Intentional End

Chapter 20

Early Sunday Morning

October 14

Bobby woke having to pee. He sat up off the sofa and his glass rolled off his chest onto the floor. He had had only one drink and fell asleep before he could have another. He set the glass on the end table, put his hands on his knees and stood up. Then he heard her.

"Gleason? Honey, are you all right?" He bent over her sitting on the floor in front of the toilet, and she heaved again. Bobby reached over her for a length of toilet paper; she took it and wiped her mouth. He flushed and wet a washer cloth, wiping her face. "Can you stand up?" She shook her head and heaved again. "Oh, Baby," he whispered sadly.

Finally, the heaves ended and he helped her up. She leaned on the sink and he held her arms; she shivered. "I need to brush my teeth," she whispered hoarsely. He prepared her toothbrush and she took it, brushing lamely. She rinsed her mouth and turned toward the bedroom. "I need to lie down," she still hadn't looked at him. He walked behind her to the bed and helped her in, covering her.

Three minutes later, he climbed in beside her. Gleason snuggled up and curled into him and he held her close. Neither spoke. Eventually, she fell asleep and then he did.

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He woke and glanced at the clock, five-seventeen, then turned over and she wasn't there. Bobby's feet hit the floor and he pulled on his shorts; she wasn't in the bathroom, he found her sitting on the sofa, rocking.

"Honey?" he asked softly. She continued to rock, her green throw around her shoulders. He crossed in front of her and sat beside her, pushing her hair off her shoulder and placing his hand on her neck. "Glea-?"

She shuddered a sigh and looked at him. "Something is wrong with me, Bobby." He waited, knowing more was coming. She looked away and continued, "I, I can't remember things. I'm so cold all the time. I do things to upset you. I get . . . so afraid, but I don't know what I'm afraid of. I'm hungry all the time; I just want bread, though, with lots of butter." She was quiet a moment and then continued softly, "I ate a lot of bread when I was, when – last year." She looked at him and their silent stares said everything. "I have to go back today." She felt him tense and repeated, "I have to, Bobby. I do, it's all arranged."

"What do you mean, 'it's all arranged'? What's arranged?"

He watched her think and then she said, "I have a ticket, an electronic ticket, Metro-Air flight 631 at two o'clock to O'Hare. I have to go back today." She turned to face him, "You cannot come with me. You have to stay here. I have to go by myself."

"No, no, I don't think you are well enough to go."

"I have to go, Bobby! I have to! They said I have to be back by Sunday night. I have to be back."

He felt her anxiety rise and debated whether to continue, "Who told you? Gleason, who told you?"

She started to say something and then stopped, "I, I can't – I can't tell you. I – don't know. What time is it?" She went to stand, but Bobby held onto her.

"Gleason, who told you that you had to be back by tonight?"

She jerked out of his grip, stood and turned, ready to scream at him; but she didn't. She closed her eyes and then opened them and said, "I'm going back to bed. Come with me," and she reached for his hand. He sat staring up at her and she repeated softly, "Come with me." He stood and followed her down the hall.

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Drumiester dozed in the apartment across the alley but roused when the alarm sounded as the monitor blinked on. He watched and listened to the couple in the living room in the next building. When he saw them enter the bedroom, he flipped open his phone and reported that the woman had remembered the flight but had revealed nothing else. He shut his phone and then settled in to watch the man and woman in the bedroom; he hoped they were ripe for a little 'joy in the morning.'

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Bobby held the up covers and Gleason crawled in from his side. He was surprised to see her remove her nightgown. "Take those off," she told him. And he did.

Gleason lay down and Bobby took his place, up on his left elbow, right hand going to her neck, face, jaw, mouth; and his mouth followed suit. Her arms snaked around him and her legs opened to him. His hands moved over her breasts; they're so full, he thought. "I will love you, Bobby. Forever. Don't ever forget that," she whispered.

Bobby looked at her, unsure of what that meant; he thought it had an ominous tone. She pulled his head to hers and they kissed, his tongue lapping hers. His hand moved to her place and he poked gently, a finger on her clit, pressing slightly as it circled. She moaned softly and opened wider. "Lick me. Lick my pussy," she breathed.

His hardening cock jerked at those words, and he moved between her thighs. "Lick it," she said with some desperation. He slid down on the sheet and set his thumbs on either side of her labia.

She felt his hot breath on her place and arched toward his mouth, wanting him to eat her. Slowly, Bobby dragged his tongue over her opening and she moaned from her throat. He flicked at her clit and licked up and down her slit. Then, he shot his tongue as far as it would go, waggled it and then nibbled her clit with his teeth. Gleason cried out and grabbed his hair.

He had to get on his knees as his dick pressed painfully between his belly and the bed. He spread his knees and the head rubbed tantalizingly against the sheet. His hips began to move. God, that feels good! He set his whole mouth over her place and sucked, swallowed, and then drew his tongue over it all. He pushed with the tip of his tongue and lapped with the breadth of it.

