My Autumn and My Winter

"Yeah, but you'll be trapped up here wiping noses and butts. C'mon, it's New York, we'll find something to do."

"I don't know..."

Rich glanced around and spotted a pink crayon and a stack of construction paper. Hastily he scribbled out his phone number and handed it to Vanya.

"Here. Send me a text later if you change your mind. Be thinking about you, beautiful."

Vanya stared at the paper in her hand, blue eyes wide. She looked about to speak, lips parted slightly, but he closed the door before she could.

Rich was big on dramatic exits.

Chapter 5

Steve leaned heavily on the back of Autumn's chair, his belly full of a rich meal. Despite Autumn's concerns, there had been no urine-marinated shark flesh, but instead a full course turkey meal. Rex, Sven, and Rich were enjoying cigars with their after dinner drinks, while Shelly seemed as if she were about to pass out. Sven's willowy wife had retired to the kitchen for cleanup, while Susan and her date had already made their exit. Crawley had to leave early as well, due to an appointment early the next day.

"Are you sure you don't want one, Steve?" Rex said. "They're aged just perfect."

"Nah, my body is a shrine." He flexed a massive bicep. "We can't put smoke in the shrine!"

"Pfft, give me a break," Autumn said. She reached back and poked him in the belly until he yelped. "Apparently pecan pie is just fine in the 'shrine!'"

"I only had two pieces."

"Those two pieces were like half a damn pie each! You ate a whole pecan pie!"

"Not even," Steve said. When he looked up, his friends were shrugging.

"Those were big slices, hombre," Rex said.

"Who cares about Steve," Rich said. "Can you believe that limp-wristed bearded reject Susan dragged in with her? 'Drinking gets in the way of God!' Who else wanted to slap him?"

"He was kind of a douche, yeah," Autumn said.

"He wasn't that bad," Steve said. "I mean, different strokes for different folks, right? Susan sure seemed into him."

"What? No way."

"Uh, way, Rich," Autumn said "did you see the way she kept looking at him at dinner? She's got it bad."

"For fuck's sake, why?" Rich said.

"Why do you care?" Phil said.

"Susan is like a broski. You should be more worried about this."

"This has nothing to do with broskihood. This is about you not admitting how you feel about Susan."

"Bullshit. I could've had Susan six ways to Sunday, but I didn't. I had enough respect for her to cut things off because quite frankly we're nothing alike."

Steve glowered.

"Six ways to Sunday, is it?"

Rich swallowed hard but Rex came to his rescue.

"Whatever you say, buddy. We all know you've got it bad."

"No, seriously," Rich said, cheeks flushed "I just don't see anything in Susan. She likes J-pop, goes to church, and apparently is into scrawny bearded garden gnomes who think Anheiser Bush is the antichrist!"

"Damn, I think he's actually blushing!" Phil said, dragging out his cell phone. "Oh, man, I have to record this for posterity!"

"Yeah," Rex said "we actually got under his skin for once."

"You think this is funny, dweeb?" Rich said.

"Well, yeah," Phil said with a smirk.

"Well, you know what's even funnier? Your ass walking home."

Rich turned on his heel and headed for the door.

"Night all. I'm out. I'll be texting you dumb mother fuckers tomorrow about the bachelor party."

"I said I don't want a bachelor party," Steve said.

"Oh, have a bachelor party," Autumn said "I'm going to have a bachelorette party, I guarandamntee it!"

** *

They heard the door shut as Rich made good on his threat. Phil looked at Steve.

"Can I catch a ride, man?"

"Sure thing. Rich usually isn't like that. I wonder what happened."

"Oh, he got shot down by a couple of college freshmen at a kegger we were playing, and it's kick-started his mid life crisis a decade early. That, and he won't admit he's got a thing for your sister."

"He was bragging on facebook that he nailed some foreign chick," said Rex.

"Yeah," Phil said "but he struck out three times before that. One of the girls called him a dinosaur, if you can believe that."

"God, being thirty makes you a dinosaur anymore?" Steve said. "Fucking millenials."

"Say, Autumn," Shelly said "what day were we getting fitted for the bridesmaid dresses? Thursday?"

"No, Tuesday. I sent a mass text to all of you like a week ago."

"I know, but I think I deleted it on accident. I was just wondering what the dress was going to look like, is all."

