Authors: Julie Frayn
He ran his lips over her neck, suckled an earlobe. “Tell me
to stop.” His voice rasped in her ear.
She swallowed and looked at the clock. If she was going to
make church she’d have to cry uncle now.
He pulled the neckline of the T-shirt away from her skin and
kissed along her collarbone until he got to the edge of her shoulder and the
end of the skin the taut material allowed him access to.
Uncle. Uncle. Come on you chicken shit, you’re not ready.
Cry. Uncle.
“Billie.” His other hand found its way inside the T-shirt.
“Tell me.” He pulled away and looked into her eyes, his hands on the bare skin
of her waist. “Tell me now.”
She closed her eyes and felt the lump in his boxers against
her wet panties. The red pen struck through her fear, slayed the chicken,
murdered uncle. She shook her head, clamped her lips shut, and stripped off the
T-shirt. She counted three hippopotamuses, swallowed, and opened her eyes.
His gaze was fixed on her face. He yanked his shirt over his
head and tossed it on the floor. He let his eyes drift over her body and
swallowed hard. “My God, Billie. You’re perfect.”
She cast her eyes to the end of her right leg. Her mental
red pen inked in the rest of her calf and a perfectly manicured foot.
Bruce wrapped his arms around her, pulling her bare bosom to
his hairy chest. He eased her to the bed and licked her lips, kissed her with
an open mouth, and darted his tongue in and out.
She responded in kind, with hot, wet kisses, their hearts
throbbing against each other’s.
He slid down her body, kissed her neck, her collarbone, the
tender strip of skin between her breasts. His tongue left a wet trail along the
curve of her right breast until his mouth found her nipple. He took it in,
suckled and nibbled.
She arched her back and moaned. His breath cooled his saliva
and her skin bubbled with pleasure. Shivers rocked her body.
He slipped further down, lapped at the fine hairs of her
belly at the edges of her white cotton underpants. He hooked one finger under
the elastic waistband and inched them down, his tongue chasing behind. He slid
his tongue into the space her grandmother always said was Billie’s private
place.
Billie’s eyes flew open. Her red pen scratched the vision of
her gray-haired pseudo-mother from her consciousness. She covered her eyes with
one hand and dug the fingernails of her other hand into Bruce’s shoulder. “Oh,
my fucking God,” spurt from her mouth.
To hell with church.
Bruce pulled away and cool air rushed in where his head had
been. “Well. That was a long time coming.”
Billie was afraid to look at him, her hand firmly over her
eyes. She giggled at the double entendre, whether he’d intended it or not.
“Only a decade and a half or so.” She split her fingers and peered at him. He
kneeled on the mattress between her legs and smiled at her, his grin lopsided
and filled with satisfaction. She glanced between his legs. He’d stripped off
his boxers. At the sight of his erection, something she’d only ever seen in
artsy photos or Google image results, her legs liquefied. “So.” She gulped. “Can
you make me do that one more time?”
He threw his head back and roared, his face heavenward. “Oh,
sweet Billie. I can do better than that.”
Tuesday morning
BILLIE EXITED THE CHANGING
room
in her usual workout gear: long, loose, grey sweat shorts and an oversized grey
T-shirt doing its one and only job — hiding her sports bra and her curves.
Bruce sat on a bench along the mirrored wall and laced his
shoes. He looked up when she approached. His eyes lit up and he whistled.
She held her hands out and dipped in a shallow curtsy before
sitting next to him.
“That is spectacular.” He pulled the leg of her shorts up
and inspected the blade. “It’s not long like those Olympian guys wear.”
“Not for the gym. I’d like one, do some track running. But
they cost a fortune, so one will have to do.”
“Well, let’s see it in action.” He got to his feet and held
his hand out. She took it and stood. He kissed her nose and led her to the rows
of treadmills. “You have a preference?”
Her usual machine stood empty. But to hell with usual.
“Nope. Any will do.”
They chose the closest two and each stepped onto a machine,
side by side. Billie pressed the buttons she always pressed, chose the
pre-programmed route that took her up hills, down vales, had her jogging,
walking, sprinting in random patterns. She would often listen to music, shove
the earbuds in and block out the world, imagine she was running through the
hills of Italy, or perhaps Greece. But today she didn’t feel the need to
imagine. There was no desire to edit reality. Today she simply wanted to be in
her own life, in that moment, with Bruce at her side.
