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The Best of 2013

The Afternoon Circle Jerk Society
by Amanda Earl

Beating the Gothic Out of Her
by Amanda Earl

Real Irish
by Amanda Earl

Mercy and the Man. . .
by Amanda Earl

The Revenant
by Amanda Earl

The Vessel
by Amanda Earl

The Too Beautiful Boy
by Arthur Chappell

The Accidental Fetish
by Corvidae

Never For Punishment
by Daddy X

Like a Brother
by Big Ed Magusson

Old Dogs
by Big Ed Magusson

Goodbye Roger
by Huck Pilgrim

He Sends His Regrets
by Huck Pilgrim

A Small Favor
by Huck Pilgrim

Ava's Honey
by john e

LOX
by john e

Eclipse Sex
by Oxartes

Adam and Eve on a Raft
by Robert Buckley

Dead Man's Switch
by Robert Buckley

Does Immortality come with a Pension?
by Robert Buckley

Embraceable Ewe
by Robert Buckley

A Fragile Desire
by Robert Buckley

Surviving Winter
by Robert Buckley

You're the Only One
by Robert Buckley

Dissolve
by Sybil Rush

Bing Cherry Silk
by Valentine Bonnaire

Colony, Collapsed
by Valentine Bonnaire

Have a Nice Day
by Valentine Bonnaire

l'heure bleue
by Valentine Bonnaire

Once Upon A Time . . .
by Valentine Bonnaire

Red Suede
by Valentine Bonnaire

Yellow, like the daffodils
by Valentine Bonnaire

Novelette

Invisible Lines
by Raziel Moore



Archives

By Alan
Curtain
Other News


By Alice Gray
Slick 50
The Fourth Veda
Stolen Hour


By Amanda Earl
Daddy Complex
The Graffiti Artist
Sex With An Old Woman
The Vampire Responds


By Ann Regentin
What Never Dies
Newborn
Remembering
Surrender


By Big Ed Magusson
The Fix
Methadone


By Brady Sutton
Girls for Leash
The Peculiar Case of...


by C. Sanchez-Garcia
An Early Winter Train
The Doll
The Lady and The Unicorn
Riding the Dog
Fidelis


By Cervo
An Evening At...
Readiness Is All
Chinchilla Lace
Fridays At The Benoit
Cruising On A Sea...
Bitsy Takes a Test
Touring Persephone
Are You Kidding?
Quigley’s Harvest
Mr. Merridawn's Hum
Angels’ Spawn


By Cherry Black
Mrs. Priestly
Face Down
Just A Simple Black Dress


By Chris Bridges
Second-hand
Fast-forwarding
The Whitechapel...
Passing Notes


By Daddy X
Nikki Didn't Like It
Overscratch
A Woman in My Position


By Dominic Santi
Drillers
Kiss of Peace


By G. E. Russell
Judgement Day
Nebulous
First Love, Last Romance
Snow White
This Desolate Eden
The Glass Cage
You Like It Like That...


By Helen E. H. Madden
When The Angels Fall
Husbands and Wives
The Fifth Horseman
The Monster Beneath...
Neighbor of the Beast
Over the Rainbow
Going Viral
Virtual Love


By Helena Settimana
Balance
Highway 69
Amadou
The Space Between


By J.T. Benjamin
The Question
Thornburg Sex Survey
Alternating Weekend
Secret Lives and Lusts
What are Friends For
Olivia's Ulterior Motive
Advice From Miss Millicent
The Baby Doll
The Journals of Chastity
Use Me
Zachary's Perfect Date


By Jill
Kidnapped
Sheila Discusses ...
It's About Sex
A House On Fire?
Maureen and Sheila...


By john e
I Wish My Dick...
johnny's jackoff journal
Saturday Morning


By Julius
In Praise of Pussy
Tight, Tighter, Tightest
You Rang Madam?
The Newcomer


By Juniper Maclay
Lunch Break
The Scientist
Public Transportation


By Keziah Hill
Laying Down the Law
Strawberry Flavoured Joy
The Second Coming
Angel
Dutch Masters


By L.A. Smith
Missionary Position
Both Hands


By Lara Nickles
Almost
Hero


By Lilie Berlin
Naughty Little Girl
Color Less Ordinary


By Mike Kimera
Kneading
Soft Option
At the Adult Bookstore
Postcard
Playing With Barney
Deserving Ruth
Till Death Do Us Part
Happy Anniversary
Mating Calls
It May Not be Art...
Living With It...
The Last Taboo
Hand-Jobs
Fucking Ugly
Paying For It
Sex with Owen
Ask Alice
The Sisters
Bar Snack

An Early Winter Train
by C. Sanchez-Garcia © 2007




An Early Winter Train"Where is your wife?"

