The Lazy Lemon Sun Ch. 04

When I finished and put my plate aside, I reached across the table and brushed my fingertips across the back of Sandy's hand. That started the waterworks. Brushing a tear off as it slid down her cheeks, I said, "What's wrong?"

"I thought I'd lost you. For two months, I was terrified I'd never see you again. Then, when I finally found you, that look on your face as you sang that song."

"Sorry," I said.

"It's not your fault," she said. "It's mine. And theirs."

"Mostly theirs."

She picked my hand up and stroked my palm against her cheek before kissing it. "If this happens again--if this doesn't work out and you decide to move on--at least tell me to my face, okay?"

"It's going to work out, Sandy," I said, realizing I meant every word.

"But if it doesn't, promise me you won't just disappear."

"Promise."

She smiled and leaned into my hand. "Thanks."

A few minutes later, we were both more relaxed. I was standing at the sink washing the dishes while Sandy dried and put them away. She was getting more playful as we did so, reaching across to flick water on my shirt until I did the same to her and went a touch overboard.

"I'm soaked," she said, looking at the wet fabric dousing most of the front of her blouse.

"Serves you right."

"Fine," she said, that familiar curl lifting the corner of her lips as that twinkle danced in her eyes. "Might as well be now as anytime."

She started unbuttoning her blouse, but I decided to play dumb.

"What're you doing?"

"You know damned well what I'm doing."

I shook my head and leaned back. "Not a clue. We've got dishes to finish here."

"I've got an itch that needs scratching first."

"But the dishes," I protested.

"The itch comes first." She pulled the blouse off and came to me, falling easily into my arms and lifting her face to mine. "So unless this flock of groupies has got you all worn down, get to scratching."

I tilted my head and kissed her, the passion quickly increasing as I ran my hands over her bare back. Her frame, always slim to begin with, was nearly gaunt; I could feel her rib cage against my fingertips and her bra, when I went to unsnap it, was loose.

But the kiss, and the ways and places she touched me, was still Sandy. The Sandy I'd fallen in love with. The one who quickly got going and was now clawing at my shirt to get it over my head before going straight for the jeans and undoing them before tugging them down.

"Wait," I said, breaking away and stepping back.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her face confused and more than a bit hurt.

I gave her a broad grin. "I want to watch you undress yourself."

"Right here?" she said, her eyes darting right to the window over the sink then over her shoulder to the sliding glass doors behind us.

"You started it," I said.

"Is this that exhibitionism thing you were threatening me with?" she said, the hurt gone and the twinkle back as she started sliding her fingers over her ribs, breasts, and belly.

"Maybe."

"Is everyone up here as perverted as you are, or have you just been spending your nights all alone surfing internet porn?"

"Not tellin'."

Her hands slid down the front of her jeans, and I saw her hips start a slow twirl as her right hand got low enough for contact.

"Is this what you had in mind?"

"Pretty much."

Her left hand started massaging her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples taut as her right hand continued squirming in her pants.

"You gonna join me?" she asked, exhaling in relief as she spoke.

"As in help you?"

"As in undress in front of me, too."

"Does it work that way?" I said, sliding my jeans the rest of the way down.

She bit her lip, but kept her eyes on me. "It better work that way."

"Like this?" I said, reaching into my boxers and grabbing my hard on.

"Now stroke it," she said, her left hand moving down to unbutton her jeans. She shimmied out of them, and I was treated to a full view of her right hand twirling between her legs.

I started a slow stroke, mesmerized by the sight of my pixie wife pleasuring herself.

"Now the underwear," she said.

With my left hand, I slid them slowly down my hips until they fell to my ankles.

Stepping out of them, I moved toward Sandy and leaned in to kiss her. My left hand joined the hand in her panties, while my right reached behind and grabbed her ass, squeezing and kneading before I pulled her panties down.

"This is nice," she said mumbled, panting into our kisses.

Her hand was soft and cool and it found me and pulled me to the kitchen floor. "I can't wait," she said, leaning backward and pulling me atop her.

She guided me in as her kisses got hungrier. I was overwhelmed by the sensations. She was an impossibly tight, moist inferno, and her hips rose to meet mine as I bottomed out. Her orgasm was almost immediate as she was clutched my ass and tried to pull me in deeper, her hips bucking and grinding against my pelvis to increase the contact with her clitoris.

Once her hips slowed down, I began stroking in and out, slowly at first, but soon increasing both in speed and force.

"Yes, yes," she panted into my ear. "Just like that, baby. Yes, just like that. I'm gonna cum again."

I had to brace my hands on the cool, slick linoleum to keep us from sliding into the wall, and I felt my own release approaching as she again started bucking and writhing beneath me, her fingernails digging deep into my skin and holding me still. Her slick walls were convulsing and sucking me in deeper, and I reared my head back and just exploded into her.

Moments later, Sandy's body collapsed fully to the floor, limp and satiated. "Oh my God, that was hot."

I smiled, still fully sheathed inside her. "Which part?"

"All of it."

"You liked it, didn't you?"

