APRIL 2004

Hermanas,

I don't have too much to say this time around.  Still doing a lot of thinking.  I hate it when I suddenly recall some forgotten passage I've read that goes and fucks up a perfectly good brood. 

Don't really know how much credence you should lend me tonight.  I'm a melancholy drunk.

Abrazos,
Dino

FEBRUARY 2004

Scotland.  It was every bit as good as I'd imagined it would be.  And then some.  In Manila, he'd promised me a length of tartan, Heather in the heather and a Polaroid... with pictures burned after.

It was early morning.  We were leaving in an hour.  We'd burned the pictures last night, lying in each other's arms in front of the fireplace in our room, wrapped up in that length of tartan.  Well, we'd burned most of them, anyway.  I had one tucked away in my bag.  I didn't count them, but I'd bet Terry had one or two tucked away somewhere as well.  Not the naughty ones.  We'd definitely burned those, but I think we both wanted some sort of tangible reminder of this time, a sweet memory trapped forever on a small sliver of glossy paper.  Timeless.  Who knew when - or if - we'd ever have this chance again.   

And how strange the cyclical nature of time.  From Manila to Scotland.  Six months.  Terry and I, we have touched summer.... fall.... and now we are deep into the winter.  A quiet time when the snows have renewed the world, made everything fresh and new while the earth sleeps dormant and fertile under a mantle of white.  Seasons have changed.  Time has passed.  And here we were, sharing a playful intimate breakfast just as we had that morning so long ago. 

The smell of the fruit and pastries and steaming tea had wafted over to the bed and drew me to the small table... and to the beautiful man sitting at it.  Terry had caught me and pulled me down on his knee, gently tracing the pearls at my neck with a fingertip while he gave me a soft, pineapple flavored kiss. 

He took in the view.  Almost naked girl on his lap.  Small table with an intimate breakfast for two.  A cup of tea shared between us.  The pearls.  Just like that morning in Manila... only this time there were no partners to walk in on us. 

Terry grinned and pulled me a little closer, giving me another kiss.  "Never finished that one, did we, lassie?"   

I smiled.  "No, we didn't, did we?"

He chuckled softly.  "Better put that to rights.  I hate unfinished business.... loose ends..."

I took in his morning attire.  White button down shirt, not yet fastened.  Handsome wristwatch.  White socks with a little hole in the toe.  And nothing else.  I plucked at his collar softly.  "Hmm..... in that case.... can I wear your shirt?"

His hands slid down my shoulders to unbelt my satiny little robe.  "Thought you'd never ask, love."

"I'm asking now, Charlie..."  I slipped it off his wide shoulders, dropped my robe at our feet and slid my arms into the sleeves.  "Much better."  He made sure it remained open and pulled me back down to straddle his lap.   

"How come it looks better on you than me?"  He bit a slice of apple and fed me the other half. 

"It's the belly peeking out the front.  New fashion look...."  I giggled and caught his wrist so I could lick the sweetness from his fingertips.

His eyebrow rose.  "You trying to tell me I'm too thin?"  

He gamefully ignored my unladylike snort.  "Maybe I'm too fat?"

He opened the shirt a little wider so he could have an unobstructed view of my breasts and belly.  "Looks just right to me, lassie.  In fact... I think you might even need some feeding up."  He reached for a slice of fruit.

I watched his precise movements, the heavy bones in his wrist, his long thick fingers, the sprinkling of coarse hairs on his arm, the way the sugary fruit glistened wetly in his fingertips.  He gave me that look he does.  "Just let me get you were I want you.... yeah... just there...."  His other hand slid around to my backside and gently pulled me into him until my belly bumped his.

I looked at him expectantly, waiting for the fruit.  He tutted playfully at me and caressed my hip and butt with a soft sweep of his hand.  "Open wide....."  He held the fruit up.  "Mango."  His eyes twinkled naughtily.  "Better than peaches any day."

I giggled and he pinched my bottom.  

He appraised the glistening fruit, held just out of reach of my lips.  "You know what this feels like on your tongue....?  Or so I am reliably informed...."

I shook my head, knowing full well what he was after.  I wanted to hear him say it.  "Tell me."