She was lying on top of the blue comforter next to the window, in her cotton pajamas. Her beautiful thick hair, black and streaked with gray, was spread out over the pillow. She reached up with her hands, searching.

I wonder if it's the jasmine that brings this out in her, he asked himself. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to where she lay, and looked at her despondently. A small electric fan was set in the window and drew in the cool night air, filled with the scent of the jasmine vines they'd planted together years ago, when the kids were still teenagers. It filled the room with a sweet erotic scent, combined with the fresh earth smell of the rain that had just stopped falling. Far away in the kitchen, the radio was playing a Frank Sinatra song.

"Where is your wife?" She would keep asking this until he answered her.

"She's right here, Aimee." He reached over and caressed her hand. "Don't worry so much."

"It's terrible." she said.

"I know."

She tried to sit up, with a trace of fear building in her eyes. He took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. "Everything's fine. Don't worry so much."

She looked at him with a hint of panic now. "Where is your wife?"

"She's right here, Aimee. You're my wife. You know that." He said it evenly and confidently, choosing the tone of his voice with great care. He was pleased to see the fear leave her eyes and she settled back down. "Hey - how you doing, honey? You doing okay tonight?"

"It's terrible."

"What's so terrible?"

"Everything." she murmured.

He took her hand firmly and squeezed it to remind her he was there, that she wasn't alone. "Don't worry so much. I'm here. You worry about everything too much."

She looked at him, holding her hand, as if she had just discovered he was there. "Oh." He felt her squeeze his hand and hold on it, like a baby holding onto a finger. "I'm sorry." she said.

"It's alright."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright." He held her hand and waited for her to calm down. When he felt her hand relax, he let go of it and stood up. The weariness of the day sank against him and he felt tired and lonely. The jasmine was certainly getting to him too.

He stretched and took a quick glance over at Aimee. She seemed all right for the moment. She rolled over to her side and the plastic adult diaper crackled inside her pajama bottoms. "Now you stay there." he said. "Okay? You stay there, okay?"

Obediently, she rolled over onto her back and folded her hands on her bosom. "Now that's my girl, you stay that way. I'll be right back. Okay?"

"Are we in Mobile yet?"

That question stopped him a moment. Mobile? What, Alabama? This was a new tangent, one he'd never heard before. He wasn't sure what she needed to hear from him. "Soon."

She smiled and closed her eyes. Evidently it was the right answer. He turned away, feeling too painful to look at her.

"The way you wear your hat … the way you sip your tea … "The memory of all that … no, they can't take that away from me … "

Yes they can, he thought. Boy, they sure as hell can.

He yawned and for a moment thought of turning off the radio, but at least it was company and he headed for the bathroom instead. He opened the medicine cabinet and took down his toothbrush and the toothpaste. The bottom shelf was lined with amber bottles, mostly Aimee's medicines. They cost a goddamn fortune, and as near as he could tell they weren't doing shit for her, not any of them. Next to his own, was her pink toothbrush and he couldn't remember—damn, if he couldn't remember one way or the other—had he brushed her teeth for her tonight? This kind of thing always scared him. Soon it'll be me in diapers, he thought. Silently he recited his social security number, and then his cell phone number. A few years ago, when all this was new to him, the doctor had said that usually with Alzheimer's you forget the numbers first. Remembering strings of meaningful numbers was his frightened little talisman against Aimee's fate.

He closed the cabinet and squeezed a line of toothpaste on the brush. He checked his teeth in the mirror. They were fairly yellow from the coffee and tea, which he had no intention of giving up. But those were his teeth, by God. Every one of them nailed firmly in place until his dying day. No dentures, no bridges. He began to clean his teeth.

"Are we in Atlanta yet?"

His mouth was full of foam and he ignored her. They'd be hauling her off to the nursing home soon, and then what? Start over? Were there Internet dating sites for guys his age? The thought chilled him with guilt, and he threw cold water on his face. He stared into the sink, listening to the radio. Sonovabitch. That's your woman in there. It's not like she's dead, you horny old bastard, can't you even wait?

