Morning Sunday, August 25th, 2024
Garin met Joey at his mom’s church for Sunday mass. She was 87 years old but could walk and talk like she was 77. Diagnosed with cancer five times, she’d been “dying from this fifth bout since 2020” and in her words “couldn’t give a damn if it did get me, am I supposed to get it five more times. What a bitch it’d be if I beat cancer’s ass and I went to the Lord by something dumb like… like a delivery truck backing into me and I’m too slow to get the fuck out of the way.”
Together they hopped into Joey’s car and went the short ride to her home in the retirement community. There, Garin helped Joey put together a lunch for her, the fat calico feline of the house rubbing itself against his legs. Sausage and pancakes, she wouldn’t have them with syrup. “I can’t eat syrup; it glues my stomach together.”
Joey snickered while sitting with Garin, placing their plates down to join her. “It might be doing that. You don’t have any stomach lining, syrup probably does stick it together.”
Garin ate his pancake. “There must be a medication for the stomach lining.”
“I don’t take any medication, honey,” she interrupted him. Her cat hopped up into her lap, and, eating or not, she rubbed under its chin.
Joseph explained, “She thinks not taking medication is how she’s survived everything.”
She spoke with a mouthful of dry, fluffy pancake. “It’s the truth. Health is about having a happy stomach, and if you’re chowing down pills, your stomach can’t be happy with you.”
Joseph seemed to quote someone. “Happiness is predicated on your stomach having a satisfactory agreement with you.”
Garin thought a second, then remembered who Joey was slant-quoting, then leaned into the table to speak to Joey’s mom. “I used to go to that church with you two when I was in braces. I never liked the sermons then, with Father… Father Edward, sorry to say. Maybe I grew up, but I was super into the lesson this time. Father Daniel had good anecdotes and verses, Joseph and his brothers, parables with timeless metaphysical wisdom. Did you enjoy the sermon today?”
She gave a very elderly Sicilian hand-wobbling gesture. “Father Daniel is a better orator than Father Edward was, but he pushes the tolerance message. I never hated anyone. I love all the children of God, but love and tolerance are not the same thing.”
Joey paraphrased his mom. “Love the sinner, hate the sin… Ma?”
She looked at Garin, placing her hand over his, and looked into him with eyes that could hardly see him clearly. “Hell… love the sin too if you do, but don’t love being sinned against.”
Garin tapped her hand lightly. “That’s deep. But I can’t imagine a situation in which a person loves being sinned against.”
Joey swallowed and cleared his throat. “She’s talking about the old folks around here. The caregivers steal cash, jewelry, whatever.”
Garin furrowed his brow. “They do? From you?”
Joey, tempering his words, said, “Well, not most, maybe like 1-in-20 will do it, but the old people don’t want to say anything, they think the caregivers are good company and work hard, so that makes it OK.”
His mom was angered. “And it’s not OK!”
Joey, with a smirk, said, “So yeah, she goes to the main office and bitches, gets them fired, reprimanded, suspended, or she tries to.”
Garin clenched his fist up. “Good! Good Ma, don’t let anybody walk on you for any reason.”
She smiled, her wrinkled, puffy face full of determined retribution, the angel of justice. “I’ll get all their asses canned.”
“Ma, next week is Dad’s anniversary, the day he died,” Joey noted, looking at his phone calendar.
Ma paused and thought, then said, “He passed on the anniversary of our first date.”
Joey mouthed the words along with her, rehearsed, as that’s what she said every single time. “… anniversary of our first date.”
Garin’s eyebrows raised. “Really? What could that mean?”
She shrugged. “Shit? I wouldn’t know.”
Joey smirked. “She ever tell you about her first date with Dad?”
Garin shook his head. Joey implored, “Ma, tell him about your first date.”
She recalled it easily. “He took me to Coney Island. He did a handstand in the sand and then insisted he could teach me. He was holding me by my ankles upside down on the beach, my dress falling down my legs. I was screaming and attracting a crowd.”
Joey interrupted with a laugh. “Whoa, whoa, Ma! Not that part. What’re you saying?”
