Tunnel of Love Pt. 02

"Anyway, I got rid of all the...stuff...in the house. Poured it down the drain. I haven't had a drink since. It's been hard, so hard...I think I may need help to stay on the wagon...but you know what I do now? I look at Bobby, and...I manage to get through it."

Mike closed his eyes and winced.

"So," Collette added quickly, as if unsure how to read his reaction, "that's what I want to thank you for. Again, I'm so sorry for being...inappropriate. I really hope things work out between Jennifer and you."

Confused, Mike asked, "What...what do you mean?"

"Oh, I'm—damn it, why do I always screw everything up? I just...well, the other night I was trying to get Bobby to bed. I said, 'Bobby, you can sleep alone. Mommy does it. You don't have to like it, but you can do it.' He said, 'OK, I guess if Mikey's dad can do it, I can do it.' Then it came out... apparently Mikey told Bobby that his dad...you...weren't sleeping with his mommy anymore."

"Mike, I shouldn't leap to conclusions. I just know...well, you might say, 'Been there, done that.' So, if you are having problems, I hope you can work them out. Jennifer has never liked me, but I can't blame her. I don't think she's a bad person."

Confused again, Mike asked, "You think...you think it's...about her?"

Collette took Mike's hand and smiled. "Mike, you're a boy scout. I'm not the only single mom who's...looked in your direction on occasion. The way Bobby looks up to you, what you did for him...for us...of course it's not about you. I could never believe that. You're..."

Her voice trailed off. She gazed out at the kids playing. Mike didn't know what to say. After a long, awkward silence, Collette finally rose from the bench.

"Well, I'm going to take Bobby home. One thing I've always been serious about, Mike—might we...I mean, might Mikey be up for a play date or sleepover some time?"

Rising, Mike shook her hand. "You bet. I'm not sure when, though. I—well, look, I hope you won't spread this around—"

Collette looked gravely wounded. "Mike, I would never—gosh, am I so reviled—"

"No, I'm sorry," he said—surprising himself by spontaneously hugging her. Just as quickly, he let her go.

"Your...intuition...about Jennifer and me...well, you're not wrong. So, I'm not sure...a playdate and such...it might be a while until—"

"Okay Mike, it's okay. You've done enough for us. Take care of your own little boy; Bobby is so lucky to have him as a friend. And Mike?"

They locked eyes. Mike wanted to look away, but for some reason, he was unable.

"Take of yourself too. If you ever need to talk with someone who's...been in the trenches...who would understand what you're going through..."

She kissed him on the cheek, turned, and walked away. Mike stood there, like a statue, flabbergasted.

As Mike slowly made his way to Mikey, he remembered the little fantasy about Collette that he'd concocted in the shower. He felt bad about that now. He decided that so long as Collette stayed on the straight-and-narrow, she deserved a second chance from all those who had thought poorly of her.

He wished he could do something to help her, but he was trying to work things out with Jennifer, and taking on a female friend would not further that goal. Things at home were getting a little better; communication was improving, and there were even flashes of humor and tenderness on occasion. But they still had not restored any physical intimacy; and increasingly, like that time in the shower, he'd found his thoughts...straying.

It struck him that this sober and conservatively dressed Collette—having displayed a glimmer of intelligence, perhaps even wisdom, and a resolve to get better for her son's sake and her own—was even more attractive than the drunken harlot in his fantasy. All the more reason, Mike thought, not to befriend Collette right now. In his state, a female friend could be dangerous; especially, one with large, soft breasts; a nice ass (he couldn't help but notice as she walked away)...

...and a blonde pussy...Shit, why am I thinking these things? Because I'm horny...

Mike collected Mikey and headed home.

* * *

It was a Saturday night. What used to be "date night."

Mike had stayed out late at the gym. Busy preparing a lesson plan, Jennifer had indulged Mikey and let him watch television unsupervised. Sure enough, he'd gotten bored, changed the channel, and found a show that drew him in—then scared the daylights out of him. He refused go to bed with the light out, then even with the light on he refused to go bed alone.

So now, there was Jennifer, sitting beside his bed, waiting for him to fall asleep.