"I still haven't seen what my tux is going to look like," Steve said "or the gown she finally picked out."

"Oh, enjoy the suspense, sugar! It'll be worth the wait, believe me."

"What kind of dress did you go with?" said Shelly. "Traditional, new wave?"

"It's a custom," Autumn said, lowering her gaze slyly.

"It cost almost seven grand," Steve said. Autumn reached back and twisted his nipple through his shirt. "OW!"

"That sounded like a complaint!" She did not release his flesh from the tight press of her painted nails.

"It wasn't a complaint!" He grabbed her wrist and squeezed firmly but not harshly.

"Ow!" Autumn winced, withdrawing her hand quickly and cradling it next to her body.

"Oh my god, babe, I'm sorry," Steve said, coming around the front of her chair.

"It's not your fault, Steve. Don't worry about it."

Autumn put her hand back on the armrest and tried to look nonchalant. Steve could see the tension in the muscles next to her eye, the stiff way she took a drink from her glass.

"I really didn't mean to squeeze that hard."

"I said it's fine, Steve." Autumn's narrowed gaze told him to back off the subject, at least for the time being. Silently, he racked his brain for a time when he may have seen her take a bad spill at ringside. Autumn didn't bump, something Steve had insisted on from the beginning, but sometimes things happened in the chaotic world of Pro Wrestling.

He continued to mull it over as the dinner wound to a close. After saying their goodbyes, he and Autumn retreated to her car. When they were on the road, Steve looked over at her in the passenger seat and cleared his throat.

"So, did you hurt yourself at ringside the other night? Because I don't think I squeezed you that hard."

"You didn't. Don't worry about it."

"Autumn, this is serious. With your condition, we have pay close attention to-"

"I just went to the doctor last week. I'm managing it, Steve. Don't worry about it."

"Not worrying is anathema to me."

"What the fuck is that?"

"Well...let's just go with kryptonite. It's close enough."

"Well, whatever, if you're going to worry keep it to your own damn self. If I were you, I'd be more worried about how much life is going to change once you knock me up."

Steve glanced over at Autumn's sober face. Her brown eyes gleamed in the half light, adding intensity to her words.

"I'm serious, Steve, nothing's ever the same once you have kids."

"Yeah, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing."

"The hell it don't! Change is almost always bad."

"What's going to change, really? We'll still be the same people, the same couple."

Autumn straightened her posture and twisted her torso to level a baleful eye at Steve.

"Oh, really? Well, let me ask you something; What are we going to do when we get home?"

Steve flashed a grin at her.

"Well, I was hoping we could have relations..."

"Yeah, me too. I want to fuck just as bad if not more than you."

Steve laughed, hard enough that his eyes teared up.

"So what's the problem?" he said after he regained his composure.

"Just imagine that we have a kid for a second."

"What?"

"Shut up and imagine! You can pretend to be a half orc barbarian who rapes virgins and cuts minotaurs in half but you can't pretend to be a father?"

"All right, all right, so we have a kid. So what?"

"Well, when we get home you could just rip my clothes off and we could drop to the living room floor and do it. But if we had a kid, we'd have to feed the little shit, get them ready for bed, read a damn story or some crap. It'd be hours before we could screw, if at all."

"Well..." Steve tried to come up with a rebuttal, but his wits were failing him.

"And that's just the sex part. What about taking the kid to school, to soccer, to dildo practice or whatever? That's going to cut into our 'us' time, whether we want to get naked or not."

Steve nodded.

"Yeah, and then there's us being on the road all the time. Not the best environment for a child. Maybe I ought to look into teaching again. It'd be less money, but more stable."

Autumn sat back in her seat and a smirk flashed over her features. Steve cocked an eyebrow and looked her way.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, but you just got this weird look on your face."

"Well, that's your opinion."

Autumn leaned the seat back and stretched like a cat. Steve couldn't help but think that she was keeping something from him, but the way her dress rode up high on her thighs was highly distracting. Without thinking about it, he dropped a hand onto her knees and slid it slowly up. He slipped his fingers between her thighs and began softly caressing the pliant flesh.

Autumn put her arms behind her head and smiled at him, eyes half lidded. He gave her leg a squeeze and returned his hand to the steering wheel.