Garin feigned heat, tugging his collar. “No, Ma, keep going.”
Ma looked to Joey. “Then fuck, which part am I supposed to tell? We ate hot dogs, and he dared himself to eat eight, and he did. By chance, we crossed paths with Jim Lanigan, and they fought right there on the boardwalk.”
Garin stopped her. “Who’s this Jim guy?”
Ma pressed rewind on her long memory. “Jim Lanigan was my first boyfriend. When my father found out, he made me break up with him; my daughter can’t be with any Irish.”
Joey clarified, “So she started going steady with my dad. He was a fella, Sicilian, so it was OK, you know.”
Ma recalled, “I wanted Jim Lanigan, and your dad was Jim Lanigan if he came in brunette.”
Garin chuckled. “And that’s how you had them scuffling in view of everybody. All over little you?”
Ma nodded. “Yes, I did. Like all the revelers, Jim saw him holding me by my knees as I tried to keep my panties from seeing daylight, and he came charging and shoving; treat her right, pig. And your dad wasn’t going to let Jim call him names like that.”
Garin and Joey shook their heads in laughter. “That’s neighborhood boys, though. I bet they were friends if not for you causing trouble,” Joey added.
Ma nodded deeply. “They were. They were friends.”
⚜
Morning Saturday, August 31st, 2024
Garin picked up Lyrou, Penny, and Alan at the airport, he loaded their luggage into the trunk, tapped his card at the parking garage payment kiosk, and drove everybody home.
Alan had something stuffed under his shirt, but had yet to address it even in passing. Getting into the backseat next to Penny, he put his seat belt on over his baby bump as if it were anything else. “Did you get a new car, Dad?”
Garin denied it. “Same car, son.”
Alan looked around the interior. “You mean the same model, make, color, and year… but a new car. Right?”
Garin denied. “No. Same car down to its molecular composition, subatomic probably.”
Alan smirked. “There’s something different about it.”
Garin smiled, driving as Penny and Lyrou fell asleep in their seats. “I did take it through the car wash yesterday. But Alan, there’s something different about you.”
Alan confirmed, “I’m a new model, make, color, and year.”
Garin looked into the backseat through the rear-view mirror. “My kid goes to Paris and comes back heavily pregnant. I should’ve foreseen; it’s a tale as old as Catherine de’ Medici. When are you due?”
Alan excused his procrastination, “My homework was due at the end of the last semester, but I’ll turn it in at the start of this next semester.”
“I’m sure that’s too late, given you’re starting a new school year, and it won’t get you so much as a scratch-n-sniff sticker. But I mean, when is your baby due?” Garin asked with interest.
Alan was optimistic. “In 13 seconds. 12, 11.. “
Garin marveled. “That’s quite the gestation.”
“It’s no jest, sir. But if you don’t believe your ears, then believe your eyes.” Alan stuck out his tongue and reached up under his shirt. “Hmmmmmmpppph!”
Out Alan popped from under his shirt a stuffed cartoon mouse. “He has his dad’s ears!”
Garin excused his intrusive inquiry. “Congratulations. Who’s the father? Since you recognize a resemblance.”
“None other than the King of Fr-r-r-rance!” Alan declared regally, rolling his R.
“Unless something dramatic has transpired over there having to do with the Cathars and Renaissance art, France has no king anymore,” Garin said in mock-confusion.
“Blast! He swore to me he was the King of France.” Alan pounded his fist into the back of Garin’s driver’s seat.
“Son, please. None of that matters now. We have a mouse to raise. What’s his name?” Garin drove, eager to know what his grand-mouse would be called by.
Alan, holding up his mouse like a newborn lion cub, said, “His name will be Quarter.”
Garin wondered, “As in Le Quartier Latin?”
Alan tossed the stuffed animal onto his little sister, waking her, “As in he’s cheap but still worth more than Penny.”
Penny groggily said, “You guys are so loud and dumb. You should name the mouse Chunklets. Chunklets Cheese.”
Lyrou, speaking through her daze, said, “Don’t make fun of names…” and she was back to lights out.
