A Whole New World

Her previously happy face fell a little, and I knew I'd said something wrong.

She sighed, "Sure, except I can never have children."

I winced, "Shit, I'm sorry."

She shook her head, waving it off, "There's no way you could know something like that." As we reached the porch, she explained, "The doctor said it was some little infection, but somehow it messed me up enough so I don't produce the eggs."

I felt like a jack-ass. I waited as she opened the door. I noticed that she hadn't needed to unlock it first. Coming from a small town myself, I knew it to be common practice, that apparent disregard of security. It just wasn't necessary as in the larger towns and cities. She led the way inside, flipping a few lights on, showing a nicely decorated sitting room off to the left, a set of stairs leading to the second floor, and a dining room to the right. She shrugged off her parka, hung it from the coat tree next to the door, and messed with a small thermostat on the wall to the left. I could hear the heat click on, and warm air was expelled from a vent just above my head. Clara grabbed my hand and led me into the sitting room, where she motioned for me to sit on the overstuffed sofa across from the large television set on a stand.

"Just sit tight," she instructed, "I'll make some hot chocolate to warm us up."

She disappeared down the small hall next to the stairs before I could say anything. While she was gone, I looked around at hundreds of pictures that were displayed in multi-matted frames on the walls. I stood up and took a close look, a smile tugging at my lips. On one picture, a little girl in pigtails and a smile that showed a few of her baby teeth to be absent, this was undeniably Clara as a child. In the picture, she stood in front of a woman who was Clara, but as she might be about five years from now, so this was her mother. Next to her mother stood a lanky man with gangly features, a receding hairline, and a winning smile. Something about the man picked at my memory, but before I could recall anything, Clara appeared behind me.

"Here you go," she interrupted my train of thought, holding out a mug of steaming hot chocolate. At the surface rested five or six small marshmallows which were melting slowly. I took the mug, feeling the heat of the mug warming my hands considerably.

"There should be some movies on TV if you're interested," she suggested.

"Absolutely, that's a great idea."

She picked up a remote and turned the television on. After flipping through a few channels, she stopped on the opening scene of a very familiar movie, Forrest Gump. Like many movies I'd seen more than once, I could recognize the movie upon hearing a line or seeing five or six seconds of it. I sipped my hot chocolate, trying and failing to burn my tongue with the scalding liquid. I hissed, and Clara looked at me.

"Careful, it's hot," she grinned.

"Oh, you're a fortune teller, huh?"

She laughed, "My crystal ball is in my closet."

We settled back and watched the movie, seeing one of many scenes, this one of Forrest Gump sitting uncomfortably straight on a bench with a box of chocolates in his lap, waiting for a bus.

Not bothering with self-consciousness or the uncomfortable silence that plagues many situations, Clara curled her feet up next to her and leaned up against me, her warmth as considerable as the hot mug in my hands. Unlike the mug, however, her warmth was profoundly more comfortable, and very much needed. I realized that, once my heart had calmed a little, I could feel her heart beat through her arm, a very steady pulse without the burden of nervousness. Indeed, there wasn't, just that comfort, as if we'd known each other for years. Very strange, I thought to myself, but although it seemed unusual, it also seemed so…familiar was the word that came to mind, but later, I found that it was more as if I… belonged here, right here with her, nowhere else.

As Forrest engaged in a one-sided conversation with a black nurse who had sat next to him on the bench, my mind was very far from this movie. My arm had found its way around her, and I set my mug on the small side table next to the sofa. Clara settled happily into my arms, her head on the nook between my arm and my chest as she watched the movie. Familiar, I thought again, this time about the man in the picture, who appeared to be Clara's late father. The winning smile, the receding hairline, it all just seemed so familiar, like I'd met him before, or had seen him somewhere. As to where or when, I had no idea, but it plucked at me. I felt her suddenly look up at me, perhaps seeing the faraway look in my eyes.

"If you want, we can watch another movie."

I snapped back to reality, "Huh? Oh, no, I like this movie."

With a half-smile, "Oh, I see. So the more you daydream, the better the movie is, right?"

I laughed, "No, it's just that something's caught in my mind, and it's a bit distracting."

