Jess was a Bitch Ch. 10

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Jess, Jon, family and friends try to make sense of things.
8.6k words
4.73
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Part 10 of the 15 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 11/09/2017
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Turbidus
Turbidus
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I haven't forgotten Jess and Jon but I've had to move them to a back burner for a time.

Confusion, joy and worry still reign (or so I hope).

============

Jess eases out of bed, careful not to wake Jon. She realizes that in ten short days, ten horribly short days, they've developed routines. The realization brings a lump to her throat. This is the thing she'll miss the most, sliding out of bed and watching her lover sleep like a little boy. Sadness gives way to a smile. He's hard; there's nothing little boyish about his dick. The sight of his cock, bobbing like a living metronome over his belly re-ignites a fire that has yet to be extinguished. The fire is always there, in her belly, the back of her mind, always. She can be reading, talking to her mom, talking to Caitlin, daydreaming as she watches the pelicans, hardly aware of it, but it's there. After she cums, the fire is banked, where it smolders, untended, until fanned back into a blaze that consumes her.

How the hell can I be horny? Jesus, how many times did I cum yesterday? Three, or one long one, when we got back and again later in bed. I don't believe this. It's not possible. No one in real life fucks this much. Do they?

As there is no one to answer her unspoken question, she returns to bed. Without using her hands, she lays her cheek on his stomach and scoops his cock into her mouth. She tastes herself on his dick, her pussy, not her ass. She recalls her embarrassment at the mess they'd made yesterday. It wasn't much but enough to be embarrassing. Jon did his best to minimize her embarrassment. He cleaned himself up, then helped her do the same, kissing her face, neck, and shoulders the entire time. He tried to blame himself for not using the condoms he'd bought, thinking that they may have reduced the clean-up, but she'd shushed him.

She swallows his cock. She can feel stubble, on her cheek, at the base of his cock where his hair is already growing back. He doesn't stir as she holds him deep in her mouth, savoring the taste of their bodies and the musk of his well-fucked crotch.

She tightens her ass. She's sore but nothing terrible. She'd hurt much more the morning after she'd let that asshole, Alex, take her virginity. She tosses the thought away, like an unexpectedly moldy carton of yogurt and inhales slowly around Jon's cock. As her head begins to bob, unknown to her, in perfect time with his heartbeat, her thoughts drift back to the night before.

They'd gotten cleaned up. Deciding not to go out, she'd ordered room service. Hanging up the phone, she discovered that Jon had wandered out onto the patio. He was naked. She doubted he was naked to be provocative. He was setting a new canvas up on his easel; she imagined he'd simply forgotten to put on a pair of shorts. She settled for a flimsy cover-up and made her way onto the patio to watch, keeping one ear tuned for the sound of room-service knocking on the door. At first, she'd imagined he was simply prepping the canvas; that's how faint the pink was. He applied the paint with the largest brush he had in broad swooping swaths. He put that brush in his mouth and applied a dab of paint to his palette - yellow. A smaller brush adds almost invisible, much tinier swirls of color. Blue, then red, almost garish in its intensity, followed. The knock at the door had come. She'd signed and set the food on the dresser, hurrying back to the patio. She had peered at the painting, trying to make sense of the colors, and failed; thinned purple that ran like a tear down the canvas and a spiral of pencil-thin black had been added in her short absence. She liked what she was seeing but had been incapable of wedging it into a framework she understood, beyond that it was abstract. She'd never seen Jon do any abstract painting. She had no idea what one would call her brother's other work but, until last night, his work had always contained recognizable features. Not this one, this one had left her breathless and excited, yet utterly bewildered as to why.

Her parents had come walking down the beach path, Travis and Caitlin behind them. They stopped but didn't speak. By that point, even though barely an hour had passed since he set brush to paint, Jon seemed to be nearly finished. He stared, unblinking, for long minutes and then would add a single dot or squiggle of paint. Once, moving so quickly they'd all jumped, he'd picked up a tube of paint and squeezed an arching line of violet across one corner of the canvas, before planting his palm in the thick paint and sweeping his hand down the canvas, fingers pulling up and away from the canvas. And with that, he'd been done. He stepped away from the canvas and looked around, clearly surprised to see everyone watching him. His hands had moved toward his crotch, as awareness of his nudity had hit him, but he'd forced himself to stop. He'd nodded, said 'hi' and then apologized to their parents for being rude earlier in the day, told them 'good night' and went inside.

