MAGPIE (16 page)

I stayed there, not wanting to move, think or act. I let Greg explore my body, my breasts, belly, and thighs. He kissed my neck while he gently probed between my legs. I let out a slight gasp as he fingered my swollen lips with one hand and squeezed my left nipple with his other. I couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

I came in less than a minute, which left me feeling despondent over the immediacy of my orgasm. With my eyes still shut, I drove out the criticisms forming in my head. Hadn’t this summer been one of renewal? Hadn’t I vowed to move on and let go of old habits…and ghosts? A few moments passed when I finally opened my eyes. Greg was sitting on the tub’s edge, making gentle circles in the water with his right hand; the other held a glass of wine—a full one that he offered to me before easing me out of the water. He softly patted me dry then led me to the bedroom where I crawled under the covers while he effortlessly undressed. It was like slow motion, watching every part of his body move. I wanted him so badly, I moaned in anticipation.

Greg slid under the covers and leaned in to kiss me. Passion unleashed, my mouth met his and he kissed me harder. My hand groped for his cock, and I began rubbing against his thigh, letting him know how much I wanted it…wanted him. Sliding on top of me, he spread my legs with his and held my wrists down while he moved to find my wet and willing pussy. Greg was breathing hard, almost grunting as he began to pump; slow at first, then harder. My hips moved to his rhythm, leading him faster. It was like nothing I’d felt before—wild, raging, uncontrollable.

We came together in an almost orchestrated way, though nothing about our lovemaking was scripted. All the day’s suffering and sadness was exorcized in that moment, replaced by a sexual tranquility foreign to me. I hadn’t felt that satisfied in ages, and I smiled to myself. After lying on top of me to catch his breath, Greg slid off to one side. The light was streaming through the window, and I noticed the outline of the muscles in his back, highlighted by the sweat coating his skin. Thick hair fell over his face, which he’d buried between my breasts. I lay still, my breath slowing with each exhale. Minutes passed before he looked up, kissed me lightly, and said, “You are most irresistible, Mags.”

Smiling, I slipped away to get some much-needed water for both of us. It was already four o’clock, so I fed Cody, grabbed a few more snacks, and sauntered back down the hallway. Greg leaned up on one arm and watched me walk into the room. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel self-conscious, and I asked him if he wanted water and something to eat. Nodding like a schoolboy, he said yes, and I placed the tray of goodies on the bed.

“I feel like I have to say something,” I said with a more formal tone than I’d wanted.

Greg popped a strawberry in his mouth then said, “Don’t.”

We spent the rest of the day in bed, making love several more times and napping in between. Falling asleep came naturally; his arms tenderly wrapped around me. I didn’t dream that night, and didn’t toss or turn. I woke early, cocooned by strong arms. Moments passed before I felt Greg’s hard cock pressed against my back, provoking an instantaneous and extremely wet reaction in me.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Greg said as he maneuvered on top of me.

“Good morning, handsome,” I purred, “What’s for breakfast?”

CHAPTER 8

Wicked Times

I
t snowed on September 19
th
. Eleven days later, the temperature soared to eighty-two degrees. I was looking forward to less erratic weather patterns, which October refused to supply. The harvest month reported temperatures ranging from a balmy seventy-nine degrees on the 8
th
to a frigid twenty-seven degrees mid-month. Denver reported its first measurable snowfall of 1.4 inches on October 18
th
. The city’s news channels loved this time of year because climate fluctuations were big business in the ratings game. Denverites began to text, tweet and post images of autumn sunbathers at Wash Park then a week later, shared pictures of unique snowmen decked out in retired winter gear. I didn’t stow my warm-weather clothes until late November.

Greg and I had fun incorporating the weather into our plans. I played hooky the afternoon of the 8
th,
and we drove to Boulder for an afternoon walking the Pearl Street Mall, stopping at Ben & Jerry’s for ice cream and straying from the Mall just a bit to have dinner at cozy Irish pub
.
I had tasty fish and chips, while Greg devoured a heaping shepherd’s pie. When the temperature plummeted, I played hooky again, hiding out at Greg’s house where we enjoyed his outdoor hot tub…and indoor California king.