"Really? Like what?"

For some reason I didn't know, I didn't want to tell her why her late father seemed so familiar to me. Instead, I confessed, "Well, it's just that with you there's none of that discomfort that is usually there with two people who barely know each other."

"Is that bad?"

"No," I smiled, "It's actually great. I'm not trying to sound…corny, or creepy or anything like that…but it's as if I…um…as if I belong here, right here, with you."

She smiled back and replied cryptically, "Maybe you do belong here."

Something in the way she'd said that made me ask, "What does that mean?"

As if realizing what she'd said, she quickly changed the subject, "Are you sure you want to watch this movie. I'm sure there are some other movies on."

I wanted some elaboration on what she'd said, but instead I allowed her to change the subject, "No, this movie's just fine."

She shrugged, and we both fell silent, watching as Forrest told about the first time he'd heard the sweetest voice. I caught myself sneaking peaks down at her face every so often, amazed to find myself so drawn to her, especially after my fiasco of a relationship with Brenda. But suddenly Brenda was the furthest thing from my mind, her fake pregnancy, her attempts to get me back, none of it mattered at this point, as I was currently sitting on a sofa in a very nice house in a small town in which I'd never been before, nice and cozy with a woman I'd only met hours ago. It was if the rubble of my past relationship was just an insignificant event leading right to this moment, and the irony of it wasn't lost on me; one of the most devastating times in my life had led me to where I was at this moment, with Clara, who had picked me up even though she didn't know me, who had brought me to her home, still not knowing that much about me, and was now curled up against me as if we were long-time lovers instead of new acquaintances.

Before I realized it, on the television, Forrest was already engaged in a new and entirely different conversation, one between him and the grave at his feet, the grave of Jenny, one of the most emotional scenes in the movie. I have to admit, it's one of those scenes that can get even me all teary-eyed. As I snuck yet another glimpse at Clara, I saw that this scene affected her in much the same way. Tears stood in her eyes as Forrest conversed at the grave of his late wife, coming loose and tracing down her cheeks as Forrest himself broke down in tears. Once the feather that had floated in the wind at the beginning of the movie made its second appearance to end it, Clara wiped her eyes and sat up, the void left by her warmth very felt by me.

"I love that movie," she laughed.

I agreed, "Me, too. This would make the fourth time I've seen it."

She looked over at me, "This time doesn't count."

"Why is that?"

"Because you spent most of it either daydreaming or looking at me." Upon seeing my blink of amazement, she added, "Oh, I noticed. In fact, your balance is at three fifty by now. And don't tell me that it has anything to do with my eyes."

I started laughing, and she caught it as well, laughing along with me. It took a minute to catch my breath, and I admitted, "Okay, it's not just your eyes. I keep thinking of the irony between everything that happened at college and everything that's followed. If Brenda hadn't resorted to what she did, I'd still be at college and miserable with her, and I wouldn't agreed to go hunting with my friends, which means I wouldn't have met you."

Before I could say another word, she leaned forward and kissed me, her lips quite pliant against mine, warm, inviting. I took the invitation and kissed her back, my hand sliding along her cheekbone. For more than a minute we kissed, our lips parting to allow the acquainting of our tongues with one another, and when she pulled back suddenly, we were both breathless. Instead of blushing at her boldness, she simply stared into my eyes to gauge my response.

I breathed out a barely audible, "Wow!"

She smiled confidently, "My sentiments exactly. I can see why Brenda was so desperate to keep you."

I felt a little embarrassed by her remark, and my faced reddened a little. It seemed to please her. She leaned forward and kissed me again, and my arms slipped around her, pulling her close, her body warm and firm against mine. My fingers slipped through her hair, so thick and smooth. I could feel the intensity of her needs in her kiss and the heat that radiated from her, invoking a similar response from my body that matched those needs with my own. Though I was consumed in the moment with Clara, I couldn't help but think, this is the heat that was missing from Brenda. And it was true. This intensity, this need, it was something that I'd never felt with Brenda. I could only feel that desperation with her, as if she was drowning and I was the life preserver. Maybe it had been fine for a while, but it quickly grew confining, until the thought of being in Brenda's arms was similar to being trapped in a small coffin. I let go of these thoughts, because I had neither the desire nor the ability to hold onto them. Here I was with a woman who was everything for me that Brenda could never be.