⚜
Afternoon Monday, September 2nd, 2024
With school starting back up soon, Lyrou took Penny out shopping store-to-store and had her try everything. On her sugar-powered feet, she tried chunky white sneakers with rainbow details, then slip-on glitter sneakers. “If I slide into school in these, I’ll be cooked. I hate these. I hate them both, Mom.” And they left the shoe store empty-handed, but then determined to fill bags with attire.
Penny tried on a “Space Explorer” graphic T-shirt with soft cotton fabric and vibrant space-themed designs, a tie-dye oversized hoodie in pastel rainbow colors with a cozy kangaroo pocket, and a pink “JERSEY CITY” crop top with a bold, urban font. “This is slaying.” Penny approved, and so the sour mood coming out of the shoe store dissipated.
She also looked at a plaid flannel shirt in red, black, and white checkers to wear open over a simple tee, and a long-sleeve “Unicorn Magic” graphic tee in white with a colorful print. For bottoms, she grabbed high-waisted, distressed, skinny jeans with subtle rips at the knees in a light wash, and then loose-fit, wide-legged jeans hitting just above the ankle for a vintage, relaxed look, and then black ripped jeans in a slightly oversized style with a laid-back vibe. A pair of color-block leggings in neon colors for athletic-inspired outfits, a corduroy A-line skirt in rust-orange looked cute with tights or leggings in cooler weather. She tried a tiered floral print dress, a boho-inspired smock dress in terracotta with puffed sleeves, and a denim pinafore dress layered over a red-white striped shirt. She tried on an oversized denim jacket with cool patches, a bright-colored puffer jacket with a faux fur hood for warmth, and an olive-green bomber jacket with sporty patches for a street style flair. She grabbed from the rack a pink cardigan that was perfect for layering over dresses or tops. With their cart full, they made their way back into the changing rooms one last time.
After waiting outside the door a short while, Lyrou helped herself into Penny’s changing room and knelt, tugging at the brim of Penny’s jeans to see that there was room to grow, asking her if she’d like to buy them… when Penny didn’t answer. Lyrou lifted her eyes to the mirror to see that Penny was staring liminally into the changing room aisle, her mouth fallen open.
Lyrou arched her back and craned her neck to find whatever it was that Penny was staring at. There stood two teenagers doing their fit checks, effulgent, smiling, and chatting, hip-to-hip checking themselves out in their own changing room mirror, “Are you freaking kidding me, cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”
One wore a black, cropped, fitted halter neck top with thin straps and such a wide chest keyhole that it revealed her flat, bare sternal cleft from suprasternal notch to xiphoid process. She paired it with high-waisted denim shorts so short that her under-cheeks burst out the frayed hem. The other teenager wore a grey-plaid skater miniskirt that could only ride up as she sat such that she’d be entirely thigh skin-to-seat, and a skintight, somewhat see-through yellow smiley face t-shirt that gave the full outline of her navel and bra beneath.
Lyrou smirked, meeting Penny’s eyes, her voice low. “You won’t dress tarty like that in high school, ma Pinny poupée, I’ll enroll you in an all-girls’ Catholic and send you off each morning in a uniform like my mother did for me, et ma mère a fait pareil pour moi, comme la sienne l’avait fait pour elle.”
Penny snapped to. “Huh?”
⚜
Evening Friday, September 13th, 2024
Lyrou didn’t go clubbing. It wasn’t her scene. But Paulo had texted and talked on the phone with her repeatedly asking her to come out to a place called Lucidità Sonica. She arrived in a rideshare and a red, silky number under a cropped black leather jacket and black heels, at a converted warehouse with a professionally done mural and graffiti-job that had been paid for by the owners.
There were plenty of people lined up to get in past the bouncers, but Paulo wasn’t there. Not outside waiting for her. She didn’t go far before mumbling to herself a profanity. Should she have to call him? She thought of grabbing another ride-share and ditching when a woman’s voice called out, “Lyrou?!” and she turned to see a pig-tailed, face-pierced, punk femme in high-top sneakers and fishnet stockings tepidly tap her shoulder with black fingernails, “I’m Ava. Come on! This way.”
