––––––––
The house shook as Johnny heard his front door slam against the foyer wall. What the hell was going on? Sick to his stomach, he stumbled out of bed. The room was dimming. He had to follow her. Go get her. Bring her back. Make love to her. His head hurt so bad. It felt like an elephant was sitting on it. Grabbing the oak banister, he scrambled down the stairs.
The snowy wind roared in. Johnny grabbed for the door as he nearly slipped on the wet ceramic tiles. He stepped onto the front porch. Naked. He squinted at footprints. Footprints to the driveway. Her car was gone. Johnny tasted sour coffee in his throat. He ran inside to the bathroom.
All the coffee came up. The dry heaves enveloped him. His body wretched as if the devil was yanking his soul.
When the last of the bile roared out, he wiped his mouth and flushed. Steadying himself on the cold, porcelain pedestal sink, Johnny stared at the man in the mirror. The broken man.
An eerie howl snaked through his house. He shivered. Johnny stomped to the front door and slammed it. He threw his weight against it and slid down to the floor, wincing at the ice water on his balls. Looking down, he saw the shriveled remnants of his manhood.
His mind tumbled with questions. What the hell did he say? Why did she run away? Wasn't the diamond big enough? Was she allergic to sapphires? They'd look so pretty with her eyes. Was it the rubber thing? What kind of a lowlife, low moral guy did she think he was? She thought he'd give her AIDS? And why didn't she want to have his baby? She was a teacher, for Christ's sake. She had to want kids.
Had he hurt her? He had kept asking. He would have stopped. He would've. And he had the KY. He knew she hadn't been with a guy in years. And he knew no way would she be loose like a slut. And if he could only get in a little, then he would have worked that little bit to her every desire. It didn't matter to him. He didn't even need to come.
Shit. What time was it? Johnny ran up the stairs, two at a time. He looked at the clock radio. It was 12:02 p.m. That song was still playing. She'd set it on repeat. Johnny smashed the power button with his fist and yanked out the CD, throwing it out the bedroom door. It made a slight pinging noise when it hit the foyer floor. "I got my answer. Hell no, she won't still love me tomorrow. She hates me today. Oh, and fuck this weather. I've gotta drive to friggin' Maryland."
Johnny stomped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He jumped right in, not waiting for the water to heat up. He grabbed the bar of Irish Spring. Squinting his eyes tightly, he stood under the slowly warming spray and ran the soap all over his face.
He realized it was the fucking. She couldn't take the fucking. It must've repulsed her. She was too repressed and innocent. Why'd he have to talk to her like that? Susan was a lady. He should have treated her like one. But that was a big part of his life. If he was going to forsake all others for Susan, then she'd have to learn to be his slut. His love slave. His beautiful lover. His wife. The mother of his children. Grandmother of his grandchildren. He was a man. He had to have his woman. And besides, if he took the dirty talk away, there wasn't anything BDSM or kinky goin' on. One man, one woman. No toys. He was sure she liked him eating her out. Maybe the finger up her ass was too soon. Did he blow it?
Johnny ran his finger under his nose. Too late, her musk was gone. He inhaled the fresh scent of an Irish morning. But she had dressed all sexy for him. Lathering up his balls, he pictured her big, tight ass in those blue-green panties. Did she know it was his favorite part of her anatomy? Johnny soaped up his cock. It came alive. He envisioned lying on his back. Susan sitting on his face, leaning down, sucking his cock, tickling his balls with her little girl-sized fingers. Oh, he could taste her sticky pussy. He'd run his long thick finger, wet with her sex, circling just outside the little pucker.
Susan would reach under his balls and tease him in the same way. "Kiss me there." She would take his balls in her mouth, tonguing them as she teased his asshole with her finger. No girl had ever touched him there. He wouldn't let anyone else. But Susan, she was his soul mate. He would give himself to her completely. Nothing could be off limits. Anything she wanted, she got.