He thought of her in there, lost in her train ride. It's not my fault. I have needs too; I'm still a healthy man. Not too bad a looking man. And maybe in her own way she is dead really. She died when no one was looking, and its just her body hasn't gotten the news. It's not her anymore. The woman I loved, she's gone. Not this big baby she left me with. It's not my fault.

He took some mouthwash and poured it into the cap and tossed it into his mouth. Bad breath had always been a problem for him, because his mouth was so dry, but there was no one to care about it anymore.

How could he have fixed it? It was mostly genetic, the doctor had said so. Genetics. Nobody's fault, not when its genetics. Your daddy loses his marbles, you do too. Can't fix genetics. Genetics are just the cards they deal you. Bad blood is what it is. Genetics are this little time bomb that goes off in your head and there's nothing you can do but watch all the fucking genetics turn to shit. Shit for brains. A big whoop-de-damn-doo doctor in Time magazine had suggested it was related to stress. It made him want to yell at this guy who knew so damn much.

Okay Doctor Asshole, what stress had been my fault? Hadn't I made enough money? Maybe I hadn't spent enough time with her or maybe the kids? No? Maybe I'd been too stressful for her with my little demands and discontents. Maybe if I'd gotten her a goddamn dog with lots of fur to pet. Maybe if the kids hadn't driven us crazy from time to time, dumping the grandkids on us when things got rough, moving in when they couldn't find a job and then moving out and then in again. Maybe I'd secretly wished it on her without knowing, like a silent voodoo curse. Or maybe, just maybe what's really the scariest fucking possibility of all, Dr. Asshole, maybe this universe is a big runaway train with winter ice on the tracks and with no God or or Jesus or anybody else at the fucking wheel, and no justice or mercy or even kindness—goddamn kindness!—and the most awful shit happens to the very nicest people out there, and maybe … and maybe who knows what I could have done differently. I didn't want this. Hell, that could be me in there.

That could still be you in there, big buddy, said a voice in his thoughts. Would you like that? Some nice little lady in a nurse uniform to take your dick out for you, because you—a man- can't remember where to look for your dick anymore, and maybe hold it in her nice warm little hand and aim it for you so you can pee? How about them apples, big buddy? Change your diapers for you when you're all full of shit and stink like hell? Want to see that look on her face? Maybe all that's waiting down the road for you too.

He spit out the blue foam and wanted to hammer his head into the mirror glass. Who knows how any of this shit really works, he thought.

"Are we in Mobile yet?"

What was it about Mobile tonight?

"No Aimee, not yet." he called back to her.

In the kitchen Buddy Holly was on the box, rocking out about Peggy Sue and singing with that weird hiccup thing he did. They had seen Holly play at their high school auditorium in Duluth, way back in the day. Aimee had been in the drama club and played in "The Glass Menagerie" on the same stage where Holly had played later. After that show, Holly and his bunch had moved west working their way towards Moorhead and a couple days later they were mostly dead. He and Aimee hadn't been going together then, that came much later after they met at a class reunion, by which time they'd both scored a divorce each.

He put away the toothbrush and the toothpaste and tried to remember again if he'd brushed her damn teeth or not.

She was better off now, he knew, because they were long past the terror. It was worse in the beginning stages, when the episodes of forgetfulness and fugue began, when the long faced doctors would come around with their goddamn grim looking x-rays pronouncing the sentence of death, death in slow motion. Her terror of knowing she would helplessly lose herself. Her wordless rage at God in a restaurant, at seeing an old woman being fed by a health care worker and knowing it would soon be her. The anticipation of having all her life erased out from under her. "Just shoot me, Ron." She whispered to him that night in the dark. "If I get like that, promise me you'll just fucking shoot me." He hadn't said anything.

"Is your wife at home?"

"No!" he shouted at her. "Just shut up!" His throat tightened at the sound of his own voice and the tears began to burn his eyes.

We don't shoot people here, Aimee.

He turned off the bathroom light, but still couldn't bring himself to turn off the radio. He let it babble on, talking and singing to itself, as he went back into the bedroom. The air still smelled heavily of jasmine and she was standing up beside the bed with her hand up against the wall. "You alright, honey bunch?" At the sound of his voice she turned to look at him, with that fearful trapped look in her eyes again.

"Where is your wife?"

"She's right here, Aimee." He reached over and took her hand from the wall and held it. "Don't worry so much." She smiled for him and for a moment seemed to know him again. He gently wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close, feeling the swell of her breasts as she moved against him. She was still a damn fine looking woman. He should give her diaper a little check before lights out.

