DeIce

They aren't mine. There, I said it.


Chapter 2


End of shift after a lovely decomp, and I don't have
any damned lemons in my refrigerator at all. This
means I get to enjoy that acute humiliation
reserved for coroners and CSI's alone - shopping at
a crowded grocery store, standing in line among
those who cannot help but notice that I smell like
I've been dead for at least a week. And I have a date
with Sara, so I can only hope the lemons work. Yeah,
she understands, but at the end of the day no one
wants to love up to a guy who bears a
striking aromatic resemblance to a ripe corpse.


I shower before leaving first, of course, but from the
wrinkled noses of those I pass on my way out of the
building it didn't do a lot of good. And there is Sara,
who sniffs, wrinkles her nose, and steps up to me. "I
have lemons at my place," she says softly. "Swing by
your apartment, grab a change of clothes, and come
on over and use my shower." She casts furtive looks
both ways, sees no one, and plants a quick kiss on
my cheek. "A real woman doesn't mind, " she
whispers, then heads out the door.



At my apartment I grab a pair of jeans and a T-shirt,
then pack a second change, as well as a toothbrush,
toothpaste, razor, cologne, and a large pack of
condoms. What can I say; I'm an optimist.


Twenty minutes later I'm knocking on her door, and
she answers wearing a tank top, no bra and a pair
of jeans that fit like a glove. Me, I'm standing there
smelling like Peppy LePew a week after he got
flattened by a Hummer. I grin idiotically and step in.
She hands me a bowl of sliced lemons and points to
the bathroom. I trot obediently in and take a long,
hot, lemonized shower. Afterward I do smell better,
so I shave, splash, and brush, and out I come. She
steps up and sniffs.

"Like a new man," she pronounces, and we sit
down on her couch and put on a movie.


Twenty minutes later we're necking like a couple of
sixteen-year-olds at a drive-in. We've been dating
every day for two weeks now, and the relationship
gears are shifting more smoothly than either of us
expected. Things are progressing naturally, which
is a polite way of saying that we're drawing ever
closer to crossing that crucial line separating friends
from lovers. I'm moving slowly, not because I want to,
but because above all else I don't want to scare her
away. So once again we're on her couch necking, and
it's wonderful, and I'm trying like hell not to rush
things because I love her and don't want to mess up
this fragile new thing we're creating together, but I'm
a man, one who hasn't had sex for close to two years,
and while I want to be patient I really don't. Anyhow,
we're necking, I'm aching, and Sara just takes my
hand and slips it under her tank top. Did I mention
she isn't wearing a bra? Now I may be shy but I'm
not stupid. That definitely qualifies as a green light.


I move my hand upward and cup her gently,
watching her face as I tease her tight nipples. I
want to taste them, so I pull her top off and begin
to do what I've been dreaming of doing for years.
She squirms under me, her thigh moving against my
aching crotch. It feels too good, so I start rubbing
against her as I suckle her.


"Oh, Greg," she whispers breathily. "Need to
move this to the bedroom."


She lights a candle and places it on her dresser,
then begins unfastening her jeans. I watch her
as I strip off my T-shirt and jeans, then lower
my boxers. We stand two steps away from one
another, bare and exposed. I am nervous,
afraid of disappointing her. I'm very thin, and
the scars from the explosion are ugly. Most of
my back is covered.


Then she smiles and takes a step closer. I
can see in her eyes she likes what she sees.
I release the breath I didn't even know I was
holding and take that last step toward her.
I lower her to the bed and surround her.
"Beautiful," I whisper, my voice breaking.
"I never thought this would really happen."


Her hand comes up to stroke my cheek.
"I did." Then she pulls me into a kiss. My
hands have a life of their own, moving to
touch and explore the lovely silken plains
and valleys so long denied them. I hold
my breath when at long last I reach her
most secret valley. She gasps as I let one
finger slide carefully along the wet furrow.
I find her tender bud and gently tease it.
She rides my hand as I play with her.
By now I am throbbing, and my swollen
dick is telling me in no uncertain terms
that he is in serious need of some
attention right now, but I'm
not listening to him, not when my she's
begging me not to stop, telling me I'm
going to make her come if I keep on.
Oh, yeah, I 'm not stopping, not for
anything. Her clit is slick and swollen
under my searching fingers, and she's
moaning and thrashing and falling
apart as I keep on touching her.
My other hand joins in, slipping one
finger into her wet tunnel. She
stiffens and lets out the most beautiful
sounds I've ever heard. Her insides
pulse around my invading finger,
pulling at it as her breathy cries of
release echo through me. I need to be
inside her, more than I need to breathe
I need it. As if reading my mind she pulls
at me. "Now," she whispers, and I
awkwardly position myself. I hesitate
for just an instant, committing to memory
this moment. Then I push into her, and all
thought is lost. Nothing exists but her
damp, embracing heat surrounding me.
I want to take it slowly, but I can't, not this
time. I surrender to her most intimate
caress and plunge greedily into her, over
and over, groaning as the sensations
quickly overtake me. It's been too damn
long, and this feels too good. I shout and
spill my wet release into her. "I love you,"
I whisper, my voice cracking. "Have for the
longest time."


She smiles then. "Me too," she answers
softly. I pull her into my arms. She
snuggles close, and we drift into sleep together.
My last coherent waking thought is that we
stepped over the line and we're still okay.
With that, I give in and let the sleep-fog invade
my brain.