They'd stood there, the five of them, looking at the painting. It had been Caitlin who'd spoken. "I swear, I'm getting wet looking at this," she'd muttered. She'd blushed and looked away, as if she hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud. Jess had declined their invitation to dinner, added her good night to Jon's and had gone inside.

Jon had watched the paint off his hands and they had eaten then, sitting on the end of the bed that they no longer pretended one of them was sleeping in, staring at the dark screen of the television. Finished, they'd stood and undressed again. She'd asked him what his painting was of, what it meant. He had smiled at her, a smile that had caused her heart to skip, and told her to lie back on the bed. He'd made love to her, as quietly as they'd been noisy in the past. Before he came, he'd rested on one elbow, wiped his cock with the fingers of one hand and held them, first to his nose, then to hers.

"I painted your scent, Jess," he'd explained. She'd taken his fingers into her mouth and sucked at them as he came. The look on his face, as much as the feel of him inside her, had caused her to cum. Her orgasm was as slow and gentle and sweet as the look he'd given her and the way he'd moved inside her.

She recalls all of that now, recalls why it is his cock tastes of her pussy and his cum. He lies still beneath her, but she doesn't think he's sleeping any longer. She cups his balls and sucks his cock. She feels him tense and then her mouth is filled. There's not much; she doesn't care.

She moves up to lie beside him.

"That's way better than the alarm on my phone," he sighs. He turns his head to look at her. "What about you?"

"I'm good; I'm perfect. Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

He shakes his head. "No, bad idea. I'll have plenty of time for sleeping later. Breakfast? Swim? Want me to give you a bath? What?"

In the end, they did all three. They swam, showered, had breakfast near the pool and then returned to their room. Jon undressed except for the hemp boxers. As he did, Jess examined his latest painting.

"Is this really what you see when you, uh, smell me?" She shakes her head. "It sounds like I must stink, when I say, 'when you smell me' but how else can I say it."

"Not all smells are bad, certainly yours isn't." He smiles at her. "And, yes, that is the picture I have of your scent. Is that a better word? When you were brushing my hair last night, I inhaled you and let my mind go. That painting is as close as I can get to showing you what I smelled."

"It's beautiful. I thought so before I knew what it was. It's not like anything you've ever painted before."

Jon nods as he gathers his supplies and pushes the patio door open with one elbow. Jess follows him.

She's greeted by two quick, "good morning's" from her parents.

"Getting ready to go at it again, Jon?" James asks, peering over the top of the Journal.

Jess is momentarily paralyzed by the thought that Jon is planning on painting the picture she'd requested, the one of her peering at him as she tongues his dick.

"Yeah, I'm not sure if I can make it work. I usually have a clear idea of what I want to paint or draw. I have a very clear idea of what I want to paint, it's not that, but I'm afraid I won't be able to see the details clearly enough for it to work."

His father nods. Jon is grateful he doesn't tell him something both fatherly and demonstrably false, such as, 'I'm sure it will be fine'. There was never a guarantee that it would be fine. Sometimes the vision failed to make it out of his head. That was fine; that's part of the gig. Less fine was the way some ideas would stay wedged in his brain, a piece of celery stuck between the molars of his imagination, for him to worry at. Sometimes it dislodged and disappeared, sometimes it morphed into something else, something he could get onto paper or canvas, sometimes whatever had been holding him back would vanish. That was the outcome he enjoyed the most. None of that meant he'd love, or even like, the end result but at least he'd be free of the idea, free to move on to something else.

He looks at his dwindling supply of canvases. He'd felt stupid buying so many and now he wonders if he'll have enough. He's hardly had time to process that worry when he's hit by another - forget canvases, will he have enough time? A nagging suspicion, that his sudden ability to paint, to really paint not just dabble, is due to Jess and that without her close by, his ability to paint and create will die. His parents are not religious. He's never been to church, but he knows the story of Samson and Delilah. He trusts Jess. It isn't that he worries she'll steal his strength; he worries that she is his strength. The thought is so terrifying he freezes. His parents exchange looks, between themselves and Jess. She touches his arm. He turns and gives her a smile that lights up his face with joy. The joy is tinted with fear and sadness; she sees that clearly and wonders if anyone else can.