Lyrou hesitated, “I recognize you… you’re, wait.”
Sliding through people and past security, Lyrou was hit with the smell of sweat and pot, and the rapid, loud, degraded beats of Krushclub. Ava couldn’t possibly hear Lyrou if she were to scream, so she just followed through the dancing bodies and flashing lights. Did she like this? The pulsating, the mist, and then the hit of pheromones and sight of open-shirted and shirtless praetorian men working it high out of their domes. She liked that.
As she listened to the music, Ava led her to a bar counter, and there Ava leaned in and said something into her ear. Lyrou had no clue, but she heard ‘Paulo’ in it. It occurred to her to ask a question, as she recognized not just Ava but the music, “Is this Paulo’s music?”
Ava laughed, pointing up and past Lyrou, “He’s DJ’ing.”
Lyrou looked and saw him in the distance, doing his… job? His art? Doing him. Aha, he didn’t want her to come and see him, not face-to-face, but to see his creation, not his face but these many faces. Here and now, his contribution was made to these people’s nights, these nights like this night they wouldn’t remember. Was he impressed by himself? Did he think she’d be impressed by him? She ordered a Blackberry Mule and chatted with Ava, while the wheels turned in her head. Paulo? Did Paulo seek validation? From Lyrou? Does he not know what he’s for? Does he break character, finally? Does he, in trying to win Lyrou’s approval, lose her fascination? How tragic that the idea of Paulo should die.
Ava leaned into Lyrou’s ear, “I’m in love with him. I’m in love with Paulo.”
Lyrou gently embraced her, their drinks held out and away not to spill on themselves, in her ear, “I’m not.”
⚜
Morning Saturday, September 14th, 2024
Lyrou woke the next day in a motel with the curtains closed but sun lighting the room through the interstices of the door and refracting off the mirror. Ava’s voice said, “Paulo is in the parking lot talking to some malandros.”
Lyrou blinked her eyes clear and came to, seeing Ava brush her hair out in a mirror, a towel around her body. “You went surfing to the moon.” Ava smirked.
Lyrou started understanding and was stunned. “Somebody put something in my drink?” she looked via the mirror at Ava.
Ava made eye contact with Lyrou by the mirror, but then turned to face her. “Who? Me? No. Don’t play.”
Lyrou’s memory came together in pieces. She looked around the room for anything to jog her brain. “What could it have been? Did I drink that much? This isn’t normal. Ma vie.”
“I bet you were on GHB or MDMA or ketamine,” Ava said, going to the bathroom and talking from there. “What do you remember?”
Lyrou tried. “We left, Paulo drove, and that’s it.”
Ava, reappearing now in a green camo t-shirt and panties before finding her jean shorts, said, “We landed in here. We double-teamed him. Then he talked to you for like an hour.”
Lyrou tried, but she remembered none of that. “What did he talk about?”
Suddenly Paulo burst through the door and went for his wallet and pocket knife on the nightstand, tucking them down his pants pockets, stopping to inform Lyrou point-blank, “You were kitty flipping,” and then back out the door.
Ava was concerned. “He has something going on out there. Pray it’s a nothing-burger.”
Lyrou took her phone from the same stand Paulo had just retrieved from, ordering a ride-share. “Should I see a doctor?”
Ava handed Lyrou her clothes as she put them on. “It leaves your system. I don’t know. Was that your first time?”
Lyrou nodded. “First? Like that? Oui.”
Gathering Lyrou’s shoes from two opposite sides of the room, Ava set them at her feet. “I hope you come out and chill with us again. It’s not always that over the top.”
Lyrou shrugged, stood, and went out, eyes squeezed shut, sensitive to the sun. She descended the stairs by shielding her brow with her hand, and then followed her rideshare app to where the GPS ping indicated her driver was waiting. Before she could get her seat belt on, her phone buzzed. “Yes, Pin-pin?”
Penny spoke as she chewed. “Coucou, maman, il fait jour.”
Lyrou’s heart warmed as her head spun and cracked. “Il fait jour. Qu’est-ce que tu manges?”