She looked up at me through hooded eyelids and gave a lazy smile. "You're still a pervert."

I chuckled. "Yeah, but apparently so are you."

"Whatever."

"Whatever."

* * * * *

An hour and a half later, just after completing round two, we lay in bed together.

"You've really worked up an appetite, haven't you?" I said.

She grinned. "Like I said, it's one hell of an itch here."

"You gonna try and screw me to death?"

"Maybe."

"Punishment?"

"You complaining?"

"No."

Her smile went from bright to nostalgic, and I said, "Penny for your thoughts."

She exhaled, then said, "It still doesn't seem real, y'know?"

"How so?"

"I was just so afraid. All those weeks, I didn't think I'd ever see you again. Then, when Mom told me that you'd never known, I was convinced you'd just run away from me."

"And this makes it more real?"

"This does," she said, snuggling into me. "I mean the boffing part's great and all--God knows I really need it--but this part, Mark. Just you holding me. It almost seemed real when I woke up in your arms, but I want to fall asleep there, too."

"You asking if you can spend the night?"

"Is it too soon?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I think I need this part, too."

She gave her happy, contented smile, then snuggled her smooth, naked skin in closer to mine. Within a few minutes, she was snoring softly, her breath tickling the few hairs on my chest.

* * * * *

She woke me up the next morning the way she used to wake me up only on Sundays.

I recommend it to anyone who wants to start the day out right.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Friday night dinner was spent catching Sandy up on all that had transpired.

I told her about Clarice Talbott and my brother raping her and my nephew I'd never known about. She was stunned to say the least, but not completely surprised about Stevie's role in it.

"I'm sorry, Mark," she said. "I know he's your brother and all, but he always had a bit of a sadistic streak in him. I used to take that to mean he was strong, but he wasn't. Sometimes he was just plain mean."

"But you loved him," I pointed out.

She shook her head. "I loved the idea of him. Of him and us together. Like the prom king and queen being together and having the beautiful house and making beautiful babies. Later, like I told you, I realized he'd have been just like all the other asshole husbands. I'd have had the house and the babies and lunch at the club, but I'd have never had a soul mate."

"You consider me your soul mate?" I said, a bit tickled at the notion she'd never express.

"You know I do," she said, surprised I'd ask. "Don't you consider me your soul mate?"

"No," I said. "I consider you the yin to my yang. You complete me in ways I need to be completed."

"And that's different?"

"I think so."

"Hmmm," she said, pursing her lips to ponder it.

Then I told her about the gigs and how they led to me meeting with Teddy and Nick to flesh out my songs. At first, she could've cared less because she had no clue who they were.

"They wrote all that music for LeadFoot," I said, cluing her in.

A lightbulb went off in her head. "And now they're in General Beauregard?"

"Exactly."

"Wow," she said. "Okay, that is a big deal, I suppose."

"Exactly," I said, pleased with myself.

"And they're gonna record your songs?"

"Nope. They're gonna help me peddle them to other acts."

She thought for a moment, then said, "And this is what you're gonna do now? Be a songwriter?"

"Just part time. I'm thinking of trying to get a job as a law professor to do full time."

"Professor?" she said, then laughed and flashed me an evil grin. "So it's not enough that you have tons of groupies, now you're gonna have all those little female students fawning over you, too?"

I laughed. "Never have enough."

"And if I start dressing like a schoolgirl, Professor?" She snuggled in closer. "Short little skirts and too tight white blouse? And maybe misbehave in class?"

"You naughty little girl," I laughed, then pulled her over my knees and gave her a firm smack on the ass.

"Ouch!"

"Ouch good or ouch bad?"

"Ouch I've been a naughty girl," she said, turning over her shoulder and daring me.

That led to a rather spirited romp along avenues we'd never before taken. Rubbing her cheeks afterwards, she insisted I apply lotion. That was almost as much fun as the romp. For both of us.

* * * * *

Sunday at noon, Sandy and I sat beside Clarice Talbott, the three of us huddled in tightly under one umbrella as the icy rain drummed upon us. Our banter through chattering teeth and constant shivers centered on weather this far north. I doubt I'd have seen him if someone hadn't gotten up and left just before the end of the first quarter.

He was huddled all alone, no umbrella, his baseball cap soaked as he hunched his shoulders against the weather. Even from where we were, though, I could tell he was lost in his thoughts as he watched his grandson scamper across the muddy field.

I nudged Sandy, and she looked. Her expression was inscrutable.

Clarice turned, looked, and said, almost to herself, "It was never his fault, you know. None of it was."

I held my tongue, but Sandy didn't.

"If he'd cared enough, he'd have gotten personally involved."

"She's his wife, though," Clarice said. "If you can't trust your wife, who can you trust?"

Sandy shot a look at me, then looked down. I took her freezing hand into mine and squeezed, trying to will some warmth into her skin. "You're right," I said to Clarice. "I don't suppose it's easy to believe such things are really possible coming from the woman you gave your heart and soul to all those years ago."

"But he could've been there for you," Sandy whispered after a moment. "He could've tried harder. Tried to be a part of Schuyler's life."

