Men in Her Life Ch. 04

He looks at her strangely, "You know things like that?"

"Yes," she responds and shivers slightly when the air conditioner blows cold air across her shoulders. "My father was a college professor of English Literature. We read that kind of stuff at supper every night."

"Oh my, you're freezing," he runs him hand down her arm, doing nothing to cure the chills on her skin. "Go get dressed. I'm single minded when I get something in my head."

"Will you tell ... may I ask ..., Charles what is so special about ...."

His voice is soft. His words are gentle and full of emotion. "I know you saw my mother, at the hotel. But you probably did not take a good look at her. She has rheumatoid arthritis. She comes to town to see her doctor. Her poor beautiful hands are in very bad shape. She was a great beauty when she was young. My father went to England for a year, something like an exchange student. He brought her home with him. My favorite memories of her are when she sat at the piano and played for him. She quit playing, about the time Dad died. I always thought she continued to play, despite the pain, simply because he loved to see her that way, and she only gave in to the pain after he died."

Still playing, she asks, "Why didn't you learn to play?"

He holds one of his hands in front of her, his palm down and the fingers spread out. "With these hams?" he asks. "Look at them, I know the keys and might be able to pick out a simple tune, if you give me enough time. But, my fingers hit a key and the one next to it, too. I can't make my hands small enough to play a simple cord without pressing too many keys. I'm a total failure at playing, but I'll sit and listen to you practice for hours and hours. I go to concerts, any time there is one. I support the symphony and beg them to bring piano recitals or concert pianists. Even if they aren't very good, someone wants to go hear them play. I loved to watch Jerry Lee Lewis and Liberace and Vladimir Horowitz. Oh wow, do you know that Mark Twain and Albert Einstein played the piano. Thomas Edison did too, but then so did Richard Nixon. Damn, I told you I'm single minded. Go get dressed."

When she finds him in the kitchen, Charles is waiting for the coffee to finish perking, standing guard over it as if it will not finish unless he watches. "You need to make a trip to the grocery store," he explains as if it is a foregone conclusion she is in charge of the kitchen. "I'll go with you. I don't cook many meals for myself. I can, I just don't. A restaurant is easier and faster for me."

"But not as good, nor as healthy," she adds and he grins, telling her she will not have much trouble feeding him, he will eat anything that's not raw or stinks. She asks him what he means by stinks and he says sauerkraut. A general discussion of what he likes to eat turns into a full fledged trip to the grocery store, after a stop at his favorite meat market and a huge order of meat, which they collect after filling the trunk of his car, with more food than Marva has ever shopped for in a whole month. He shrugs his shoulders and says his pantry is bare and he is willing to put anything into it that she wants to eat, cook, or fix for him.

Sometime after exhaustion leaves her with a pounding head, after brushing her teeth, Marva is walking from the adjoining bathroom, into the bedroom where Charles left her suitcase. He is leaning against the door facing of her bedroom, his arms folded across his chest, watching her. She stands in the door of the bathroom, her short nightgown sheer and see-through with the lighted room behind her.

"How many more nights do I have with you before your period starts?" He asks, as if it is a subject they often discuss.

She blushes, but does not avert her eyes. "Six, I think," she says simply.

He nods at her, "You wear one of those things when you don't want me to touch you. Otherwise, will you sleep with me at night?"

"Yes," she answers simply. Reaching down to pull the nightgown over her head, dropping it on the bed as she walks toward him, her nipples hardening in the cool air as she moves. She stops in front of him, not sure what he wants.

He puts his hand up, gently brushes her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "I will tell you that I have never had another woman in that bed." He jerks his head toward the door behind him. "You can believe that, if you like, but it is the truth. I don't want any misunderstandings between us. This is too important to me, for lies or games."

"Charles, I don't know how to play games. I am too plain and simple for that."

He leans toward her, speaking softly, his voice intense and shaking. "You are far from plain and nowhere near simple. You are the most exciting, vibrant, fascinating, and captivating, woman I've ever known, tasted, or fucked. I'm not sure I will survive this experiment of yours, but I'll be damned if I'll allow you to take that sweet pussy to another man." He straightens up, moves out of the doorway, points toward his bedroom, and leaves her standing where she was.