The belt began to roll and she warmed up with a walking
pace. Within a couple of minutes, she was jogging at a six-percent incline and
a speed of five. The same feeling overcame her that did every time she ran.
Confidence. Power. Freedom. Control. Even with the rubberneckers on the
machines nearby watching, her blade hit the belt with precision and without any
perceivable limp. They were probably on standby, waiting for her to stumble, to
fly off the end of the treadmill and land in a broken heap on the rubber mat.
But running was her comfort zone. It was when she took it up in her teens that
her agility improved and her limp disappeared. Running was what took her from
frightened mouse cowering in the corner of life to independent woman poking her
nose out of her hidey-hole and living it. Even if it was a life lived safely. A
life barely lived at all.
The program cranked everything up a notch and she was
running at full tilt: speed, seven-point-three; incline, nine. The thud of her
feet against the treadmill and the
shoosh
of the spinning belt lulled
her into a familiar and comforting rhythm. She was in the zone, her face hot,
sweat beading and dripping from her brow, her neck, her armpits, and her
breasts. Should she be self-conscious that the first man to see her naked, to
touch her and taste her and make love to her, was on the next machine watching
her turn into a stinking bag of sweat? Because she wasn’t.
She cut her eyes to his face. He was just watching her,
barely even walking.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be running.”
“Have to take it slow. My running days were a few years back
when the running was mostly from the cops.” He beeped his treadmill off, leaned
against the handrail, and crossed his arms. “Holy shit, can you move.”
“It’s kind of my thing.”
“I thought editing was your thing.”
“Then I guess I have two things.” On the outside, one side
of her mouth curled slightly. But on the inside, the clouds parted and streams
of heavenly light poured forth and shined upon her. And she kept on running.
When the treadmill slowed after her final ascent, she wiped
her face and neck with the towel she brought from home. She glanced at Bruce.
“So, that’s the running blade in action.”
He was a little pink-faced. In the forty-minute workout,
Billie had run for about thirty. Bruce had maybe got through ten at a slow
trot, the rest a walk. “Pretty damned impressive. Better than most folks with
original equipment intact.” He stepped off the machine. “I need to practice to
catch up with you. In the meantime, how about I show you my thing?”
“I’ve already seen your thing.” The blush of the century
crawled up from her five toes and steam exploded out her ears. Did she just say
that out loud?
His head rolled back with the force of his laughter. He put
his hands on either side of her waist and shimmied her body against his. “Yes,
you have. And I hope it wasn’t for the last time.” He stepped onto the belt of
her treadmill and kissed her right there in the gym, gave the rubberneckers
something new to gawk at.
Oh no, it wouldn’t be the last time. She wanted to see his
thing as often as possible.
Bruce took her upstairs to the weight training area. It
wasn’t the first time she’d used it, but normally she just did push-ups and
chin-ups and avoided the over-stuffed men
‒‒
and a couple of women
‒‒
who looked like they ate steroids for breakfast. Had Bruce been one of the
regulars at her gym, she’d have likely avoided him, too. Assumed him to be like
all the others
‒‒
self-absorbed, egomaniacs who looked down on anyone who wasn’t as pumped up as
they were. But Bruce was nothing like that. Who knows? Maybe the other guys and
gals on the second floor weren’t like that either. Of all people, Billie ought
to know that appearances don’t mean a damn thing. That what’s on the inside and
what the eye can see on the outside rarely match up.
He showed her proper form for squats and presses, different
methods of curls that worked more than just that lump of biceps that, when
flexed, made mere mortals swoon. She impressed him when she performed seven
chin-ups without the assistance/resistance machine, and, blade and all, dropped
and pumped out thirty push-ups. Not the ‘on the knees’ lady push-ups, but
full-fledged military style.
“Look out world, don’t mess with Billie. She’ll fuck you up.”
He faux-punched her arm.
Even his profanity was growing on her. His comfort with just
saying out loud what she would only whisper in her head. But that was her deal
with God, only in her head. Oh, how she longed to unleash onto the world some
of what she kept bottled up, kept prisoner in her brain. But she wasn’t sure
she had the strength for it.
Friday, July 10
th
“YOU DON’T THINK
it’s kind of
gross?”
Bruce furrowed his bushy brow. “Gross? There’s nothing gross
about you.”
“But it’s all stretched and discoloured and, and … gnarly.
It doesn’t turn you off?”
