Foreshadowing

She'd planned it as self-revelatory confession with comic undertones. She wondered if he'd laugh.

She recounted the tale of how when she was 8, her ever-struggling-financially-parents had purchased one nice gift for each of her siblings. Four "biggie" gifts meant there was no room for extras in the stockings. Apples, nuts, and that sticky orange chew candy covered in sugar and only found at Christmas filled in for Santa's extra reminders that he loved and cherished her.

Her "biggie" was a curly blonde doll and plastic lined baby carriage. She'd spent Christmas morning pushing her new charge around the cramped three bedroom house. She was beginning to feel she could love this non-TV-character-generic-wannabe if for no other reason than because Santa thought she could. Her mom then called her to breakfast. While she took seriously her responsibility, she was a chubby foodie-in-the-making and nothing would come between her and her mom's once-a-year-homemade biscuits. She dashed to the kitchen where all six of her family sat around the maple kitchen table so crowded in the small room that retrieving the biscuits from the countertop simply meant turning in her mother's chair.

Midway into the meal her brother remarked that something was stinky. Her older brother echoed the sentiment. Her sister agreed. Her father decided it was time to check out the growing pungency. He sent the children on a game of olfactory hide and seek. Her sister was the first to call out.

"Momma! I found it," she cried. "You should come quick. Just you."

She waited as her mom then called for her father. Her brothers jockeyed to be the next. Finally her parents were standing before her, concern oozing out of them but still silent. Her mom spoke first, "Baby, were you in a hurry when you left your room?"

"Guess so," she murmured, unclear if she were in trouble or being comforted. "Why?"

"Well, something's happened, honey," she said. "Your baby doll's carriage got too close to the wall heater and . . . "

Her father revealed the remains. The baby's blonde hair was now topped by a blackened melted mess. The carriage had a perfectly charred hole in its front.

She cried the tears her charge would never release. She knew it was her fault. She wanted to blame the Christmas breakfast smell of ham in the air but the still present odor of the melting plastic brought her to her senses. She had failed.

She wanted Santa to come back and make it right. Somehow she knew even then her parents couldn't. So until New Year's Day she proudly . . . or at least seemingly so . . . pushed that carriage up and down her street revealing her non-parenting skills just as the adulterous woman had worn the A (though she was years away from knowing that story).

She gave up her task only when boredom set in. Let's face it, baby carriages -- even with deformed babies -- can only take you to so many imaginative places.

She waited after completing the telling. He smiled at her, having chuckled initially as she described her defiance of social norms in the streets with her carriage. Now he had the look of one who was marveling. But she wasn't sure. Finally, he spoke.

"Some part of me wants to have saved you from the embarrassment. And the other knows that it was incidents such as this that shaped you into the woman I am thrilled to know."

"You are too terribly biased in my favor."

"And why not?" he said as he ceased the gentle rubbing of her forearm that he had absently begun the minute the story took a turn for the worse. "Why shouldn't there now be someone in your corner who is your absolute cheerleader?"

"Because I fear that getting too close to me often results in getting burned," she confessed. And the truth of their situation was as exposed as it had been for a long time.

They had simply pretended that she wasn't married and that he wasn't in the midst of an ugly divorce. They met each week at various restaurants around town and once a month arranged for a hotel at a downtown location no where near the suburbs in which each of them lived and worked. The friendship the two couples had once enjoyed was disrupted by the divorce so at least the awkwardness of double dating had been avoided. For six months they had settled into a routine that worked as long as they didn't examine it too closely.

She realized it was time to open her eyes.

She wasn't going to leave her husband. She didn't love him but she couldn't hate him enough to cause him that much pain. She had a life that worked for her. He had grown impotent years ago and refused to acknowledge it so she had taken care of herself in the way she knew how -- first personally and then with a series of lovers who were nothing more than men with whom she could enjoy an afternoon.

He was different. The friendship the four had shared had always been lopsided in their direction. They both enjoyed the theater and their spouses endured it. They both loved to cook and their spouses enjoyed the eating. They both wanted to travel and their spouses agreed to occasional weekend jaunts as a foursome. They never acknowledged any feelings for one another aside from the jokes their spouses even made about how they were much more evenly matched until he left the wife that had grown more bitter and spiteful with the passing years of no children and no focus on anything else.

