She nodded and laid silent in his arms for a minute or two, then turned in his arms and looked in his eyes.

"That was lovely, indeed, Martin."

He rolled over on his back, and pulled her on top of him. She let herself relax, draped over him like a warm throw on a crisp autumn evening.

"Stay with me, Simone."

She nodded and mumbled into his chest. "I will, tonight."

The next morning, Simone woke up in a strange bed in the arms of a strange man spooning her tightly and warmly to his chest. It felt sinfully good, until she thought about Pete. She should not have done this thing with Martin, whatever it was.

However distraught she'd been over her mother. However comfortable and natural it had seemed last night. However drunk she'd been, no excuse. Even if Pete had not answered her messages and emails, that didn't mean anything. He must just be preoccupied with work.

She needed to get going. She reached over to where her phone might have been if this had been her hotel room, and of course found nothing. She moved gingerly to look around for her stuff. When she turned, she looked straight into his dark green eyes, alert and watching her.

"Umm, good morning, Martin. I hope I didn't wake you. I'll gather my stuff and get going, get out of your hair..."

"Good morning, Simone," he smiled. "Are you in a hurry? Meeting the doctor this morning?"

"No, he won't know anything till later in the day. But... I'll have to do some work, catch up."

"I won't keep you if you need to go. But why not let me make you some breakfast?"

"Ummm. Sure...," she said, but he could tell she wasn't at all sure.

He reached out and stroked her cheek lightly with the back of his hand.

"So soft," he said.

She closed her eyes, partly enjoying the simple warmth of his gesture, partly keeping out all the disturbing thoughts and images intruding on the moment.

"Martin, I'm... I'm attached. I have a long term... relationship," she blurted.

He held her eyes, stayed quiet for a beat or two, then nodded. "I'm not too surprised, Simone. Anyway, I hope you're not too disappointed in last night. Or with me. Or with yourself."

She closed her eyes for an eye blink. When she opened them, she seemed a little sadder. Like her thoughts and real life had swarmed in, filled all the available space with doubts.

"I'd understand if you were," he said.

"Were what?"

"Disappointed."

"Only in myself."

"Don't stir up and muddy the waters of perfection," he sang in a lilting voice.

"What?"

"It's a line from a song I wrote once, a long time ago. You reminded me of it."

She smiled a slow, wry smile, her lips opening in an asymmetric grin this time, yet brightening her face and making it sexier still.

"As far as I'm aware, there's no such thing as perfection. Not in my life, at least. How about yours?"

"Nah. I tried perfection. Didn't take. Mucked it all up."

He stroked her smooth cheek again, barely a wrinkle anywhere unless he counted the laugh lines at the corner of her eyes. Stroked her dark-brown hair, twirling a wave around a finger. Outlined her lips with the tip of his finger, then drew her into a deeper kiss, his tongue dissipating all thoughts clamoring for her attention.

"If you don't have to jump up this minute, perhaps..." he said, his hand sliding down slow and smooth, between her legs. His kiss was intoxicating. So was the finger that burrowed between her moistening folds, alighting on her clit with uncanny precision.

"Ah...!"

He slid under the covers, down, down, down, and she gasped when she felt his mouth reach its destination.

"We may as well let her go home and get some better rest. The tests are not telling us anything conclusive, nothing to point to anything concrete," Dr. Hillberg said, later in the day.

"I've asked that they make an appointment for her in about four to six weeks' time, to follow up. Check on how she's doing."

Had it not been for the night before and earlier this morning, Simone might have been angrier, more frustrated. As it was, Martin had somehow softened her edges, soothed her nerves. There was something about Martin, a gentle humor, a calm.

"Thank you, doctor. We'll see you then."

Simone had wrapped things up at the hospital for her mom and had arranged to transport her home. She'd arranged to stay another week at her mother's house. Simone spent her time cooking their meals, sharing quiet reminisces about her days growing up, the happy times. Together, they'd rummaged in boxes with old photos of family and friends, laughed at outdated clothes and hairstyles. They'd even found a menorah in one of the boxes, and Simone had bought candles for it, lighting the sixth candle, then placing the shammash, the helper, in the center. Just a couple of days out of the hospital, her mother was walking around, not as full of energy as she'd been before the hospital visit but well enough that she didn't use the cane the hospital staff had insisted she take home. Around the house she was pretty much back to normal, although Simone noticed her mother was quieter than before. She seemed preoccupied with something.