It bothered him that she was standing up already. That was a sign this might be one of her wandering nights, and blundering in the dark was how she always hurt herself. There was the little drama of waking up in the night to find her gone from the bed, and then to have to search the house for her, to see where she'd landed, what she'd broken, or what nasty business she'd deposited on the carpet. Releasing her, he took the edge of her pajama bottom and pulled it out to take a peek inside. There was a loud whiff of urine. Too bad if he was a little tired, but it would be mean spirited to leave it for the home health aide in the morning to change, and the piss would aggravate her rash again, just when it was starting to clear up.

"It's terrible." she said.

"What's terrible?"

"Everything." She waved her hands.

"It's okay," he said. "I won't leave you alone. It's all right."

She nodded. "Okay. That's good."

"Listen, we need to get you changed, and then we'll go to bed. Okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry. It's terrible."

"It's okay Aimee. We just got to do it, is all. Let's go." He put his arm around her waist, gently rotated her around and began leading her docilely, a woman with a master's degree in Italian classical literature, towards the bathroom. As they passed the towel closet, he paused and snatched out a fresh diaper from the box.

When the cold floor tiles touched her feet, she hesitated and stumbled a little. He held her firmly by the waist and steered her toward the toilet with the hamper next to it. She allowed herself to be lead, and her passive dependence on him he found strangely arousing. She would easily do anything he asked of her, on this night with the air full of jasmine.

It had been hardest for both of them in the beginning, as she felt things fading on her, constantly discovering herself in strange surroundings. Then she rebelled against everything he did for her. A few times she became violent, hitting him and collapsing in wild crying fits, in this very room. The kids had been pushing her out the door to the nursing home, because they said all this was too hard for him. In a way it was, but they didn't know shit about hard. Once he had come home and discovered her in the shower stall there, trying to cut off her hair with these big office scissors and muttering something about Dante and the "Inferno". She'd taken a vicious swing at him with the scissors when he'd tried to help her. That was what hard really looked like. Now she was —what? Submissive? Was that what all that weird shit that some people did with the handcuffs and the black leather was about? Just to have a fellow human being go where you lead them, do what you tell them? I can sort of see it, he thought. On nights like this, I can sort of see it. There was definitely something in her gratitude and her perfect trust of him, this kind and familiar stranger who guided her through her fog, that did inexplicable things to him.

He positioned her next to the toilet and the hamper. "I'm sorry." she said.

"You're fine, honey bunch. Everything's fine. Just got to get you changed. Get it done and get to bed.

"Thank you."

He looked up at her in surprise. She had never said that before. For a moment there was something of his woman back in her eyes, and then it faded. "You're welcome." he said, hoping she could still hear him before she went away again. He took the diaper, unfastened the tape, and put it by the sink. "Here we go. Ups a daisy." He lifted her arms away from her waist so he could reach her pajama bottoms. Then he remembered that the visiting nurse had said she should try to do these things herself, to keep the motor wiring going as long as possible. She was standing beside the sink, holding her arms out like an obedient child, her good breasts tenting the front of her pajamas.

He spread out the fresh diaper and turned to her, but the words that came out of his mouth were "We need you to take off your top honey." She looked at him blankly, and for a moment he felt ashamed. But she was looking at him, and he was waiting for her. She lowered her arms, and tugged at the hem of her pajama top. As she was lifting it she became confused and stopped. "Please honey," he said. "It needs to come off. Pop it off for me please."

"Are we in Mobile yet?"

"Mobile? No, not yet, soon. We'll be in Mobile soon."

She took the hem of her top and lifted it over her breasts, catching it for a moment on the tips of her large nipples, and then tugging it over her head and off. Her body was still slender and strong. Her large matronly breasts rested on her chest, pointing slightly down, but heavy and glowingly pink. Even in her misery, her fog and her confusion, she was still the most desirable woman in all the world to him. All the more beautiful, because they were at peace with each other and she needed him and trusted him completely. She had lifted it off for him, just because he had asked her to. She held the top in her hand and waited for him to give her directions. He took it from her gently and stuffed it in the towel rack next to the sink and looked at her for a long time while she waited for him to tell her what to do. He ran his hand gently over her bare belly and savored the soft warmth of it, touched the faint scar where she had had a cesarean for their daughter's birth. Amazingly, he saw her nipples swell and respond to him. He let out his breath, which he discovered he had been holding and his hands were trembling as he caressed her.

"Doctor?'

"No, Aimee, its just me."

"Where is your wife?"