He ran his fingers over her lips, down her chin, between the
cleft of her breasts, and across her belly. He stared into her eyes and let his
hand draw a map across her body, ending at the base of her stump. He cupped it
in his hand and massaged it, while his mouth nibbled on her ear. “Billie,” he
whispered, “every part of you turns me on.”
She closed her eyes and let the touch of his skin, the heat
of his tongue, and warmth of his breath awaken feelings in her that she had
never known. “You are so weird,” she said on a breathy exhale.
“I sure hope so,” he said into her neck. He rolled onto his
back and dragged her with him until she straddled his legs. “You are so
beautiful, Billie.”
Heat spread from her thighs and shot to her cheeks. “Stop
it.”
“Nope. Don’t want to. It’s the God’s honest truth. I just
wish you’d believe it.” He lay there and stared at her, his eyes like hot
lasers burning every inch of her. “Nobody is perfect. Who’d want to be? Too much
work. Too much to live up to.” He ran his fingers along her thighs. “What about
me? Anything about me that grosses you out?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
One of his eyebrows shot up. “There is? Is it this weird
bellybutton dent where they fixed the hernia?” He poked at his stomach.
She grinned and shook her head.
“How about the crooked nose. One too many left jabs that I
was too drunk to block. Gross, right?” He smiled through every word.
She shook her head. “Nope. Keep guessing.”
“Well, shit, there are just so many things to choose from.
Acne scars? Thirty pounds of extra weight? Too-curly hair for a grown man?”
She shook her head with vehemence through his whole list and
that wretched giggle found its way out of her mouth again. Perhaps not so
wretched. It was starting to grow on her. She’d even stopped editing it out.
“No, no, and no.”
He jiggled her side to side. “Well come on, Billie Sunshine.
Do tell.”
“Well, first of all, I love every one of your scars and
marks and crooked parts.”
He raised both eyebrows until they wrinkled his forehead. A
slight grin graced his lips. “Love?”
Her cheeks burned and she looked away. “It’s not the way you
look. It’s one thing that you do that grosses me out.”
His hand touched her cheek and turned her face to look at him.
“Tell me what it is. I’ll change it.”
She cocked her head. “That simple, huh?”
“Anything for you.”
She took a deep breath. “It’s the smoking.”
His brow furrowed. “I’ve never smoked in front of you.”
“You don’t have to. I can smell it in your clothes. Your
hair. On your breath. And no amount of breath mints hide it.” Didn’t work for
her mother, wouldn’t work for Bruce.
“Well I’ll be damned, I thought I was being so stealthy.” He
pressed his lips together and cut his eyes to the left. He bit his bottom lip
and nodded. “Okay, I’ll quit.”
“Really?”
“Really. I mean, I’ll try my damnedest. I’ve been smoking
since I was a kid. Tried to give it up but one hard day and my first stop is
the corner store for a carton.”
“Better than drugs I guess.”
He laughed. “Shit yeah. But according to my doc, not so good
for my heart and lungs. He’s told me to stop or I’ll be dead on the floor
before I’m forty-five. Cigarettes are killing the muscle, slowly but surely.
You’d think that would be motivation enough.”
She slid up his legs and lay on his chest, slipped her arms
under his wide body, and pressed her ear against his beating heart. “Sometimes
you need a little push. I’ll push you. If you want me to.”
He wrapped his arms around her and rolled her onto her back.
He propped up on one elbow and traced the contours of her face with one finger.
“I want you to,” he whispered. His eyes met hers. “You’re my motivation,
Billie. I never gave a shit if the smokes killed me. I screwed up my marriage.
Never had any kids. Same old routine day in and day out. And for what? Just to
put in time until I croak.” He swallowed, brushed hair from her forehead, and
gave her a gentle kiss. “I’ll give it my best effort.”
“Is doing it for me enough motivation?” She stared at his
lips.
He smiled. “I’m doing it for me. I’m not just punching the
earth clock anymore. I don’t want to miss one single moment with you.”
Her eyes softened. For the first time since her father died,
she felt safe. Not only physically — he protected her from bullies, from rude
people, from gawkers and assholes and finger pointers and snickerers — no, she
was safe in every way. It was a new feeling, one she had grappled to define
this past month. She wanted to grab onto it and hold on tight. Hold on forever.
She ran her hands through his too-curly hair and down his
too-crooked nose. “Love.”
He squinted at her and cocked his head. “Love?”
Her hands circled the back of his neck and she pulled
herself up until their lips met. She lingered in his kiss, lived there for that
moment before lying back down. “Definitely love.”