She hadn't known he was even aware of her as a woman rather than just a friend until he asked her assistance one evening in purchasing some items for his new place. She agreed and her husband encouraged her to help him, noting that she was the one of the four with any decorating sense at all.

They shopped and compared and at first she hadn't responded when he continued to emphasize his points with a longer than usual touch of her arm. At checkout he had asked if she had time for a drink. She knew there was a nice quiet spot on the way home and since her husband was watching football or some kind of ball on one of his many satellite sports stations, she saw no reason to rush home. She'd said yes.

Over drinks their truths came out. He told her the disappointment and to some degree shame he'd harbored since learning he couldn't father any children. He acknowledged that it was his selfishness and pride that caused him to refuse his wife's suggestions of adoption. When she continued to focus on how they could have the family she desperately wanted, he found new ways to be the successful businessman and volunteer. From the outside looking in, they had it made. From the inside looking out, they were two lonely people who couldn't find their way back to one another.

She told him what she had never told a soul. She admitted that her marriage was more a friendship. She even told him about the other men though not in detail. Somehow she wanted him to know her as no one else did. She wanted him to see her for what she was, not for what she was supposed to be or pretended to be. She didn't even care if he was repulsed. The beauty of simply being without pretense was seductive. And she was ready to be seduced.

He drove her home but stopped a block before they arrived at her drive. He turned toward her.

"I have wanted you for more than a year," he said while focusing on her face with more attention than she'd received in a very, very, very long time. "And tonight, when you told me what you did, I wanted you even more. I wanted to see inside you as well as be inside you. I know you can't promise me a thing. I know you are going to stay right where you are. But if you ever . . . "

"Wait! I'm back at you wanting me! For a year?! Are you kidding me? I absolutely never knew," she was flabbergasted and looked away for a moment. That was the moment he moved in closer. Taking her face in his hands, he turned her so that they were eye to eye and only inches apart.

"Hear me. I have wanted you. I still want you. I simply want to know if you could begin to feel the same."

She looked in his eyes. And she kissed him. She kissed him as she had once kissed her husband when all she wanted was to explore every inch of him. She kissed him as she had wanted to about midway through the conversation when his pain was evident and his honesty anything but self-promoting. She kissed him with the passion and promise of more to come. Then she turned to look ahead and asked him to drive her home. As she exited the car, she made their next date.

They'd been faithful.

And now half a year into it, she was sure that the love she had never experienced before was hers to be had. She suspected she loved him early on, but she wouldn't consider the possibility. That love wouldn't change a thing. She was committed to chaos-contained. The onslaught of change that would drown them should they ever act on their fantasy lives would damage both them and the lives they'd constructed. She couldn't fathom how to survive it. So she lived for the days they had together and she endured the nights when she only wanted him to be the one beside her.

And now he was. He was beside her and offering her the one thing she needed in this moment -- a safe place to be . . . the bitch, the bride, the beauty, the burned, the flame. She relished every second.

He had found their favorite hotel when searching for a restaurant that had been recommended. Stopping by after the business lunch, he knew she'd love it. The rooms were spacious with a seating area separate from the bedroom and a bath tub big enough for all the sensual pleasures they'd teased each other with in the beginning days when phone sex was almost all they had going.

Today, he'd taken one of the many comp days he'd accummulated when his marriage was at its rockiest and he was at his most dedicated professionaly. She was "at a retreat center" searching for her spiritual center. The one part they hated were the lies that made them sound somehow better than they were. The result, though, was that his business was going as well as ever and her husband was happily content in knowing she was "there" for him emotionally if not physically.

She knew that friends that had known her from the beginning of her 20-year marriage wouldn't recognize the woman she was today. First of all, she was currently enjoying the jets of the tub with a glass of wine. And back then, she didn't drink. Secondly, she wasn't guilty. She had found a new definition of marriage that worked for them. No, she wasn't happy in the marriage, but she'd be more unhappy with the pain she'd cause in the leaving. And no, she wasn't happy that this incredible man that was disrobing to join her in the tub had to hide away with her. But she was ecstatic in the moment.