He smiled.  "Like the feel of a woman's aroused sex."  I swear to God, the fruit quivered in his fingers when he said it.  "Tastes as sweet, too."

I shifted closer on his lap.  "Does it?"  My fingers trailed up his arms to rest on his shoulders, squeezing gently, silently urging him on.  He teased my lips with the fruit and let me have the sweet morsel.

He hummed in his throat.  "And the taste of it from my fingers?"  He brushed his wet sticky thumb over my bottom lip lightly, watching intently as my tongue peeked out to taste it.  "What did that remind you of?"

I leaned in and flicked my tongue over the tip of his finger.  "Tangy sweet...."  Our eyes met.  "Like the first drops when I lick you."  I felt a flood of heat building in my pelvis and wondered if he felt that same slow burn. 

"Does it?"  His voice was playful but infused with the husky undertones of arousal.  "I think I will need to test this one out.... You do too."  A wave of heat flashed through me even as I giggled.  "Just for the purposes of experiment, of course...."

"Naturally."  I love his games.  I scooted back to the edge of his knees, steadied by his strong hands, and reached between our bodies to stroke him lightly from base to tip.

He raised his eyebrow at me.  "Texture?"

"Hmm.... fleshy... soft and smooth over hard."  I teased my fingers over the weeping tip and worried the slit with the pad of my thumb.  "Wet... slick...."

"Like a mango... hmmmm?  Hard in the middle, velvet smooth on the outside... juicy..."  Listening to him talk about his own erection that way was incredibly erotic. 

I brought my thumb to my mouth and licked away the smear of slippery fluid.  "Don't forget sweet, Charlie."

His eyes got darker and more hooded.  "Now, let me test this theory out....."  This time it was his turn to reach between our bodies. 

"By all means..."  I steadied myself on his shoulder and leaned back a little, opening my legs wider for him without the slightest bit of hesitation, watching him watch me as I licked the last of him from my thumb.  He cocked his head and his tongue rested on his lip as he slipped his hand between my legs.  I felt his thumb tenderly slide down and rotate softly.  "Mmmm....."  Our eyes met.  "Conclusion?"

"Soft... wet... smooth.... delicate."  He withdrew his hand and licked his thumb.  "Sweeter than honey..."

I leaned in to kiss him.  "Show me," I whispered.  The kiss was heady and deep.  He shifted me against him and rubbed gently.  I sighed softly against his lips, stroking his arms and face and shoulders.  "Terry....?"   

"Hmmmm....?"

I smiled.  "All this 'sweet fruit'... can't let it spoil, can we?"

Amusement and affection danced in his eyes.  "That would be a criminal waste."  I caught his wrist and brought his thumb to my mouth, giving it a lick while I lifted up.  Heat flared in his eyes.  He liked that.  Liked to see me taste myself from his finger.  He gave a slight growl of approval deep in his throat and eased his tip in.  His other hand tightened on my hip.  "Slowly... don't want to hurt you...."

I sucked his thumb deeper and moved down just a bit.  So slowly.  Taking more of his finger and his shaft in tandem, watching his face as I did so.  He closed his eyes... just for a moment.  Struggling a little already. 

He blew out a soft, shaky breath.  "You are a very wicked girl...."  I gave his thumb a hard suck and then a sharp little bite, giggling around the thick digit.  He opened his eyes and thrust harder. 

I moaned softly and turned his finger loose, reaching for a bite of fruit.  He watched me with eyes that were hungry.  But not for food.  I slid it over his lips and kissed him, wishing I could run it down his neck and follow it with my mouth but thought better of it at the last moment.  We had no time to shower.  We didn't really have time for this but I was beyond caring.   

We broke the kiss and his lips chased the fruit.  He bit it, taking it from my fingers and then offered it to my mouth from his.  His lips slid down the fruit to kiss me and our mouths met around the shared bite. 

That raised the tempo.  Both of us were more aroused than ever.  No more fruit.  No more playing.  My hands clung tighter on his shoulders, moving into his thrusts now.  His breathing changed.  I could feel the tails of his shirt tickling against our skin as I rose and fell on him.  His hands gripped my naked butt, firm but tender.  He was taking most of the strain, helping me move, holding me easily.  So typical of him. 

Always taking care of me.  I whispered to him of it.  A breathy little 'thank you' against his lips with every gentle rocking.