She returns the smile. It's not a false smile. She loves him, loves to see him happy and working. She does. She knows that. She also knows that she resents being the touchstone of his happiness. It's not fair. It's too much to ask, too much responsibility.

"I think I look like a refugee from a bombing, but Caitlin was asking if our girl's day at the beach, the nudie beach, I mean, is still on?"

Jess looks at her mom. There is no need for to wonder if her mom is offering her a respite; she knows she is. She looks at Jon. This time his smile has no fear in it. He nods.

"Sounds like a plan, mom. When?"

"I'm heading over to Caitlin's place for my morning infusion of juju water. If she's still up for a little excursion, I'd say, an hour and a half?"

"Works for me," Jess tells her. She turns, sits on the low wall between the patios and then swings her legs over. She sits down by her father. Her mother pauses long enough to kiss her on the cheek before tossing a wave that is ill-defined enough to encompass her entire family and heading down the beach path toward the Schultz's suite.

"Reading up on the ideal method of exploiting your workers and shareholders, daddy?"

"Sssh," James snaps, not looking over his paper. "That's a secret."

"That's the one thing it ain't, pops, a secret," Jess snorts.

At that, her father does lower the paper. "Exploiting the masses is what makes this possible." He waves at the resort and ocean.

"Oh, I know." Jess huffs. "Don't make me feel worse. I know you're a good man, dad. And I know that when it comes to soulless entities devised for the sole purpose of maximizing profits, your company is way better than most. I'm just in a funky mood or something." She touches the back of his arm and suddenly her eyes fill. "Thank you for not hating me." Before her father can respond, she gets up and hurries off toward the ocean.

James folds his paper and sets it on the table, then sets his coffee cup and saucer atop it to keep it from blowing away. Jon catches his eye. James sees the question in his eyes and shakes his head. "I'll talk to her. You stay here. It's okay, Jon. I promise I'll do my best to make it okay." His son nods, swallows, closes his eyes for a moment, then turns back to the empty white space that's waiting for him to shit or get off the pot.

***

"Caitlin, I know I wasn't very open to the idea yesterday but are you still interested in a girl's day at the beach, the nude one? I understand if you have plans. If you do, please, please do not change them on my account."

"What do you say, stud muffin? Can you spare me for the day?"

"You know I can't, but I will." Travis tells her, not interrupting his yoga routine.

"Oh no, not if Travis has plans."

"No, Gloria, I was making a silly joke!" Travis protests, transitioning from a downward facing dog to the upward facing variety, so that he can see her. "I'd happily spend every waking minute with Caitlin, except when she's snoring. Go, have fun. Maybe I'll see if James and Jon want to check out a sleazy strip club."

"James, maybe but Jon looks as if he's about to go into another painting trance."

"It is remarkable, isn't it?" Caitlin asks as she finishes hooking up the antibiotics to Gloria's IV. "Did he always paint like that? I mean so intently?"

Gloria shakes her head. "No, and not to sound cruel but not nearly as well. Don't take that the wrong way. He's always been gifted but until the past few days he's never produced anything that took my breath away. And not just one, several. Even the quick pencil sketches are remarkable. Something has opened up for him that was hidden before." Gloria's voice trails off into silence. She sees Caitlin's look. "Don't say a word, young lady. I'm old and not very smart but I know what has opened him up. I'm not that foolish."

"Foolish, is probably the last word I'd pick to describe you," Travis offers from this mat.

"Same here, Gloria and I think you know that. I wasn't going to criticize or offer helpful advice. I feel almost as bad for you and James as I do Jess and Jon."

Gloria pats the back of her doctor's, and her friend's, hand. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to jump down your throat. It's just that I realized that Jon's sudden explosion of creativity is yet another factor, another heart-aching factor, in this imbroglio."

Caitlin smiles. "I'd love to see you play Scrabble against my husband."

"Scrabble? Is that the game where one attempts to make words out of letters?" Gloria asks, voice and face so innocent as to make it clear she's anything but innocent.

"Why, yes, it is." Travis offers, now balanced on his palms with his shins on his arms. "We hardly ever play and never, ever, for money."

Gloria's eyes glitter. "Well, if we're ever bored or rained out we'll have something to keep us busy, eh?"

