Authors: Michael Malflic
He carried her stepping away from the wall all the while she continued to move him through herself finally allowing her a climax, her teeth clenched with the intensity and the focus, she leaned in to kiss his lips but fell short as he sat her on the edge of a table, barely on it before he let go of her and change his movement to long deep slow, inch by inch thrusts, a contrast to the hurried gyrations she had just concluded. She kissed his chest each time its hard rippling mass drew near enough to her.
Nadrea’s
hands locked on his hips holding on just for the sake of doing so, creating a false sense of intimacy. Her hips ached from the position legs now wrapped around him, she partially reclined on the table, her back arching so the rest of her body could meet his. Again as her orgasm drew near reaching between her legs to increase the sensation
Nadrea
squeezed around him tightly, wiggling attempting to force his release to be at the same time as hers, instead he withdrew.
Lifting her off of the table carried her to the side of a stair case. “Grab the spindles” He stated confidently,
Nadrea
looked back in frustrated puzzled amusement before leaning forward and grabbing them. “Hold on” he said turning her away from him, as she straddled him facing away he slid himself back into her.
Nadrea’s
knees drawn back even with his thighs, her feet on the small of his back Vincent’s hands just under her hips supporting her as she strained to hold on to the railing rising and falling with increasing speed and a force that bordered on violent, her whimpers and moans again growing abundant, Vincent was carnivorous as he used her body for his own pleasure while delighting her. Finally a minute later succumbing to what she had wanted moments earlier
his release timed in perfect unison with hers.
Nadrea
melted, what else was there for her. She finally kissed his lips again, praising his skill. As they left the room her recent lovers had drifted to the door now voyeurs to what was more than the physical exchange that they had participated. She kissed them both on the way out leaving them with one last dark glance and a “good night boys.” The smell of flowers, burnt sugar and sex drifting behind
Nadrea
as her pink top and hat were put back into place before covering her still moist skin with the nondescript beige raincoat.
So while they slept quietly in their suite in a hotel on the edge of the old market in Omaha a few hours away Mother’s house was filling up with her sisters and their offspring and their kid’s kids, all of them dressed in a sea of red. While Donna was still lingering in her slumber her hair fanned across the bed the Husker is up and loafing with a group of locals, old timers and downtown residents in a coffee shop two blocks up in the old market. By seven forty five the Husker was back in the room with coffee.
Back at the family homestead four little boys were arguing outside the kitchen window about which of the pickup football team got to be the mighty Nebraska Corn Huskers and who had to be Penn State with their stupid blue and white uniforms. A tussle broke out that was somewhere between a school yard fight, and a football game. Each boy taking a cheap shot or a punch at another as they ran by or tackled them. In other words good country kids being rough and tumble as boys were supposed to be prior to the world trying to make them gentle peaceniks and not
the
hunters and warriors
nature and evolution had intended
.
There is always a buzz and an energy on game weekends that starts on Friday afternoons and continues to build up until game time on Saturday. So while the little boys outside were being joined by the bigger boys, who were more commonly known as the men in the family the game grew to a seven on seven exercise the females were still in the house. The younger girls were sitting playing dolls in the living room and a few more were dressed like cheerleaders bounding through the foyer chanting and screeching.
The women busied themselves in the kitchen and dining room cleaning up from the morning meal of yesterdays and that morning’s eggs cooked on the old cast iron skillet, bacon grease still wafting through the air. Soon the families would pile in to their Chevy
Suburbans
, and red mini vans, the occasional sedan for the older folks and the assorted king cab trucks before heading to Lincoln for the rest of the pre-game activities.
While this is happening Donna is slipping into her jeans and red blouse that she had bought for just this occasion, her hair pulled back into a long soft ponytail, running shoes.
At the family home the last load of plates is put into the second dishwasher, the heirloom skillet is rinsed, seasoned by hand and left out to air dry. The skillet was a huge old cast iron job that had been passed between grandmother and her oldest granddaughter as a wedding gift for generations. It had traveled with its keeper to the family’s kitchens for holidays and pregame meals for the last seventy five years. Mean while the Husker and Donna sat over breakfast at the hotel that consisted of wheat toast, eggs over medium, potatoes, and enough bacon to kill an otherwise healthy man. Such indulgences were rarely taken except for Sunday morning brunches but it was after all a game day tradition, so there was no fruit plate and the small portion of whole grains he typically had.