"Just go with me, baby... let me take you there..."

"Yes, anywhere..."

He nuzzled my neck, softly mouthing the pearls before tickling my throat with tip of his tongue.  Tasting me.  "A little faster?  Raise this up a bit..... tell me if it's too much." 

He needed more and so did I.  "Yes... more...."  I nodded against his neck and squeezed around him in response.       

"Jesus... that is so good."  We got warmer.  I could smell us.  Smell our joining and the ripe scent of mango.  I tightened harder on him, squeezing him inside in my most intimate embrace as I rose and fell on him.  "Mmmm, lassie.... so tight.....so good..."

My head fell back.  "So big..... I love how you feel... so strong... beautiful...."

One of his hands left my butt to stroke my naked belly.  "No, this is beauty..."

I felt myself start to flutter around him.  God, so close.... I covered his hand and twined my fingers with his over the baby, moving together with him now so fluidly.

"Come on, baby... come on.... Jesus!  I can feel you both..."

I whimpered.  It was his voice and what he was feeling as much as it was what he was making me feel that finally sent me over.  My eyes fluttered shut and my hand tightened on his.  "Terry-"  A breathy gasp.  Squeezing down on him so tight.

He caught my mouth in a kiss and I felt him tense and come with a soft sigh against my lips.  So much passion.  So much tenderness.  I smiled against his mouth and held him tight, stroking his back softly as our breathing slowed.

He took a deep breath, held it, and the let it out slowly.  "Shoooooo...... too fast... wanted you too much...."

I shook my head and kissed him lightly.  "No.  Just right, Charlie."  His hands were inside the shirt, gently caressing my back and hips.  I pulled back to meet his eyes.  "We love you, you know...."  I put his hand on my belly.  "Both of us... all of us..." I added softly.           

He smiled.  "Pretty awesome thought... holding your child for real.  Grew in your body..." 

I nodded.  "Protected and loved and sheltered.... by him and by you, too."

"Not mine but.... but the next best thing, hey?"  We shared a look that needed no words.  He spoke into the silence a few moments later.  "You know, I'll never let you down... any of you.... not while I'm still breathing."

Pretty big words from him considering how he'd felt about leaving Uma alone with Lach.  I sighed and put my head on his shoulder.  "You don't have to tell me, Terry.  I know it's true."  I knew it in my heart.  It was there in his every word, every touch and moment we'd ever shared between us.   

"Yes, I do."  His voice was quiet but earnest.  "I have to tell you.  It's good for me to say the words."  He was trying so hard. 

I pulled back to look in his eyes.  "I hear your words, always."  Even the ones he didn't say.  For a moment, we just looked at each other, his fingers touching my face so tenderly.  His body was still deep inside mine.  I put a hand over his heart.  "I want to protect you too... protect this," I whispered, pressing his heart.

He smiled.  "Has a lot of padding round it these days.... It's never been as safe for years."

I smiled back.  "I'm glad.... and something tells me it's about to have a whole lot more."

He chuckled.  "Something tells me you could be right."  He stroked my cheek again softly and my eye fell on his watch.  The time!  He is always the one on point, keeping an exacting schedule, but for once, he was lingering. 

I caught his wrist, pressed a kiss into his palm and whispered, "Time to go, Terry."  It was so hard not to linger.  We both knew it was the last time.  That this was something that would never be repeated.  I think we were both storing up the good moments.  They would have to last us a long time.  Maybe forever.  And we were both reluctant to let the moment slip away.  I kissed his lips one last time and breathed, "That's how Manila should have ended."

Terry switched over quickly, no longer the languid lover but a man with a tight timetable to keep and that cocky charm I love so much.  He giggled.  "Where's the audience?  I was hoping to show this wood to a captured crowd."  Now I was giggling.  "Maybe we could ask housekeeping to burst in?"

I laughed harder.  "Only if you promise to run nearly naked down the hall again."  He gently eased away with a soft groan as he slipped from my body. 

"That was a good one, wasn't it?  Me with a pair of shorts that hardly covered my knob... Tink dancing round like a prizefighter... Curry struck dumb."  We parted reluctantly.  I was sad to let him go.  It was a serious moment belied by our lighter words.          