They took short walks around the block in the cooling evenings, or to the nearby park. Sometimes they stopped at the coffee house a few blocks away, drinking tea and sharing a dessert. Her mother told her stories of her own childhood and of Simone's growing up. She'd heard most of the stories before. Some she remembered from many tellings, others sounded only vaguely familiar.

Simone had made arrangements with her step-brother to look in on her mom every few days, and to call as often as he could. As much as Simone was gratified that her mom had seemed to become part of her step-father's family and was clearly liked and admired, that same realization made her sad. Why was it that life was so full of binary choices? As if one could belong to only one family. You had to choose. If you made a home in one place, you couldn't also make a home in another. It felt as if her mother had chosen her second family over her first one, had turned away from Simone and memories of Simone's dad.

"Mona, thank you," her mother had said, one late night after they'd drunk their cups of hot cocoa together.

Simone had hastened to shake her head, but her mother reached out and squeezed her hand.

"No, really. Thank you!" her mom had insisted. "You've been a wonderful daughter. I'm so proud of you, so proud."

Simone's chest nearly hurt. She should be happy that her mother had said that, felt that. But why did it feel like a good bye?

"Are you happy, Mona? You should be happy. It's important. Don't do only what's right, my dear. You need to do what makes you happy."

"What are you saying, mom? That's not exactly the advice I would have expected you to give me."

"Are you happy? Pretty simple question."

Simone was floored.

"You seem," her mother kept on after a brief pause, "I don't know, distanced from your life somehow. As if you've set out all the possibilities very carefully, turned them this way and that, weighed them all very carefully. Then you ticked them off against a list and settled on the ones that were right, not necessarily the ones that made you the happiest."

Simone was speechless. Having this kind of conversation was not like her mother at all.

"How's Pete?"

Ah, was this what her mother was getting at?

"What do you mean? Fine, I presume."

"You presume? Darling, you're usually full of news of Pete. Pete did this, Pete did that. You haven't spoken much of him since I got out of the hospital. Come to think of it, not much while I was in the hospital, either."

"No. He's been busy at work. We haven't had much of a chance to talk, between my being at the hospital and he buried as usual in his stuff."

"It's not my place, Mona, I know. But, well... we don't have much time."

"What are you talking about, mom?"

"I'm old and frail, dearest. There won't be too many more recoveries. And we hardly have - or rather, have hardly ever taken - the time to really talk. Maybe you were too shy to ask. And I often thought you'd not be interested."

Simone was torn - this is a conversation she'd wanted to have with her mother for such a long time, but now that they were having it, or on the brink of having it, she cringed from it.

"You know, I loved your dad, and respected him like no one else." Her mother paused, took a breath, then went on. "And I wouldn't trade the times we had together, or you, for anything or anyone. But... he was not the love of my life. I sometimes wonder, if I had to do it all over again..." Her mother's voice trailed off.

"Who was it, mom?"

"Do you remember our friend, Bernard?"

Simone nodded, careful not to break her mother's reminiscence of her father's oldest friend.

"Bernard! Did you ever...?"

"Cheat on your dad? Well... I am not proud of how I felt, Mona - I suppose if I were Catholic, my adulterous thoughts would have counted as sin. If I would have been braver, or had had more opportunity to, I probably would have cheated. Bernard and I loved each other that much, that intensely... But the circumstances were... very complicated. I wonder sometimes, how my life would have been different, had Bernard and I..."

Her mother went quiet. Simone was confused, and her chest really hurt now. She had never known any of this.

"Bernard had been sort of promised by his parents to another girl, the girl he ended up marrying. In those times, in those communities, arranged marriages were pretty common, and kids did what our parents told us to do. It was the expectation, and we hardly ever went against it.

Bernard's parents and his fiancé's parents had made a pact, something good for business, for their companies. Bernard tried to talk to his parents and tell them he didn't love her, that he loved me. It didn't work. Plus I had nothing to offer. My family was poor, uneducated. At the time my prospects seemed pretty dismal. His parents didn't want anything to do with me.

