Flowers
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Flowers free porn video
FLOWERS
by dkb
Amy walked down the street with her menfolk. Little Tommy sat astride her
shoulders, holding on to her forehead, little lord of all he surveyed. He
was still a constant delight to her, even after three years of being a mum.
He was a paradox, clumsy, helpless and dependent and yet also supremely
confident, as if everything was there for him and nothing could possibly go
wrong. Oh, he cried sometimes, when something startled him or when he hurt
himself. But he could forget it in an instant and go right back to rushing
around as if nothing had happened. And he could be a terror. He could go
into monstrous rages sometimes, when he didn't get what he wanted. Even
when he was happy he could be difficult to control. When he got too
excited it could be impossible to calm him down without risking grumpiness
and tears. People said he was a typical boy, but Amy's mum said Tommy took
after her, that she too had been a boisterous child when she was very
young, before she turned shy and moody. Tommy liked to be the centre of
everything and it could be very tiring being in his orbit. And yet he was,
of course, utterly adorable also. Sometimes when Amy felt things getting
on top of her all it took was Tommy's sweet smile to cheer her up again.
Greg walked beside her, holding her hand. He still sometimes seemed
nervous about touching her, as if he was only visiting and didn't want to
outstay his welcome. As if he hadn't fully realised she was his to keep
now. He'd been an absolute rock at school, always dependable, decent,
kind, sensitive. It used to annoy her that people hadn't realised what he
was like. He was so quiet that people called him a nerd or a geek, but he
really wasn't like that. Amy knew that if you just talked to him he opened
up and she had found she could talk to him about anything, almost. When
she went to college they'd drifted apart. She'd hooked up with several
different guys, but none had lasted. And when she came home there he still
was, same old Greg. She had decided not to let him go again.
They'd gone to a registry office, nothing fancy, just family really. And
so she was Mrs Amy Mackenzie now. That was strange. It made her feel she
should be skipping through the heather and hiding handsome Jacobites from
villainous Redcoats. Greg said she didn't have to wear tartan if she
didn't want to and, sure enough, when they visited his grandparents in
Edinburgh there wasn't a kilt to be seen, except on the piper dolls in the
tourist shops.
"It's off-peak," said Greg. "There's plenty of real ones if you come in
the summer."
He was a carpenter in the construction industry and she taught English,
part-time until Tommy started school. It was like a model of normal life
that Amy felt she needed to hold on to tightly. She never felt
particularly attached to life and sometimes she was afraid she might just
float off somewhere if Greg and Tommy didn't anchor her down. Being a
housewife and a teacher, having responsibilities and duties, she felt she
needed these to keep her together. But she also missed some of the
wildness and freedom she'd had at university. Greg was tender and
considerate, but she wished he'd realise that being married meant he didn't
have to ask all the time. It was nice that he didn't take her for granted,
but she liked to be surprised sometimes, she liked to be taken by a man who
knew what she wanted without having to ask.
She thought about the other men in her life. There was Dad, a good,
strong, gentle, kind man. She'd been pretty horrible to him to start off
with. Maybe she hadn't wanted to share her mother. And maybe she had had
good reason to be nervous of men. Whichever it was, she'd played up
terribly. She'd thrown tantrums when he came round and refused to let them
alone. She remembered pretending to be sick one night when he'd stayed
over, trying to keep them up all night, maybe trying to scare him away.
Then she'd tried to suck up to him. It was embarrassing to remember.
She'd tried to be cute and coy, and sit on his lap and cuddle him, and
plead for favours, things her mother wouldn't let her have, tried to play
them against each other. But he had been sternly unbending. "Ask your
mother," he always said. "Do what your mother tells you," had been his
only rule. He had refused to be a father to Amy, refused to have anything
to do with bringing her up, except in so far as he supported her mother in
every decision she made. Instead he became a confidant, a teacher and a
friend. When he had died she had felt torn apart. She had felt guilty for
not having appreciated every second she'd known him.
She didn't really remember her real father. All that was left of him was
the faintest feeling of dread, a sickness in the stomach when she thought
of him and an occasional shadow cast over her dreams.