"Gobsmacked," I pronounced with a giggle but our hands were lingering as we finally drew fully apart.  I can't speak for Terry, but I know I'd have had tears in my eyes if he hadn't been thoughtful enough to fill the moment with lightness instead.

He looked down at himself and pulled that face.  "We need to mop up..." He grabbed something and reached for me but I stopped him. 

"No...."  So softly.  His eyes flicked to mine.  "I want to feel it...  hold onto the feeling of you just a little while longer." I admitted quietly.

His voice was quiet too.  "You sure?  Might feel a bit messy later."

I took the cloth from his hand and wiped him gently instead.  "Yes, I'm sure."  My softest voice.  I couldn't wipe away his touch.  Not yet.   

The glow in his eyes told me how much he liked that.  He smiled shyly, trailed his fingers over my cheek one last time and then went into boss mode.  He clapped his hands.  "OK!  Go, go, go.... dress.  Christ, we're late...."

I slipped out of his shirt and tossed it back to him, scampering off naked to dash into my own clothes.  He disappeared into the bathroom but was back a few minutes later, standing at the bedroom door watching me dress.  He can ready himself in half the time I can, of course... but that he still couldn't quite stop lingering said so much about how he was really feeling.   

There was only one pause in our mad dash to the airport that morning.  He came up behind me, his strong arms creeping around me to still my hurried motions.  I paused and he kissed the nape of my neck so lightly as his fingers deftly unfastened the pearls.  He turned me, took my hand in his and gently coiled the warm luminous strand in my palm, covering my fingers over them when he was done.  We didn't need any words.  He simply brought my hand to his mouth, kissed it softly, and walked away to collect the last of our bags.

My heart was too full then to recognize it for what it was... but now I know. 

It was goodbye.       

Less than two hours later, he was seeing me off at the hotel after being sure Lach was on his way down to meet me.  The elevator opened and there Lach was, so handsome standing framed in the open doorway, that irreverent little smile turning up the corners of his mouth.  Love and happiness leaked from him and excitement glittered in his eyes.  He was as happy to have me back as I was to be back.  I felt an answering glow in my own breast at the sight of him, but it also made me more aware of my state.

It was much less erotic a few hours later and I was longing for a shower.  I was a little sore and felt self-conscious near Lach, but yet it was difficult to pull away given the circumstances.  I was desperate for him to hold me but also desperate to bathe.  I wanted nothing more than to throw myself into his arms and feel his quiet strength and love but the lingering traces of my intimacy with Terry held me back. 

Lach was oblivious to my inner turmoil, chatting happily as we rode the lift up, feeling our little baby with his big hands and nuzzling my neck as he guided me inside our room.  I was conflicted.  He was a little pushy in his excitement to have me back again.  He had his mouth on my neck and his hand up under my skirt and into my panties before I could get a word in edgewise.

He felt it straight away and knew immediately what it was, even as my hands pushed his away.  Slippery wetness that was not mine... or at least not all mine.  My face flamed.  I was stammering, unable to even think enough to form a response.  He just stood there in shock, gaping, looking from his dripping fingers to my face and back again, gripped by rage and clearly disgusted on a number of levels.

I think I managed to get out a soft, "I need a shower."

Silence.    

He blew.  "You let him fuck you?!"  Unable to vent his rage physically, he channeled every last bit of it into his words.  And they cut me deeply.  "Jesus!  And you have the gall- the fucking gall- to come back to me stinking of him?"  I cringed at his words and the crude way he wiped his fingers on my skirt before he spat in disgust.  "Don't they have showers in Scotland?"

I could feel myself pale.  My heart was beating so loudly in my ears.  I could hear it.  Feel it.  Throb.  Thob.  Throb.  I said nothing.  I refused to defend my actions, unwilling to demean what had passed between Terry and I.  I would make no excuses for that.  When I didn't answer, he pressed on.

"He says jump, you jump?  That how it is?"  His words were low and nasty. 

I felt my eyes fill and stared at the floor, my head bent, my shoulders slumped in defeat.  I felt broken.  So sad to hear him say such horrible things about a moment that had been so very precious to me, even if I understood why he was angry.  I wanted to cry for myself but my heart ached for Lach too.  He was so hurt. 