"No one said stop!" Autumn took his wrist in her hand and pried it from the wheel. Steve allowed her to bring it back down to her lap. He used the edge of his hand to rub against her silk panties, feeling the bumps of her piercings beneath the thin membrane. Her skin was already hot to the touch, and he was rewarded by a soft sigh from her lips.

Steve kept his attention on the road, but his right hand stayed busy under her skirt. Autumn raised one knee up, putting her foot on the seat, and ground her body into his fingers. She clasped hold of his hand in both of hers and began directing its movements. He was a bit concerned about the flood of juices staining the upholstery, but he didn't feel like being called a pussy, so he didn't bring it up.

It's her car, anyway.

Steve smiled, taking a quick glance at Autumn as she maneuvered her panties aside and his fingers grew wet. He placed his palm over her nether lips and swirled his ring and index fingers in slow circles as Autumn writhed beneath is ministrations.

"Oh god, Steve..."

"You like that?"

"Yes...give me more."

"More? I can only do so much while I'm-"

More...fingers!"

Gently, he worked another digit inside of her. Autumn's breathing came deeper, more rapid.

"More, Steve."

Carefully, his pinky joined the rest of his fingers. They seemed quite tightly pressed together, and he was worried about her well being. After all, as endowed as he was his hand had much more girth. He took his eyes off the road long enough to look at her face. She seemed to be anything but in pain, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as lusty gasps escaped it. His knuckles grew slippery as he worked his hand, spreading his fingers and twisting them around each other.

"Oh god, oh god...oh gooooood!"

Autumn's nails dug into his forearm as she let out a long wail that reverberated within the small cabin. She collapsed against the seat and giggled like a schoolgirl, glazed with a sheen of sweat.

"You are so good at multitasking, sugar."

She lifted his hand from her lap and kissed it.

"That hand's a little messy right now, Beautiful."

"Oh? Let me help with that."

Autumn's lips went to work, wrapping themselves around his index finger. Noisily, she sucked her own juices from his skin, her pink tongue tickling the sensitive skin between his fingers. Steve wasn't sure why, but when a woman did that it always drove him crazy.

Autumn made a production of it, to be sure. Between her audible slurping, she would raise her eyes to his face for brief moments. Then she would go back to cleaning him with her lips and tongue, soft moans escaping from her mouth when it was not full of his fingers.

"There," she said, kissing his palm "all cleaned up. You can have it back, now."

She took his hand and placed back on the steering wheel, patting it softly. Then her hand dropped down to his lap and squeezed tightly.

"Uh, the last time you did that I ran over one of those mile markers-"

"You should be more careful. Besides, I'm just warming you up."

Steve strained against his pants, and he was certain there was a growing wet spot in his drawers. After a tight gasp escaped his own mouth, she released him and laughed gently.

"That's enough for now."

"What? Oh, come on, you get a screaming orgasm and I get stroke stroke splat?"

"I'll make it up to you when we get home."

"You'd better, or else!"

"Ooooh," Autumn said "well, when you say it like that you make me want to tease you more just to see what happens."

After twenty of the longest minutes Steve had ever endured, they made it back home. They weren't even inside the door two seconds before their mouths met in a passionate liplock. Steve reached backwards for the door, but Autumn's sudden aggression made him back pedal until his butt bumped it shut.

** *

Rich spun the wheel of his mouse, tracking through his social media accounts but not really paying much attention. Phil's words still rang inside his head, cutting his train of thought to ribbons. After twenty minutes of uninspired surfing, he shut down the browser and leaned back in his seat.

What the hell was wrong with him? Rich prided himself on being unflappable. A chick tossed her drink in his face? Whatever. His Lexus needed a new fuel pump? Par for the course.

Susan had a new man?

In spite of himself, he felt bile rising in his belly. He gave up trying to pretend that he was concerned for her sake quickly.

"Son of a bitch." His words echoed more hollowly in his chest than they did in his silent apartment. He laughed, but it was a sound without mirth, and the bitter edge was directed at himself.

When the hell did he start caring about Susan? With a start he realized it was that night on the bench. For whatever reason, he'd written off the possibility of being with her, and went on his merry skirt chasing way.

But there was always a tinge of emptiness after a conquest. Not that he would ever admit it—it took effort just to admit it to himself—but an endless cycle of one-night stands was not in fact fulfilling. Fun, yes, but not fulfilling.

Maybe Phil was right, and he should try and show Susan the 'real' Rich.

