391THE ENLIGHTENMENT OF TOBY TRIM 2
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The Light At The Beginning free porn video
On a hot and muggy Monday night in early August Jerry stood naked looking out over his balcony and saw the light for the first time. Way out there close to where the mangrove gets lost in the horizon it bobbed up and down like a beacon to a ship. In the distance it looked to be a luminescent green but it could also have been blue. Jerry stared at the light, squinting then opening his eyes wide to bring it better into focus. He had no idea what such a light might be and no conscious curiosity about its source. It could be a light on a boat. It could be the beam of a light shining somewhere deep in the swamp or the reflection from a distant star bouncing off the waves. The light grew brighter and bigger the longer Jerry stood and stared.
Jerry felt something tugging in his belly that he mistook for hunger. He walked to the edge of the veranda down the three flights of stairs to the kitchen in the soft semi-darkness of the night. But when he got to the kitchen he did not stop in front of the refrigerator where he had intended to go for something to eat. He went instead to the door leading out to the garden and stepped from the silent darkness of the sleeping house into the lively noisy darkness of the night. The crescent sliver of a moon shone weakly through the canopy of palmettos and moss-covered oaks and tall magnolias but it was enough to let Jerry see the path through the flowerbeds and the outline of the arched gate separating the garden from the dunes. Jerry followed the path through the garden and out toward the beach. When he reached the top of the dunes he saw the light again.
A gentle breeze carried away the mugginess of the night and brought in its place the smell of the sea and the sound of the waves rapping a summons against the shore. He walked on the narrow wooden footpath from the dunes to the beach, memory guiding his feet on the beaten boards. On the beach Jerry felt the same feeling in his gut and looked for the light.
He saw it between the beach and the start of the mangrove on the spit of land just before the inlet where the Kiawah River flows into the Atlantic Ocean. It looked closer now than when he had first spotted it from the veranda. For a moment he thought he saw it moving toward him, but when he looked again, he decided it was not. The tide was out, the beach deserted. Jerry went down a long way, almost to the water’s edge and then turned to walk on the cool moist sand toward the light. He walked in a smooth steady gait, relaxed by the sea and soothed by the breeze. He passed the villas in West Village and the condominiums farther back but they were too far from the beach to break the silence of the night or otherwise distract him from the light. He walked on in silence – a silence not broken even by his own thoughts. He had no conscious awareness of anything but the light and the growing emptiness in the pit of his stomach. In some vague and gauzy reality his mind had associated the light with the feeling of hunger in his belly but not enough to force Jerry to contemplate the connection or give words to his imagination. He walked and walked. The light shone brighter and brighter. Then the emptiness in his stomach began to dissipate and a warm glow to spread from his belly in all directions. The sand beneath his feet felt suddenly warm and the breeze became a warm and cozy blanket.
He stopped and closed his eyes. The light still shone brightly as before and he could see, even with his eyes shut tight, that it was neither green nor blue but white. And with his eyes shut he began to see other things:
Pamela walking down the beach toward him in a flowing gown of pink with her nipples pressing hard against the thin material and her thighs defined by the light beneath the sheer cloth in the gentle breeze,
Anthony running full tilt against the wind, his little arms and legs churning frantically in rhythm, sweat streaming down his sunburned back,
Elaine on a swing cutting patterns in the air with her petticoats and pigtails, holding a Barbie by the leg, upside down against the chain,
Tippy chasing a squirrel,
Dr. Morris sitting on the edge of his desk, reading intently from a chart, brow furrowed, lips pursed,
Pamela again, this time reclining on one elbow, totally nude except for a thin blue velvet ribbon around her pretty neck.
Jerry felt himself being shaken and heard Pamela saying his name with an urgency bordering on panic.
‘Jerry! Jerry, wake up! Breathe! Jerry! Jerry!
He struggled to get his eyes open against the strong light. The light was so intense it hurt to keep his eyes open. He tried and tried and finally he managed to open and hold one eye until the light began to fade and recede to a dot somewhere against the wall.
And still he could hear Pamela saying ‘Jerry, Jerry. Wake up.’
He was lying in his bed when he awoke, with Pamela holding him against her. She felt like home as she always did and her scent was the same familiar fragrance of strawberries and soap and sexiness and sweat. She was naked and felt to Jerry like a warm velvet doll. Her breasts where they rubbed against his arm were feathery light but the urgency in her voice and the tension in her body denied Jerry the pleasure of beginning again what they had finished just before he fell asleep. It was often like this – their lovemaking. Jerry or Pamela, or sometimes both would fall into deep sleep after being sated and then wake fully aroused to start again. But tonight he sensed her tension and knew tonight was different. Jerry wondered if he should tell Pamela about the light. Had it been just a dream?
And should he tell her about the other thing. Of course, he had to tell her. The only question was how and when. It had to be done quietly, calmly and with dignity. It should not come in maudlin, melodramatic outbursts that both he and Pamela would later regret. And it would not help to magnify the horror with a gloomy, somber treatment. They should be able to talk about it. Like they talked about everything else. The options should be clearly outlined and the possible outcomes carefully thought through. The probabilities of each of the possible outcomes should be clearly understood. Positive and negative factors had to be considered. He was not ready. He had to tell her, but not right now. He had not studied the whole situation in all its various combinations and permutations. Perhaps he should look for a second opinion, or even a third or fourth. Jerry himself did not fully believe it. No it truly was not time yet. He was not ready.
Pamela released her hold on him and pushed away gently. She rubbed the curls on his bare chest as she spoke, like a child playing with a furry kitten.
