Talk Messy When You Write
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Dead Write Ch. 01 free porn video
This is a repost of a romance story with some minor edits. The other chapters will soon follow.
The water formed a channel down the valley of Sam’s back as he sat in the shower, head in hands. Today marked the first anniversary of Jan’s death, and the warmth of the shower was an oasis from cold reality.
When the water heater drained of comfort, Sam stepped out and toweled off. Picking up the blow dryer, he evaporated a fog patch from the mirror and began to shave.
‘Why did it have to be on a Sunday? If people start telling me how sorry they are, I’ll loose it.’
‘When are you going to grow up?’ he demanded from his ugly, 45-year-old reflection.
Sam never liked his face. His nose was too big and his lips too thin. Character lines framed his eyes. Gray hair spread like weeds through the brown. ‘At least I still have my hair.’ A scar from an excised basal cell carcinoma, faintly visible next to his left ear, reminded him of all the sunny hours on the sailboat were being paid for in grams of flesh.
After rinsing off the soapy residue, he stood back for appraisal. Routine exercise kept him toned and able to compete with men ten years younger. Well, maybe five years younger. Occasionally women still looked — from a distance of course. The initial thrill of their attraction ended in a sense of betrayal to Jan. Fidelity to a cherished memory was painful.
‘I may not be pretty, but I’m tough.’ Throwing the towel into the laundry hamper, he mumbled, “Yeah, right. Maybe I should refill my prescription of happy pills.”
Sam’s motivation for health and fitness had changed over the years. When young, he stayed in shape to kick ass in whatever sport he chose. When Sam married Jan, they made a pact to stay attractive for each other, forsaking all others. Now, he had to stay in shape for doctors — not nearly as satisfying. Sam had the symptoms of middle age. ‘Instead of a temple, my body has become a science lab.’ More doctors had seen him naked in the last six months than the number of women in his entire life. (Of course, his female dermatologist canceled herself out.)
Never a bee that had to pollinate every flower he could land on, Sam thrived on a 24 hour a day, 7 day a week, until death do us part, love affair. And so, it was done right for 21 happy years. Since Jan’s death, their seven-year-old son, Christopher, became his primary reason for living.
Sam flopped on the bed and picked up one of Jan’s notebooks from the nightstand. Lying back, he examined the cover decorated with her graffiti. When Jan couldn’t write, because of pain or fatigue, she’d doodle.
These volumes were a precious gift to him and, someday, to his son. In the white square, next to the word ‘Subject’, the name ‘Christopher’ was written in calligraphy. Under that it said, ‘volume 1’. Inside, Jan chronicled their son’s development over his first six years, complete with a list of his likes and dislikes, his favorite color, food, clothes… everything a doting mother would see and a busy father wouldn’t. Sam still experienced the world through her eyes… at least his past world. These notes had been a useful reference when buying clothes or presents. His breath caught, thinking how much their son had changed already. Opening the book, he laid it across his face and inhaled her fading scent.
A few minutes later, while helping Chris dress for church, one of Jan’s last requests nagged him. ‘Sam, promise me that you’ll remarry. Chris needs a mother, and you need a wife. Don’t give me any crap about how you can’t love anyone else. God will provide, if you’ll let Him. When I’ve been gone a year take off the ring and get on with life.’ Sam looked at his wedding band as he straightened Chris’s tie and doubted it would come off without an amputation.
Just last week, Dr. Benson, his Urologist, had told him the same thing, ‘Sam, you need a wife.’ But he didn’t use those exact words. The lump in Sam’s left testicle, along with occasional pain, had sent him to his family jeweler. After an examination and a sonogram the doctor asked, ‘Sam, when was the last time you ejaculated?’
Isn’t anything private after 40? ‘I don’t remember,’ lied Sam. Very clearly, he remembered the last time with Jan — not as wonderful a memory as the first time.
‘You need to increase your frequency of ejaculation by whatever means possible. This problem will not go away by itself.’ He referred to Sam’s chart. ‘Your vas deferens is swelling because of a buildup, which causes the tenderness. If that buildup becomes a blockage you could end up with a serious problem.’
‘Will you give me a prescription to a massage parlor so insurance will cover my treatment?’ Then aloud, he said, ‘I’ll see what I can come up with. Since Jan died, I’m afraid that my desire has expired.’
Dr. Benson raised an eyebrow. ‘I understand. But you have to take care of yourself. If not for you, then for…’ He looked at the chart again, ‘Christopher.’
‘Is my dog’s name on that chart too?’ Doctor’s were great for medical, not moral advice. Sam’s sex drive was in neutral. ‘What am I supposed to do about my ‘pollywog’ problem? Jerk off to some porn movie?’ He couldn’t separate sex from love without the burden of sin weighing on his conscious.
