that moment, I
didn't think I'd ever wanted a woman more.
After a time, Karen started walking slowly toward my
bed. I watched her with pleasure--her breasts, her legs, her pretty,
pouty face. She was a beautiful woman. Without a word, she came up
beside me, so close I could smell the soap she'd used on her skin. I
reached out for her hand. She stared at my hand for a second,
curiously, uncertainly. And stared into my face with the same look.
She looked down at herself--at her naked body. Then glanced at me
again. She started to say something--to talk us out of it, I thought.
I didn't give her that chance.
I threw the bedclothes back and grabbed her hand,
pulling her down on top of me. She was still wet from the shower. I
could feel that wetness on my flesh. She felt cool and clean. I ran a
hand through her damp hair, and she nuzzled her face against my
chest, tentatively. She looked up at me suddenly-looked me
straight in the eyes--and her own eyes lost their tentative look and
grew hazy, hot and certain. I kissed her passionately. And then we
were on each other, and I made love to her with a fierceness that I
hadn't felt since I was a kid.
I simply couldn't get enough of her. Or she of me. We
did everything we could think of. And a few things you only think of.
When we were through, my whole body smelled of her-salty-sweet-and
the cool shower drops on her flesh had boiled away and turned to
sweat.
We'd literally worn each other out. For a while we
just lay there, staring at the ceiling, catching our breath. After a
time she rolled on top of me, working her hips gently against mine
and smiling at me with her whole face--mouth, eyes.
"That was pretty nice," she said, running a
finger along my upper lip.
"It was better than that," I said, smiling
back at her. She pressed into me with her hips.
"Again?" I said, putting my hands on her
buttocks and pulling her to me.
She laid her head on my chest. "Tonight,"
she said. "As much as you want."
"Forgot what you were missing, huh?" I
said.
"Oh, I didn't forget," she said softly.
"Like I told you, I just don't want to get involved again."
"Then why do this?"
"I can't speak for you," she said with a
laugh. "As for me, I'm scared and lonesome and, when it comes
down to it, I guess I still am pretty goddamn sixties when it comes
to men. Besides, I felt like we knew each other, even though we'd
just met."
It was strange, but I'd had the same feeling of
connection, of relatedness. The fact that we were more or less of the
sixties generation was part of it. But I couldn't help thinking that
the fact that we were both connected to Lonnie was a bigger part of
it--that it was the guilty burden of Lonnie himself that made us feel
as if we'd spent time together. Thinking about Lonnie stirred my
conscience enough to make me blush and duck my head.
"You feel bad about ...this?" I looked down
at the rumpled sheets covering our legs.
"A little," she said. She glanced at me
furtively. "Do you?"
I nodded. "Technically, you're still his wife.
He still needs your help. And mine.
"I'm sick of giving him help," Karen said
bitterly.
"We can't just let him go," I said, even
though my heart wasn't in it just my conscience and that old tug of
the past.
"I guess we can't," Karen said with a sigh.
She glanced up at me, "But what the hell are we going to do?"
That was the question, all right.
I climbed out of bed. "I'm going to take a
shower. While I'm in there, I want you to think of some names. Some
people Lonnie might have run to, if he was desperate."
She nodded. "Then what?"
"Then," I said, staring at her, "I'm
going to ask you to do me a favor."
She grinned at me knowingly. "What's that?"
"I want you to go back to St. Louis for a
while," I said to her. "Look after vour kids."
Her smile faded. "You don't want to be with me
again?"
"I don't want you to get hurt," I said
gently. "As soon as I've found Lonnie, it'll be different."
Karen eyed me uncertainly. "What makes you say
I'll
didn't think I'd ever wanted a woman more.
After a time, Karen started walking slowly toward my
bed. I watched her with pleasure--her breasts, her legs, her pretty,
pouty face. She was a beautiful woman. Without a word, she came up
beside me, so close I could smell the soap she'd used on her skin. I
reached out for her hand. She stared at my hand for a second,
curiously, uncertainly. And stared into my face with the same look.
She looked down at herself--at her naked body. Then glanced at me
again. She started to say something--to talk us out of it, I thought.
I didn't give her that chance.
I threw the bedclothes back and grabbed her hand,
pulling her down on top of me. She was still wet from the shower. I
could feel that wetness on my flesh. She felt cool and clean. I ran a
hand through her damp hair, and she nuzzled her face against my
chest, tentatively. She looked up at me suddenly-looked me
straight in the eyes--and her own eyes lost their tentative look and
grew hazy, hot and certain. I kissed her passionately. And then we
were on each other, and I made love to her with a fierceness that I
hadn't felt since I was a kid.
I simply couldn't get enough of her. Or she of me. We
did everything we could think of. And a few things you only think of.
When we were through, my whole body smelled of her-salty-sweet-and
the cool shower drops on her flesh had boiled away and turned to
sweat.
We'd literally worn each other out. For a while we
just lay there, staring at the ceiling, catching our breath. After a
time she rolled on top of me, working her hips gently against mine
and smiling at me with her whole face--mouth, eyes.
"That was pretty nice," she said, running a
finger along my upper lip.
"It was better than that," I said, smiling
back at her. She pressed into me with her hips.
"Again?" I said, putting my hands on her
buttocks and pulling her to me.
She laid her head on my chest. "Tonight,"
she said. "As much as you want."
"Forgot what you were missing, huh?" I
said.
"Oh, I didn't forget," she said softly.
"Like I told you, I just don't want to get involved again."
"Then why do this?"
"I can't speak for you," she said with a
laugh. "As for me, I'm scared and lonesome and, when it comes
down to it, I guess I still am pretty goddamn sixties when it comes
to men. Besides, I felt like we knew each other, even though we'd
just met."
It was strange, but I'd had the same feeling of
connection, of relatedness. The fact that we were more or less of the
sixties generation was part of it. But I couldn't help thinking that
the fact that we were both connected to Lonnie was a bigger part of
it--that it was the guilty burden of Lonnie himself that made us feel
as if we'd spent time together. Thinking about Lonnie stirred my
conscience enough to make me blush and duck my head.
"You feel bad about ...this?" I looked down
at the rumpled sheets covering our legs.
"A little," she said. She glanced at me
furtively. "Do you?"
I nodded. "Technically, you're still his wife.
He still needs your help. And mine.
"I'm sick of giving him help," Karen said
bitterly.
"We can't just let him go," I said, even
though my heart wasn't in it just my conscience and that old tug of
the past.
"I guess we can't," Karen said with a sigh.
She glanced up at me, "But what the hell are we going to do?"
That was the question, all right.
I climbed out of bed. "I'm going to take a
shower. While I'm in there, I want you to think of some names. Some
people Lonnie might have run to, if he was desperate."
She nodded. "Then what?"
"Then," I said, staring at her, "I'm
going to ask you to do me a favor."
She grinned at me knowingly. "What's that?"
"I want you to go back to St. Louis for a
while," I said to her. "Look after vour kids."
Her smile faded. "You don't want to be with me
again?"
"I don't want you to get hurt," I said
gently. "As soon as I've found Lonnie, it'll be different."
Karen eyed me uncertainly. "What makes you say
I'll
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