This sort of thing had rarely happened before their troubles. It was another subtle ripple of the disturbance. Mike wasn't neglecting Mikey—far from it—but he wasn't home all the time like he'd used to be, either. In those days, even when Mike had been doing his own thing around the house, his simple presence had made a difference; a difference Jennifer was coming to appreciate.

Not that the difference really surprised her. As a teacher, she'd gotten to know many kids from troubled or broken homes. She didn't need online research—she had experience. An unstable home environment worked a terrible disadvantage upon a child. Sometimes it was so obvious, just a couple of weeks into a new school year she could pick out the kids whose parents were divorced, separated, or struggling.

Jennifer's thoughts were interrupted when Mike stopped by the room to check on them. As Mike took a step into the room, Mikey stirred. Mike looked at him, smiled, winked Jennifer good luck, and retreated. The wink was one of those ways they'd developed to communicate wordlessly. Ways that had disappeared, in the aftermath of Black Sunday, and had only sporadically reappeared since.

Mike was looking good, Jennifer thought. The extra workouts were having an impact. His unavailability also made Jennifer hunger for him.

Sex wasn't everything, she thought, but a marriage without sex wasn't much of anything. She was desperate to rebuild physical attraction and intimacy between them. But talking with Dr. Seymour, she'd learned that she had to approach it slowly, and absolutely not for the sake of vanity. If he sensed in the least that she was looking to rebuild her confidence, that she wanted his attention just to make her feel better... If she acted selfishly, like she'd acted with James...

No, Jennifer realized, she had to stay on the opposite side of vanity and selfishness. She needed something with a touch of...vulnerability? But how to do anything without touching Mike? He did not seem ready for that, and she did not want a repeat performance of the debacle in the shower.

While thinking about how that debacle had begun—how she'd "caught" Mike—she recalled a somewhat similar situation, many years before. Was it five years? Eight years? Ten years? No, it was before Mikey was born. More than ten years ago. How time had passed...

She was taking a shower. She wasn't expecting Mike home just yet. He surprised her, slipping into the bathroom quietly while the water ran. He admitted later that it had been a terrible idea—to surprise a woman, believing herself to be home alone, in a shower.

Scared, however, is not how Jennifer had reacted. When Mike poked his head in the shower stall, Jennifer had been doing something...private. Her immediate reaction was embarrassment.

Mike hadn't been quite sure what he'd seen, but he was intrigued and asked her to continue. She said she was just washing herself and if his thoughts were so dirty, he better get in the shower with her! Before long, they were fucking.

For a few weeks thereafter, Mike dropped...hints. She ignored them. Finally, he came right out and asked, and she flat-out told him to forget it.

That was more than ten years ago, and she'd never heard about it since. The poor guy had given up. She wondered what else he'd given up on, what else had she turned down that might now, when facing the possibility of divorce, seem so trivial to have denied her husband? And maybe herself?

Finally, Mikey's eyelids fluttered shut, but his sleep was restless. For a half an hour, Jennifer was afraid to get up out of her chair. So, while Mike went to bed, she stayed with Mikey, trying to wish his troubles away...while building up the nerve to do something about her own.

* * *

Mike lay in his bed, wondering how he was going to get to sleep, when he heard a faint sound at the bedroom door. He opened his eyes. It was dark, but his eyes expected that; plus, a little light was leaking in from around the window treatments. Able to see fairly well, he watched as Jennifer—wearing a bathrobe—opened the door, tiptoed into the room, and closed the door behind her.

Mike started to protest, but she held her finger to his lips—reminding him that Mikey was barely asleep. She did not approach the bed, but rather, found an open space against the wall across from the bed, where the light was relatively strong. Mike had no idea what to do—he didn't want to speak, even whisper, for fear of waking his son. He thought to gesture at Jennifer, but what would he gesture? For her to leave? He didn't even know what she was doing in the room.

As if to explain, Jennifer dropped her robe.

All thoughts vanished from Mike's mind as he beheld Jennifer's beautiful naked body, bathed in swaths of pale light and shadow. She looked like an erotic watercolor painting; though as his eyes continued to adjust, she became very three-dimensional and detailed indeed. While his thoughts were arrested, his body responded. His heart rate began to accelerate, his breathing deepened, and blood began flowing to his loins.

Jennifer still did not approach the bed. She stood against the wall, leaning against it slightly. Her eyes were closed. Mike noticed that she was trembling.