Clarice sighed. "Yeah, maybe. I'm not really too sure I'd have let him, though."

"Then why now?"

"Because a lot of time has passed. And now he's trying to do what's right. It's not just the money, though it sure helps. It's not his responsibility, though. I think it was the shame. All along, I think he blamed himself for Steven and . . . and what he was and what he did."

Clarice turned to me. "I don't know what he did to you, but I know it was more than just this. Still, I don't think it was all his fault. You may want to think about that."

I didn't move, just looked back at him all alone there with his thoughts.

* * * * *

The Generals managed a touchdown late in the third quarter. Not Schuyler, but the quarterback. Schuyler threw the key block just before the goal line, though. They held on to win six zip.

He ran up to us after the game, giving his mom a big hug that covered her rain coat with mud.

"We did it," he said, a bundle of energy even after an afternoon on the torn up gridiron. "Undefeated, mom. You know what this mean?"

"No, honey," she said, combing his hair back with her fingers. "What does it mean?"

"I get a trophy!" he said, giving a smile that accentuated his missing baby teeth.

Then he turned to us. "Who's parents are you?"

Clarice knelt in front of him. "This is your Uncle Mark," she said. "And your Aunt Sandy."

He looked perplexed. "I've got an uncle? And an aunt?"

I saw my dad off to the side, looking on as he swayed from foot to foot, his face a mask of sorrow. I cleared my throat and, when Clarice looked, nodded toward my dad. She looked, then gave a sad smile.

"And a grandpa, too."

"A grandpa?"

"He's over there, honey."

Schuyler turned and looked, not sure what to do. After a moment of staring, he said in a tiny voice, "Are you my grandpa?"

Dad hesitated, then nodded.

Schuyler closed the fifteen feet between him and Dad, stopped, and looked up. "Where've you been?"

Dad cleared his throat, and I could tell he was holding back tears. His body tensed, and it seemed all he could do to keep from bending down and taking the little boy into his arms. After a moment, he said, "I guess I haven't been a very good grandpa, have I?"

"No," the boy said. "You haven't."

They stared at each other for a minute or more. Then, as if in slow motion, Schuyler reached his tiny hand out and said, "Can you buy me a hot cocoa before they run out?"

Tears mixed with the rain on Dad's face, and he croaked, "Yeah. I'd love to."

The little boy led him to the tiny snack shack near the end zone already crowded with players.

"He wants to be a part of Schuyler's life," Clarice said, watching them. "We talked about it after you left, and I think it would be good for Schuyler."

"And my mom?" I said.

She gave a tight shake of her head. "He didn't think that wise."

"He's right."

We made our way to the snack shack as a group, standing off to the side.

"You have any plans for an early dinner?" Sandy said to Clarice.

She shrugged. "Probably just soup and sandwiches. On a cold day like this . . . ."

"You won't believe your luck," Sandy said, brightening under the gray skies. "You think Schulyer likes bacon and tomato on his grilled cheese?"

I looked at Sandy and grinned. "But Sunday's not grilled cheese night."

"It is now," she said, then turned to Clarice. "You guys in?"

* * * * *

Dad turned down Sandy's invitation to dinner.

"Thanks," he said, unable to meet my eyes. "Really. I've got a flight back to Washington, though. There's some things coming up before us, and I really need to be there."

"We gonna see you again soon?" Sandy said.

He looked up, disbelief on his face. "You still want to . . . ."

He turned to me, but my face was uncompromising. His eyes fell again.

I let him stew for a moment, then said, "I don't know, Dad. You used me."

He nodded. "I know. And I'm sorry. More sorry than you'll ever know."

"But you've got a grandson here now," I said. "A grandson who doesn't need to be abandoned a second time."

His eyes darted to Clarice and Schuyler as they walked to her car. "Is it too late?"

"Yeah, it's too late. But better late than never, don't you think?"

"But your mother," he said, still watching Schuyler with a look of longing I hadn't seen on him in forever.

"Looks like you've got some choices," I said.

He turned back to me, searching for a glimmer of forgiveness.

I gave him none. After a moment, his lips set and he started a slow nod.

I took Sandy's hand and left him there in the rain.

* * * * *

Nine months later, I was waiting at the front door of our little home a couple blocks away from my nephew's home.

"Hurry up," I cried out. "I'm gonna miss my train."

"Found it," Sandy called back. I heard her rushing down the hallway.

"Slow down. Jesus, you'll fall."

She slid to a stop at the end of the hall, gave a huge smile, and raised the camera, snapping away. "Look at you. You look awesome."

"You think?" I said, tugging the lapels on the sport coat to straighten the jacket.

"My own professor," she said, putting the camera down before walking over and tightening the knot on my tie. "This is just awesome."

"You think?"

"I think."

"Well, I think this is awesomer," I said, reaching over and stroking the gentle bulge in her belly.

"Awesomer?" she said, her hand going atop mine and pressing against our growing little one. "Is that even a word?"

"Should be."

She beamed, then reached over and gave me a long kiss on the lips. "Knock 'em dead, professor."

The End