I had thought time would fly while he
was there, but when I was experiencing
it, time seemed to stop now and then for
us to savor little bits of it - like
vignettes or still life paintings. Light
seemed to have a special clarity, the
air seemed to be abnormally crisp, and
sound extraordinarily sharp - this
wasn't all the time, mind you, but it
happened often enough during Russell's
visit that it struck me I was supposed
to remember those particular groups of
moments. It was God's way, or Whomever's
way, of pointing out to me, "Lori, pay
attention now, this is important, this
is special. You'll want to remember this
always."
It was scary the first two times it
happened - once when we first stood
looking down over Ground Zero - and I'm
sure that it happened to both of us
equally. The second time was that night
when we faced one another in my bedroom.
The lamps were off. The only
illumination in the room was flickering
from the wicks of a dozen candles set
about, so the room had the appearance of
a warmly lit cave. I was already
showered and in a little satin nightie
that I thought Rusty would like while he
finished his own shower. Modesty? No -
he was on the phone to Australia when I
went into the bathroom, and he chose,
for whatever reason, not to interrupt
me, although we certainly had taken
baths and showers together before and
likely would again if the situation
arose.
So I was on the far side of my bed from
the bathroom door when he opened it and
stood there looking across the room at
me, surrounded by light until he
switched it off. My eyes seemed drawn to
him, and he seemed to shine in the
golden gleam of the candles as he moved
towards me. He was naked - water
droplets glistening on his skin as he
walked - and the candles' flickering
light seemed to catch and reflect off
his eyes and his body in an almost
mystical way. I swallowed, throat
suddenly gone dry. Another one of those
moments like we'd had earlier in the
day. I couldn't speak - struck dumb -
and just stood, watching and waiting.
She was so beautiful, standing there in
the light of a dozen candles, her hair
and face, body, hands, arms - all of her
glowing as if she were a special gift
placed there just for me. When I caught
sight of her as I stood there in the
doorway, she took my breath away. I
fumbled the lightswitch off and started
towards her. I forgot to finish drying
off. I forgot my tee shirt and sweats -
lying unnoticed in the bathroom now -
and just concentrated on getting to her
as swiftly as I could.
And yet, there was no hurry to my steps
- it was like my feet didn't touch her
carpet at all. There was no sound - no
movement but the flicker of the candle
flames, the light reflecting out of her
eyes, and the gleam of her skin -
clothed in cream satin - as she stood
waiting for me. "Lori," I managed, and
then we were locked in one another's
arms, holding on for dear life, not even
kissing at first. It seemed passion fled
for a moment or two and we just held on
to one another as time stood still
around us.
There was some deeper meaning to this, I
knew there had to be - and I was meant
to know it, just as I had been meant to
experience a similar emotion, similar
cessation of all natural elements -
sound, wind, dust, movement - and focus
only on the smoky, muddy pit that had
been the World Trade Center. I was meant
to absorb something there, and I think I
did; and now, I was meant to absorb
something entirely different.
I think Lori felt it as well.
When we finally let loose of one
another, we stood there in the leaping
candlelight and just smiled for another
long moment. And when, at last, my body
reasserted itself and desire bloomed, it
was just as fierce in her as it was in
me.
We fell onto the bed together, already
desperate to have one another. Her
little satin nightie disappeared like
magic - flung to some far corner of the
room by impatient hands - hers or mine,
I'm not sure which. I couldn't get
enough of kissing her, stroking the
fine-textured skin of her body, inhaling
her scent and taking in her spirit where
our mouths were joined.
I was so aroused it was painful. I had
to have her and quickly or this was
going to kill me, I just knew that. I
could hear myself panting for her,
choking out endearments, curses,
incoherent pleas - and her voice
answering me right back. I slid fingers
into her wet, hot, velvet sex and we
both groaned aloud. She rocked her hips
against my hand, demanding more, and I
took my hand away, lifted her hips so
her thighs were draped over mine, and
thrust my cock inside her.
We both made sounds I can only liken to
someone in dire extremity - only of
passion, not pain. The last coherent
words out of my mouth for a long time
were, "Lori - oh my God. . ." And her
response was to cry my name into my ear
and buck up against me, seeking more of
me than I was already giving.
It was over in moments.
It seemed to last forever.
It was profound and profane, spiritual
and totally physical. My hips pumping
life into her; her hips pumping up to
receive me until I literally sobbed in
pleasure and delight. And then there was
a burst of heat and light that seemed to
come from my toes up through my legs,
through my striving hips, and out
through the overly sensitized channel of
my sex as I emptied myself into her. I
shuddered and shook, panted and moaned,
cried and kissed and just held on for
dear life.
And when it was over and we lay in a
boneless tangle on her bed with the
pillows scattered to the four winds, our
bodies still joined, she lifted her face
up to mine and kissed me with such
sweetness, such innocence - and I knew
I'd never forget that day, or that
night, there in battered New York City,
with that special, adorable woman.
Whatever happened between us from then
on was meant to be.
I just knew it.
It almost broke us - that half hour or
however long it was. I was so spent that
once Russell withdrew from my body, all
I could do was lie there like a
flattened parody of a woman. I couldn't
have moved right then if my life had
depended on it. Didn't want to. He was
holding me, and wrapped in his arms,
held close against his beating heart, I
felt safe. I felt cared for. And I think
I finally realized what else I felt and
came to terms with it. But, I decided, I
would not speak it - that would ruin it.
Especially if he didn't feel the same.
Instead, I kissed wherever I could reach
- forehead, cheekbones, jaw, eyelids,
the soft spot under his jaw where his
beard didn't grow - and held on, content
just to touch him and be held.
The candles burnt down and still we lay
like that - not joined, but connected in
a much deeper, more meaningful way.
"Lori?" his soft voice was a caress.
"Yes, sweetie?"
He smoothed those big hands up and down
my back, then brought them both up to
cup my face. His lashes were spangled
with moisture - tears, sweat? His sweet
mouth curved in a gentle smile, and he
kissed me so gently it was almost a
whisper, a promise of a kiss rather than
a genuine kiss. "Lori," he whispered
into my ear, his cheek against mine, "I
love you."
Click on Russell for Chapter
Ten
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