The problem was he wasn't sure if there was a real Rich. His hands balled into fists on his lap. Why had she gone and made him question everything about himself? At no point in the ten years since high school had he felt like he was wasting his time. Sex with as many pretty girls as possible seemed a perfectly sane goal. Even his job as an accountant was just about providing him with the means to pursue women. He certainly didn't get into it on a zen level like that nerd Phil.

Now he was confused, and for some reason he was furious with Susan. Rich considered going to her social media pages for clues as to just how far her new relationship had progressed, but the pathos of such an act was not lost on him. He was just about to go to bed when his phone played the theme from James Bond, a sign that he had received a text.

"No way..." he got up and walked over to the kitchen counter where the phone sat charging. He picked it up and squinted at the screen. The number was not one he recognized. Shrugging, he opened the text, expecting to find spam but wondering if it might be Susan for some reason.

His eyes went wide when he read the message.

Rich, I'd like to take you up on that if you're not already in bed. Or even if you are :)

-Vanya

Rich eagerly typed an affirmative, whooping like a child on a roller coaster. He leaped into the air and punched his fists high.

"Yes! I've still got it!"

He played text me text you for the next several minutes. Vanya was driving herself, but needed directions on how to get to his pad from Sven's. Rubbing his hands together, he set about straightening things up, though the apartment was not terribly untidy. While wiping off his glass coffee table, something caught his eye.

He picked up the promotional flyer. Susan was among the wrestlers pictured, wearing her skimpy ring gear. He'd saved it without really thinking about why...

Rich crumpled up the card and flung it in the trash. Susan didn't matter at the moment, he told himself. It was all about that sweet poon tang pie he was about to enjoy.

Wasn't it?

Chapter 6

Wheels whirring rapidly, Steve zipped out of Van Cortland park and pedaled hard for home. The red sun cast a long, grotesque shadow of him and the bike when it peeked out from behind skyscrapers. The early morning air was surprisingly chilly for July, but he didn't mind. Just a pair of shorts and tank top were sufficient protection, being that he was going to be exerting himself.

He skidded to a stop and waited for the traffic light to change. His right knee was protesting the effort, but he wasn't out of breath, which meant his cardio was better than ever. If it weren't for the dozens of minor injuries accumulated in the ring, he'd have felt fantastic.

Steve hated to admit it, but his profession was taking its toll on his body. Being a professional athlete meant living with a fair amount of pain, but while football and baseball players could heal and rest in the off season, Steve was working fifty weeks a year. A jammed toe or stiff neck may not have amounted to much, but they were stubborn to heal when you kept re-injuring yourself.

The light changed, and Steve pedaled across the street. When he got to Boston he turned left and sped down the street. He zipped through Rush Hour traffic, nimbly dodging between cars. As he passed Mallo's Bakery, the smell of fresh sourdough made his mouth water and his stomach grumble.

"Oh, what the hell," he said to himself. Steve pulled the bike off the road and secured it to a corroded rack a half block from Mallo's. Unfortunately, everyone else in the Bronx had the same cravings, and he had to wait in line for over fifteen minutes. After that, it seemed ignorant to just get a loaf of bread, and he ended up with a half dozen donuts as well.

He carefully headed for home, using one hand to steer the bike and the other to hold his burdens. When he finally saw his building, he slowed to a stop a block away.

"What the hell is going on?"

There were no less than three news vans outside his building. One of them had their antenna extended up past the second story. Shaking his head, he crossed the street and prepared himself for the barrage.

"I think that's him now!" said a man with patchy stubble and a beer belly. He dashed up to Steve and shoved a microphone with the TMZ logo emblazoned across it in his face. "Pimpmaster S, how does it feel to be getting married?"

"Pimptastic," Steve said, trying to smile though he just wanted to get inside and eat. "Absolutely Pimptastic."

"Pimpmaster Borgia," said a woman, which caused Steve to grin since she had combined his stage and real names. "Pimpmaster, over here please. The PTC says that the WWL is a threat the the American family, and that you are a terrible role model for our youth."

"Well, I'm supposed to refer those kind of questions to our PR department, but let me just say that our shows are rated TV-14, and parents should use their own best discretion."

Steve politely stepped around the woman and her camera man. He had one foot on the step when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Mr. Borgia, a moment of your time please!"

Steve turned to face another reporter, a fortyish man with a bald pate.