Penny lingua-lagging. “Uuuuuuuh… des œufs au plat. Are you at Reine’s house?”
Lyrou’s tone, excusing herself and loving, said, “I was, but now I’m coming home. Be ready for tennis. Will any girls come along?”
Penny, smacking her lips in the receiver and clinking her fork against her plate, said, “Oh yeah. Carla and… and probably Divya. I’ve got to go, see you soon,” and she hung up.
Between getting home, throwing on tennis-wear, picking up a neighborhood kid or two, getting them to the community sports center, swinging a racket, and enduring their loud little voices for the rest of the morning, Lyrou thought she might die dutifully.
⚜
Noon Thursday, September 19th, 2024
On special orders from Mel, Garin and Terry were on a private yacht to land a client, a CEO driving golf balls off into the sea. They’d just finished their pitch, and now the old, tanned, pearl-mouthed swashbuckler in Saville Row seersucker and sockless loafers took to the fly bridge, the two in tow walking and talking. There at the bar, his steward had mixed and ready for them three Negronis.
There were also three models in bikinis and sunglasses, lounging and laughing. Taking a sip and interrupting Terry before he could get a word out, the big man tapped his foot and raised his drink for a toast. “To bad girls who flash their tits!”
The models, without missing a beat, pulled down their bikini tops and let themselves out to the ocean wind. One did a little dancing twirl. “Here vee are!”
A grumbly laugh from the grey boy and an elbow into Terry and then Garin as they met his glass in toast, taking in the sight of this tatta-trio. “I can do that a thousand times and I’ll always double-take.”
Terry chuckled. “I almost fell back overboard.”
A last snicker, then sighing and looking out onto the waves and clouds, he said, “A man bites his tongue and crosses his fingers before his gal lets her breasts out for him to see the first time.”
“Mister Mammaries, breathe easy and return your fingers to their upright position. Our firm will pass your breast test.” Garin played in his seriousness.
The bear nodded, downing the last of his drink, his steward taking his glass. “Then we’ve got a deal.”
Garin nudged Terry in jest. “No, I mean it. Terry, show this gentleman your nipples.”
The girls and the boss cut up, now teasing Terry, a model in her Romanian accent. “Da, shrow us, vee vant to see!” and Terry unbuttoned his shirt while doing a male stripper step, knee and hip action, drink in hand, to a wide-smiling clap of the main man and the shrieks of his girls.
⚜
Afternoon Monday, October 4th, 2024
Garin was in his office when he got a knock on the door. “Yes? Come in.” And in walked Lyrou, presenting herself in a tight cashmere A-line midi skirt, a simple tight black cap-sleeved low-cut Henley, and black ballet pumps.
“Babe?” He stood to walk her to his office couch and sit beside her. “What’s this about?” he said, some worry in his voice.
Her heart thumped as she stepped into Garin’s office. She sat down on the couch, her legs crossed, her hands folded in her lap, her skirt hugging her curves. Looking for resentment, “I.. don’t…” She hesitated. “I just… I had to see you.” Her chest expanded with the effort to calm her nerves. Her scent would be comforting, but in this context, Garin found it alarming. “I’ve been thinking about us. And I know I’ve hurt you.” Her eyes pink, “But I want to make it right. I want to save our marriage.” She looked down into her lap, her hair obscuring her face. “If we call a stop to our arrangement, I’ll do it. I’ll end it, and we can just be for each other.”
Garin spoke low and deep, afraid somebody outside his office might pass by and overhear, “If you think I want a dedication of fidelity now, it’s impossible.”
“Impossible?” Her hands shook.
Garin smiled mercifully, “In my view, Lyrou, once a person commits the act with someone other than their spouse, that seal is broken, it’s done, and can’t be undone. That ship has sailed; there’s no reset button. That act is irrevocable, in my conception of marriage. Do you understand?”
“But we can try again.” Lyrou kept her gaze down.
“We carried an egg on our spoon, we tripped, it fell and broke.” Garin gestured as if holding and then dropping a spoon.
“And so that’s it.” A tear fell into Lyrou’s lap.