And then there was Him. She knew nothing about him, not a name or
anything. She just knew he was there, somehow, deep down in the pit of her
soul. He wasn't like an imaginary friend. He never appeared to her or
spoke to her. But occasionally, in certain situations, it seemed he was
there. At school, in maths tests, or when she was in trouble with a
teacher or got into a fight, it seemed he was there and she knew what to do
or say. It was possible that once, a long time ago, he had woken up in her
bed, when her father was there, and screamed and screamed until Mum had
come to rescue her. Sometimes, when she was still a child, she had dreamed
of a little boy. He was always very sad though she couldn't say how she
knew this because she never saw his face; he was always looking away from
her. But you could also say that they were both looking in the same
direction. Sometimes, in these dreams, he was a little girl. Or maybe the
girl was really her. But that, it seemed, meant that she was him. Or
maybe it didn't. Thinking of these dreams it occurred to her that the face
you never normally see is your own.
In therapy, when Amy was at university, she had recovered a memory of
something she had witnessed when she was very small, a road accident. Her
therapist had thought this very significant, that this, along with the
other thing, could explain everything. Amy felt then that she could, if
she wanted to, tell herself a romantic story about a guardian angel, a
spirit that watched over her. But she couldn't believe it resolved
anything. She still felt she was left with more questions than answers
about what, if anything, had happened to her.
She had gone a bit wild at uni, let herself go. She felt quite awkward at
first, with people she didn't know, but when a guy persisted, if he was a
nice guy, she could just relax and go with it. Then, for all she was never
much of a girly girl, she was glad she wasn't a boy. She couldn't imagine
being the one to make the moves, having to ask, facing rejection. All she
had to do was drag herself out to a bar and wait for some action. There
was always a steady supply of smiling eyes, warm lips and strong arms.
But sometimes she suffered strange anxieties. There were times when she
felt not quite identical to herself, as if there were two Amys, almost, but
not quite, exactly the same. She couldn't tell which was the real one.
One time she was at a party. She was very drunk and a joint had been
passed around. She felt really out of it, kind of drifting. Jakey had his
arms round her, stroking her breast and nuzzling her neck. Suddenly, she
felt a weird feeling of oppressive closeness. She felt hyper-aware of
everything around her, as if everything was pressing against her at once.
There was Jake's hands all over her body, his breath in her nostrils, his
face right in hers. A panic rose up in her and suddenly she had to get
away.
"Oh stop it! Get off me!" she mumbled, drunkenly, and pushed him feebly
away. She got up, staggered towards the door and tripped over someone's
legs. She crawled the rest of the way out of the room, picked herself up
and staggered off, into the night.
The feeling of hyper-awareness stayed with her, not oppressive any more,
but strangely exhilarating. There was the cool night breeze, the glow of
the street lights against the black of the sky, people passing, laughing
and shouting. She suddenly felt aware of her own body as if it was
something new and strange, as if noticing it for the first time - the way
her skirt felt on her thighs, the way the wind tickled her calves, her
breasts moving under her top, her hair brushing her shoulders, the taste of
her lipstick. When she got back to her room she stripped off and examined
herself in the mirror and she felt an aching mixture of longing and regret,
as if for an unobtainable dream man, as if for a brother who was too close
and too far away. She lay on her bed and masturbated for twenty minutes or
more and had wild, shuddering orgasms, as if just being who she was, where
she was, was the most exciting thing imaginable.
She had had to work hard to make things up with Jake. Poor Jakey, his
pride had been hurt, in front of his mates. Just apologising wasn't
enough. There had to be a lot of public kissing and hand-holding and so
on, to make sure everyone knew that, no, there was nothing wrong with
Jakey. It had just been Amy having a funny turn. It didn't last. They
split up soon after.