Recovering somewhat from the first rush of arousal, Mike still had no idea what to do. Various thoughts and feelings battled for control of him. Had Jennifer tried to get into bed with him, he would not have allowed it. He was not ready for another...humiliation.

But Jennifer did not move; at least, not towards the bed. Instead, she leaned further back against the wall, spreading her legs for balance. Mike's pulse shot up at the sight of her inner thighs, the soft hair on her mons, and the outer lips of her sex. But his attention was soon drawn away, higher—as Jennifer slowly began circling her fingers around her breasts.

Like water down a drain, all Mike's negative thoughts and feelings emptied. Meanwhile, his cock began to harden. He wondered if he was dreaming. The quietude, the light, the fact that Jennifer was doing something he'd never seen her do, all made it seem like a dream. Maybe that helped him to just take it in, rather than try to do something.

Mike's groin throbbed as Jennifer caressed and lightly squeezed her magnificent orbs. He backed up a little so as to prop himself up for a better view. Jennifer's fingers were now on her nipples—those beautiful, succulent nipples that captivated him so. His eyes could not see them well, especially with Jennifer's fingers moving about them—but his mind, stocked with more than twelve years of memories, completed the picture for him.

Eyes still closed, Jennifer was now cupping her breasts and squeezing as her fingers swept over them. She was still trembling, but her breathing suggested she was not merely nervous. Mike knew that breathing. It was the sound of Jennifer breathing when he touched her, the way she was now touching herself.

It surprised Mike to realize how erect he was...and how simply aroused he felt. He felt no pressure to perform—or please. Jennifer had given him nothing to do at all except watch. Nothing to do but take in her body (that body!) as she revealed herself, literally and figuratively.

Jennifer's hands were lower now, caressing her hips and thighs. Her face betrayed that continuing mixture of nervousness and excitement, with a hint of something else. A hint of how she looked when Mike touched her....how he used to touch her. Is that what Jennifer was thinking about?

She paused, hesitating on a threshold. They both held their breath...and gasped as she placed one hand between her legs. Mike's cock jerked as he watched Jennifer start to stroke her pussy lips. He couldn't take it anymore; he slipped his hands into his shorts.

As her fingers began to dance on her clit, his fingers handled his aching rod. So they continued, silently, until they both found release. Towards the end, it had seemed, Jennifer had lost herself in the moment; the expression on her face, as her body shook, had been intense.

Silently, Jennifer put her robe on, left the room, and closed the door. Soon, Mike was peacefully asleep.

* * *

Two weeks later, Dr. Seymour gave them a night off from therapy—at least, at her office. Instead, she sent them on a field trip. The assignment was simple.

"Go to a restaurant. Have dinner together. Talk. Fake it at first, if you have to, and don't freak out if it's more fun than you expected. Don't be afraid that you're forcing something, conceding something, or raising expectations."

They couldn't get a babysitter for Friday night, so they made a "date" for Saturday night. Jennifer thought about returning to the restaurant where they'd gone the night before Black Sunday but decided it was too risky. Instead, she picked a new restaurant that had just opened. She hoped it would help inspire a fresh start for their relationship.

At first, they felt awkward. When the menus arrived, however, they fell into a little comedy routine about the choices; that (and a couple drinks) lightened the mood. Yet, they couldn't fully shake the feeling of there being an elephant in the room; each wondered, silently, if it would ever go away. When dessert came, the comedic banter returned. Still, the evening was a far cry from their last dinner date, when they'd almost had sex on the table.

Mike, however, was pleasantly surprised. There was something about getting out of the house—out of the demilitarized zone—that allowed him to relate to Jennifer in a way that had been lacking. As they prepared to leave, Mike helped Jennifer out of her chair. Walking out, he put his arm around her waist. They were small gestures, but they thrilled Jennifer as if she'd been on a first date with someone upon whom she had a crush.

When they got to the car, Mike opened the door for her. Before getting in, she kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for a lovely dinner. Like an armor-piercing shell, the compliment shot right through Mike's lingering defenses. He actually blushed.

Back home, they discharged the babysitter, who had already gotten Mikey to sleep. Separately, they prepared to go to bed. Neither of them intimated that there might be more to come; but interestingly, neither said "goodnight" to the other, either.