When he returns to his bedroom, from locking doors and turning off lights, he sits on the bed beside her hip. He is quiet for a moment, and then he turns to place his hands on the bed beside her shoulders and leans over her. He lifts his hands, one at a time, moving the hair at the sides of her face, tucking behind her ears. "My word, woman, you are beautiful. Seeing you here in my bed, waiting for me and knowing you will be here tomorrow, too, is almost painful to me." Leaning forward a little more, he places his lips against hers, holding them there, for only a moment.

He lifts his head and tells her, "Several weeks ago, you asked a question, which I did not answer. I did not purposely avoid answering your question, it just didn't seem important at the time. In the hotel you told me that I call you "Baby," and asked me why. I really wasn't aware I was doing that, but since you mentioned it, I find myself doing it often. My father called my mother, "Baby Doll." He never called her Grace. I'm not sure why, it was just the way he was, I guess. He loved her. Oh my lord, he loved her. He worshiped her. She is a difficult woman. I always thought he acted like little more than a lapdog, always satisfying her wants and needs, without considering his own. For a long time, I didn't like her very much. She is a very domineering woman. I'm not sure, even today, that I want her around me. She knows it, and will occasionally push it to a limit I will not cross. Baby," he stops and tries to smile at himself for letting the word slip out, and then continues. "I'm not sure this will be easy for us. Please give me time to become comfortable with you here and forgive my boorish behavior when I allow her attitude to influence how I treat you."

- - -

The next morning she is at the track just finishing her walk when Richard arrives. She walks straight to him and greets him, telling him she missed his company while she was walking. He says he is getting a late start on his day, but will try to be a little earlier tomorrow. He enjoys their conversations, too.

It takes some talking, but Marva convinces her boss to allow her to work two days and then take the rest of the week as vacation. The new trainee will have an opportunity to see what she knows and does not know. Thomas Rowe knows something is going on in Marva's life, but he does not question her. He makes one cryptic comment about finally getting someone trained well enough that they can do their work without a lot of supervision and it's disruptive to business when they leave or dramatically change their lives.

- - -

Stretching her arms over her head, Marva groans, "I'll get up in a minute and fix your lunch. I'm on vacation. It feels good to just lie here and think about doing nothing but what I want to do all-l-l-l day long."

She hears growling in her ear, "I'm going to begin at those little red toenails and lick my way up until I find something that's wetter than my tongue and when I have you squirming I'm going to go fix my own lunch and leave you here in this bed waiting for me to come back tonight and finish the job."

She laughs and suggests, "You could just stay home today and we could spend the whole day in bed. But I guess an "old man" like you can't keep it up all day, so maybe you should spend the day resting so you can take care of me tonight."

"Oh merciful heaven, oh lord, here I am flying, without a care in the world and she slaps me back down to the ground." Burying his face in the soft skin under her ear, he mumbles, "I didn't think you'd find out."

"Nope, no escape," she teases. "Let's see, what would you like for your birthday? I still have that tube of chocolate flavored body paint from Bryan's birthday party."

Charles lies back on his pillow, "I cannot believe your brother would give something like that to his little sister."

"He didn't do it on purpose. He gave it to Karen. Elizabeth found it on the kitchen cabinet. It was still in the box. From the look on her face, I could not let her think it was his and I didn't know what else to do, so I just said it was mine."

"But you said Karen ..."

She does not let him finish. Sitting up in bed, she growls, "NO! Elizabeth has enough of a problem with Karen. She's made all kinds of snide remarks. I was not going to let her have another opportunity to do it again."

He puts his arm across her chest and pulls her back down on the bed. "I know baby, I know. You are always thinking of others. I just don't like to see your good intentions abused."

"You are right though. I sometimes jump in and cut someone off before they can abuse another person, when somebody else might be better able to help. Only, I don't give them a chance. I'm working on it."

- - -

"Millie, this is Marva Preston, may I speak to Mister Tester, please," she considered waiting until Charles gets home, but believes it is something he should take care of before then.

"Oh, Miss Preston, he's not here," the older woman says, sounding apologetic. "I'm not even certain where he is. He forgets to tell me where he's going sometimes."

"Alright, ah ... I hate to ask, but would you take a message for me? I tried his cell phone, but it just rang and rang."