She waited for his 5 ft. 11 in. frame to settle in, facing her. She waited as the waves halted. She watched as he watched her. He smiled the smile of a man content. She smiled as his gaze moved from her face to the ample breasts that were half covered by the bubbles, half shining in their D-ness -- full and ready to be both fondled and sucked.

She raised her foot and nudged his nipple with her toe, squeezing slightly. She reached down and pulled his foot to her chest, placing it between her breasts and began to knead the muscles. Taking his toes in her fingers, she gave each a slight pull and twist, then worked her thumb up and down the bottom of his foot before moving to the top where she twisted her hands first left then right in much the same way he knew she worked his penis before going down on him.

He smiled and reciprocated on both her feet. "I have to admit that my most excellent professor has taken me to new heights in my massage techniques."

"I will give you an A- at least on this effort. And frankly, that's just to keep you striving."

She took both hands and squeezed the back of his ankles then worked her way up the calves. She thought of how he knew she was working her way up and most likely wondering if she'd stop midway or keep coming toward his mouth. She smiled in the fact that mid-calf she didn't know herself.

At his thigh, she delighted in the thickness of both that muscle and the ever-growing unit he now held in his hand. She paused long enough to bend down, slurp the tip as though it were a straw, and then lick her way up to his softly tufted chest. She swirled the water around his hair and nipples, first tweeking them slightly then nibbling on each. She sucked on his neck, making over the top noises that had him chuckling. Then she slowed down and took a deep breath. She held it as she took him in, retracing the path she'd just traveled with her eyes. As she turned, she exhaled and then lightly, ever so lightly, traced her tongue around his lip lines and then pressed her lips against his before slipping her tongue inside and sucking his in her mouth.

He placed his hands on her ass cheeks and squeezed. He began to work his way up her back, pulling the stress and strain away with each stroke. As she massaged his forehead and cheekbones, he made short work of her shoulders. At this point, she was straddling him. She loved the feel of his penis pressed against her and didn't want penetration to ruin the feeling. She was connected and warm and everything . . . fit.

He, however, was ready for more than what the space of the tub afforded. He suggested they relocate. She asked for a moment more and laid her head on his chest. He knew after the story she'd told him, she was asking for a hug from the daddy she'd lost only two years after that fated Christmas. He obliged. Holding her tightly, in silence, he reminded her that she was independent but not alone. He helped her remember what safety felt like.

Then she rose and gently toweling off first herself and then him, she allowed him to lead her into the bedroom where the duvet promised to swallow them whole and the sheets reminded her of a thin layer of velvet. She was feeling small and wanted to be buried beneath the whiteness of the spreads. She climbed in and covered up . . . completely. Holding the covers above her head to form a tent, she asked him to join her.

He crawled in from the opposite side and cradled her. Her ass fit snugly in the bend of his hips. His chest hairs, still slightly damp tickled her back before she settled in. He enveloped her and each hand clasped a breast, gently rubbing the nipples between each index finger and thumb. She reached behind her and found her prize. His cock was lovely. She thought he might not like the word if she said it aloud but she often thought it. "Lovely . . . absolutely lovely."

She showed her admiration by tugging and turning. She looked him in the eyes as she clasped him in her hands and began rubbing as though he were a spark waiting to ignite. She worked her way down to his balls and then used her thumb and finger to form the circle that would encase him. She squeezed slightly as she made her way up then down then up then down. She never let her eyes leave his. He knew she was watching and he knew she drew pleasure from his. He was glad to make her happy. He closed his eyes and went to the place where every cell was alive, every nerve ending ready to respond. He smiled.

She straddled him again. This time her hair was tickling his chest. As she scooted downward, she applied more pressure and let the tip of his cock tickle back. She kept moving. Her breasts encased him and she nodded downward to lick him as she simultaneously pushed each breast to a squeezing postion. He was covered in her. She rose and fell, rose and fell. He smiled again and reached out to touch her hair. She pulled away. "Later . . . just enjoy," she half ordered, half asked.