***
At the end of the church service, Sam grabbed Chris and left before anyone mentioned the depressing anniversary of Jan’s death.
As he backed his car out, he heard a woman yelling, ‘Sam! Sam!’
Shifting into park, Sam watched the energetic Sunday school teacher, Sharon Walker, bounce across the blacktop. If anyone were going to remember this anniversary, it would be her. Twelve years ago, Sharon and Jan had shared the same struggle with infertility. They’d spent hours counseling and consoling each other through the mire of medical options.
After tests and procedures, temperature taking and coital scheduling, Sam and Jan gave up hope for a biological child and adopted Christopher.
“Bob the slob” had opted to plow the fertile furrow of a co-worker, and divorced Sharon. Bob disappeared. Sharon remained faithful to the congregation, and worked with the children in the Sunday school program.
Jan and Sharon remained friends after the divorce, spending time together in bible studies, often sharing hotel rooms during women’s retreats. Sam knew a few things about her, because of his wife’s friendship. However, he had remained distant from the svelte divorcee. No need to invite temptation while forsaking all others.
Christopher was in her Sunday school class. Without Jan to collect progress reports, Sharon made a point of cornering Sam on occasion, to tell him what a good student Chris was.
‘Hi, Sharon. How are you?’
‘Hi, Sam.’ Sharon bent down to look at Chris in the back seat. ‘Hi, Chris. Great job on your verses today! You have a very smart boy there. You must be very proud.’
Looking in the rearview mirror, Sam could see Chris’s face redden. He’d become shy around women. ‘I am very proud. And thank you for doing a great job teaching him.’
Sharon remained close to the window. A familiar herbal scent wafted into the car. Her sharp, blue eyes pierced his armor, and his grip tightened on the wheel.
‘Saaam.’ She said, in the singsong, I’m-going-to-ask-a-favor girlie style.
‘Is that hypnotic tone genetic?’ Sam wondered.
‘Would you do me a favor? Feel free to say no… I was wondering if you would stop by my place on your way home and help me fix my kitchen faucet. I can’t turn the shutoff valve under the sink.” Shifting her weight to the other foot, she continued, “I’ll pay you with dinner. It’s already in the crock-pot… If you have time to eat.’
A distraction is just what he needed to help him through the day. ‘I think we could manage that, right Chris?’
Sam’s question awakened his docile passenger. ‘Let’s go, Dad. I’m tired
of pizza.’
‘Pizza? I have a gourmet dinner with your name on it! Budget Gourmet chicken, I think.’
‘Gross!’ said Sharon. ‘Don’t worry, Chris. I’ll save you!’
Sam watched Chris’s face bloom with a smile. It had been months since his son was so pleased with one of life’s surprises. In fact, it had been months for Sam too.
‘Okay then, follow me! I’ll keep it under a hundred.’ She winked at them and walked away.
He watched her hips sway under the floral dress. Her hair was longer than he’d remembered. It was braided into a thick rope that hung between her shoulder blades.
Jan used to wear hers the same way, and let him unbraid and brush it before bed, often ending in not sleeping.
As they drove, Sam asked, ‘Do you like Ms. Walker, Chris?’
‘Yeah, she’s cool. I like her the best of all my teachers.” After a brief pause, he asked, “How come she doesn’t have any kids, Dad?’
‘I don’t know, Chris. Maybe she will someday.’
A minute passed before Chris confessed, ‘When I’m with her, Dad, I don’t miss Mom so much. Is that bad?’
Sam had to wipe some wetness from his eyes. ‘No, Chris, that’s good. Mom would want you to be happy. I want you to be happy.’
They pulled into the driveway of a rundown one-story ranch. The white paint peeled and the black roof shingles curled. Even the ‘For Sale’ sign staked in the front yard looked in disrepair. Sharon waved them in through a ripped screen door. The interior was just as worn as the exterior, although neat and clean. Threadbare furniture sparsely populated the living room.
The aroma of dinner made Sam’s stomach bubble with anticipation.
‘See what I mean about the faucet, Sam,’ Sharon said over her shoulder as she moved into the kitchen.
A stream of water as thick as a pencil ran down the drain. ‘If I get another $300 water bill I’ll just give the city the house key as payment.’
‘Do you have any pliers?’
She opened a drawer and extracted a pair.
Lying on his back under the sink, he turned the stubborn handles of both the hot and cold supply valves. ‘Sharon, turn on the faucets, and see if the water’s off.’
She straddled his torso to open the faucets. ‘Hey, looks good! No water.’