"Certainly, darlin'. Is this a business question or personal question? I'm sorry, but I try to let him know what kind of calls he has to return. He prefers to wait until he is in the office to return business calls. Most of them are about something he will only have on his desk."

Somewhat taken aback that Millie knows she would call Charles about something personal, she tries to keep the conversation friendly, "Oh yes, sure, I understand." Marva occasionally has the same problem when she takes calls for her employer. "Let me make this easy for you, then. When I call with a business question, I will tell you I'm calling for Thomas Rowe and I'll ask for Mister Tester. Will that help?"

"That would be wonderful. Then if it's a personal call, you can just use your first name."

"Alright," Marva begins her conversation from the beginning. "Millie this is Marva, may I speak to Charles, please?"

"Marva," Millie responds, getting into the humor of starting the phone call from the beginning. "That lunk head left here like his tail was on fire and did not tell me where he was going."

"Oh my, the yardman was here. There's a bad wet spot in the back yard. He thinks there may be a problem with the automatic sprinkler. In fact, he's afraid the line may be broken."

"That probably means a plumber is needed, don't you think?" Millie asks.

"Yes, either, that, or the sprinkler system installer. Jose said it is worst at a sprinkler head. He thinks it may have been leaking for a while. I noticed the pressure at the kitchen sink was low this morning."

"Goodness," Millie exclaims. "Look, I know this installer. He takes care of the office fire sprinkler system, too. Give me your cell phone number, in case I need to call you. I'll call him and get him out there and we won't have to wait for Charles to pull his head out of his ... well, I'll take care of it. It may save me ordering another glass top for his desk. He's gonna cut his fist slamming it down on that desk some day."

"Get a sheet of that thick plastic to put on top of his desk instead, acrylic or something like that," Marva suggests. "You get it cut to the size you want and it's easier to write on than hard glass."

"Really? I'm going to order some now. Tell me where to get it."

"Give me your email address, and I'll send you a link."

"Marva, I can't do that stuff. That dang computer works has a bug again," Millie sounds very frustrated. She seldom complains, just takes Charles's moods in stride and keeps on going. "Charles said to just turn the whole thing off 'til he can get someone who knows what's what before anyone turns their machine on and that was two days ago. I can't write checks and payroll is due out in the morning."

"Alright, I'll send my friend, Billy Boy, out there to get you up and running again. Don't let Charles do this to you again. Call me and I'll help you."

"Bless your heart darlin'. Bless your heart."

- - -

With the beef chunks browned and slowly cooking in thin gravy, water being kept hot waiting for the noodles, plus two fresh vegetables steaming on the back burners, Marva is tearing lettuce for a salad, when Charles walks in the back door. He puts his arms around Marva and lifts her inches off the floor, kissing her hard. Then he lowers her to the floor and gives her a quick peck on the lips.

"That hug and kiss was from Millie. I'll show you mine later. I'll also take a good look at yours," he threatens, dodging out of her way when she tries to swat him. "Millie says she will retire if you will come to work with her, long enough for her to train you as her replacement," he passes along the message and then adds a comment from himself. "Don't you dare, she'd be dead in six months." His voice slowly fades as he walks down the hall to change his clothes.

Marva says quietly, under her breath, "Not on your life. If we spent all day and all night together, one, or both of us, would be reduced to a puddle of sweat and two eyeballs." She likes the comment so much she is softly chuckling to herself when the house telephone rings. She allows it to ring two more times before picking it up.

"Tester residence."

"Oh ... ah ..., I was ... Marva? Is that you, Marva?"

Giving a silent groan, Marva says, "Yes, Elizabeth, can I help you?"

"I did call Charles number, right? I was going to ... What on earth are you doing there?"

"Just a moment, let me get Charles for you," placing the receiver on the kitchen cabinet, Marva goes down the hall to tell Charles to pick up the bedroom telephone, but the shower is running. She lifts the bedroom telephone and tells Elizabeth, "I'll have to ask him to return your call. Bye-bye," and hangs up as quickly as she can. She makes a quick dash to the kitchen, to replace that receiver and goes back to the bedroom.

Stepping out of the shower, Charles sees her, "So, you couldn't wait to see mine, huh?"

"Elizabeth called," she tries for nonchalance, but does not succeed.

