The virgin (part five)
when he gets back, she is not there, which is strange for the time of day. he walks around the house, twice. she has taken the rocking horse though and so must have read the note. he sees little point in hanging around.
she sits on the cold faux-marble floor, heartbroken for most of the afternoon, rejecting any offers of comfort or assistance with snarls and fuck offs, she even spits at one woman, who tells her that it could be worse. eventually a security guard helps her to her feet, sits her down on a hard, shiny, brightly coloured plastic chair and fetches her a glass of water.
he is about to leave, head back to the airport and book a hotel for the night, when he hears the unmistakable sound of her badly tuned mini rounding the corner. his heart misses a beat and feelings he does recognise drill through his veins. he wants to run and hide. in all his days of soldiering, he has never felt so scared as he does right now. no fire-fight, no sniper, no i.e.d. has ever made him feel as lost and small as he does now.
she stomps through the house, flinging her coat and bag onto the floor, spilling the bag’s contents and not caring. then she sits on the steps of the veranda and tries not to think of anything at all. it is impossible. there are a pair of feet sticking out from under her garden bench. they look like his. she calls his name and he crawls out sheepishly. she walks up to him, trembling slightly, places her hand gently on the side of his face with the scar and kisses him. no words are shared between them, none are needed.
inside they kiss over and over gazing into each other’s eyes in between. she pushes him backwards onto the couch and straddles him. he stares like a little boy in a candy store at her breasts as she pulls off her top. “touch them.” she smiles and he takes one in each hand, unsure almost of what to do. she can feel him growing inside his pants though. “touch them properly” she giggles and pushes them into his face and he lets go of his fears and smothers her with kisses and tiny little bites, his hands a swarm of thirsty fingers, covering her torso and neck. she pulls open his pants and takes hold of him, he is hard and perfectly proportioned and taught as a guitar string, she honestly thinks that if she twanged it she would get a note from it. she leaps off him and kneels before him, pulling off his pants and boxers and taking him into her mouth. he lets out deep, beautiful, primal moans.
she stops and looks at him “you wanna fuck me then soldier boy?” she grins wickedly. he looks a little shocked at hearing her use such language but thrilled too. all he can do is nod over-enthusiastically. she lays on the floor, spreads her legs and beckons him in with her eyes. she guides him with her fingers almost melting as he fills her. she had imagined he would blow almost immediately but he does not, he fucks her with long, hard, powerful thrusts, pulling her onto him as hard as he plunges himself into her. they come together, many minutes later, and it seems to last forever. he fills her over and over in long thick pulses. “my god!” she exclaims, “you could fill a bathtub with that thing!” he looks at her disapprovingly but she can see the smile behind his glare and they both break into a fit of giggling and roll around on the floor together.
he is up and ready almost instantly and they fuck long into the night before they take a break and even then they are wet and hard and continue to touch and stroke each other. she shows him how to touch a woman, how to stimulate her clit and g-spot at the same time, how to go down on a woman and how to enter her without her help; he is an eager and willing student and a fast learner. she kisses his scar, tells him he is beautiful, not ugly at all and kisses it again. she pretends not to see his tears. they bathe in each other and drink each other. they exhaust each other, and she falls in love with him all over again, when she turns and offers him her ass and he says he’d rather not.
her kids are at their father’s and they spend the whole weekend in each other’s arms and loins and hearts. by the time the children return, three days later, she has lost as many pounds.
many decades later, after their funeral, three of their sons stand in the old house amongst the collection of rocking horses, one for every child and one for every grandchild, and one for a great-grandchild. they weep and hold each other and remember.