Caitlin leans back in her chair and grins. "I never thought I'd pray for rain on a vacation but that just might do it."

"Travis, how long have you been doing yoga?"

"Oh, five or six years. Have you tried it?"

"I'm too old and stiff."

"Bullshit," Caitlin snaps.

"If you're not busy tomorrow and if we don't decide to have a guy's day at the beach, come over. You can borrow Caitlin's mat, or mine, and one of us can show you a few basic positions."

"I'd feel like a total fool."

"Well, that's something you'll have to work on yourself. I can't convince you you're wrong," Travis offers mildly as he stands. Gloria does her best not to stare. She'd not really appreciated how attractive Travis is. Standing there in loose shorts, glistening with sweat, it's impossible to miss. Her eyes cut away quickly and she turns to look at the ocean. She misses the little smiles the couple share.

"I'm going to go throw a few things together. Be back in minute." With that, Caitlin rises, gives her husband a kiss as he moves to the table, and turns toward the suite.

"What about my IV? If it runs out before you get back what should I do? It's not going to give me an air embolism or something horrible is it?"

"Mrs. Vandermach, would I let something horrible happen to you before I watch you and my husband match wits over a Scrabble board? I won't be long but if you're really worried, you can close that small clamp, see it, with the wheel? Roll it toward you and it pinches off the tubing. You don't really need to worry anyway. The bag will collapse when it's empty."

"Young man, I adore your wife," Gloria says as he closes her eyes to avoid staring at Travis, specifically the trail of sweat that is running down the center of his chest.

"I'm quite fond of her myself." Gloria hears the patio chair creak as he sits down. "Why do you call me, 'young man'? It makes it sound like your eighty and I'm a teenager. I'm going to be thirty-three soon and Caitlin just turned thirty. You're probably only eight or ten years older than us. Do you do it as a way to keep your distance?"

"I thought you were a lawyer not a psychiatrist," Gloria intones.

"I am, and, like a psychiatrist, I'm not easy diverted. Is it?"

"If one is to be viewed as 'old', better to embrace the idea than look silly resisting."

"Interesting. Why do you think people will view you as 'old'? You don't look old, you don't even look middle-aged. You talk like you're much older. Saying, 'one' for example, instead of, 'you'. That, along with your comments about your breasts and being old, frankly amazes me. You're one of the most insightful and intelligent people I've ever met. You have two kids who love you and a husband who worships you. Gloria, where does this insecurity come from? You're an amazing person. Why can't you accept that?" She's quiet for so long, he begins to feel uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. That's awfully personal for such a short friendship. I apologize for pushing my nose into areas that are none of my business, beyond that I like and enjoy your company."

"You are being a little pushy, but I accept that it comes from concern. I am insecure. I tell myself not to be but that's easier said than done. As to the why's, that's a long story, better saved for another day, or not at all."

Travis is fairly certain that she's watching from beneath her closed eyes. He nods and puts his hand on the back of hers. "Sorry, again. Have fun with Caitlin. She thinks you're amazing, too, in case you hadn't noticed."

Gloria hears his chair scrape across the pavers and assumes he's going inside. He was wrong; she hadn't been peeking at him. She does so now, helpless not to notice the proportions of his back, shoulders and legs. She remembers how he looked naked and shakes her head. What has gotten into me, she wonders as Caitlin re-emerges, beach tote over one shoulder.

***

"Why would I hate you, honey?" James is half-floating, half-treading water. Jess floats on her back, arms outstretched, not far away.

"Not just me, both of us, for what we're doing." Her voice catches. Her father waits. "I don't know how it happened, dad. I didn't mean for it to. At first, I thought it was because he caught me by surprise, being so nice when he saw how upset I was over that douche bag, Alex. But it's not that. He understands me, reads me, in ways no one, not even you or mom do. Maybe, it's because we ignored each other most of our lives. Maybe that prevented us from developing the barrier that would normal keep us apart, keep this type of love from happening."

James stretches out on his back and floats beside his daughter. "I'm not going to pretend I understand this or that it doesn't bother me, but I don't hate you, or Jon. What bothers me the most, now, not in the beginning but now, is how hard this will be for the two of you. No matter what you do, there will be a lot of tears and a lot of heartache. I don't know how to protect you from that. That's my job, as your father, and Jon's, is to protect you and I can't."

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