Aroused by the incredible new sensation, wanting to let her explore deeper, he would say, "Stop." She was the one that deserved to be sent to heaven. He'd maneuver her so that she was face down, with her legs tucked up under her. He would bury his face in her beautiful ass. Squeezing her plump mounds. Tonguing the clean target. Kissing where he'd never wanted to touch anyone else. Because he loved her that much and she loved him and trusted him, giving her entire body and soul to only him.
She would beg, "Stick it in. Stick it in."
He would stop. "Are you sure?"
"Please."
What did she want in there? His tongue, his finger, or his big fat cock? No way could she take his cock. Never would he hurt her. And that's not where his seed belonged. But he could pleasure her with his finger. And he wanted to feel her sphincter convulse around him as she came. Proof he'd pleased her. Proof she was his woman. That he was her New-man.
Johnny envisioned rolling the Goddess of Fire over and shoving his huge cock in her mouth, with her legs wrapped around his shoulders. He'd briefly make love to her face. Then her tits. Damn, she had perfect tits. Beautiful pert nipples. He would gently bite them as she writhed and cooed, before setting her up, doggie style. Sliding into her pussy from the back and going at it. Grabbing a fistful of that long, black hair. Taming her. Fingering her clit until she came the first time. Then he would work her tits. And he would suck on his finger, fucking his own mouth. He'd slip it in her ass. And twist it in and out and all around. She'd moan. He'd stimulate her clit with his other hand, while finger fucking her ass and thrusting his cock steadily into her vagina, commanding full control of her sex. She'd come again, screaming, "I love you, Johnny!"
Those words would send him over the edge of no return. His self-control would evaporate. He'd grab her hips with both hands and go at it thrusting like a primitive man. His balls would slap against the back of her creamy soft thighs. He'd sow his seeds in her secret universe, heat seeking missiles targeting the only eggs meant for him.
Johnny shot his wad all over the white ceramic tiled shower stall. He rinsed himself and directed the spray toward the wall, watching as his love for her slid down the wall and swirled into the drain.
As he dressed and packed, he felt ashamed. And so guilty. Why was he so obsessed with having sex with Susan? The really dirty kind? She was such a sweet, innocent girl.
The telephone rang. He tripped over her shoe trying to get to it. The lace caught in his toes. "Hello?"
"Firefighter Newman?"
Shit. It wasn't Susan. "Yeah."
"This is Firefighter Potter, from Twenty-three Engine. Since the weather is so bad, do ya wanna drive down to Emmitsburg together?"
Why the hell not? At least he could get some sleep. "Yeah."
"How 'bout we meet at my station?"
"Whatever."
"How soon will you be here?"
"I'm on my way."
"Okay. We can take my Jeep."
They both hung up.
Great, a Jeep. How comfortable would that be with his long legs? At least she wouldn't be stinking up his truck with her hand lotion.
* * * *
Susan drove down the sleet covered streets, barely going ten miles per hour. She followed the blinking lights of a sand truck and shivered. Mesmerized by the brown sand sloughing in front of her, Susan tried to understand.
Johnny Newman. He wanted to marry her. Husband and wife. With a different husband. Not Brandon. New husband. Too soon. Too soon to get married. Never get married again. Never fall in love with another fireman. Never.
He'd been waiting for her. Six years. To marry him. That was incredible. For six years he'd wanted to marry her. What if Johnny had been the first one into her burning apartment that night? He would have been her hero, not Brandon. They would be living happily ever after. She wouldn't be a widow.
The sand truck veered off to the shoulder. She kept going straight.
Johnny. Brandon. So different. Both generous, kind and loving. Attentive. Intelligent. Good looking. Brandon was the first man to make love to her. He was so gentle. Always made sure she was satisfied before he gleaned any for himself. He never talked about it. Once every three weeks he'd make love to her. Unless she initiated it. Then he'd always oblige. But he didn't seem to need it. Brandon had opened that door for her. Taught her how to tremble. To crave a man.
Johnny. Wild and primal. Sex was important to him. He needed it to breathe. Different sex. Dirty talk sex. Embarrassing her. Titillating her. Taking her places she's never been. Unfamiliar sensations. If she let go of her inhibitions, she might jump across the chasm to the dark side with him. No. Scary. Fear of the unknown. What if she craved dirty sex? Got addicted. Needed it as much as Johnny did?