I’d been to Greg’s home on a few occasions for dinner or a nightcap but hadn’t really seen much of it except his masculine, yet incredibly comfortable den. The day the thermometer wasn’t supposed to go beyond thirty degrees, I didn’t leave Greg’s house at all. I explored every nook and cranny, beginning with his gourmet kitchen (where we fucked on the center island); moving on to his impressive home office (this time, on his sleek leather sofa); meandering through his vast closet (where he licked my pussy until I screamed in ecstasy beneath endless racks of fine men’s clothes), finally winding up in his lavish bedroom, where we stayed through the night.

It was Saturday, the day after Greg and I exhausted ourselves fucking like teenagers in every room of his house, I went to work on my kitchen pantry: Consolidating duplicate containers of breadcrumbs; getting rid of near-empty spice bottles; and wiping small trays that held a wide variety of oils and vinegars. I was expecting a large crowd for Thanksgiving and probably the same number for Christmas Eve. To top it off, Steve had managed to make a full recovery from his accident; I intended to celebrate the holidays with panache, well seasoned with love and joy. It was only mid-October, but they’d sneak up on me, so I dedicated the next few weeks to preparing the house—especially the kitchen—for the merrymaking.

Coffee on, Cody fed, I stood at my back door, glancing at the empty bird feeder that hung from the bare ash. Reaching for my jacket, I heard the phone buzz…it was Daniel. I hadn’t heard from him in weeks. We’d stopped talking altogether and only texted late at night when we (mostly him) needed a good virtual fuck. I couldn’t get past the emotionally charged text that exposed his feelings for me—feelings I’d had earlier on, but were eventually dowsed after realizing how much easier things were between us with no strings attached. I went outside to fill the feeder and empty my head.

I could smell the coffee before I opened the back door. It wasn’t as cold outside as it looked, and I was glad to shed my jacket once inside. Grabbing my green mug, I poured a steaming cup and looked at the phone. Three more texts had come in, all from Daniel.

What the fuck
. I unlocked the screen, hit the text bubble and opened Daniel’s string:

Today, 8:19 AM

DANIEL: Hey

Today, 8:21 AM

DANIEL: Hey?

DANIEL: U up?

Today, 8:25 AM

DANIEL: U even there??

There was something very unappealing about his desperate tone. Still, I didn’t want to string him along by way of digital avoidance, so I responded,

MAGS: Was outside, what’s up?

DANIEL: Not me, anymore that is

MAGS: Seriously

DANIEL: Lighten up!

MAGS: Just bsy today

DANIEL: Oh ok, we haven’t talked lately

MAGS: Ya, bsy at work 2

DANIEL: Mags, what is it?

I knew this time would come, I just didn’t expect it—or want it—to be today,

MAGS: I’ve met someone

DANIEL: So? Me 2!

MAGS: Really like him, its good

DANIEL: Tell me more

MAGS: I don’t want to Danny, it’s special

DANIEL: What else r u saying?

MAGS: This could be it for me

DANIEL: How long have u known him?

MAGS: No, I mean it for u and me

Daniel didn’t reply for some time. He could have received a call or become distracted with work. He did tell me once that his best writing happened on the weekends. Hell, I didn’t have time to contemplate Daniel’s feelings; I had a pantry to clean out.

My phone buzzed as “Maggie May” played on my iPod,

I know I keep you amused, but I feel I’m being used…

I hesitated to look because I just didn’t want to deal with the Daniel dilemma. Relief washed over me as I read the screen: One missed call from Greg. I quickly unlocked the phone and listened,

Sorry I missed you, Mags. Been on my mind all morning. Missing my green-eyed lady with golden skin and crazy hair. Call me back if you get a chance. Greg.

I hit the call back button and listened for a ring, but Greg picked up before a single tone sounded.

“Hey you! I was just going to try you one more time in hopes of securing a ‘yes.’” Greg’s excitement was contagious.

“‘Hey you,’ back. What kind of ‘yes’?” I fidgeted on the bar stool like a schoolgirl waiting to be asked to dance.

Greg said with higher pitch than normal, “Okay, so remember when I asked you to go see “Wicked” with me last month, but Steve was in an accident and you had to cancel?” He didn’t wait for my answer, interrupting my train of thought, “You know, I sold the tickets and figured we’d wait until the next time it came around. But the waiting is over.”

Confused, I asked, “Greg, what are you taking about?”

“Mags, this year marks the show’s tenth anniversary. It’s playing on Broadway in less than two weeks, October 30
th
, to be exact.” Greg’s enthusiasm was adorable, but it still wasn’t clicking.