The heat of Clara against me seemed to intensify with her body pressed so insistently to mine until I wondered if we'd simply catch fire. I finally broke the kiss only to press my lips against her neck, smelling a faint, coconut, perhaps from a body wash or spray. I inhaled the sweet scent as my kiss unleashed a purr from her throat, and her fingers found their way into my hair. I moved my lips down her neck until they reached her collarbone just above her sweater collar.

"Oh God," she whispered harshly, "I'm burning up!"

I leaned back and lifted up the bottom of her sweater, taking in her creamy-milk color, her almost flat stomach, the slight outline of her ribs, her pink bra, generous cleavage, and then up and off her sweater went.

"Believe me, it's not just that kind of heat," she laughed, still a bit out of breath.

"I know."

I kissed along her collarbone, to the center, and down into her cleavage, still smelling the scent of coconut. She quickly reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. I helped her out of it, and took in the sight of her breasts, the same creamy-milk color, with some indentations around them outlining where her bra had just been, and silver-dollar sized, pale-pink areolas and pencil eraser-shaped, very erect nipples.

She gasped as I captured a nipple in my mouth, my tongue tasting, my teeth lightly scraping it. Her hands pulled my head against her breasts, and I obliged happily, teasing away, first one nipple, then the other, making sure to pay equal attention to both. Then I stopped to kiss her lips again, and the intensity there had tripled, her tongue quicker and more insistent than before. I had to admit that her need aroused me greatly, and the evidence of this was evident in the painful bulge at the zipper of my jeans. When she pulled away, it was to relieve me of my shirt, just short of ripping it off me, and she kissed my bared chest, her hands deftly unbuckling my belt and unbuttoning my jeans. Her mouth was hot against my chest, and it was clear where the path would lead once she had unzipped my jeans, down my chest to my stomach, and then to my severely swollen member as she revealed it from my boxers. Her hands were hot on my already hot flesh as she wrapped her fingers around it, feeling its smoothness and the underlying firmness, the veins criss-crossing along its length.

She stroked up and down it once, twice, and then brought her lips to it, barely grazing the flesh, causing it to jump in her hand. Again and again, her lips barely made contact with it, and each time it would jump. Then her lips moved up towards the head, which was far more sensitive, and her lips encircled the head, just barely past the tip. I felt her tongue as it flicked across the tip, and then circle the head slowly. For about ten seconds her tongue tantalized the sensitive head, and then she slowly brought more of the head into her mouth, until her lips rested just past it, and her tongue never ceased to circle. Her hand let go of my length to push my jeans and boxers down my legs before scraping back up my thighs lightly with her fingernails. She brought a little more of me into her mouth, agonizingly slow, enjoying my gasps of pleasure.

When she had reached half my length, she stopped and reversed back to my head before again changing direction, still moving slowly. For a minute, it went like that, from the head, and back to halfway, and then on the next approach, she pulled a little more into her mouth, and then a little more, a bit more at a time, until the tip hit the back of her mouth, right at her throat, and without hesitating, went deeper until the head rested in her throat, and her lips were at the base of my member. From then on, as she moved me in and out of her mouth, still slowly, it was from the head to the base. I'd never had any girl do this to me, although a couple had tried, only to find herself gagging at it. Clara didn't once hesitate, apparently aware of her limits.

Her speed began gradually to increase, and then she was bringing me close. As if she could feel it, which maybe she could, she stopped before I'd passed my limit, and stood up abruptly, facing me as I sat on the sofa, my breath ragged in my throat. I moved my hands up her legs, her outer thighs, and to her waist. From there to the middle I went, and then undid her pants, pushing them down, exposing a matching, pink pair of bikini-cut panties. I could more easily see the delicious curve of her hips, her firm, toned legs. I drank in the view of her beauty for a few seconds before planting some light kissed along her stomach, my hands reaching behind her to cup her perfectly ample butt. I pulled her towards me until she straddled my lap, and she pressed enticingly against my erection, cradling it against the junction of her thighs, separated from her own sensitive flesh by the fabric of her panties.

