by Craig Sorensen
(06/13/07)

Gerry's eyes opened in the dimly lit bedroom. He listened to Savannah's steady, soft breaths. Because she slept so lightly now, he lifted his head slowly. Gerry cast off the single sheet that covered one leg up to the hip, sat up, and pulled a robe over his nude body.

Savannah let out a gobbling snore and turned her head away.

It was 4:05 in the morning and Gerry had a hard-on that he could level a shelf with. He also had to piss. He tiptoed toward the bathroom but stopped in mid stride when Savannah stirred. His head froze like a prairie dog until she settled.

In the bathroom he leaned his arm against the wall over the toilet and computed the angle for his taut rod to aim into the cobalt-blue water. His insistent stiffness finally relented just a bit when he'd exorcised every sexual thought from his mind. He forced the urine out; it cascaded in two streams in a sprawling V. He struggled to contain the streams in the bowl.

As he flushed, his penis hardened again and he couldn't restrain a heavy sigh. He and Savannah hadn't made love in ages. He'd held out as long as possible, but now relief was mandatory. Backing onto the toilet seat, he took his stiffness in hand, waiting to see where the impulse would lead him. Nah, he decided. This looks too dumb, even though it feels neat. He snorted a half-suppressed laugh, turned off the bathroom light, and crept through the dark apartment into the small den at the far end of the living room. A ratty old recliner sat next to the two-inch opening he left in the door. The table lamp, clicked to its lowest wattage, barely illuminated the drawer full of videotapes.

Gerry scanned until he spotted the title he was searching for: The 2001 Stanley Cup -- Game Three. He considered watching it on the 48-inch plasma screen in the living room, but no, that would be going too far. He padded into the small kitchen and reached past the little army of full baby bottles in the fridge, then retrieved a bottle of Sam Adams. Back in the den he paused one last time to study Savannah's muffled snore. His heart beat double time.

It would have been better if it was fetish porn. No promises had ever been made about that, and Savannah was all about promises. He twitched as the VCR drew the tape in with a hearty inhale. The pre-game color started and he clicked the volume to three bars and hit fast forward. The counter spun until it displayed the familiar digits, 0342.

Savannah's face was soft and serious. Her bright blue eyes were cool.

Gerry felt his chest tighten.

Tasteful makeup accentuated her soft, angular face. The camera panned back. Her body was trimmed in a silvery white merry widow with bone stockings. Glossy white high heels covered her perfect feet. Her hands were draped in long white satin gloves. A matching satin choker clung to her long neck. Her skin was warm and golden.

Gerry reached inside his robe and adjusted his hard rod. Knowing what was coming did not quench the anticipation.

Savannah's face turned slightly, and she opened into a seductive smile. Her slightly uneven teeth glistened as she unsnapped the garters with one hand. The other reached behind and started opening the merry widow.

Gerry smoothed the clear pre-come down his shaft and leaned forward.

One of Savannah's dark red nipples appeared as the cup dipped.

Gerry let out an audible groan, then tried to gasp it back in. He paused the tape and listened, then turned down the volume to two bars and released the pause.

The corset opened wider as Savannah's arm descended. She seductively stopped on the last snap. Though she was not naturally graceful, her moves were perfect. She playfully rolled her shoulders, and nipples peeked in and out alternately. Suddenly, her face reddened with embarrassment. She released the corset and exposed her naked upper body. Her breasts curved from her soft ribs and sloping abdomen.

Gerry's penis was now fully engorged. He recalled being behind the camera, and how he had fought to restrain himself while he placed the camera on the carefully positioned tripod.

He had gotten to his favorite part.

Savannah reached her gloved hands down to her hips and teased at the sides of her g-string. She rocked her hips.

Gerry paused once more to confirm the silence in the apartment. His heart pounded just as hard as it had the first time he had ever made love to her. He turned up the volume slightly and released the tape.

Savannah's voice eased out a soft song as she swayed like a young tree in the breeze. She teased her panties down. Her dark pubic hair yawned as it released from the g-string. Gerry appeared in the picture and stretched out his nude form on the bed. Savannah eased across his abdomen, and her dew glistened on his dark stomach hairs. Gerry took one breast to his mouth. "Oh mah Gawd." The taste of her Southern drawl lingered in Savannah's whisper.

Gerry's hand stroked faster. His breathing became short.

"Gerry?"

Shit! He turned off the TV and VCR and rushed into the dark living room. He sat on his end of the couch and set his sweaty half bottle of Sam Adams on the coaster. The hall light popped on and he covered his eyes dramatically.

"What are you doing?" she said as she rounded the corner.

"Ah, just thinking." He held his arm tight to his lap.

She nodded. "It's hard, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

"I keep thinking I hear..." she choked slightly.

He made a guarded, noncommittal noise.

She bit her lip and reached inside her flannel nightgown. She grimaced, then forced a smile and looked away down the hall. After a brief pause, she retreated.

Gerry eased his head around the corner and watched her disappear into the bathroom. He listened for the familiar compressed whirr. He quickly took his rod in hand and forced himself to a brief, gasping orgasm. He caught his breath while he sopped up the substantial mess with the remains of a box of Kleenex then positioned himself casually on the couch where she had found him before.