‘Looks good from here too!’ Sam couldn’t resist a peek at her legs — almost up to the Promised Land. Self-contempt for his behavior made him move. Sharon stepped away. When he stood, the expression on her face didn’t reveal any knowledge of his conduct unbecoming a gentleman.
‘Is she that innocent, she didn’t think about me looking?’ His face felt hot.
‘Here’s my tool drawer, Sam.’ She opened and closed the drawer for show and tell. ‘And here are the faucet parts. If you want, go ahead and fix that sucker. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. I’ll show Chris where the toys are.’
Running from the fish tank in the living room, Chris squeaked, ‘You have toys!’
‘Yes, I do. I watch a lot of kids at night and on weekends, so I’ve stocked up with a bunch of fun stuff. Let me show you.’ They started down the basement stairs. ‘I have a big room down here just for kids. If you like to watch videos…’
Her voice trailed off leaving Sam alone with his grin. Snapping back to the task at hand, the faucet seats and washers were swiftly replaced.
As Sam lay under the sink, turning on the water, Sharon walked over, stood at the sink, and turned Sam on again. ‘Let me know when you’re ready.’
Sam rushed. The thought of her sleek legs made him fear she would see how ready his plumbing was. The sin of covetousness pounded in his temples. ‘Okay, Sharon, try it now.’
He heard the water splash on and off several times. ‘Great job Sam. No leaks up here.’
Again, Sam stood red faced.
‘How does everything look under there?’ she asked.
Confused and trapped in his sin, he stammered, ‘Under where?’
She grinned at his discomposure. ‘Underwear? No not my underwear. Under the sink, are there any leaks that need repair under the sink?’
Regaining self-control, he replied, ‘Everything looked perfect.’
Sharon’s color deepened, hinting she understood the duplicity. ‘I’m going to change. I don’t want to spill food on my good clothes.’
Nervous, Sam walked around to burn up the adrenaline. Typical of a 50’s style ranch, the house had a breakfast nook off the kitchen with a sliding glass door to the backyard. The yard was filled with verdant flower and vegetable gardens.
Peonies, his favorite flower, bloomed in a vase on the desk in the corner of the room. As he leaned over to enjoy a sniff, his eyes wandered over the desktop. Under a stack of magazines, an exposed inch of a notebook cover caught his eye. A glimpse of an ornate doodle fired his curiosity. Under the pile of ‘Ladies Home Journals’ lay one of Jan’s notebooks, one he’d never seen before. In the ‘Subject’ box, written in flamboyant script, was one three-letter word — Sam.
His heart pounded and he felt dizzy as he flipped through the ‘Sam’ notebook. At the top of each page were subject headings just like in the ‘Chris’ notebook — food, clothes, and sports — listing his preferences. His life had been reduced to columns of items and one-sentence descriptions. In the middle of the volume, the writing changed. It became a narrative as Jan disclosed her love for Sam. Slower, he continued to page through, not knowing how much time he’d have. The headings were very intimate — attractions, perfumes, dating history, sexual preferences — in no apparent order.
‘Bang!’ A door closed, forcing him to put the notebook back in the stack. He leaned against the doorjamb, and stared into the backyard.
‘Sam?’ Sharon called from the kitchen.
‘In here.’
‘Oh, you’ve found my paradise.’ He watched her eyes dart from the yard to the notebook and back. ‘I spend every minute I can out there — weeding mostly.’ She asked, ‘Do you like gardening, Sam?’
For some reason, he lied. ‘No, not really. I have allergies.’
He watched as a cloud of confusion darkened her face, and he felt mean for blowing smoke.
‘Well, maybe I should take the flowers off the kitchen table while we eat.’
‘No, don’t do that. They’re beautiful. I’m not sensitive to flowers, mostly it’s molds and dusts.’ When he looked at her, he realized he cared what she thought of him. ‘God, why am I on the defensive.’ He liked her smell, he liked her face, hair, voice, laugh, sense of humor… and he wondered, how much was really Sharon and how much was contrived to be like Jan. Was she wearing that emerald green tee-shirt because green was his favorite? Was she wearing those skimpy cutoffs because Jan wrote that he was a leg-man?
‘Why would she manipulate me? What does she want?’
His mind flashed images of her house with peeled paint, curled shingles, broken windows, leaky faucets. A handyman, that’s what she wants.
‘Earth to Sam.’
He’d drifted off, and now looked into her concerned eyes. ‘Sorry, I just thought of something I have to do later.’
‘Well, first you need to eat. I’ll put the food on the table, and you can round up Chris.’
He wanted to make an excuse and leave but that wouldn’t be fair to Chris. ‘Okay.’