"You're my wife Aimee. You're my wife and I still love you fine."

"Is everything all right?"

"It's all right." She was standing like one of those topless marble statues she had doted on when they went to Italy on vacation. Those are the good nipples that nursed our babies, he thought. She let me taste her milk when they became too full. Those were good times when she was nursing. We could fuck bareback without the condoms, which neither of us liked. Her breasts were so big and full, and she was so all heated up on her hormones that she came real easy, and came good and hard too. She came like a woman. When she came strong like that, all scratching at me and shouting and begging and crying against my chest those nipples would squirt milk everywhere and we'd laugh like hell. That was my Aimee. She came a lot in those days and there were nights in Italy she could just about wear me out.

He stood in front of her and admired her semi nudity. "You remember that island, what was it, Bisentina something. They had that little hotel we were at. Back then the power blacked out and we went into the garden in the middle of the night and the sky was full of stars." His hands reached out to her breasts and caressed them, but she seemed not to notice and looked away from him while he lovingly ran his hands over her. "The garden had those very same jasmine vines climbing the walls. You smelled that jasmine and pulled me down onto the grass. You did all the work that time. You pulled down my pants, and took off your panties and slipped me in good and solid with people eating in the cafŽ just on the other side of the wall. And when you came you were so loud those Italian men heard you over there and they stopped eating and really applauded for you. That's when you got interested in the jasmine vines, I'll bet.

"You were always a great fuck, Aimee. Did you know that, honey? You were the most fabulous piece of ass any man ever had and you were all mine. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"I know. I worked there."

"Well anyway, you were pretty hot stuff in your day."

She smiled. "Okay."

Her skin seemed to heat at his touch, to flush pink, and glow in the fluorescent light of the medicine cabinet. He teased her nipples and they began to stiffen and rise under his fingertips blossoming out amidst the goose bumps of her swelling aureole. She seemed to notice for the first time what he was doing to her. She lifted her breasts and held them out to him like a gift in both hands. He took one in his hand and hefted the warm bulky feel of it and placed his lips softly over her nipple.

"Bobby?"

Bobby was their son, whom she had breast-fed over 30 years ago. He had no idea what she was thinking, this woman who had once wanted to try out as a porno star, but his thoughts were consumed with the tension of her nipples which were standing out fully now. Taking the weight of her other breast in his other hand, he buried his face in her generous bosom.

Then there was the rising whiff of urine again and he felt like cursing God.

He released her breasts and turned his attention back to the job at hand. The bottoms would have to come off, and the diaper would have to be changed. He picked up the new diaper and held it up for her to see. At the sight of it, the bright glow that had been rising in her eyes also seemed to vanish. "Got to do this thing, Aimee. Okay? Got to get it done and go to bed. Get you cleaned up and ready for bed."

"What about Mobile?"

"I don't know anything about Mobile or Atlanta or any of that business … " he felt himself choking up again. Goddamnit, he didn't want to cry in front of her. It would upset her terribly. "I just … I can't … just fuck it. Just fuck it, okay? We need to get you changed."

He took the top of her pajama bottoms and lifted them up and out. She stood straight as if trying to be helpful, and he walked them down first one leg and then the other, lifting them past the crinkly edge of the diaper, and down and down, past her mighty thighs, and her knees to her strong honest calves. He patted her calves firmly. "Lift up." She became confused and tried to sit and he grabbed her and lifted her up. "Lift your leg." She tried to sit again and he grabbed her and pulled her up. "You got to lift your fucking leg, dummy." She just stood and suddenly he just wanted to haul off and smack her a good one. He wanted to slap her hard for doing this to him and discovered his hand raised against her to do just that when he caught himself. He turned away and felt the hot tears begin, while behind him she stood, baffled, nude, with her pajama top in the towel rack and her bottoms bunched around her knees looking like some lost and molested child.

He put his hand to his eyes and hid his face against the shower curtain, trying to keep the sobs of his weeping quiet and buried away from her. His shoulders shook and he pressed his face against the sour smelling plastic, waiting to calm down. Behind, he heard sounds of Aimee moving, and the sticky snaps of tape. He took a deep breath and wiped his face on his sleeve. When he turned and looked, she had the wet diaper off and was holding it out to him. She was looking at him with great concern. "Thanks." he said, and took it from her and dropped it in the hamper.