"I thought you said this was just two old mates.... I thought you said you were just going to have a platonic visit!"

I blinked back the tears.  "We are mates."

"Yeah?  Well, I don't fuck my mates."    

He left an opening there and I'm ashamed to admit I took it.  "You don't?"  I couldn't imagine him ever not wanting to love Uma as Terry had loved me.  "So you didn't touch her?"  His chin came up and his eyes flashed in temper.  I knew there would be no answer from him on that quarter. 

"You watch your dirty little mouth." he hissed.  I think if I was a man, he would have hit me.  

I tried again, heartsick and desperate to make him understand.  "You don't understand... he loves us.  All of us..."  It sounded hollow even to my own ears, not at all how it had sounded from him; a benediction, a promise to be there, looking out for us always.  With his last breath. 

Lach made a disgusted noise deep in his chest.  "That so?  How nice for him.  So, the big boss is dispensing his love on all of us, is he?  Well, he can keep it and his fucking job."  He paced around me like some caged animal, too wound up to even stand in one place, muttering darkly about how he was going to 'kill the fucking bastard'.  He stopped pacing and stared me down and when he spoke his words were gritty and hard.  "Why don't you just call the baby Terrence.... might as well have Thorne as his surname while you're at it..."

He hurled the words at me and I felt each one like a dart to my breast.  I wanted to keen and cry.  It hurt so badly, and yet all I could think about was that fight we'd had at the Temple.  How deeply rooted this fear of his was that he wasn't the one I really wanted.  Why couldn't he just see it was like him and Uma?  "Why don't you answer the question?"  So you didn't touch her?  Why wouldn't he answer me?  What had been an attempt to try to get him to see that parallel wound up sounding like an attack instead.

"What question?"  His eyes narrowed and I could see his fists were clenched.  "You trying to turn this?"

I shook my head.  "No, I'm not-"

He didn't even let me finish.  "It isn't me who's just crawled out of someone else's body."  It hung there, like this ugly accusation between us. 

My eyes stung.  I turned away, dashing at the tears.  "You're right."  What else was there to say?  He'd taken a moment I'd cherished and made it feel sordid and dirty and shameful.  Made me feel like a whore.  Hadn't that always been my deepest fear too?  How is it we know just how to hurt the ones we love so deeply?  Barbs flung unerringly where you know they will do the most damage.

"Yeah?  I'm right?  You bet your boots I'm fucking right!  And you're bloody lucky I'm such a tolerant man...."  I looked up and caught his eye in time to see his face twist with pain and rage.  "You know what some men would do to a woman like you?!"  

A woman like me.  A woman like me.  It drummed over and over inside my brain, beating out the last sparks of light.  I felt them die.  Felt this great numbing blackness swallow up my heart.  "A woman like me?"  Whore.  Slut.  Tramp.  'Say it!' my mind screamed at him.  That's what he thought I was anyway.  It was written all over his face.  I waited for the killing words but they never came.

His face closed up, tight with fury.  He simply grabbed his jacket, turned on his heel and walked out without ever looking back. 

I couldn't even breathe.  Couldn't move.  Couldn't even rock back and forth like a wounded animal.  It felt like I was frozen, so full of pain and hurt and despair that I couldn't even bear the agony of falling to my knees.  And into that, I felt our little baby kick.  A soft flutter that broke the dam of my emotions and I simply tore off my soiled skirt, curled up in a ball on our bed and cried and cried until the world went black.

APRIL 2004

Hermanas,

This seems to be a day for the rudeness of life, for raw ugly truths.  And seeing as how she's given up hers, I might as well give up one, too.  And it's just as ugly.

I was glad he said that shit to her.  Glad.  Why shouldn't I be?  I was thinking it.  Hell, any man who read those words thought it at least once.  And if he says he didn't, he's a fucking liar.  Even her precious Terry had hinted he wouldn't have been able to accept that from his own woman.  He sure didn't have any problems dishing it the fuck out though, did he?   

Surely, they must have known it would be a step too far for some people.  There's no goddamn rule in this place that says we have to accept this, cheerfully or otherwise.  I actually felt a giddy little rush when I read this account and knew she was going to get what was coming to her.  How's that for an ugly truth?

