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Designed Intent

Chapter 42

Late Saturday Afternoon

"Ow! Jesus!" Bobby said aloud in the shower, wincing and scrunching up his shoulders, jerking away from the streams. Gleason had raked open lines across his back when she came as they made love. The hot water beating on his back stung like crazy in the open skin.

He finished quickly and dressed in clean clothes. He could not remember being this hungry. Gleason was dishing his warm-from-the-microwave dinner from the restaurant. She opened the last bottle of Silver Birch and planned to finish it.

"I am starving," he said coming around the corner into the kitchen. Gleason didn't even look up.

"Well, here it is. Sit and eat whilst it is hot. I'm going to shower."

"Aren't you going to eat with me?"

"No, I stink." With that, she headed toward the bathroom.

Bobby was starved, but suddenly not hungry. He put her food on a dish and set it in the microwave. He saw that she had opened the last bottle of wine and he poured her a glass. He poured orange juice for himself, drained it and poured another. Her dinner dinged and he heard the shower stop. Good, she won't be long.

"You didn't eat?" she asked. Damp curls framed her face as the rest of her wild locks billowed behind her stretchy headband. God she is beautiful, he thought.

"I want to eat with you."

"Well, eat."

"Are you upset with me?"

Gleason ignored him, speared a piece of broccoli from her plate and popped it into her mouth. Then she looked at him. "Eat," she said around the food in her mouth.

Bobby felt the anger flare, but he quenched it just as quickly. He took a bite of meat and was famished. They ate in silence.

After cleaning the kitchen, again in silence, Bobby said, "Let's do something. Go to a movie or something."

"Why?" she asked.

"Why? Gleason, you're home. Let's do something. Let's go out. I want to be with you. I want to walk with you. I want us to talk."

Gleason knew perfectly well she could make his life miserable. She could use his infidelity as a weapon to punish him. She stood at a crossroads – be a bitch or be his lover.

"Let's get ice cream."

Bobby exhaled and smiled, reaching for her.

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They made love again that night, or maybe they had sex – depending on who you asked. They had never sixty-nined before and Bobby loved it. He nearly came in her mouth, pulling out and moving aside at the last second, shooting cum onto her neck and shoulder, into her hair. He wanted to come in her mouth; back in the academy, Madelyn had let him do that; but then, Madelyn let anyone do anything to her – just ask Sledge.

Gleason did not come, however; she didn't like this position, she felt trapped, forced. After he came and crawled off her, he knew she wasn't satisfied, so Bobby fingered her to climax; she was quick and quiet in her orgasm. "Honey, why didn't you come?" he asked her afterward.

"I don't know."

"Wasn't it good?"

"Yes, Bobby, it was good. Please, let it go. It's all right." She turned over and pulled up the sheet, coverlet and her throw. She tried to scoot away from him, but he wrapped himself around her.

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Sunday Morning

Gleason was up and out of bed before Bobby. She washed, dressed and made a big Sunday breakfast. She returned to the bedroom to rouse him. He was asleep on his back, head tilted toward the left in the way he does. His left hand lay on the pillow, open beside his head. The fingertips of his right hand rested on his chest.

She watched him sleep, drawing deep, slow breaths though his partially open lips. His hair was so curly before he brushed it flat each morning. He hadn't shaved since Friday and sported the start of a real beard. He looked so innocent, vulnerable. She loved this man.

Gleason knelt on the floor beside him. Carefully, she slipped her hand under the sheet at his right hip. Slowly, carefully, she felt for him, his crotch was hot and moist. Gently as touching a baby bird, she placed her fingertips on his flaccid length. Even at rest, he was long and thick; her mouth watered. She stroked lightly, barely touching him.

Bobby sighed deeply and moved his hips, opening his legs, but he did not waken. Gleason stared at his face. Ever so lightly, she slid her fingers under his thickness. Bobby's head turned to the right and the fingers of his open hand curled closed. Gleason smiled.

She lifted his cock slightly and it lay across her fingers. Its weight surprised her; she gently stroked the top with her thumb and felt him begin to swell. This was fun.