Amy had wondered if she could maybe do without men altogether. They could
be so frustrating, demanding, proud, even arrogant. She wondered what it
would be like if she weren't such a sucker for, well, for anything in
trousers sometimes. Late night in the student bar a classmate of hers,
Sarah, had confessed to being bisexual. Sarah was tall, with a lean,
athletic build. Amy could suddenly see herself falling for this rangy,
intense woman. She put a hand on Sarah's knee and Sarah looked into her
eyes, leaned over and kissed her on the lips. Sarah took her hand and led
her back to her bedroom. A few minutes drunken fumbling revealed that
Sarah was, in fact, no more bisexual than Amy, which was not at all.
"Sarah, haven't you done this before?"
"Um, no, not really. I've kissed a girl a couple of times, but... I
thought you..."
"What? God no! For Christ's sake Sarah, this is ridiculous."
They had to laugh about it then, but it was embarrassing in the morning and
they drifted apart. Sarah had different classes the next term and Amy
never saw her again.
After that Amy sort of got back to normal. - Oh look, there's a hunky guy
with a wallet. He wants to buy me a drink. Isn't he a nice man. Ooh yes,
I would like to see your CD collection. I'm sure it's very interesting. -
Same old nonsense.
"What are you thinking?" Greg said.
"Oh, nothing really. The shop's just here. I'll get the flowers and you
watch Tommy, ok?"
"Ok."
Greg watched her go. She was magnificent. He knew now she was no catwalk
model or Miss World. She was more beautiful than that. There was a quite
unselfconscious sensuality in the way she moved, so powerfully sexy it made
him shiver. At school he had thought her angelic, an unapproachable image
of female perfection. He had thought that if he could pluck up the courage
to ask Amy to the school dance he need never feel nervous about asking any
girl anything. It hadn't occurred to him that she might say yes. After
getting to know her as a person rather than as a fantasy he had fallen in
love with her and that he was now married to her was something he still
found difficult to fully believe.
She had a strong, generous, wise personality and it had always been a
privilege to know her. Though he had never been part of the in-crowd at
school, he had been vaguely aware that she had some kind of reputation, but
he had had no trouble ignoring that completely and when he found out about
some of her background his admiration for her only increased.
This obsession of hers was a bit funny though. She scoffed at ghosts or
reincarnation and yet still seemed to think that a stranger dying twenty
years ago had had some incredible effect on her life. The latest thing was
that she thought she remembered the exact details of the accident and
wanted to lay a wreath, or something. He struggled to imagine what she
thought she could get out of this.
"Is this some sort of exorcism?"
"No, nothing like that. Look, it doesn't matter if anything happened.
It's just...I might be the only person that actually remembers him at all.
I just want to do something in commemoration, ok? Will you come with me?"
"Of course I will."
Amy emerged from the shop with a small bouquet of roses, lilies and
carnations, all of them white or cream, that had a ghostly beauty in the
morning sun. Flanked by Greg and Tommy she walked to the end of the road,
turned the corner to the right and paused.
"Is this the place?" Greg asked.
She looked around.
"I think so. I've hardly been out here since we moved away when I was
little, but it looks vaguely familiar. I think there used to be a
shopping centre down the street and I guess that's where we were going when
it happened."
"You saw a guy get run over."
"Yeah."
"And he's, what, haunted you ever since?"
"I guess. Something like that."
He reached out to her, held her arm. "You mean, in your head?"
She responded, rested her hand against his body. "Not really. Not like
another person, in there with me. Not voices or anything. Not in my head,
no. In me. In my arms and legs. In my hands. In my breast, in my
heart."
"I don't understand that."
"Neither do I."
He stood back. "So, what do you want to do? Where do you want to put
them?"
She looked around again. "I'm not sure. I haven't thought about it.
Maybe in the railings."
"Go on then."
Tommy held onto Amy's arm and Greg held her shoulders as she pushed the
bouquet between two of the railings by the side of the road and at that
very moment she was suddenly unsure whether the flowers were really for Him
or for herself or for both of them or for neither.
Tommy jumped up, wanting to be held. Mummy leaned over and hoisted him up
- whee! - through the air, as if he was flying, onto Mummy's breast. He
wrapped his arms round Mummy's neck and held on tight and he wouldn't let
go until they got home.
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