"And what did "Her Majesty" want?"

"She recognized my voice," Marva explains and cannot prevent a little quiver from invading her comment.

Charles laughs, thinks about it for a moment, and then laughs even harder. "Oh boy, that's like a general broadcast, all points bulletin." Still chuckling, he pulls on his favorite, faded, walking shorts and picks up his comb, while Marva sits on the bed, slightly embarrassed and beginning to fume that he is taking this so lightly.

"Charles, THIS IS NOT A LAUGHING MATTER!" she explodes, pounding her fists on her knees.

Not the least perturbed by her outburst, he says, "Well, you didn't really think you could keep it a secret that you enjoy my fucking, now did you?" He asks her, advancing toward her, taunting her, as if he is a predator on patrol for a tempting morsel.

"CHARLES ..." she says, in her most menacing tone.

He walks right past her, saying, as he leaves the room, "I think I'll have a sign painted for the front yard, "Marva Preston Sleeps In My Bed"."

Off the bed and walking quickly to catch up with him, she adds to her frustration, "And just tell me, how Millie would know that I'm calling about something personal? What did you tell her?"

Continuing to walk toward the kitchen, and then lifting the lids off pots on the stove, he says, "I gave her the cookies out of my lunch, which my Baby packed for me yesterday, and she asked who liked me well enough to make homemade cookies for me. I told her, "Unlike you, you old hag, Marva Preston thinks I'm special enough for homemade cookies." I swear. That's all I said. But she ain't dumb, either. Is that stuff in there," he asks, holding up one of the lids and looking into the pot again, "Cauliflower or that new stuff, broccliflower, or whatever it's called?"

"Yes, its cauliflower, broccliflower is green. Put the lid down, it's not done yet."

Surprising her, he turns, puts his hands around her waist and lifts her to sit on the kitchen cabinet and moves between her knees. "I don't know how you thought you could keep it a secret that you're living with me. In fact, I'm surprised the whole town doesn't know we've been fucking each other for several months. Neither of us has tried to hide anything. I'm not that kind of person anyway. When I pursue a woman, she knows it and half the people around her can smell it within a few days."

"Oh Charles," she complains putting her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. "I didn't mean to do this to you. I was being selfish and didn't think about anything but wanting to know if all we have going for us is sex. I'm sorry."

"Baby, you are free, white, and twenty-one. So am I. As long as we aren't doing anything illegal, whatever two consenting adults are comfortable with the rest of them can go to hell." He kisses her forehead, "Now, will you please feed me, or I'll start taking your clothes off and feast upon you instead. We might get the cabinet wet, we might sling some of this food around the walls, and break a few dishes, but it would be fun."

"Okay, sit down and open your mail. I'll finish here." Remembering why she called Millie, Marva jumps down from the cabinet and asks, "Oh, did Millie tell you about the broken sprinkler head?"

"Yes, and thank you. That could have gotten expensive and messy." Ripping open an envelope, he tells her, "Come sign this. That dumb banker would not let me add you to my bank account, something about some bank laws, which he probably doesn't even understand. So, this is a separate account that will automatically transfer money from my account so you can buy groceries and stuff. I'll get a debit card for you. It will be easier for Millie to keep track of, rather than checks."

"Is this necessary? I'm not going to take over your life."

He chuckles, "Yes, this is necessary. You cannot afford to feed me, even if I would allow you to try. Just sign it and answer the marked questions. Don't make a federal case out of it. Just do it."

"Yes, Master," she replies, takes the pen from the tablet she uses for her grocery list, and walks toward the table.

"Marva ..." he warns.

"Ugg, you brute, me woman," she adds, just to be contrary.

"Oh lord," he groans, leaning back in his chair, "Why do I let you tease me like this? I'm supposed to be a sane, sober, adult male, and this tiny little thing burrows under my skin and turns me into a panting, submissive, heap, of little more than of quivering cock and burning balls. Feed me and take me to bed before I forget about food and ravish your luscious pussy."

As she leans over to sign the forms and answer the questions, Charles runs his hand up the inside of her thigh, as she separates her legs for him, giving him the access he seeks. He puts his fingers inside the crotch of her panties and sticks a finger up her pussy, pulls his hand out and sucks on the finger, as she watches.