The music. "Layla" and "Feel Like Makin' Love". He played them while they masturbated. She couldn't believe she'd spoken that word in her brain. She couldn't believe they had done it. Brandon would never do that. He didn't touch himself. Not in front of her. And she certainly never did in front of him.
Johnny was so proud of his body. Oh, what a body. A wonderland. And he wasn't shy about touching himself in front of her. He seemed to like to see her touching herself.
"Layla." Eric and Pattie and George, Oh, my. Eric fell in love with his best friend's wife. Johnny and Susan and Brandon, Oh, my. Johnny fell in love with his best friend's wife. Eric stole Pattie away from George. They got married. Johnny wanted to marry Susan.
Johnny made her dizzy. She wanted him inside her so bad. Missionary. Nothing could feel better than that. But he wouldn't. They had to do that dirty stuff first.
Susan pictured the kitchen scene. Running all the adventures through her mind. One frame at a time. She took one hand off the wheel and pinched her nipples. Breast orgasm. Was there really such a thing? Johnny sounded like an expert. A physician. A sexologist. A sex addict. No, not that. That's too scary.
The finger. She'd heard of that. Couldn't believe he did it to her. It felt so good. Now she'd never want oral sex without it. Why did he have to do it? Suppose her next boyfriend didn't. She couldn't ask anyone to do that. It was dirty.
Up in his bedroom. The pillow under her. More depth. He must have been an expert at that. Well, that was the equipment he had, so of course he had to figure out how to maneuver it in a girl. But how many other girls? And now suddenly, why her? Marry her?
Susan turned the windshield wipers up two notches. Visibility had deteriorated.
She tried to picture being married to Johnny. They'd be naked all the time. She smiled. And what was wrong with that? He wanted to make a baby with her. Mister Confirmed Bachelor wanted her to give him a baby. No babies. Not now. Too soon. No husbands. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Lover. Must have lover. Johnny Newman. Dirty sex. Pure lovemaking.
Susan grimaced in pain from the ridges of the brake pedal under her foot as she stopped for a red light.
Johnny had been the sweetest man to her. Building the basement for free. He had even bought all the materials and wouldn't let her reimburse him. Coming to her house on Christmas. Buying her the concert tickets. Putting up with having his boss and kid and Bob along on that miserable road trip. Taking her to Austin. Trying to donate his liver, so she wouldn't have to. He loved her. He really did. Sleeping with her at the hotel, just cuddling. Goodness, no wonder he stuck the pillow between them. It must have been a living nightmare for him to be so close to her and not take advantage.
The sex. What was so wrong about it? One man, one woman. No toys or whips or handcuffs. Just the two of them. And he kept asking if he was hurting her. He wouldn't hurt her. He knew she was a good girl. Yet he gave her a glimpse of his dark side. Invited her in. Said she was the star of his fantasies. She was every woman to him.
He loved her. He wanted to ejaculate inside of her. Nobody else. Ever. But he wouldn't do it until they were engaged. He loved her. She loved him. She loved Johnny Newman.
Susan slapped a hand over her mouth. Not that she'd said anything out loud; she was just shocked at what she had admitted to herself. She would call him. She would call him as soon as she arrived home.
The song, "Will You Love Me Tomorrow?". He had picked that song for their deflowering. How romantic was that?
And she ran away...
* * * *
Johnny locked up his house. He left a note in the mailbox for the letter carrier to hold his mail for two weeks. He pulled the red flag up on the black box. Walking to his truck, he noticed a red Stetson hat lying behind the right rear tire. Everything always blew into his yard. The end of the cul-de-sac. Trash day was annoying. Always crap from the neighbors blowing down here that he had to pick up.
He snatched the hat and tossed it onto the mailbox post. Ringer. Just like Susan's bra on his bed. Oh, Susan. Tears rolled down his proud cheeks. He opened the door and threw his suitcase in the backseat. Johnny grabbed the steering wheel and climbed in. He shut the door and revved up the horses. He switched on the windshield wipers and defroster. After wiping his eyes with his fingers, he shifted into reverse and backed out of the icy concrete driveway.