Terry did something he never should have done.  Something I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forget.  And that will always stand between me and him now.  Always. 

They're still my friends.  I still love them.  But they can't expect this not to change things and they're fucking blind if they think it won't.  They have a right to do and feel what they want.  And you know what?  So do I. 

So, I brooded about that a while.  Focused on my hurt.  Thought about what shits they'd been to Curry.  Thought about the red light creeping over my chest that night at the Temple and got pissed.  Thought about those pearls and got madder still.  Thought about them fucking and smashed that little glass float I'd given her against the slate stones in my kitchen. 

Sat on the gritty floor afterwards and got drunk.  Found the goddamn little pearl that had rolled away.  Played with it between my fingers and started to do some real thinking.  Dropped it into the neck of the bottle and watched it swirl around in the bottom.  I remember thinking, drown, you little fucker.  The bottle was empty in the morning.  Guess I swallowed it. 

Don't really know.  Don't really care.

See, I've turned this thing over a thousand times in my mind and I keep coming back to one thing.  Well, two things, actually.  One, she refused to sell out.  Took every bit of that shit that Curry dished up because she refused to demean something precious to her by making excuses for her behavior.  And two, as angry as I was at him for touching her, I know in my heart of hearts that I'd have done the exact same thing. 

So, I guess that's the real ugly truth in all of this, isn't it?

Dino

I don't know how long I slept.  It was still light when I woke up but I couldn't be bothered to check the clock.  I was despondent and drained, my brain sluggish and muzzy.  I was scared Lach might not come back.  I barely managed to keep it together when I called Uma.  I know I must have sounded like a complete ditz but better that than losing my shit and blubbering like some crazy bit of cast aside fluff, which is exactly how I felt.

I talked to Terry a little while after that, which didn't exactly help matters to find out he'd reacted pretty much like Lach had.  Bastard.  That made me feel even more like a whore.  How dare he treat Uma like that after what we shared?  That was the first time I ever raised my voice to him in anger.  And I let him have it with both barrels. 

I still loved him, of course.  That would never change.  But we couldn't be safe harbor for each other.  Not about this.  And that was a really, really hard thing to take on top of an already shitty day.  Some phone call.  I hurled a few choice words and then told him I loved him.  Actually, I think I shouted it followed by, "You hypocritical bastard!" and then I hung up and cried myself to sleep.  Again.

It was the scent of honeysuckle that woke me.  The rich sweet scent made my stomach heave unpleasantly but I was too drained to do anything but open my eyes.  Even the soft light of the late afternoon was too bright.  How could only a few hours have gone by?  I felt old and wizened.  Like years and years should have passed and yet it wasn't even dark outside.

Lachlan was sitting, shoulders slumped, in a chair by the bed.  There was a bouquet of flowers at his feet.  He was twirling a sprig of honeysuckle between his fingers, absently twisting the stem and pulling off the petals and leaves.  He smelled like smoke and alcohol and his eyes were red. 

I don't even remember moving.  Suddenly I was on my knees in front of him with my arms wrapped around him and my head on his lap, crying.  Choking sounds broken only by two words, said again and again.  I'm sorry.

He cupped my face and held me to him, whispering his own broken apology.  Sorry for yelling at me.  Sorry for hurting me.  It did not escape my notice, however, that he did not apologize for feeling the way that he did.  To be honest, I'm not really sure I wanted him to.  His touch was rough and his words were slightly slurred.  He wasn't drunk but he wasn't entirely sober, either.  How did we get here?  What would the price be?  Terry's been right all along.  There's always a price.  I cried harder.

Lach didn't shush me.  Didn't offer any platitudes.  Didn't say anything to try to make it better.  Because you know what?  Real life is painful and raw and primal.  We can dress it up with romantic idyll and soft, pretty words but at its core, it's gritty and messy.  If it wasn't, it wouldn't cling so tenaciously when it seemed all hope was lost.

I felt it with Lach in that moment.  Love without the trappings that made it sweet and pretty and comfortable.  This wasn't warts and all.  This was everything stripped away but the warts.  This was everything peeled back, exposed down to those ugly naked things you can't even face in yourself much less show another person. 