“Greg, please slow down. I don’t understand.” I was trying to sound rational, but I probably came off like more of a fuddy-duddy.

“Mags, I want to take you to New York to see ‘Wicked.” It’s a Wednesday, but that shouldn’t be a problem… should it?” He paused, waiting for an eager, “yes.”

“Greg, I have to work. That’s the middle of the week.” I shot him down with a perfectly aimed missile. “As much as I appreciate your proposal, I can’t just take off like that.” Settled.
Now, let’s talk about lunch
, I almost said, but was interrupted.

“You’re joking, right? You told me that you had tons of saved personal time. You told me you couldn’t wait to see ‘Wicked.’ You told me you loved how spontaneously I lived my life, Mags. What was that all about?” Greg was puzzled, and I couldn’t blame him.

“Greg, I don’t even know how to process this. I don’t live like that. I have a job, I have a dog, I have…”

For the second time, Greg interrupted me and said emphatically, “All of which can go on without you for a couple of days! Mags, I’m not talking about a week. I’m talking about thirty-six friggin hours spent in The Big Apple enjoying fabulous food and a show you’ve been dying to see for years!”

“Greg, how can you just take off like that? I mean, you have a job, too, right?” Fuddy-duddy to the nth degree, but I couldn’t stop my rational strong arm from striking down Greg’s thoughtful and exciting plan. I’d never done anything so impulsive with someone else; spontaneity had been reserved for my solo adventures. Would his enthusiasm prevail? Would I let it?

“Mags, remember when you didn’t want me to come over after you’d spent the morning with Tony and Steve in the hospital? Do you remember how glad you were when I insisted?”

Yes, I do.

“Can you trust me that this could be the best time we’ve had together and the start of something fantastic for us?” Greg’s confidence was beginning to chip away at my skepticism.

“Greg, I really don’t want to be a ‘Debbie downer,’ but this is a biggie for me, you have to know that about me by now. I just can’t take off with you like this…”

Interrupting me for the third time, Greg said, “Here’s what I know, Mags. I know you feel stuck. I know you feel stressed. You’d have a blast, Maggie, and I know I’d have one with you. Thirty-six hours, Mags. A day and a half, that’s all I’m talking about.”

Stubbornly, I added, “We haven’t even talked about the cost of the trip, Greg.”

“That’s ridiculous, and you know it. You’re being childish now. I’m asking you out on a date. He who asketh, payeth!” Greg was teasing me now, which meant he believed he’d won this battle.

Playing into his victory, I said, “What shall one weareth?!

“That’s m ’Lady!”

***

I had Colorado clothes in my closet, not attire fit for New York City dining and theatre. In a panic, I texted Katie,

Today, 1:22 PM

MAGS: Need u sis!

KATIE: Really?!

MAGS: Ya, usually the other way, right

KATIE: Whats up?

MAGS: Clothes dilemma

KATIE: What, where and when?

MAGS: Dinner and a play, NYC, soon

KATIE: WTF?!

MAGS: Ya

KATIE: OMW – better have wine

Katie barged through the door like a wild boar, “Okay, pour me a glass, and tell me everything!” She was grinning from ear to ear, seemingly waiting for this moment.

I opened a simple California white and broke out some veggies and dip. I had a few ripe avocados, so I whipped up some guacamole and found a not-yet-stale bag of chips.

Katie sat on the edge of the barstool, so she could reach the guac. She scooped up a good-sized dollop and shoved it in her mouth, washing it down with a gulp of wine. Clearing her throat she said, “Okay, start from the beginning, Mags.”

Katie knew I’d been dating Greg for a while, but I’d shared few details. Tonight however, I opened up and told her
almost
everything there was to tell. She chuckled at his age, drooled at his pictures, questioned what his job “really” was, and probed a little too much into our sex life.

“Katie! Really, some things are off limits,” I said as color filled my cheeks.

“Oh, Jesus, Mags, we’re sisters! We’re supposed to know everything, like how big is his cock?” She’d had always been more sexually open and loved to talk about her escapades. We hadn’t had a heart-to-heart “sister” talk in some time and I missed it suddenly.

No longer sipping my wine, I took a generous swig and said, “Okay, okay! But be patient, you know this is much harder for me than for you.”