The meal itself reminded Donna of the Miners, laborers and mill workers from back home, it was the type of meal they would eat at Rusty’s diner. Rusty’s was the only place to eat in the small town she grew up in other than the bars, sportsman’s clubs and the occasional church fund raiser. While they sat there eating it all felt a bit too familiar, a bit too much like home, sure it wasn’t a meal in a cinderblock building surrounded by large dirt and grease covered rough men. Farmers weren’t eating at the counter and old timers weren’t talking to each other from table to table spinning tales about hunting and how much rain they had while nursing their 3
rd
cup of coffee. She wasn’t worried about falling into conversations with yokels that life’s lot was based on being a member of the lucky sperm club rather than hard work and making one’s own breaks.
Donna still was thinking about all those times she sat in that cinderblock diner and all the things she hated about where she had come from, the hopeless acceptance and despair, the unspoken social classes and bigoted closed minds that lacked desire for anything more than what they already had.
Until something made her remember who she was at Rusty’s with most often, it was her mother’s brother Dave. The more she thought being at Rusty’s the more she realized there was only a handful of times, once maybe twice in her life that she was with her mother and father. Instead it was Dave who took her to the diner, many times at the beginning or end of a day trip to the
city,
sometimes it was Columbus other times they ventured into Pittsburgh. He took her to a play once, she remembered sitting there and marveling at the people and the large chandeliers and gold paint that adorned the walls and ceilings.
There were days at museums imagining what the dinosaurs must have looked like and pretending as she walked thought a rooms setup to look like a Greek city and how it must have felt to be have lived back then. The hours spent in art the galleries looking art replica’s and lesser know paintings by the masters displayed next to a random glob of colors also passing for art.
Dave was not much more than a backwoods man standing larger and meaner looking than most but she never saw him that way. He was the only man in the family who was a
manager,
he liked to escape from their small town and his role in life at the chemical plant. He was always fun and taking her places, places beyond anything she would have otherwise seen or known, she wondered what would have happened had he never taken her to that diner or anywhere else she went with him.
“Are you ready?”
the
Husker ask.
“”Whenever you are.”
She replied. “
ok
well we better get going then it’s about an hour to Lincoln and will take a almost two by the time we get parked with the game traffic.”
Donna gathered he things and the pair headed out to the car. As they hit highway 80 it was filled with people dressed in red speeding the same direction as them, all rushing to get there and not miss a thing. Mom and the family had arrived about thirty minutes ahead of them in the pre-assigned spaces in the hay market and as soon as they parked and walked up she realized why he was so obsessed, why all of his casual clothes were red or had that
damn N on it, the place was alive pulsating with hope and excitement and energy “welcome to Husker nation” he said Donna just kept walking, this made the pregame at WVU seem like a small time high school event. The small normally quiet town was vibrant and alive in a sea of red.
As his family and friends gathered at the tail gate the food was an eclectic mixture of beef and sausages, dips, cheeses and beers. The occasional glass of wine could be found but the only things to eat in sight that weren’t assuring cholesterol lowering drugs a healthy future was the fruit fillings surrounded on all sides by butter filled pie crusts. People were excited to see Robert buzzing around him. It was especially festive as mother schemed in the background with her cronies about the possibility of perhaps finally marring off her son. A mother worries about such things you know. Donna was lovely and cordial blending in to the scene as if she had always been there, her mind sharp remembering names and recalling stories she had heard over her time with the Husker to put her new acquaintances at ease.
As the game ended they all left hoarse as the small town businessmen jockeyed for his attention as they
walked ,
the larger family farmers shared their concerns, Robert asked about the years yield and the amount or lack of summer rain. One gentleman was teasing him mercilessly about why in the world he would ever leave his home state and how bad it must be to live in DC. One of which he turned to and said “well, it’s not all bad. I met her and I’ve seen your wife so I’d say I’m just a little ahead of the game.”
Turns out the man he was replying to was a member of his staff, a man who had been with the Husker for years and was about to be ask to leave the great state of Nebraska to join him in DC as Christy’s permanent replacement. Lingering after the game the Husker continued socializing with lifelong friends and family while allowing the mad rush of traffic to clear, the pair finally making their way back to the interstate for the drive up I80.
Mother found Donna quite charming, she appreciated her small town background, perhaps
herself
knowing all too well what type of family that it may entail, but those were details for another day and another time.
It took 312 strides, one elevator and 13 individual steps down the stairs from the hotel room to the front entrance to the restaurant. A restaurant in Omaha Nebraska that features sinfully fresh fish in the heart of corn and cow country probably has the right to be slightly pretentious.
Societal elites and lawyers crowded the place even for the late seating as the Husker and Donna were escorted to their table away from the open hallway at the front of the establishment.
It had been a long but victorious game day and the buzz in the city reflected the Victory. When
your
only true sport is college football many fans live and die game by game. Dinner was good but the conversation was rare, the Husker sat unusually quiet, his sport coat draped open, his manner odd. Donna wondered why all of a sudden he had changed. She ate the appetizer. He’d comment but didn’t converse.