He was sent away to medical school. I stayed behind and went to a teachers' college. We had a hard time keeping in touch, wrote some letters to each other. I met Bernard's friend, your dad. He was very sweet to me, really sweet. Attentive, kind. Liked kids.

Anyway... when your father asked me to marry him, I said yes. A few years later,Bernard returned to Syracuse after he finished his training, but his parents kept us apart. I accepted your dad's offer of marriage. Our two marriages were celebrated only weeks apart. And, well, that was that. He became a doctor. He would have been a wonderful father to you...," her voice trailed off, and she looked tired, spent.

Something in her voice alerted Simone that all was not as she made it sound. I'm not sure what made me ask the question.

"Mom, sooo... was dad really my dad? Or was it Bernard?"

Her mother did not answer the question, and in the end, didn't need to. Her demeanor betrayed her.

"You're kidding, right?" Simone asked.

Her mother only shook her head.

"I've wanted to tell you, so many times. It was never the right time. Something always got in the way... But I didn't want to leave you without knowing."

Simone had to stand and pace.

"But you said you didn't cheat."

"Technically, I didn't. None of us were yet married. Bernard was visiting, and had snuck away from his house. I don't even remember how we managed that one night, the only night. The only time we ever... But I'll remember it forever, Simone. Forever."

"Did dad know, that I wasn't his?"

"I don't know. If he did, he never let on. And he loved you and raised you exactly like he would have his own child."

"Did Bernard?"

"I never told anyone, Mona. No one. Until now. I tell you only because you deserve to know. I should never have kept the secret, but after a while, I had no choice. It was too late, and I kept it, all these years."

Simone picked up her jacket and turned toward the door.

"I need to walk, mom. I need to think, to process all this. I'll be back."

Adrenaline blocked out thoughts of anything other than her mother's revelation for several blocks, but as she went one, she became aware of the dark enveloping her. It was relatively early still, only about 9 pm, but it was pitch black, and her mother's neighborhood must have given thought to reducing light pollution - the street lights were few and far between. Her walk helped less than she thought it might. She remembered her being accosted by the homeless guy near the hospital, and Martin's coming to her rescue. Still, she couldn't go back to face her mom yet. She reached a small neighborhood park and sat on a bench facing a slide and a see-saw. She took out her phone to try Pete one more time, both out of habit and to keep the thoughts of being alone in the dark at bay. And anyway, she hadn't been able to find him the last few days she'd called.

"Hello? Uh... oh, great, Mona!" Pete sounded a little winded. "How are you? How's your mom?"

"She's ok. Better. She's back in her home, a couple of days now. Getting used to things again, regaining her strength."

"So everything's OK?"

Something in his too-bright voice grated. "No, she's not OK! But her doctor thinks there's no point in doing anything about it."

"What? About what?"

"He thinks he may have found a tumor on her lung, very close to her heart, but he feels she's too old to operate. So they'll just watch and wait."

"Oh... I'm so sorry, Mona. How is she doing? Does she know?"

"No, I don't think so. I don't think her doctor told her. He didn't specifically tell me not to discuss it with her, but he sort of implied it. Anyway, I haven't."

"I'm really very sorry. I hope she does well. I agree with your doctor. No sense in torturing her with operations and chemotherapy and all of that, not at her age."

"Yea. Well, anyway. So, what about you, Pete? What's been going on? You haven't answered any of my messages or texts."

"No, I'm sorry. I kept getting caught up in work and making exams, grading papers... I wanted to call you but, well..." He paused, sheepish.

In the background, Simone heard a woman's voice, muffled, though sultry but plaintive. Then Pete's voice, followed by the woman's voice, now higher pitched and clearer.

"Tell her, Pete. Just tell her!"

Pete sighed. "Listen, Mona. I know this is the wrong time, but, well... there's never a right time for this, so it may as well be now. I've met someone else."

Simone's world spun slower and slower, then tilted, like a world globe. Then it spun off its axis.

"What? Who is it?"

"We love each other. I mean... I know the two of us love - loved - each other. But this is different, Mona..."

To Simone, he sounded distant, confused. "OK, Pete. Whatever... I can't... can't deal with this right now. Can we talk about it when I get home?"