She looked at her prize. Thick and red . . . actually almost purple -- her favorite color. She had to use both hands to completely hold him. She never could take him in totally by mouth so she cheated. As she was doing now. She held the base in her hands in a basket weave of fingers, pumping in and out. She licked from tip to base as she pumped. She circled the tip with her tongue and then kissed open mouthed. She felt the ring of flesh on her lips and a tingle rose inside her. She pressed her lips harder and pushed down. Her hands kept working. He was, unbelievably, growing. She smiled and was grateful for the juices that were oozing and lubricating her way. She began to increase her speed and twist and turn as her mouth worked on the pulsating cock that at this moment was her very own. She rose to her knees and freely moved to first his left side and then his right as she worked her way around his body, ensuring that she was not missing an inch and stimulating from every angle conceivable. She put her hands around him again and practically dove down. She fought the gag she feared would keep her from going further. She made it this time -- all the way with his tip at the back of her throat. She hoped he'd noticed. She wondered if he could tell.

He could. "Where do you want me to come? If you keep that up, you may not have a choice and there are few things I plan on doing for you."

She paused. She watched his face one more time and relished the peace she saw there -- along with the pleasure.

"And what few things did you have in mind?"

He put both his hands on her shoulders, pushing slightly, he directed her to the edge of the bed. Her legs were hanging and her neck was supported by the incredibly soft yet sturdy pillows. She didn't wait long before he was on his knees beside the bed, his face parallel to her open legs. He inhaled and smiled at the musky scent she offered. He then buried his face into the carefully crafted patch of hair and tickled her clit with his tongue. He tickled again. Then he began to slurp her juices, sucking and breathing in so that the cool air caused her to squeeze tightly and stimulate herself from the inside out while he took care of the reverse route. Soon he was no longer teasing, no longer pausing. He was swallowing her whole and she came for the first time, pulling at his hair and pushing his shoulders even deeper into her.

When the waves of tightening and pulsing points of pleasure subsided, he put his cock on top of her aroused clit and the pressure made her gasp. She thought she might be too sensitive but somehow he knew and he dipped in and out of her as an artist dips his brush into the paint to collect just moisture on the tip for the stroke of genius yet to come.

He began to push further every other move inside. Soon she felt as though he were going through her. She was completely filled and she wanted him to continue, to stop, to come, to pound her, to stop, to come. She wasn't sure what she wanted. But she wanted. She grabbed the sheets in her hand and beat the bed. She didn't want to cry out. But she thought she would cry. This night was perfect. He was perfect. And he was coming.

"I ... I ... oh God ... I love ..." and he came.

She held tightly as he leaned against her. She absorbed the shots of those precious juices and they were on target. Each beat of his pulse was expressed in that glorious cock and she waited expectantly. Her second orgasm came on cue. She clutched him tighter. She doubled up and squeezed to add to the pleasure. He gasped but didn't complain. She held tighter still and reveled in the waves that were coming over her much like the waters of the tub had lapped on her skin. Sweat drops were forming between them and she had this sudden urge to lick them off him but she didn't have the energy to do it.

At least not then.

He waited until she calmed and then eased onto his side. Once again he cupped their bodies together. She smiled as his arm fell over her breasts and she slowly began to rub and tickle his hairs in much the same way that he had absent mindedly worked on her arm during her story.

She thought he might now be asleep since he hadn't uttered a sound. Then she knew.

Tears were forming at the corner of his eyes and slowly making their way down his flushed cheeks.

"What?" she turned toward him worried that some how she had physically caused him pain.

"I love you. I know you can't do a thing about it but I want you to know. I want only what I can have. And if this is it, so be it. But you must know, I love you."

She wanted to respond but thought better of it. "No," she said to herself. "I won't give him empty promises. I won't say what I don't know. But, God, if it's true, if I can love him, help me know."

She pulled him close. She held him tighter than before. And she placed her hand on his head. Fingering his curls she prayed she was offering comfort. She feared she was searching for the burn marks sure to come.