“No, that’s not it. Now we’re making our omelette.” Garin gently touched Lyrou’s knee, poking her patella.
Beginning to snicker sadly, she corrected his pronunciation, saying it very French: “An omelette?”
“A very hot ‘omelet’, spicy in parts, cheesy in parts. We’re making it together. What good was carrying around an egg if we weren’t going to make a meal of it anyway?” Garin lightly tapped her knee.
Her tears were threatening to spill over. “I understand.” Her voice was tight. “I can’t put into words how you… exist in my… what you are to me. I don’t have much purpose without you.” She leaned into him, her hand on her chest, feeling the beat of her heart beneath her palm. “I’ll do anything to make it right.”
“Make it right?” Garin consciously held himself from melting, as might’ve been his inclination; he thought to himself he was a new man in a new day, and he’d behave toward her anew.
Her hand paused on her chest, and she swallowed hard. The room grew quiet except for the faint hum of the office air conditioner. She nodded, “I’ll listen.”
“You were content to cheat on me all those years because you knew I was unwittingly loyal, never with another woman as you’d been with other men. And then, when I discovered this, you accepted that I’d also roam with others, if it meant I’d not divorce you or disallow your habits. I seemed so forgiving and accepting. You were pleased that our arrangement was possible; most spouses discovering such betrayal would react very badly, nothing like I did.” Garin summed it up cold and neat.
“Yes.” Lyrou nodded.
“You were able to handle the initial reciprocal act because the woman was nobody special who could run away with me, but a mere work acquaintance who was spoken for. You handled the next because you weren’t threatened by a working college girl with a zaddy kink and no long-term interest in your husband. But after a while, crying crocodile, by my spot adjusting, splash short, splash over, correcting my range & deflection, splash close, you began to falter when I paired with someone who had a deep connection and past with me, that we might rekindle. But you could endure that too because you must’ve then understood that I was getting a kind of closure with her and not a reopening.” Lyrou looked into his eyes as though Garin had hit the nail on the head.
“Yes, it was an ending, or I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.” Lyrou gave a painful nod.
“But, next came round four.” Garin leaned back, raising an eyebrow, wondering if she concurred.
Lyrou nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of his words. “I know, it was different.”
“It was different because this time was the first I really did what you’d done; to meet another without sharing a single detail. It’s scaring you that I met a woman, and that you know nothing about it. Now, you’re tasting what you fed me so many times that you lost count. Direct hit,” Garin said with some satisfaction.
His words hit her like tidal waves, overturning her, sinking her. The blood drained from her face as she realized the extent of his pain. She’d never considered back then that her actions would lead to this moment, where their roles had reversed, and she was the one craving for the truth.
“Garin.” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you like this.” She leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her face dead with the fear of losing him. “I didn’t know how to tell you, how to make it right. I thought if I kept it hidden, it would be like it never happened, like it just happened in one of my novels, not in our real life together.” Her grip on his hand tightened, her eyes reflective with unshed tears. “And I’ll do anything to make this right.”
“What do you want then?” Garin asked, knowing what she’d say before she said it.
“I need to know, I need to understand what you felt, who she was to you. It’s eating me up inside, not knowing.” She explained herself, blinking at the possibility he’d budge, he’d bend.
Garin stood firm. “Our rule this time was that we’d never tell each other, never. You kept to the rule, so must I.”
The desperation in Lyrou’s face was pitiful, the silence in the office suffocating. “Please, I need to know, Garin. It’s all I can focus on, not knowing who she was, what she meant to you. For my peace.” She swallowed hard, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “I know I hurt you,” she said, her eyes shimmering. “And I don’t want to keep doing it. If knowing about her will help me understand, help me be a better wife, then I need to know.” Her voice grew stronger, more insistent. “Please, tell me about her.”
Garin’s voice was low and steady, “I’ll never tell you about her. I want you to accept it.”