Hypocrisy.  He had two very different sets of values- one for me and one for everyone else.  And he was not about to change his thinking or apologize for it.  Selfishness.  I had allowed another man into my body knowing what Lach would accept for himself was different than what he might expect from me.  And I did it anyway. 

Nobody came out of this smelling like roses.  Or honeysuckle.  Game or no game, you cannot change a lifetime of cultural conditioning.  What we did?  To a woman, that is slutty behavior- and men, at the back of their minds, have a radar for that... but not for their own behavior.  And the simple truth is that no matter how golden and beautiful a moment I'd made with Terry, there was this undertone that had sprung up from how he'd behaved with his own woman afterwards.  This feeling of being used, of being regarded as less important than his partner even if at the time, that was not how it appeared. 

Lach is never a big talker when he's emotionally stirred.  This time was no different.  He only climbed onto the bed with me, curled his hands around my stomach, pressed his face against and said, "Why?"

He didn't expect an answer.  I don't even think I was capable of articulating one.  Why?  Why had I let Terry touch me?  Because I loved him?  Because we were too close?  Because I saw him as some sort of extension of Lachlan because he was going through everything we were with his own woman?  Because I wanted to share my joy of the baby with him?  Because I was just selfish?  Because I had some glimmer of a fantasy about him giving me a baby?  In this World where we could have any fantasy we wanted, were there some we should never ever experience?

Why did I allow him that intimacy?  Was it because I cannot draw a line with him?  Because it doesn't matter how I touch him, the feeling inside my breast is the same.  Aren't we all just bits of flesh and bone?  The physical sensation is different, but emotionally, I feel the same feeling inside me whether we are holding hands or making love.  What makes rubbing some bits of flesh together OK and others so very wrong?  And if that's the case, why didn't I feel that for the others?  I had clear lines with the others. 

All but one of them, anyway.  

Even that didn't really make much sense.  If handholding and lovemaking with this one particular man gave me the same glow around my heart, why risk it all to make love without knowing the price?  I knew the price now, though.  And I had paid dearly for those golden moments in Terry's arms.                

So, where did that leave me?  I thought again about my musings on this place, of what lesson I was supposed to learn.  The nature of love.  Maybe I was wrong about that.  Maybe it wasn't the nature of romantic monogamous love that was my lesson.  Maybe it was this other love.  The kind you only see when all the layers are peeled back.  The kind that isn't pretty or right or fair.    

A lot of things about humans can be so very fine... but yet at the core of it all is one very simple fact.  There is no getting away from the unpleasant reality of our humanity.  Sex isn't always rose scented.  Childbirth is crude and messy.  Death isn't always a soft release.  It can be painful and bloody and violent.  Not everything fits into neat little boxes that smell nice and are a clean, pristine white.  We can pretend we are in some dreamy romantic idyll, but the real truth is that life is raw and unforgiving. 

We glory in its wild beauty but it hurts us, we struggle against it and that is how we grow.  We have to face up to the stark fact that we need the ugly and sordid along with the high and lofty.  It is the dirt that anchors us and allows us the veneer of something finer. 

I think I knew what was going to happen before Lach reached for me but I still resisted.  He put his hand between my legs and I pushed him away.  I didn't want to deny him... I wanted his touch- but not like this.  I hadn't yet showered.  I was still leaking another man. 

More primal truths.  He is a man.  He is bigger and stronger than me.  He wanted to touch me so he did.  He was not violent or forceful but his intent was clear and I didn't have the physical strength to stop him.  Another reminder of the differences between us.  I pushed at him, my face flaming, trying to close my legs.  Whispering to him that I wanted to go shower.

"No.  Like this.... I want you like this."

Gritty and messy and uncomfortable, just like real life.  No veneers of seductive romance.  No hearts and flowers.  Only real, naked emotion.  It was raw and primal.... and yes, erotic.  He was touching another man's semen.  Deliberately.  I sensed disgust in him but also power.  His female had strayed and he was going to claim her back in the most elemental way a man can claim a woman.  He was going to overlay another's scent with his own. 

It was uncomfortable.  Emotionally, I was forced to face the reality of life in the Game in the most intrusive way possible.  Undeniable physical proof that we could both see and feel that I had allowed another man intimate access to my body.  Physically, it felt indescribably erotic.  I was sensitive and a little sore, which only served to heighten my awareness and my pleasure.  There was no pain, but only because he pushed in on another man's leavings.  My own wetness would not have been enough. 