The bathroom door creaked. Savannah's plodding steps approached and moved on toward the kitchen. The refrigerator door opened and closed. "Coming back to bed? You need to sleep," Savannah said softly from around the corner.

He took the last of the beer in a gulp. "Coming."

Gerry held his thumb over the remote lock button. He pushed the button twice. The ka-thunk of the lock was punctuated by the soft bleep of the horn. He sighed as he went into the entryway and walked numbly up the stairs. He drew a deep breath at the front door, unlocked it and went inside.

Predictably, Savannah was dressed in sweat pants and a thick sweatshirt. Her eyes remained fixed on the droning plasma screen.

"Hi babe," Gerry said.

She flexed her jaw and said nothing. Her eyes darted briefly to and from him.

"What's up?"

"Nothing," she said in a non-descript American dialect.

Gerry hated these games. He walked in front of the TV and stared at her. Her eyes darted to the side of the room. "What?"

"Nothing!"

She had been distant and depressed constantly. In a sense, Gerry felt relief. It was a sign of life, although not the one he preferred. He again walked into her line of sight. She waited until he was in position, then again turned her eyes away.

"Did I do something to piss you off?"

She folded her arms in front of her then gave him a fleeting glance. "It's something you didn't do."

Gerry puzzled as she went into the kitchen. He surveyed where she had been sitting and saw a VHS tape. His heart raced and he gripped his palm to his forehead. He lifted the tape: The 2001 Stanley Cup -- Game Three.

Savannah returned, and her eyes hardened on Gerry as he cradled the tape.

"Savannah, let me explain..."

"You said you'd get rid of them all, Gerry."

"I did... well, except for this one. You're so beautiful..."

"I told you, it isn't appropriate."

"Bullshit. There's nothing wrong with it."

"Oh sure, and what about if someone was to find out. I mean, say I'm a member of the PTO..."

"Probably half the people in the PTO do it! Besides, we don't have any..." Gerry stopped cold. Betrayal exploded across Savannah's face. "Wait, wait Savannah." He tried to grab her arm as she went back to the bedroom. The door slammed behind her. Gerry let out a sigh and followed, then stood at the closed door. "We have to get on with our lives."

"It was all my fault." Her voice was muffled in the bed.

Gerry looked toward the spare bedroom door. The empty crib loomed in the dark corner. "You know better, they said he wouldn't live for two weeks. He lived for three months. The doctors said that was miraculous."

The apartment was silent.

"Savannah?"

"Leave me alone."

Gerry turned the tape in his hand. She hadn't touched him since the doctors had told them Kevin would not live. He remained dutifully at the door until Savannah finally stirred. As the door opened, she gave him a soft, pleading smile. She looked down at the tape. She bit her lip, a bit of pain crossed her face. She closed herself in the bathroom.

He sighed at the inevitable whirr.

Moonlight bathed the master bedroom when Gerry woke to an odd sensation. Savannah's hand rested softly on his stomach.

His heart pounded double time, and he began to harden. He stroked her hand, then along her arm to her shoulder. A soft smile opened on her face. "Mmm." He smoothed down her flannel nightgown to the soft blade of her hip, and she stretched her leg toward him. Her thigh rested on his stiffness. He caressed her cheek softly then smoothed the length of her neck with his fingertips. After a pause, he slipped his hand in her nightgown and stroked her plump breast. "Ahh." He grazed a stiff nipple. She had always loved to have them teased and firmly pinched. He gripped the nipple.

Her eyes connected with his, and for a moment he saw the desire in her face he knew in the Game Three tape. Her face grew serious, then sullen. She turned away. Gerry circled his arms around her waist. Boldly, he pressed his stiffness against her butt. "Savannah?"

"No Gerry, I still don't fell well."

"You feel fine to me," he said seductively.

"It's not about you."

He lingered but her wooden body language foretold what would happen: Nothing.

Gerry was usually gone by 7:00, swallowed in the long commute. This day, he called in sick. Savannah rose promptly at 7:30. This recent predictable morning agenda was a defiant twist against her natural spontaneity. He watched her sleep as the bright morning light opened the room. When she stirred, he reached into his nightstand for a small bottle. He set it prominently on the alarm clock.

"Gerry? It's Thursday. What are you doing home?" She looked at the clock.

"I needed a day off. I want to spend some time with you."

"Oh, that's sweet, but I'm okay."

"Let's stay in bed a while," Gerry said.

She placed her hand at the side of her right breast. He saw the strain on her face. "You haven't taken any of these. The Doctor said they would help you dry up."

"I'm fine." She shifted a bit. It was obvious that her breasts were sore. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"You just went at 5:00."

"Uh, I need to go again." She pushed at the covers. Gerry grabbed her hip and turned her toward him. She tried to act casual.

"We have to move on," Gerry said.

"I am moving on," Savannah replied. "I need to go."

"No," Gerry said plainly. He pulled her body on top of his and hugged her tightly to him.

"Gerry, I'm sore." She shifted her breasts away from the thick chest muscles that squeezed them. Gerry released her upper body then locked to her waist. "Gerry, I need... I need to..."