She held out her arms to him. "I'm sorry." she whispered. "Its all so shitty." He put his arms around her and they held each other. She was warm, and big and sumptuous, and he loved her all over again and grieved for her. She relaxed against him and after a moment he felt able to return to the business at hand. She was still wearing her pajama bottoms around her ankles. Gently he patted the back of her thigh and she looked down. He put his hand behind her knee and pulled up and she understood at last and lifted her leg. He pulled her pajama off, and she lifted the other leg and stepped out of them. He stuffed them with the top on the towel rack.

Just a quick wipe off and a change would be enough. He folded the diaper into a bundle and taped it tight and dropped it back in.

He reached into the shower and took the soft thick washcloth he bathed her with and ran warm water and a dab of soap over it. "Step your legs open, honey." He held up the washcloth and patted the insides of her thighs. She understood what he wanted, spread her feet apart into a heroic stance and put her hands on her hips. The sight of her made him laugh. She was magnificent, an aging Wonder Woman in the nude. For a moment he imagined her with a golden lariat and a tiara.

He kneeled down in front of her, as though he might pray to her, or beg her forgiveness. With the washcloth he washed the smooth skin of her inner thighs, rubbing his hand indulgently against the nest of her damp hair. He washed the hair, as attentively as a hair dresser, stealing touches against the skin of her labia, caressing them with the cloth, a necessary thing, and rinsing the hair, then the muscular cleft between her thighs and her pussy, making sure everything was clean and perfect. He washed her butt cheeks gently and soothingly, lingering there to run his hands over them, that ass, that big gorgeous ass, heavy and resilient, cuter to him than most girl's faces. He ran the cloth down the outside of her strong thighs, grooming the ruddy pink skin, and marveling at the strength left in them. Returning at last to her bush, he pressed his face, his nose, deep into the springy jungle depths of it. The feeling was electric, and instead of resisting, she moved into him, and he breathed the clean animal aroma of her, adoring her as she had once been. Her hands were on his head, and her fingers were in his hair and he felt very confused. Everything about this felt wrong to him, perverted somehow. But she was his woman. Who would know how beautiful she was, if not for him?

The baby powder was on the toilet tank. He picked it up and squeezed a small snowdrift in his hands. Spreading it on her ass, her inner thighs, he explored her all over again, making her dry and perfect. As his hand passed over her labia, he wondered. Running an experienced finger over the lips he explored them to see. Yes. A little bit. Not completely dry, some slickness there, something going on there. She was in there somewhere, standing stiffly in her Wonder Woman posture, while he kneeled to her as though worshipping her. She was a lush Hindu goddess, a primitive fertility goddess who had forgotten herself and wandered the earth believing herself to be a mortal.

"Are we in Mobile now?"

"Do you remember," he whispered to her pussy, "When we lived in Barton Street, that walkup near the little store? I lost my job. No money, no rent. No food. We had this fight. You don't remember, but you were going to drop out of school. I wanted you to stay, and we had that fight. You said you were sick of housework. You hated ironing, you hated cleaning my stupid shit everywhere. You were tired of everything and all that, you know the way you get sometimes. You don't remember, no, but I took the ironing board and told you I was going to do all the ironing from now. And you did this thing, this amazing thing you did. You had curlers in your hair, like a damn space satellite. You went behind the ironing board, and got on your knees, and I couldn't believe it, and then you just took out my dick out and I still couldn't believe it and you just started sucking me off right there under the ironing board.

"Did I ever tell you? Did I ever tell you, you were the sexiest woman I ever knew? I think of you like that everyday now, you there working away on me under the ironing board, curlers dropping out of your hair, bobbing up and down getting me off, because you were sorry. I came in your mouth for the first time then and burned a hole in the shirt cause I just forgot everything I was supposed to be doing. That's what you could do to me in your day Aimee. Make me forget everything that was bothering me. I kept that shirt for a long time till you threw it out, because looking at the hole in the sleeve always got me hot for you. It's not fair, you don't know now. That makes me want to die, cause you can't remember what a great woman you were. That was such an animal kind of painful thing for you to do and I sure wish you weren't all so crazy now. Aw hell, I can't stand you this way."

He squeezed an extra puff of powder and worked it into her hair, dusting the skin around her sex lips and pausing to kiss the inside of her tensed Wonder Woman thighs. "Maybe that's why you get married to someone anyway. You just want a witness to tell the rest of the world you were there. You were here with me, Aimee. I knew you." Tentatively, he caressed her pussy lips and felt them lifting open for him. His fingers were wet.

"This is Mobile, isn't it?"