Bobby shifted again and uttered a quiet moan. He sighed and lengthened more, hardening quickly. Another soft groan issued from his lips. His breathing quickened. Gleason was surprised he hadn't awakened. Of course, he was exhausted from the two calls out and the emotional strain of yesterday's . . . everything.

He was nearly erect and shifted one more time, uttering a long, deep groan, and his hips began to move slightly as though sliding in and out of her. He grunted and his right hand moved slowly down from his chest and then he grabbed her wrist with, "You better be ready to finish what you start!"

Gleason squealed and fell back, laughing. Bobby held tight to her wrist and pulled her toward him. "What are you doing with my goods?" he asked smiling hugely.

"Playing," she answered, returning his smile. "When did you wake up?"

He looked deep into her eyes, saw into her soul and knew they would be all right. "When you first got out of bed," he said softly and then pulled her close and kissed her deeply.

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"We should go see your mother today."

"Let's go see her and then stop at that place on the way back."

"What place?"

"You know, that place, where all the little shops are. You know."

"Oh, you mean Churchill? Why do you want to stop there?"

"It will be something to do. I want us to do things, Sweetheart."

Gleason looked at him and saw goodness.

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"Hi, Mom."

Mrs. Goren looked up, "Oh, oh, you're here. Bobby, Gleason! Thank God you are here." She struggled to her feet and Bobby was at her elbow in a second. "Come, sit, sit. I have to tell you something."

Bobby arranged the two other chairs and the couple sat. "What's wrong, Mom?"

"Oh, Bobby, it's Christian. Gleason, I am so worried." Frances wrung her hands and Bobby worried about her rising anxiety.

"What about him? Take it easy, Mom, tell me what's wrong."

"He's gone."

Neither Bobby nor Gleason said anything. Finally, Gleason asked, "Why do you say he's gone?"

"Because he's not been around! What a foolish question!" she shot Gleason a dark look, tsk-tsked, and shook her head.

Gleason sat back in surprise and Bobby reached for her hand, gave it a squeeze and said, "When did you talk with him last?"

"I don't know, last week sometime. Say, did they knock me out? Seems there's a gap or something in my mind. Did they?"

"Uh, yeah, Mom, for a day or two."

"Why the hell did you let them do that? Bobby, I need to be awake and aware. These people are sneaky. You need to come and visit more. I wish your brother wasn't so busy. He'd come and look after me. Frank would make sure these people weren't ripping me off." Then, to Gleason she added, "Frank's the smart one, you know, a scientist; busy making medicines and whatnot."

Bobby slouched back in his chair and put the fingers of his right hand over his lips. It was Gleason's turn to squeeze his hand.

The three sat quietly for several minutes. Christian stood by the drapes. He was tired and wanted to lie down, but his daddy and mommy were here. He wished they could see him, hear him. He didn't know what to do to stop from fading more; maybe they could tell him what to do. Slowly he walked to his daddy's side. He wished he could sit on his daddy's lap and his daddy would read to him. Gramma tried to read one of the stories, but she fell asleep. The little boy walked over to the stack of books on the small table and ran his hand over the one on top.

"Have you read any of the books, Mom?" Bobby asked, trying to change the subject.

"Huh? Oh, the books; yeah, I started that Dr. Seuss one you always liked, the one about the fish. I guess I fell asleep or something. I don't know."

"You mentioned you got some books," Gleason said smiling, "which ones?" She stood and retrieved the stack from the table. Christian watched his mommy take them to her chair. "Oh, this one! I remember this one from the convent where they took us from the island. I haven't thought of this book forever!" Her face lit up and she began to read aloud.

Christian listened as his mommy read and crossed to her. He leaned on the arm of her chair and looked up at her face, watching her eyes move across the print, her lips form the words and her voice calmed him. She smelled like that toast Gramma liked, the kind with the white frosting on the top edge. He glanced at his daddy; he was watching her, too. Christian looked over at Gramma – she was watching his mommy as well. Christian looked back up into his mommy's face and he felt safe. She would have loved me, he thought.

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