Desperation etched into every contorted line of her beautiful face. The rules of their arrangement had been clear, but the pain of not knowing was burning her insides like she’d drunk acid. “Please, Garin,” she begged, her fingers playing with the hem of her skirt nervously. “I need to know. No jealousy nor control, but understanding the hurt I’ve caused you. If I can share in that, maybe it’ll help heal us both. I want to know who she is, what she meant to you. It’s the only way I can start to make amends.” Her eyes smeared black with tears, and she leaned in closer, her breath warm against his face. “Please, tell me about her. Let me into your heart, just this once.”
“Lyrou, we’ll not do another round like that one, where you’re blind to mine, and I’m blind to yours. But that’s all I can say to make you feel better. You must never tell me about your last fling, and I must never tell you about my last fling.” Garin stroked Lyrou’s dark hair.
Lyrou’s body slackened; she thought how the rules had always been the rules. But the pain of the unknown was like a thorn in her finger that she couldn’t ignore. “OK,” she said, barely audible. She leaned in, her body pressing against his, seeking solace. “But I need something from you, something to help me through this.”
Garin kissed Lyrou’s forehead, his eyes looking over her, double-checking to see that his office door was locked. Her body responded to his kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as she deepened it. Her starving hunger to know about the woman he’d been with was a scream in her mind, but pushing him would only drive him further away. “I’m sorry.” And she raised on her toes to meet her lips against his, her eyes shutting. “I just want to be close to you, to feel like we’re OK.”
Garin read in those words she hadn’t truly given up, and so he decided then to give her the mercy of knowing it was hopeless. He kissed her neck, his erection bulging in his pants. “Ask me anything, Lyrou, just try.”
Hope flickered within her.
“I need to know–” Her voice was becoming loud enough that someone outside might hear. “Tell me if you relived through her what it was like when we first met. Or…” She stood up, her skirt falling to the floor, revealing her naked thighs. “Or was it a different world with her than with me?” She stood in a way that was almost shy, legs and feet together, her arms close and ever-moving in a diffidently failing attempt to cover her nakedness, “Let’s make love, and maybe… maybe it will help me understand.” She stepped closer to him, her hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt. “Please, Garin, tell me about her.”
Garin was statuesque, “She was my lover.”
Her heart dropped at his answer, her ears ready to hear more, but it was clear by the granite expression on his face that that was all she was going to get. The frustration grew within her, a burning need to understand, to know the details of his infidelity that mirrored her own or deviated from her misdeeds. With a sigh, she reached for him, her hand tracing the contours of his chest. “Is that really all you’re going to tell me?” she asked, her voice long and angry.
“You’re welcome to keep trying.” Garin posed indifferently.
His evasiveness made her body heat up even more. He was playing a game, but she’d play along. It was the only way she might get any piece of the puzzle that was driving her up the wall. Her eyes reflected her rising temper. She yanked off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, her hands shaking slightly with need. As she slid his cotton-blend fabric off his shoulders, her eyes roamed over his muscular chest, the scent of his cologne meeting the sweat from his workday. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his skin, “Was she like me? Was she as overly attached to you as I am?” She kissed his Adam’s apple, her lips brushing his stubbled skin. “Or was she different?” Her hands trailed down his stomach, her fingers tracing the lines of his abs. “Was she… better?” Her voice had a hint of anger, her nails digging in. His body responded to her touch, his cock growing hard against her stomach. “Tell me, tell me anything about her.”
“Lyrou, look how much you want me, now that I have this mystery locked inside. Are you sure that you wouldn’t rather it remain a secret forever? What if there’s something that would be painful to hear? Or what if it’s so boring and you’re disappointed to find such a little mouse where you expected to reveal a big, terrible lion?” Garin reasoned, his hands holding Lyrou about her waist, she undid his pants and released him from his briefs.
“This woman has claimed a piece of the man I thought only I owned, hasn’t she?” She straddled him, her wetness coating his cock as she slid it inside her. Her hips began to rock, a slow, deliberate motion designed to both drive him wild and to coax out his secrets. “Please, tell me something. Anything.” Her nails dug into his shoulders. “What was she like?”
Garin’s face became animated, to receive this pleasure from Lyrou, but also to reminisce on his last fling. “Honey, I think I’ll piss you off if I keep giving vague answers. She was a woman and we had sex. It won’t kill you not to know. There were so many times you had that I never knew, and yet here I am still breathing. You can withstand one, just one in return for your many.”