He switched on the radio for a traffic report. Just great. A four-car pile up on the way in. He dialed Twenty-Three Engine on his cell phone and asked Potter to meet him at his station instead. She agreed.
* * * *
At Engine Ten—Ladder Ten, Johnny parked in the back lot and carried his suitcase inside. Walking straight to the kitchen, he started to make a cup of coffee. No. He made a cup of tea instead. Just sugar, no creamer.
Johnny carried it into the watch room. The rookie from his shift was working overtime. "Hi, Garcia."
"What's up?"
"Getting ready to go to Emmitsburg."
Firefighter Horner swaggered in. He nodded to them and sat down at a computer.
Johnny asked, "Is Potter here yet?"
Garcia asked, "Little Mildred?"
Johnny said, "Yeah, we're riding down together."
Garcia said, "You dog, you."
"No. Nothin' like that. I mean, come on. Have you seen her lately?" Johnny balked.
Horner said, "Whole lot of little woman. I'd do 'er. I've got a thing for midgets..."
Johnny drank his tea.
Horner said, "Holy moley. What a Happy New Year's gift this is."
Garcia asked, "What?"
"Look at this special bulletin from the battalion chief."
Garcia guessed, "We gettin' a bonus?"
Horner said, "I'll say. He sent us a naked girl."
Garcia said, "You're joking."
"Come and see."
Garcia crossed the room.
Horner said, "Look at her fat ass. I'd give her an instant enema."
Garcia said, "Hey, she looks familiar."
Johnny walked over and glanced at the screen. "No!" He tried to take the mouse from Horner. "Delete it!"
Horner refused. "No!"
Lt. Van Dyke stuck her head in the door. "Stop it. What's your problem, Newman?"
Johnny yelled to his lieutenant, "No! Get outta here. Don't come any closer. Delete the damn thing, Horner."
The lieutenant wedged her head in between them. She gasped. "Both of you. Outta the way." She deleted the e-mail. "What is a neckid picture of Cervini's widow doing on the department's computer?"
No one answered her.
Lt. Van Dyke demanded, "Who's been foolin' round with a photo suite? Somebody done put poor Miz Cervini's head on a ho's body...Newman?" She shoved his chest with both hands.
He stumbled one step back.
Firefighter Horner laughed.
Johnny said, "No! Why the hell do you always jump to conclusions that I do all the bad things around here?"
Rookie Firefighter Garcia positioned himself next to Johnny, legs balanced, ready to react in case Johnny took a swing at the lieutenant.
"'Cause you've had a big old ice chip on your shoulder for weeks now."
Johnny mustered self-control and held his tongue. If Lt. Van Dyke could read minds, she'd be really, really mad now.
She said, "Potter's idling her jeep out on the ramp. Get your red head out there. See you in fourteen."
Johnny snatched his suitcase and stomped out. He threw his Styrofoam cup in a waste basket out on the apparatus floor. He yanked the front people door to the firehouse open and trudged outside. Opening the passenger's door of a yellow Jeep, he threw his suitcase in the backseat. He strapped in, wrinkling his nose at the stench of her hand lotion.
"Hi ya, Newman."
"Hi," he barked.
Firefighter Mildred Potter turned the radio on and pulled into traffic.
* * * *
Susan made it home. She parked on the hardened slushy street in front of her house, turned the car off, and stared into nothing.
Gavin and Hank were loading "For Sale" signs into the trunk of Gavin's black Cadillac Deville. They crossed the street and strolled up to Susan.
Gavin screamed like a girl.
Hank asked, "What's wrong? Is she dead?"
Gavin said, "Naked!"
"What?" He peered inside.
Hank whipped his full-length leather coat off and draped it across the windshield.
Gavin knocked on the window. "Susan, are you all right?" No response. He took a deep breath and tried the door handle. It opened. He shielded his eyes and said, "Susan. Susan, it's Gavin. Are you all right, honey?"
"Huh? Oh, hello, Gavin. It's sooo cold."