He raised his head and looked up at her. What the hell was this Mobile all about? She was smiling down at him and her eyes were full and fiery.

And then he knew what he was seeing there in her eyes. The revelation of it struck him so fiercely he had to get up and sit on the edge of the bathtub to take it in.

Fog or not, she had remembered clearly something he had forgotten until now. Mobile Alabama, on the train to Savannah. Savannah was where they would have their honeymoon, and the train was where they were on their wedding night. Although he was eager for her, she wouldn't let him fuck her until they reached Mobile. It was what she wanted. It wasn't the first time they'd had sex. That had been on their second date, sloppily and impetuously on the sofa in her sister's apartment, trying not to wake the family. That was when he knew this was the woman he would marry, this virtuous, intelligent, sturdy Republican with her ravenous appetites. On their wedding night, they'd rattled through the dark countryside in their sleeping car, groping and driving each other wild, but there was something about Mobile she really didn't like, and she was forcing him to wait. And then the tobacco barns changed into buildings and he wouldn't wait any longer. She peeled off the rest of his clothes and then her own. She turned on all the bright room lights, and threw the curtains open wide. He'd taken her as she directed him to, hard up against the brightly lit window glass for all the world to see, his stiff cock all up in her tight, naked and urgent and insane, and the train vibrated and rattled their bodies as they moved against each other. Outside rail lights flashed red and bells clanged as they whizzed through the barred crossings, packed with lines of cars, cars with white folks and black folks, good God fearing families and children and grandmothers and babies and dogs watching her brazen female Whore of Babylon ass as he pounded it good and hard up against the glass, putting on a big show for the good folks of Mobile, courtesy of the rolling iron of the Southern Pacific. He came in her as they leisurely clanked through a crossing in the downtown, and she had the presence of mind to take out his wet cock and press it against the glass, waving hello with it to the people standing on the sidewalk gaping.

Now that was goddamn Mobile for you.

"Is this Mobile?"

"Yes, baby." he croaked. "You know, I think it is."

She smiled wickedly. "Good."

"Are you ready for Mobile?"

"I'm ready!"

"Let's go then. Let's stand by the window. That's what you want, isn't it? That's what Mobile is, right?"

"Mobile!"

"Anything you want, Aimee. Let's go to Mobile together." He herded her into the bedroom with his arm around her waist. He marveled at how she seemed filled with purpose such as he hadn't seen in her in a long time. When he released her, it was Aimee who threw the curtains open. She frowned. "Where're we going?"

"Wait." He said, searching quickly for the answer, desperate not to lose this moment without a fight. Then he realized, the back yard was dark. He stood her against the wall. "Wait. I'll be back."

Faster than Clark Kent, he unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt and had it off in one pull. One more pull and he'd jumped out of his pants and underwear together in one motion and he was naked, his eager cock hard and ready. She was staring at his erection with interest.

He ran around the room turning on every light and lamp he could find. "Just stay there!" he called, holding up his hands. He ran to the kitchen, his penis waving in the air, harder than he had felt it in years.

He turned on the kitchen lights and turned up the radio. Little Richard was screaming "God Golly Miss Molly! Sure like to ball! When you're rockin and you're rollin can't hear your mama call!"

The back yard lights? The switch was outside.

Oh hell, he thought. That's the whole idea isn't it? Let the neighbors yell, let them call the cops that's all. Or let them tell Bobby and Frannie to haul me off to the nursing home too. Tonight is the night I get to fuck my woman. By God, I'm going to fuck her.

He threw open the back door and ran out into the night, his boner waving in front of him like a herald. He threw on the back porch lights and then the yard lights, reveling in the chill night air.

Mobile, by God. Ladies and gentlemen, present your tickets to the conductor, we are in goddamn Mobile and the entertainment is about to begin.

He went back inside and passed through the kitchen. There was an insidious moment of doubt. What would he find in the bedroom? That she had forgotten the glory of Mobile and wandered off? Gone to sleep in the closet, or fallen down and hurt herself? Or maybe just didn't know who this old fart was and why he was trying so hard to stick his dick in her.

But she was there and waiting for him near the window, in her wide legged Wonder Woman pose. His wonderful Aimee, with her secret porno star soul all aglow like a child on Christmas morning, the back yard lights lighting up the contours of her wonderful naked body, all lights and camera and waiting for the big money shot.

"Mobile, Aimee! It's Mobile!"

She opened her arms wide for him.