Because I wanted to pleasure her, and because just the contact of her against my erection was getting me perilously close, I moved her off me and onto the sofa. From there, I slid her panties down, and she lifted off the sofa a bit to help. She had shaved all but a small patch of her dark brown pubic hair, a small, trimmed triangle remaining. She knew what I wanted to do, and her legs spread to allow me access. I instead teased her, running my lips along the most sensitive spots of her inner thighs, my fingers brushing across her triangle. Her butt lifted slightly off the sofa again, this time letting me know exactly what my destination was, and informing me that I'd better reach that destination quickly before I drove her crazy with my teasing. I made my way, loving how soft the skin of her inner thighs was against my lips, and reached the delicious heat nestled at the center. I stroked up and down that center, as softly as my trembling fingers could manage, and parted her, the pink moistness of her very visible. Lightly, I touched my lips to that flesh, causing her to inhale loudly, and again she lifted a little off the sofa. Again, my lips touched her, and then a little harder before allowing my tongue freedom to explore.

The alluring scent of coconuts was all but forgotten as I registered a far more irresistible aroma of her sex, so intoxicating that it easily trumped the previous fragrance. My tongue moved over her inner lips, up to the top to greet her clitoris, how do you do, and then back down to part her inner lips and taste the source of the irresistible scent. Unable to tease any longer, I used whatever I had learned from previous relationships (not my last one, as Brenda infuriatingly refused my mouth access to that), and Clara surprisingly reached climax only a minute later, gasping, her thighs pressing the sides of my head, her hands pulling my face against her. Unable to help myself, I eagerly lapped up the results of her climax, not deigning to waste a bit of it.

As she relaxed, she pulled me up to face her, and her mouth was against mine, her intensity again increased, but this kiss only lasted a few seconds. I was poised over her, and that was where I apparently needed to be. She grasped my erection and insistently guided it where she wanted it. Then, with her hands, she pulled at my hips, pushing my length into her wetness, inside of her, until my entire length rested within her soft, liquid heat. Not needing anymore guidance, I moved within her, and her legs moved up and around my waist, pulling me deeper inside her. She moved with me, matching me rhythm for rhythm, her hands on my back, her lips on my neck, her breath as hot on my neck as the heat that enveloped my erection. Then, she only looked at me, the pleasure visible in her eyes as they locked on mine. I could see forever in her eyes, those milk-chocolate eyes, and for an interminable amount of time, I was lost in her eyes as I thrust slowly inside her, the sensations coursing through me like a tempest, just short of overwhelming. Our rhythm gradually grew quicker, and when the heat was just short of all-consuming, her legs locked around me, her breath ceased for four, five, six seconds, and then her breath flew from her lips in a cry. She gripped my length inside her as the orgasms shook throughout her body, and the tightness of her sent me into my own climax. Ropy threads of my seed flew, instantly captured within her, more and more, until only a few small spasms remained. My tense muscles relaxed, and her legs disengaged from around my waist.

For more than a few minutes, neither of us moved an inch, except for my slowly withering erection as it withdrew from her. As our breaths calmed, and our hearts settled down, she finally broke the silence.

"My body's still shaking a little."

I nodded, "Mine is too."

I finally moved from her, more than a little reluctantly, and as I sat next to her, my eyes happened upon the picture of her as a child with her parents. Her father, lanky, receding hairline, winning smile. Then something clicked in my mind. I had seen the same man, a little different from the picture, bald now, but otherwise the same. At the bar earlier tonight, the bartender, Hank, was the guy. But that made no sense. If the man tending the bar was her father, then he was not dead as Clara had said earlier. What would she gain by lying about her parents being dead? It ruined the buzz I'd gotten from only minutes ago, and made me instantly suspicious. What was going on here?

I then realized that Clara was watching me, and had been for a minute as I stared at the picture. I managed, "Should I start charging you for looking at me, now?"

"Something's wrong," she replied, "You have this funny look on your face."

My mind still in overdrive, I joked, "No, this is the way I normally look."