‘You scare me when you quit breathing like that, Jerry.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jerry, ‘I never mean to alarm you.’
‘You have to tell Doctor Morris that it is getting worse. One of these days I am not going to notice in time and you are going to …’ She stopped herself from saying it. She rolled over to her side and turned her head so Jerry could not see her tears. She had been truly worried.
‘I’ll tell him. Don’t worry for now. Okay?’ Jerry said in a tone more somber than he intended.
‘Promise you’ll make an appointment first thing tomorrow,’ Pamela said.
‘Yes. I promise.’
‘Oh Jerry,’ she said, ‘ I just don’t know what I would do without you.’
‘It’s okay. We’re fine now,’ Jerry said. He hated lying to her, but he did not know what else to say. He was not ready.
They repositioned themselves on the queen bed to lie side-by-side holding hands. The bed was up against the wall opposite the sliding glass doors that opened to the veranda of their third floor bedroom. The sheers in the open doorway billowed and swayed with the breeze as the room breathed in a rhythm of its own. A whip-poor-will cried somewhere in the garden and crickets chirped in harmony with those tiny frogs and their giant voices. They
lay there in the quiet comfort of the night. Jerry with his secret festering in his chest and Pamela with hers ripening in her womb. Jerry felt Pamela’s fingers relax and heard her breathing grow smooth and regular as she fell deeper into sleep. It was one more in a long list of familiar patterns, seemingly trivial things, which were the anchors of his life. In the dark he could only imagine her expression as she slept with her cherry lips turned up at the corners in a sleepy smile. God, he loved that smile. Loved everything about her, for that matter. In the morning he would tell her. For now he would just enjoy lying here next to her, listening to her breathe, sharing.
It had started out as a mild heartburn. Or so he had thought at first. A tightening in his chest would well up like a burp that he could not quite bring up and out. He had started watching what he ate, avoiding spicy stuff, drinking lots of water, cutting down on alcohol. And still the pain persisted, got stronger, more intense. He had seen Doctor Morris and at his request, the heart specialist, Doctor Bledsoe. EKG’s, stress tests and laboratory work had ruled out a problem with his heart. And the pain grew stronger. More tests. And finally, yesterday, the oncologist’s report: It’s the big one. It’s in the pancreas but it has metastasized. It’s incurable. Three months without treatment, possibly up to six months with aggressive radioactive and chemotherapy.
Jerry had not told Pamela about the ‘heartburn’ and his trips to the doctor’s office. He had wanted to know before he talked to her about it. Secretly he had thought it would turn out to be an ulcer and Pamela would make him give up wines, which were his second passion. But now he did know and he knew he could not keep the truth from her for long, even if he wanted to. In their thirteen years of marriage, Jerry had always conferred with Pamela on any decision that had even a slight potential to affect their lives. The few times he had made decisions without her input he had immediately felt guilty and disloyal. He had learned over the years to trust her judgment. She knew how to listen, when to speak up and when to hold her peace. Often just talking things over with her made it easier for him to see how things could work. This was different, of course. It was his decision. Only he could say he wanted to accept the treatment. Only he could say no, he did not want it. It was up to him. Three months or six, heads or tails, call it in the air.
Three months. September, October, November, he could make it to his birthday. Or, the other way, he could make it through December, like that song by Merle Haggard. He could see another Christmas.
And that would be a hell of a Christmas, with everyone tiptoeing around not wanting to say anything that might remind him of his condition. But the condition would be so pervasive by then it would be screaming to be noticed. Jerry knew a little about the treatment and what a wreck it makes of the body. He remembered how Doctor Morris had described it. ‘You kill off a lot of good cells with the bad and hope that enough of the good ones survive to keep you alive. I’m sure someday in the future medical experts will wonder at the barbaric approaches we use the same way we look at the practice of blood-letting practiced during George Washington’s day.’
‘But medical science has made such advances in diagnosis and treatment. You read about it every day,’ Jerry objected.
‘In some areas yes. In others we are no better off than we were decades ago,’ Doctor Morris said. ‘And in your case. We’re late.’
‘But how? Why’
‘Ironically, your good health and even your youth worked against us,’ said Doctor Morris. ‘We had no reason to suspect something like this was going on. We did no tests. You’re not even old enough for us to worry about your colon or your prostrate. It caught us flat footed.’
‘And we’re sure that’s what it is?’ Jerry did not believe it.
‘We’re sure.’
And there it was. Just like that. His life was over. Thirty-six in November. Shit. No more vacations. No more playing with his kids on the beaches of Kiawah. No more midnight strolls in the warm surf. No more kids. Kids.
Jerry and Pamela had trouble making babies. Anthony had been a long time coming. They were well into their third year of trying before he was conceived and Elaine another three. Another five years had gone by and they were still trying. For both of them it was tremendous fun trying and they joked about it all the time. Still, he wished they could have had the kids closer together. And now there would be no more. Shit.
He tried to think about the years ahead for his business. Who will take over all those chores that only he knew how to do? Who will coddle the employees and smooch up to the customers, arm wrestle with the bank, beat the suppliers at their own silly games? Good questions, all. But his mind was not really ready to deal with them. He kept coming back to Pamela.
Who will take care of Pamela? Who will hold her when she is being silly and needs a hug for no reason? Will the insurance be enough to keep her going? Is Anthony going to college? And what about Elaine? Is it better to stay alert to deal with these issues for three months? Or should I start the treatment and take a chance that I’ll be able to think rationally for six? His last thoughts were ‘I can’t put this on Pamela. I have to decide for myself.’ And then he closed his eyes and felt a sudden hunger and saw the light again.
Dani
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