He swore in that way he does only when he is aroused and on the edge of losing control.  It wasn't the proof I'd fucked another man that had driven him there.  He hated that.  It was the elemental nature of our joining, uninhibited and instinctive- like the wild beauty of life that both hurts us and makes us stronger.

His hands tightened on my hips as he pushed into me from behind.  "I can smell him."  Stark, brutal acknowledgement that another man had touched me- but was in no way a threat to him or our love.  Entry.  One long easy thrust until his groin was flush against my buttocks.  "So smooth..... He makes it easy for me even now...."  

A comment that clarified his acceptance.  "I wonder...." I could hear the wry grin in his voice.  "Is that what he is saying now to her?"  Acknowledgement of his intimacy with Uma- without saying, yes, I slept with her.  Yes, I made love to her.  And it was acknowledgement that he also has a place he must accept.... and that he had accepted it and the price he paid for it. 

He was loose from the alcohol but hardly out of his head.  He knew exactly what he was doing.  What's more, he was enjoying it.  He was enjoying dropping all pretense of romance and respectability and claiming me like an animal.  Without inhibition or reservation of any kind.  And you know what? 

I liked it.

At their most base, men are primal animals.  They want to rut and thrust.  To claim what is theirs and roar out their power to the world.  This woman is mine!  Women are just as primal.  We want to be claimed and protected and be important enough to our men that they want to beat their chests and threaten other men who dare intrude on their patch.  And to be honest, I wouldn't want my man any other way.  I want to be the soft to his hard.  The yin to his yang.  This man is mine!

Humans have four basic needs.  Thirst.  Hunger.  Sleep.  Sex.  Everything we do in life can be traced back to one of those needs.  This Game of ours.... it cannot defeat biology and culture.  For all its fine trappings, we will never escape the coarse, wild beauty of our ungainly humanity. 

He rut into me.  Not in a way that hurt me.  He would never do that, but it wasn't a soft descent into pleasure.  His breath came in harsh pants.  His hands were exquisitely tender on my belly.  His mouth found my shoulder and bit down hard.  He drew blood.  Marked me.  A visible reminder to other men, like my belly, that this woman had a mate.

And I was so proud to be his.  I gloried in his strength.  His virility.  His power.  I came whimpering his name, wanting nothing more than to stay like that, safe in his arms forever.  He roared out his coming, an expulsion of rage and dominance and sorrow and love. 

We collapsed against the bedding in a sweaty tangled heap.  The bite on my shoulder stung.  He licked it softly.  I still had tears on my face.  He did too.  And this time, when he put his hand possessively between my legs, I didn't push him away.  It felt good.  Right.  It felt like love, wild and scary but so beautiful it took my breath away.  We had dug our fingers deep into the ugly earthiness, struggled and grown stronger for the pain we had borne together.   

He stroked between my legs and slowly rubbed his semen into my skin, along my thighs and up over my belly.  It smelled of fecund earth and a scent I can only define as us.  He spoke then, quietly into the setting sun.

"What I said before...."  'You know what some men would do to a woman like you?!' 

I nodded and he kissed me softly, with tenderness and love.

"Some men - this man- would love her.... want to make a family with her.... and want to share his life with her... for ever and always."

"For ever and always," I echoed.

Love is a blessing.  Sharing it is a gift beyond measure.  But it is only when it is twined with trust, when you can share even the parts of yourself that you are ashamed of, do you truly know how grand a treasure it can be. 

APRIL 2004

Hermanas,

I'm still drinking.  Still thinking.  Still soul searching.  Does any of this make what they did OK?  No.  I do, however, understand something a little more clearly now.  It is men like me, and this way we have of thinking, that kept me from being able to make love to her in those last days.  I am my own worst roadblock.  How's that for a revelation?

I've had another one as well.  I was wrong before.  For as much as I wanted to make love to her, to experience what Terry did, I have seen the aftermath and I now understand the terrible price they paid... and will continue to pay 'for ever and always' as she so eloquently put it. 

And it is a far, far greater price than I will ever be willing to hand over to the piper.  

I flatly refuse to ever say goodbye.

Dino