"Then put some clothes on."
Susan looked down and screamed. Hank and Gavin screamed with her.
She grabbed her blue coat from the passenger's seat and shoved her arms inside and wrestled it shut. Susan cried. "I'm so sorry, boys. I don't know...I had a very bad day...I can't believe I drove all the way home naked!" She stepped out of her car, shrieking at the icy slush on her bare feet.
Gavin patted her on the head. "There, there, dear. We've all had these unfortunate exposures. Come on over to our house and we'll make you some hot chocolate. You can tell us all about it."
They were so sweet. The best neighbors anybody could ever hope for. "No. I need to get dressed. And I have an urgent phone call to make."
* * * *
Susan unfastened Bob's playpen and slid the back door open. He ran out. She slammed the door shut and grabbed the phone. The message light was blinking. She hoped it was from Johnny. She plunked down the handset and pressed play. "This is for Susan Cervini. This is Adam Wright...Mister Wright. Listen, I just wanted to let you know that my private investigator has located Angel...um, your cousin, Melody. She's living on Sanibel Island, on the Gulf Coast of Florida. The address is..."
Susan yanked a paper towel off the roll and dug a pencil out of her junk drawer. She wrote the address down. The machine beeped.
Susan jumped up and down. "She's alive, she's alive, she's alive!"
Bob reared up and pawed the sliding glass door. She let him in. "Bob, Bob! She's alive! She's alive!" Susan ran back to the phone. She picked up the handset and punched Johnny's speed dial number. It rang and rang and rang. She jabbed at the end call button and slumped down into a chair. He'd left for Maryland already. Two weeks! Two weeks until she could make up with him. If he could forgive her. Two weeks was a long time. What if he wouldn't forgive her? No! No! He had to.
She'd go down there. She'd talk to him. She'd straighten it all out. Where was he? Maryland. That didn't narrow it down. She'd call the firehouse. They'd tell her. Then she'd go down there and get it all worked out. And then she'd fly to Sanibel Island and spend some time with Melody.
Susan poured Bob a bowl of kibbles and one of water, then gave him a Scooby Snack, just because. She didn't even make him sit for it.
She ran upstairs and turned the shower on, trotted into the bedroom, unbuttoned the wool coat and laid it on the cedar chest. On her way back into the bathroom, Susan decided she'd rather have a hot bath since she was shivering. Her feet were purple. So she turned the shower off. She staggered over to the separate soaking tub and engaged the stopper. She turned the hot spigot on full and poured lilac bubble bath in. Susan grabbed the fire-starter from the vanity and lit a little green spearmint scented candle in a jar. She placed it on the white tiled tub surround and put the fire-starter back.
It wasn't dark outside, but with the bad weather it made it seem later. She eased herself into the tub. Susan trembled from the heat of the water. It always was a delicious first moment. When the tub filled to the bottom of the chrome over-flow drain, she turned the spigot off and held her hair up. As she lay back, she set her long tresses up on the white tiled tub surround. She imagined Johnny in the bath with her. It wasn't very big. He'd have to get in first and she could kind of lay in his lap. They could squeeze suds out of washcloths onto each other. Nothing dirty. Noting really even sexual. Just really romantic. Her body temperature returned to normal and then some.
* * * *
Susan slipped into old blue pajamas and sat on her bed. She called the firehouse.
"Engine Ten—Ladder Ten. Firefighter Horner, how may I direct your call?"
"Hello. This is Susan Cervini. I need to get in touch with Johnny Newman at where ever it is he's at to take the class. Can you please tell me—?"
"Did you say you're Susan Cervini?"
"That's right. I need—"
"Brandon's widow?"
"Yes. I—"
"Long black hair?"
"I'm her. Now I—"
"Where do you live?"
"What?"
Firefighter Horner spoke exaggeratedly loud. "I get off at seven. As soon as I'm relieved, I'll come over and give ya the ol' one eyed worm." He let out a nasty lascivious laugh.
Susan screamed and hung up. Eww! Was he drunk or something? She hoped he didn't know her address. Eww!