wonder she’s like she is. That was when she started drinking, when Dad got killed. Oh … she drank before that, you know, socially, at parties, weddings, things like that, but after my father died is when it got the best of her."
"She must've figured it was the only way out," I said.
"Yes, exactly … and I don't really blame her. But, you see what she looks like. She was beautiful once."
"I can see she’s worn, but you can tell she was a good looking woman. It's obvious where you got your good looks from."
Theresa managed a small ironic smile, then she kissed me, twice. Her lips firm against mine, lip kisses that conveyed more affection than any passionate kiss could possibly have at that particular moment.
That was when, for the first time, she told me. She said those words that propagate our species, slowly, deliberately, "Dean … I-love-you." Looking through my eyes, into my soul, she tilted her head, just a bit, shook it slowly and said, "I-love-you-so-much."
I had only known Theresa Wayman for three weeks, but for eighteen years my own innate need to love and be loved had been growing, intensifying, waiting for this person and this precise moment. I had loved her all that time. There had been a place in my heart reserved for her. I just hadn't met her yet. I could not, nor did I want to, keep this feeling bottled up any longer. My declaration of humanity’s most powerful emotion simply gushed from within me now. "I-love-you-too, Theresa,"
Then we embraced. We held that pose and those emotions for a long moment and, in the face of the blustering wind, we became warm. But then the rain came, hard and cold, pushed by the new wind from Canada. Hand in hand, heavy drops beating on us, stinging our faces, we ran out of the deserted park.
Four blocks later, we ducked inside the first apartment building we came upon. Two radiators in the lobby of the five-floor tenement hissed and clanged, bringing up heat from the basement boiler. After stripping off our dripping jackets we sat, side-by-side, atop one of the radiators. All was wee-hour-quiet in the lobby, but we knew we couldn't stay there. Five floors, half a dozen apartments each, someone was bound to come home late on a Saturday night. If we were discovered, we’d surely be chased out. Stealthily, like two cat-burglars, we climbed the stairs of the old walk-up. Being a city kid, knowing all about apartment buildings, I knew that where the staircase ran out, one flight above the top floor there would be a landing next to the roof entry.
It was warm and dry up there. We could have some privacy if we kept quiet. Our inside-out jacket-pillows, mine rolled up hastily, Theresa's folded ever so neatly, added a semblance of comfort to the hard tile floor. Still wet from the rain, we laid there holding each other. Sharing our body heat, feeling the beat of each other's heart against our chests, Theresa thanked me again for staying the night with her. Then an ancient urge swelled within us both. Cheek to cheek, body to body, our pulses quickened and so did our breathing. Heavy breaths against young necks aroused us with a heat that fueled our desires. This undeniable feeling suddenly erupted into an irrefutable passionate craving. Our lips met, and our tongues pulled to each other. None of it forced, everything coming so beautifully, so naturally. Instinctively, we wrestled out of our clothes. The rain pounding on the roof muted our labored breaths and pleasureful moans as we explored each other's flesh. When I entered her, Theresa withdrew her tongue from my mouth and whispered, "I love you, sooo much."
When it was over, we dressed, shared a smoke, and fell asleep in each other's arms. What we had experienced atop that tenement stairwell, couldn't have had more meaning if the act had taken place in the finest Park Avenue penthouse or the stateliest Hyde Park mansion.
Chapter 7
At about
"She must've figured it was the only way out," I said.
"Yes, exactly … and I don't really blame her. But, you see what she looks like. She was beautiful once."
"I can see she’s worn, but you can tell she was a good looking woman. It's obvious where you got your good looks from."
Theresa managed a small ironic smile, then she kissed me, twice. Her lips firm against mine, lip kisses that conveyed more affection than any passionate kiss could possibly have at that particular moment.
That was when, for the first time, she told me. She said those words that propagate our species, slowly, deliberately, "Dean … I-love-you." Looking through my eyes, into my soul, she tilted her head, just a bit, shook it slowly and said, "I-love-you-so-much."
I had only known Theresa Wayman for three weeks, but for eighteen years my own innate need to love and be loved had been growing, intensifying, waiting for this person and this precise moment. I had loved her all that time. There had been a place in my heart reserved for her. I just hadn't met her yet. I could not, nor did I want to, keep this feeling bottled up any longer. My declaration of humanity’s most powerful emotion simply gushed from within me now. "I-love-you-too, Theresa,"
Then we embraced. We held that pose and those emotions for a long moment and, in the face of the blustering wind, we became warm. But then the rain came, hard and cold, pushed by the new wind from Canada. Hand in hand, heavy drops beating on us, stinging our faces, we ran out of the deserted park.
Four blocks later, we ducked inside the first apartment building we came upon. Two radiators in the lobby of the five-floor tenement hissed and clanged, bringing up heat from the basement boiler. After stripping off our dripping jackets we sat, side-by-side, atop one of the radiators. All was wee-hour-quiet in the lobby, but we knew we couldn't stay there. Five floors, half a dozen apartments each, someone was bound to come home late on a Saturday night. If we were discovered, we’d surely be chased out. Stealthily, like two cat-burglars, we climbed the stairs of the old walk-up. Being a city kid, knowing all about apartment buildings, I knew that where the staircase ran out, one flight above the top floor there would be a landing next to the roof entry.
It was warm and dry up there. We could have some privacy if we kept quiet. Our inside-out jacket-pillows, mine rolled up hastily, Theresa's folded ever so neatly, added a semblance of comfort to the hard tile floor. Still wet from the rain, we laid there holding each other. Sharing our body heat, feeling the beat of each other's heart against our chests, Theresa thanked me again for staying the night with her. Then an ancient urge swelled within us both. Cheek to cheek, body to body, our pulses quickened and so did our breathing. Heavy breaths against young necks aroused us with a heat that fueled our desires. This undeniable feeling suddenly erupted into an irrefutable passionate craving. Our lips met, and our tongues pulled to each other. None of it forced, everything coming so beautifully, so naturally. Instinctively, we wrestled out of our clothes. The rain pounding on the roof muted our labored breaths and pleasureful moans as we explored each other's flesh. When I entered her, Theresa withdrew her tongue from my mouth and whispered, "I love you, sooo much."
When it was over, we dressed, shared a smoke, and fell asleep in each other's arms. What we had experienced atop that tenement stairwell, couldn't have had more meaning if the act had taken place in the finest Park Avenue penthouse or the stateliest Hyde Park mansion.
Chapter 7
At about
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