She says you’re good for me, exactly what I need.”
“Oh? And what do you think?”
“I think she’s right. She says I’m growing up. And… I say I’m getting comfortable with my kinky inner life. Like, how I don’t feel guilty when I get excited about you and Erin.”
She kissed my neck again and squirmed closer. “One of my new fantasies is you and her and me at the same time.” She reached down and hummed with desire when she grasped my straining erection. “Her clit in my mouth,”
she said softly, “and your cock sliding into me from behind.” She squawked in surprise when I sat up and reached over her. “What’re you doing?”
“Calling Erin.” I fumbled on the nightstand for the phone. “It’s only…
4:08. She’ll be a little annoyed, but—”
“No, you can’t!” Christy bawled. She lunged and banged the receiver into the base with a clang. Then she rolled to her back and looked up at me.
“You’re the worst boyfriend ever,” she said fondly. “Except when you’re the best.”
“And you’re the best girlfriend ever.”
“Better than Gina and the others?”
“Better than all of them,” I agreed, “put together.”
“I actually believe you when you say that,” she laughed.
“You should. The evidence is pressing against your hip.”
“He thinks anyone who gives him attention is the best.”
“You know him so well.”
“I do. And I love him almost as much as I love you.”
“Just ‘almost’?”
“He’s a simple penis,” she explained faux-seriously. “He doesn’t have dark secrets and kinky fantasies. He doesn’t share them with me either.”
“He shares other things.”
“Mmm, semen. But that isn’t so special when you think about it. It’s just sperm and fructose and vitamins and minerals. I looked it up once. I can get all that from fruits and vegetables. Well, except the sperm.”
“True.”
“I can’t get love and patience and understanding from them. Or from your penis.”
“No.”
“Which is why I have you, my soulmate.”
“So you think we’re soulmates?”
“I know we are. Marianne, Sabrina, Wren, Brooke, my mother… they all say you’re good for me. Even God agrees.”
“Oh He does, does He?”
“He hasn’t told me directly—that isn’t how He works, duh—but He lets me know in other ways. He also gave me this metabolism and libido. They’re both very high, you know. And He sent you to take care of them. Speaking of which, I’m ready for another snack, the liquid diet kind.” She grinned up at me. “I think I’m going to need lots of attention, too.”
“Oh? What kind of attention?”
“The sixty-nine kind.”
My eyebrows rose.
She nodded and pushed me onto my back. Then she turned like a gymnast and mounted me.
Can’t fault her enthusiasm, I thought with a chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” she asked over her shoulder. “Never mind. Tell me later. No time to talk. Need to suck.” She captured my erection and began doing just that. Then she wiggled her hips.
I got the message and thrust two fingers into her smooth pussy. I still felt mildly annoyed that we couldn’t sixty-nine for real—her body was too short
—but she didn’t seem to care. Instead, she groaned and plunged her lips over my shaft.
She’s right, the little head said, we are soulmates. Oh, God, I love her!
I chuckled again and then fell silent as Christy swirled her tongue around my sensitive glans. She seemed determined to empty my balls in record time, and I was just as determined to keep feeding her until she was satisfied.
Um, the little head said with the first signs of worry, that might never happen. She’s insatiable.
I’m counting on it. Now shut up and do your part.
You’re the boss.
I’m sorry… what was that?
Uh-uh, he said. Nice try. Shut up and do your part too. You need to keep
her happy. She’s your future wife.
Right you are, I agreed.
Later that day I called home and wished my mother a happy birthday.
“So,” I said, “how’s it feel to be 42?”
“Good. About like 41.”
“Well, now you know the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything.”
She thought for a moment but then gave up. “Okay, I don’t get it.”
“It’s 42!”
“What is?”
“The answer to the Ultimate Question of Life—”
“Right,” she interrupted. “So, how’re you? How’s Christy?”
“Good and good. Busy with school, projects, the usual. I’m working on…”
I told her about my Japanese building and Christy’s Kanagawa series.
Then we talked about her life for a while. She and Erin were still getting along, Dad was flying as much as he could (to pay for the new plane), and she was thinking about repotting her houseplants.
“Maybe you can get Erin to help you,” I said.
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
“I’ll help if she won’t.”
“No, you’re busy with school and your own life.”
“I’m never too busy for you, Mom.”
“Aren’t you sweet.”
“I do need to get off the phone, though. Sorry. I have to finish my elevation drawings and start on my watercolors.”
“I’m proud of you, honey.”
“Thanks, Mom. That means a lot. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We said goodbye and hung up. I bounced off the bed and headed up to my studio, where I settled on my comfortable new drafting stool and looked over my drawings. I was determined to beat Gracie for first in our class.
Unfortunately, she was just as talented and worked just as hard. But she
worked alone, while I had a secret weapon, a wellspring of talent named Christy.
I smiled and picked up one of her sketches. She left them for me like little love notes. This one was of me sitting at my drafting table like I was at the moment. She’d signed it with her chop, a little stylized “CMC.” I crossed it out and redrew it as a “CMH” instead. Then I pinned it to the wall above my desk with the others. She’d see it eventually, and it would make her smile.
Wren set out two crystal vases after dinner on Monday evening. She fussed over their placement on the dining room table, in case Trip or I had somehow forgotten that the next day was Valentine’s Day.
I toyed with the idea of asking what the vases were for, but Christy read me perfectly. She set her hand on mine and gave me a stern little headshake. I returned it with my best “Who, me?” expression and kept my mouth shut.
Household harmony prevailed.
The next day Trip and I spent a small fortune on roses. We both thought it was a bit of a waste, especially since the bouquets were triple the regular price, but we knew better than to return home empty-handed. The girls acted suitably surprised.
“Thank you,” Wren said to Trip as he bent for a kiss. “I have just the spot for them.”
“Really?” I said under my breath. “I’d’ve never known.”
“Be nice,” Christy whispered. Then she smiled as if I hadn’t said anything. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful. I have something special for you, but it’s for later.”
“Trip, sweetheart,” Wren said, “will you fix drinks while I put the finishing touches on dinner?”
“You got it, babe.”
In usual Wren fashion, dinner was a sumptuous experience: quail stuffed with figs and prosciutto, mushroom risotto, and pan-roasted Brussels sprouts.
“Don’t worry, my love,” she said as she set a quail on Christy’s plate, “I made a special stuffing for you. Sautéed shiitake mushrooms instead of prosciutto.”