Sure enough, after a short wait, Jennifer slipped into Mike's bedroom. It was a warm night, and Mike was not under the covers. He lay atop them, wearing only his usual sleeping shorts.

Closing the door, Jennifer stood by it and removed her robe. As she'd done before, she began to touch herself. This time, however, she was more assured, even a little exhibitionistic. However, she did not make herself come; she had greater ambitions for the encounter.

While continuing to masturbate, Jennifer slowly approached the bed. She would inch forward, then stop for a minute, inch farther, and pause again, like a photographer approaching a wild animal. She didn't consciously think of it that way, but she grasped the concept instinctively—and it worked.

At no time, as she drew closer, did Mike protest. Eventually, Jennifer came alongside him, about where his knees were. Then, ever so slowly, she started to mount the bed.

At this, Mike startled, rising up on his elbows. Jennifer held out a palm as if to reassure him or beg him a small indulgence. Mike hesitated for a moment, but then relaxed. Encouraged, Jennifer finished mounting the bed, straddled Mike's right leg...and pressed her naked pussy against it.

She felt a thrill as her warm, wet slit spread across his skin. A tremor shot to her nipples. She ached for him to touch her there, anywhere...but she quelled her disappointment when he remained still. She'd hoped for more but expected this, and at least she was finally with him.

Jennifer began to rock her pussy back and forth on his leg. As her moisture leaked out, the lubrication allowed her to move a little faster, with a little more pressure. Mike did not touch her, but he did not interfere either...and soon, Mike's cock was obviously hard.

Closing her eyes, Jennifer kept up a reserved appearance, but inside, she was ecstatic. Finally, she was touching Mike intimately again, and he was responding. Plus, it felt really, really good! She adjusted the angle of her body to bring her clit squarely to bear on his firm leg. The combination of soft skin over hard muscle provided sweet stimulation.

Rocking and grinding more quickly, Jennifer began to pant. Being in control, however, she was able to nurse her arousal along, upping it one degree at a time. An orgasm undoubtedly was within reach, but she delayed it, wanting to prolong and savor the experience.

Opening her eyes, she again noticed Mike's tented shorts. During their last encounter, she had not looked at Mike, wanting to allow him some privacy to experience her sharing of herself. But now, being this close...she wanted to see him; especially, his cock.

More than that, she wanted to touch it, but she was unsure if she should dare. After the slight progress they'd made last time—and after the progress they'd already made tonight—she did not want a setback. On the other hand, Jennifer wanted Mike to come, just as she knew she would come, as soon as she allowed herself.

As carefully as she had approached the bed, Jennifer approached Mike's straining dick. She placed her right hand on his left leg—the one she was not straddling—as if for balance. She held it still there for a while, letting Mike get used to her touch.

Once again, her caution and patience paid off. Mike startled neither when she touched his leg nor when, a few minutes later, she began massaging it. It just felt good to him, like the massage she was giving his other leg with her moist slit.

Slowly but surely, Jennifer expanded the reach of her massaging hand. Eventually, her upward passes came right up to the hem of his shorts. When Mike did not object to that, she began reaching just under the hem, furtively hiking it up. Soon, without objection from Mike, his whole thigh was exposed, as was the hem of his briefs.

Emboldened, Jennifer reached into his shorts to feel his crotch. That startled Mike; but once again, after a moment of hesitation he sighed and relaxed. Carrying on, Jennifer's fingers traced, then stroked his balls through the fabric of his underpants. Mike made a sound like a very quiet moan.

Is he going to let me? I think he's going to let me! As long as it's just my hand, I think!

With diminishing restraint, Jennifer caressed Mike's package. She rubbed along the hard shaft, stroking it with increasing firmness. When her fingertips grazed the spot where the head of his dick bulged against the fabric, she found it was wet. Jennifer smiled.

I'm turning him on! I've made him hard, and he's leaking cum! Like me...god, I'm wet...his leg is so slick...mmmm!

Jennifer withdrew her hand, brought it up to Mike's naked stomach, and hooked her fingers under the waistbands of his shorts and underpants. Studying Mike apprehensively, she lightly tugged. He didn't startle, but he didn't respond positively either. Undeterred, Jennifer tugged again...and nearly squealed when, this time, Mike raised his hips slightly.