"I know," he replied as he unbuttoned the top of her nightgown. He drew one side of the garment over her shoulder. She tried to softly resist, then she hesitantly relaxed.

Her breathing quickened. "Oh Gerry...I'm not...I mean...it's not..." Her eyes snapped as wide as an owl's as his mouth latched to one breast. "NO... No... no..." Her protestations weakened as he drank from her.

She tasted sweet; there was a hint of fig, apple and honey. He drew her milk with a firm gentle suction. Her face flushed. "No, it's wrong," she whimpered. Moist sweet dew of her vagina soaked through her panties and dampened his waist. Gerry's rod stood poised, just an inch from her groin. He swiveled his hips away as he drank.

He released the left breast, and eased toward the right. She lowered her weight down to him after a pause. Her eyes snapped shut and her mouth gaped as he drank. Her cries started as a whimper, then exploded into the flood of emotions that she had long imprisoned.

She lay down on his chest, her bare breasts tickling his thick hairs. She finally let out a deep, convulsing cry that soaked his pillow. The two laid still, staring at the ceiling together for over an hour. Gerry drifted in and out of sleep. He awoke to feel her body stretched across his. He didn't dare to feel desire. He watched as she retrieved the bottle of pills and softly shook them. They sang like a rattle.

"Gerry, I'm so scared it will happen again."

"The doctors said that there was very little ch..."

"The doctors said a lot of things." Savannah's eyes probed.

There was nothing more he could say. He softly kissed her cheek.

Gerry paused at the front of his car. He pressed the button twice. Ka-thunk...bleep!

The breast pump was in a box at the bottom of the linen closet, thoroughly cleaned and safely packed. Countless small bottles of breast milk stood at the bottom of a dumpster. Savannah was still hands off, but the two talked now. It was often small talk, but it was talk. She cried at night, but got dressed during the day and went out. He had reluctantly taken the Game Three tape and recorded over it with a droning PBS miniseries. They had even gone out to dinner and swirled their wine-tinted tongues in a teen-aged kiss to top off a Friday night. But each night, she donned her flannel gown and sensible panties and curled tight on her side of the bed.

Gerry walked into the entryway of the apartment building and listened to the usual loud TV and arguing from apartment C. The dog in apartment A yelped out his warnings, and playfully Gerry barked back. The terrier exploded into a brief tirade. Gerry shrugged and ascended the stairs.

The apartment was quiet. He pulled out his keys, but before he could unlock the door, it opened.

Savannah stood in a thigh-length red silk robe. Black stockings extended down to glossy black high heels. She curled her index finger in front of her red lips. His arms drained to his side as he followed. She closed the door behind him and followed him into the living room, where she eased his tie open.

Gerry started to open his mouth, but she tipped her index finger over his lips. "We've talked enough." He gratefully kissed her fingertip and she smiled.

Candlelight bathed the bedroom. Savannah undressed Gerry, leaned him back on the bed, and after a cautious pause, opened her robe to display a black silk merry-widow and matching g-string -- much like the white ones from Game Three. The response of Gerry's body was quick and sure, and she smiled uneasily. Finally, she drew a deep breath and tried with all her might to be graceful as she removed the corset. The candlelight revealed a scattering of glossy stretch marks. Gerry gave his rod several playful strokes. Her cheeks bloomed. She winked.

She eased atop him as he lay still, simply admiring. She leaned over his chest and kissed him deeply, pressing her tongue deep into his mouth.

He stroked up the inside of her thigh. She sighed. She curled her hips and encouraged him to touch her vulva, so he began to stroke her, alternating soft feathery strokes and firm pinches. Her mouth gaped and her approving moans grew louder.

She settled onto him and drew in his shaft.

He nearly exploded immediately. He fought his body's impulses while she swiveled her hips on him. Nervously, she eased her breasts toward his face, and he tenderly worked his tongue over one stiff nipple and then the other. She groaned, a long-familiar signal he hadn't heard in a long time. He complied, and bit stiffly. "Oh mah Gawd," she said, and pulled him over on top of her.

He began to move in her. Their motion made the candles dance. His fingertip swirled her clit in time with the curl of his hips. Her eyes widened and she gasped each time he penetrated her fully. Then, without warning, she loosed her orgasmic scream, louder than ever in his experience. The background neighbor noise from the next-door apartment abruptly stopped. They laughed together. He resumed thrusting while she fondled his chest and tickled his belly.

He slowed. Each time he pulled back until his tip was just inside her, she slid her hand from his hip to cradle his tight balls, then released them to invite him deep again. This strange rhythm denied any further restraint: His shaft pulsed. His entire body shuddered as he filled her with an orgasm that seemed endless.

He collapsed next to Savannah's nakedness. They stroked each other in gentle silence. "Are you still scared, Savannah?"

"I'm more scared of being scared," she said. She reached down and began massaging between his legs.

She smiled. "Seems like you're ready for Game Five." She coiled her fingers and gripped him hard.

He looked at her with mock sadness. "Too bad it's only a best of seven."

She kissed him, a long, lingering kiss. She breathed in his ear, "Don't count on it, darlin'!"

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