“But why not a little sharing, ma vie?” her hips moving faster now, grinding against him. “Why won’t you tell me a little?” Her voice incredulous, she held her breath as his cock swelled inside her, his grip on her hips tightening. “Is it because she meant something to you?”, looking for affection or attachment to the unnamed woman. “Or is it because you enjoyed her more than you ever have with me?” His office was filled with the sound of their bodies slapping together.
“It could be so that I made a connection with her, or that it was such wonderful sex, or I’m just embarrassed that it was the worst and most awkward quick botched romance a man might’ve tumbled through. It may be that she was gorgeous or quite ugly. It might be so that we shared many laughs and sympathetic moments, or she was a professional I paid impersonally and told to leave immediately afterward. You’ll never know Lyrou. Accept it.” Garin made his point as his breath became labored, the force he was putting into Lyrou.
The frustration of his evasiveness was now morphing into a strange pleasure-by-denial for Lyrou. The mystery of his last fling was like a forbidden pomegranate, and she found herself hungering it more with each second. Her hips moved faster, grinding against him, her walls tightened around him. She leaned in closer, her breasts pressing against his chest, her breath hot in his ear. “Tell me. Please, just one detail.” But his silence was like a whip, driving her desire higher. The misery of not knowing was a strong aphrodisiac. So then this was his way of making her feel what he’d felt upon learning of all those times she’d come to him, her eyes glazed with secrets she’d never share. On the edge of climax, she shouted, “OK, Garin. I’ll accept it! Putain!” Her voice was thick with submission. “I’ll accept that I’ll never know.” And with that, she threw her head back, her body convulsing around his cock, she pulled from him, falling back onto his desk, knocking over a tray of stationery, an ink pad tipped over open, a clipboard went bouncing off, and she came, “Aaaooh-mmmmmmm-mm-mm-mm”
Proud of Lyrou’s implosion, Garin began to devour her breasts, pulling her in tight as she came down from her orgasm. Her body still quivering, she said, “I want to know. But I admit that I can’t. It’s… It’s the price I have to pay for what I’ve done.” A hint of resentment with love. “I just want us to be OK, Garin.”
“Tell me you love me, even though you’ll never know.” Garin seized Lyrou by her arms, stroking them to her shoulders.
The bluntness of his words produced a dull ache in her chest. “I love you, Garin.” Her voice filled with a blend of love and resentment. “I love you, even if it means living with this unanswered question.” She leaned in, her breasts pressing against his face, and she kissed all about his hair.
“Are you going to ask me again about her?” Garin interrogated, muffled mouth pressed to her bosom.
The longing was still present but tempered by a newfound resolve. “No, no. I won’t ask again.” She leaned back, her legs straddling him, her breasts bouncing gently with each breath she took. “I want us to move forward. Move forward, and brush this unknown lover under the rug… always there but unacknowledged. I want us to move forward,” she said. “But I need to know that you won’t keep secrets from me again, that what we have is more.” She closed her eyes and nuzzled into his neck. “Can you promise me that, Garin?” Her hand reached for his, her fingers interlocking with his. “Can we rebuild our trust, together?” She could bear no further negatory responses from his lips. This was her limit; he had to find here a point of convergence, or they would fly past each other and off into the freezing darkness of limitless space.
Garin nodded readily, “No secrets but those we agree to first. I promise. Make me cum, Lyrou. Ride me.”
The weight of his promise sinking in, she kissed him deeply, her tongue dancing around his. Her hips began to move again, her wetness coating his cock as she rode him with a newfound fervor. Her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving half-moon marks on his skin. His cock swelled inside her, his breath hot against her neck as he breathed on her ear. Each thrust was an apology for the hurt they’d caused each other. Her eyes locked with his, “I’ll never keep a secret again, I promise.” The words were a vow, and she hoped with every fiber of her being that she could keep it. His cock pulsed, and he was close. With a final, desperate push, she sent him over the edge, their bodies shaking.
⚜
