fingers dig into my ass cheeks, which he holds open to better the angle.
“Honey… God, Honey… So good.” His face tightens from the strain, and when his thumb finds my clit, I explode.
He comes with a roar that drowns out the sound of the shower. And then he’s kissing me again, like a madman or maybe like a man who is finally feeling something other than grief for the first time in years.
“Holy hell,” he mutters. “I’ve never had sex without condoms with anyone else.”
“You like it?”
“If I liked it any more, I’d be dead.”
I might be giving myself too much credit, but he seems different after the time we’ve spent together, lighter maybe, and I begin to hope—
No. Just no. Remember what Lauren told you. You’re not going to find your home with him . That may still be true, but whatever this is with him, it feels pretty damned good for right now.
* * *
I t’s after noon by the time we finally wear ourselves out and remember that we were going to drive out to one of his job sites. My brain is completely scrambled from orgasms. I wanted to know what the big deal was, and now I know. I get why sex makes people do crazy things like while away an entire Sunday morning in bed, in the shower and back in bed.
My body is still humming from the workout as I sit in the passenger seat of Blake’s truck, singing along to “Free Bird” on the classic-rock station he has on the radio.
“God, this song,” I say. “Takes me right back to high school and the band.”
“You guys were good.”
“Those were some fun times.”
“You ever talk about getting back together?”
“Once in a while there’ll be a group text, usually around the holidays when everyone is home, but we never seem to make it happen.”
“I thought you’d do something with your singing.”
“So did I.”
“Why didn’t you?”
It’s hard for me to talk about that time in my life, when I traded my dream for the woman who gave me everything. “You may not remember, but I was a voice major at Juilliard in New York when Gran got sick.” I shrug, as if the memories of that time aren’t still as painful now as they were then. “I left school to come home to care for her, and I never went back.”
“How come?”
I choose my words carefully. “Losing her was a very tough thing for me. It messed me up for a long time.”
“She was all you had.”
“Yeah.” She’s been gone ten long years, and I’ve yet to feel as at home with anyone as I did with her. Thank God for Lauren, Julie and Scarlett and the rest of my friends who do their best to fill the void, but nothing and no one can ever replace the person who loved me best of all.
We drive past El Cosmico, a Marfa institution. The vast eclectic campground offers guests everything from “luxurious” Airstream campers to Sioux-style teepees to Mongolian yurts.
“The campground is busy this weekend,” Blake comments.
“There’s a festival at the Chinati,” I say, referring to one of the two foundations in town started to maintain the legacy of the late Marfa artist Donald Judd. He brought the arts culture to the town in the 1970s with his installations and non-museums where art was permanently displayed rather than cycled in and out.
Judd’s patronage of the arts in our town is a big reason my Desert Babies business has done so well. People come from all over to our isolated little town in West Texas to experience the art culture. In addition to my booming Desert Babies business, I sell a lot of desert landscapes, and my photographs of the Marfa Mystery Lights are some of my bestsellers.
“How’d you go from majoring in vocal performance to running a photography studio?” Blake asks.
“That evolved from what had been a hobby in school. When Gran was sick, I’d take advantage of every chance I got to get out when her friends would come stay with her. I’d drive out to the desert and take pictures for hours. It was the only way I could relax. By
“Honey… God, Honey… So good.” His face tightens from the strain, and when his thumb finds my clit, I explode.
He comes with a roar that drowns out the sound of the shower. And then he’s kissing me again, like a madman or maybe like a man who is finally feeling something other than grief for the first time in years.
“Holy hell,” he mutters. “I’ve never had sex without condoms with anyone else.”
“You like it?”
“If I liked it any more, I’d be dead.”
I might be giving myself too much credit, but he seems different after the time we’ve spent together, lighter maybe, and I begin to hope—
No. Just no. Remember what Lauren told you. You’re not going to find your home with him . That may still be true, but whatever this is with him, it feels pretty damned good for right now.
* * *
I t’s after noon by the time we finally wear ourselves out and remember that we were going to drive out to one of his job sites. My brain is completely scrambled from orgasms. I wanted to know what the big deal was, and now I know. I get why sex makes people do crazy things like while away an entire Sunday morning in bed, in the shower and back in bed.
My body is still humming from the workout as I sit in the passenger seat of Blake’s truck, singing along to “Free Bird” on the classic-rock station he has on the radio.
“God, this song,” I say. “Takes me right back to high school and the band.”
“You guys were good.”
“Those were some fun times.”
“You ever talk about getting back together?”
“Once in a while there’ll be a group text, usually around the holidays when everyone is home, but we never seem to make it happen.”
“I thought you’d do something with your singing.”
“So did I.”
“Why didn’t you?”
It’s hard for me to talk about that time in my life, when I traded my dream for the woman who gave me everything. “You may not remember, but I was a voice major at Juilliard in New York when Gran got sick.” I shrug, as if the memories of that time aren’t still as painful now as they were then. “I left school to come home to care for her, and I never went back.”
“How come?”
I choose my words carefully. “Losing her was a very tough thing for me. It messed me up for a long time.”
“She was all you had.”
“Yeah.” She’s been gone ten long years, and I’ve yet to feel as at home with anyone as I did with her. Thank God for Lauren, Julie and Scarlett and the rest of my friends who do their best to fill the void, but nothing and no one can ever replace the person who loved me best of all.
We drive past El Cosmico, a Marfa institution. The vast eclectic campground offers guests everything from “luxurious” Airstream campers to Sioux-style teepees to Mongolian yurts.
“The campground is busy this weekend,” Blake comments.
“There’s a festival at the Chinati,” I say, referring to one of the two foundations in town started to maintain the legacy of the late Marfa artist Donald Judd. He brought the arts culture to the town in the 1970s with his installations and non-museums where art was permanently displayed rather than cycled in and out.
Judd’s patronage of the arts in our town is a big reason my Desert Babies business has done so well. People come from all over to our isolated little town in West Texas to experience the art culture. In addition to my booming Desert Babies business, I sell a lot of desert landscapes, and my photographs of the Marfa Mystery Lights are some of my bestsellers.
“How’d you go from majoring in vocal performance to running a photography studio?” Blake asks.
“That evolved from what had been a hobby in school. When Gran was sick, I’d take advantage of every chance I got to get out when her friends would come stay with her. I’d drive out to the desert and take pictures for hours. It was the only way I could relax. By
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