Downstairs, Sam found him absorbed in his favorite video game, and wondered if she had a ‘Chris’ notebook too. ‘Time to eat, Son.’
‘Dad! I can’t believe all the cool toys Ms. Walker has!’
‘Yeah, well I can. Turn it off and let’s go eat.’
Dinner was deliciously familiar.
Sam was a muddled mess. Ulterior motives and hidden agendas were behind every kind word and friendly gesture. Fearing seduction into her scheme, he couldn’t relax.
Chris, on the other hand, bantered with Sharon about cartoons and videos games. He’d been reborn. ‘Space Ghost would destroy Buzz Lightyear in battle.’
‘No way!’
‘Yes way!’ and
on, and on….
Sam spiraled in — inadequate, incapable of coping. Finally lost in a haze, he spilled water.
Sharon yelled, ‘Flood! Get the sand bags!’ Running to the cupboard, she ripped off a string of paper towels and dammed the spreading puddle.
Chris laughed.
‘I’m so sorry. I’m such a klutz!’
Standing next to Sam as she mopped up the flood plain Sharon put her arm around his shoulders, leaned in, and whispered, ‘Forget about it. This had to be a tough day just to get out of bed.’
Sam nodded his agreement and clenched his jaw. Struggling with sudden emotion, he said, ‘Thanks, I didn’t think anyone remembered.’
‘Jan was a true friend. I miss her.’
Chris focused on devouring a thick slice of chocolate cake — his favorite.
After they finished eating and cleared the dishes to the sink, Sharon said, “I’ll wash them later, when it cools off.’
Must be the dishwasher’s broken too. ‘Well, Sharon, thank you very much for dinner. Chris will survive another day.’
‘Daaaaad.’
Tousling his hair, Sharon said, ‘I don’t have to worry about him. He’s in good hands.’
Sam paused a moment, happy for the compliment. ‘I think we should head home. Our mission’s accomplished here, Buddy.’
‘Awww!’
‘You can come back anytime. It was nice having guests. And thanks again for fixing that leak. Maybe now I can afford to repair something else around here.’
Was that a hint? ‘It was our pleasure, right Chris.’
‘Yeah, Dad. You and I make a great team. You work and I’ll play video games.’
Sharon jumped to Sam’s defense, ‘Hey, that’s not fair! When do you work and Dad gets to play?’
The question had him stumped. His serious face said, ‘Dad doesn’t play anymore since Mom went to heaven.’
‘Sure I do, Sport. C’mon, lets go.’ Sam ushered him out the front door. Turning to Sharon he whispered, ‘Kids, you never know what they’ll say next.’
Sharon rested her hand on his shoulder. ‘They do say the darnedest things… If you ever want to talk…’
‘Thanks, Sharon. We’re fine. Have a great week.’
‘Bye Guys.’
They all waved as Sam drove away.
***
Midnight and Sam tossed and turned, sullen over the day’s events. He lived a haunted existence.
‘Sharon seemed sincere, but… What was Jan trying to do by giving the notebook to her? Did she think Sharon would be a match for me or was she just thinking of Chris? Did Jan think Sharon could role-play a false persona well enough to attract me so Chris would have a mother? But Sharon couldn’t be that desperate.’ ‘Talk to me Jan!’
He got up and paced around the room. He thought about Jan and he thought about Sharon. Sam walked to the dresser and opened the second drawer. Jan’s negligees were stacked there, neatly folded. He pulled out his favorite — the emerald green, silk teddy. Spreading it on the bed, he laid his cheek against the cool, slipperiness that would have been Jan’s chest. Closing his eyes, he tried to visualize her wearing it again — harder and harder to do. A new face filled his mind, a healthy face, with round cheeks and clear eyes that danced with life.
Sharon’s breast pillowed his head now. He pictured his hand caressing her smooth thigh. The silk absorbed the tears spilling from his eyes as his hands stroked the damning need between his own legs. The image of a naked Sharon, writhing under his touch, blocked reality. His hand pumped a rhythm to match his desire. It became Sharon’s grip, guiding him, pulling his hard-on between her warm folds. Strong legs crossed his back and pushed him down into her enveloping heat. Long strokes began the rise of passion along the path to bliss, striving to arrive together, wanting to share in a mutual release. Too quickly, he was there, hips arched, semen spattering his stomach. The hollow cheeks and sunken eyes of Jan replaced Sharon’s passionate face, and he felt the searing knife of shame castrate pleasure. Sobbing his infidelity into the bed covers, Sam curled up, weak, and incomplete.
The physical release drained enough anxiety for sleep to come.
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