He threw himself against her, and her arms captured him, and her tongue was in his mouth. She squatted and wiggled her hips under him and like magic his cock had slipped into her slick and easeful depths and she held him tightly and without awkwardness. She threw her arms up over her head, her old signal for him to kiss her breasts. He mauled her big motherly breasts in his hands and took hold of both of her nipples and placed them in his lips together and sucked hard on them.

For the first time in ages, she was there for him, completely present for him; her legs were wide and she was there for him; and she was working her hips in rhythm with his and she was there for him as he struggled to keep sucking her nipples, and together their breathing soared and became ragged and filled with animal sounds and she was there for him, and the gasping turned to cries and she continued to be there for him, even as he felt her legs go rigid, and her pussy pressing down and she shivered in bliss and she was there for him falling against him as her knees went weak and she was there and she was still there for him as he surrendered to the raw carnal energy of her lost amnesiac pagan Hindu fertility goddess power and let it wash over him. He felt his seed exploding in her, driving him hard into Wonder Woman Aimee, and she was there for him, and this was her lover's gift to him alone for his loyalty, for his nights of faithful celibacy, and the nights cleaning up after her little accidents, and to thank him for being there with her through her terror and hallucination, and occasional deadly violence, when he had to hold her down hard and whisper to her, and weep with her, and console her, and lie to her and tell her everything was going to be just fine—sure it would—when they knew he was all bullshit lies and God had abandoned them on this fucking runaway train of humiliation and fucking oblivion and the world was cruel and all they had was each other and everybody could go to hell including him, he could go fuck himself too goddamn you phony smiling sonovabitch bastard I'll kill your ass, but no Aimee, I won't leave you, not never no sir no. For all of that and more, she held him tight to her, hugging her powerful thighs around him so that he would never ever leave her even when she had finally left herself.

They relaxed against each other and he slipped out of her and he felt her arms fall away. He looked into her face and it broke his heart all over again. She was neither offended nor frightened. Only lost again. He hugged her and rubbed against her but she was the lost docile love doll again. He stepped away from her and she had that worried look, discovering herself excited, nude and wet, while he drew the curtains closed.

Were the neighbors watching? Would this come up in the next homeowner's association meeting? What can they do to us anyway? At our age, lust is more of an achievement than a vice.

"There," he said to her, gesturing towards the bed. "Why don't you just sit a second and I'll fix all this up. I'll get … aw shit, Aimee. Aw shit. I'll get your diaper, hon." She stood where she was, uncomprehending and he kissed her on the cheek. He led her over to the bed and pressed on her shoulders until she sat. There was a small trail of his spunk coming from her pussy and he took some Kleenex from the bed stand and offered it to her. She looked at it. He tugged a few more tissues from the box and pulled at her hips to bring her back closer to the edge of the bed. She looked down and watched as he wiped away his sauce from her pussy.

After a moment it was clean. He couldn't resist and kissed her belly, and then got down on his knees and softly pressed his face against her damp delta of wiry hair.

"Where is your wife?"

"Right here, Aimee." he murmured into her cleft. "She's right here and I love her fine. That's you Aimee."

"Oh." she said, with what sounded like surprise. "Whoo hoo!."

He looked up at her with tears in his eyes. "Sure. Whoo hoo."

"Yes." She smiled and for a moment her eyes were bright with recognition.

"Think of it as a prayer." He whispered. Slowly he rose to his feet again, and his knees hurt, but he felt happy and relaxed and infinitely lonely. "Diaper time, Aimee." he said, more to himself. "Lay down. Please. Lay down on our fine big bed, Aimee. Wait. Let me look at you laying down for a minute. I just want to see how you look that way."

Aimee laid across the bed luxuriously, lifting a knee, letting her legs fall open for him to see, her fine and generous breasts spread out over her chest and he stood over her, enjoying the view, loving her. She saw his eyes on her and raised her arms over her head and smiled to him, seductive, obscenely pliant and open to him.

In the kitchen on the idiot radio, sang Bob Dylan. " … with her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls … She takes just like a woman. Yes she does, and she makes love, just like a woman … Yes she does … "

"Time to rest, Aimee." he said. "Maybe we'll pass through Mobile again in the morning."

"Sure." She smiled slyly and raised her arms higher, half closing her eyes for him.

He went into the kitchen to turn off all the lights and the radio, and to bring her a fresh diaper.

_______
© 2007 C. Sanchez-Garcia. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: C. Sanchez-Garcia lives and works in Augusta Georgia with his family, where his personal library has outgrown his home.


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