Gleason's hips pressed against his mouth, pushing and pulling, trying to fuck herself on his tongue. Short, fast, deep, sounds came from her throat – she was going to come. "Suck my clit! Suck it! Oh, god, fuck, fuck me!" She pulled his hair as he drove his tongue in and out of her, his tongue tip rubbing her clit as his finger does. Gleason climaxed with a feral cry and bucked against his face.

Bobby squirted onto the sheet, and then stopped himself. He continued to lick, suck and rub until she settled. He wiped his mouth, chin, and jaw with the sheet and looked up from between her legs.

Gleason panted as she settled and reached for him. "Here, come here."

Bobby crept up in the bed and she slid way down. "Let me eat you this way," she said. "Kneel over me." Oh god, he thought as he straddled her head and then bent forward, palms flat.

Gleason lay under him, his cock hung down, in her face. She reached up and clutched it, both hands softly running up and down its length. Bobby arched and groaned. Gleason pulled her pillow under her head and guided his dick into her mouth. She breathed around it, not touching.

"Jesus Christ!" he grunted. This was incredible! His dick was heavy and long and it hung freely. He'd never done this before, and he liked it – a lot.

She flicked the tip of the head with her tongue and he jolted, then she took the head in her mouth and sucked just the end as one would a straw. She licked it and slowly, slowly began to suck her way up its length.

Her hands cupped his large, suede-like sack and fondled the balls within. She was surprised at its weight and imagined him carrying that around all day. Her fingers stroked and caressed the unbelievably smooth bag and its goodies – apricots in a velvet pouch. She continued to suck and lick.

Bobby's eyes shut tight and his mouth hung open. "Ungh." "Ungh." "Ungh." His hips began to move as though he were fucking her mouth.

Gleason's hands moved from his sack down over his thighs and reached around, sliding up and down. Bobby's legs instinctively spread further apart, making his bottom accessible as well. Her hands slid over his tight butt and her fingers stroked between his cheeks, seeking his button.

"Oh, fuck! Fuck!" Bobby groaned and then hissed as she found her mark. So lightly, slowly her fingers stroked over his pucker. His head shot up and then dropped down and his hips began to move in earnest. "Glea-! Jesus Christ, Glea-!"

His words, sounds, made her suck harder. She made her mouth juicy as he slid in and out faster and faster, harder and harder. She knew he was close. With her finger rubbing gently on his button, Gleason hummed around his cock as it dove into her mouth and into her throat.

Bobby shoved and stayed, crying out like an animal, his head up, his cock pumping hot fluid down his wife's throat. Gleason swallowed and again as his orgasm rocked his body. Finally, he stopped, pulled his pipe-like dick from her mouth and rolled off her, "Are you ok?" he asked with some alarm, gasping for breath. "Glea-? Honey, are you all right?"

She rolled onto her side, away from him with her hands to her mouth and gagged twice, but held it. She dragged in air through her nose and let it out through her mouth. His hand was on her shoulder, "Gleason, look at me," he panted. She turned onto her back and looked at him, hands still at her mouth. "Are you ok?" he asked, his face showing worry and pain. She nodded and he slumped with relief.

He pulled up her pillow and helped her slide back up the bed, then pulled the covers over them both. He pushed her hair away from her face, smoothing it with his hands, his breathing slowing to normal. She lay beside him, watching him as he tended to her. He looked down into her face, "Jesus Christ, Gleason, that was, that was – unbelievable."

She moved her hands from her mouth and put the back of her right hand against his chest, feeling the sparse, curly silver hairs between her fingers. "I love you, Bobby, I do and I want to please you." Gleason paused and stared at her hand moving over his chest. She watched as his breathing returned to normal, and slid her hand over his heart, feeling it throb under the skin. "Don't ever think I don't love you. No matter what, I love you." She looked at his face and said, "There's never been a time when I didn't. You know that, right?"

Bobby didn't know what to make of this. What is she saying, he wondered. "I know that, Sweetheart, I know you love me." He searched her face and then said, softly, "Glea-, why are you telling me this?"

"I need to tell you so you'll know. I want to be sure you know that I have always loved you and always will, forever." She smiled up at him and her hand went behind his neck and pulled him toward her. Their kiss was soft and gentle, loving.

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Across the alley, Drumiester sat sporting a woody like never before. Holy Christ! He shifted in his chair and really needed to take care of this, this one wasn't going to go away by itself. He rubbed himself and then undid his belt, lowered his zipper, scootched down his trousers and briefs and took matters into his own hands.

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Bobby lay back beside her and said, "Honey, I want you to see a doctor." He hesitated and then continued, "I think, Glea-, I think you may be pregnant."

She sighed and said, "I know. I will. In Evanston, this week."

Bobby wanted to know how pregnant she was – when did it happen. How did it happen? "Sweetheart, you've been taking your birth control pills, haven't you?"

She didn't say anything for a long minute, then, "Sometimes."

His head turned to look at her, "Why not all the time? You need to take them every day."

Gleason reached for his hand and held tight. "Sometimes, I think it would be ok for us to have a baby." She thought of all that Bobby's mother had said to her; she thought of the child, Christian, his mother would see and talk with. Gleason didn't want to tell Bobby that she still believed that the boy was the child she had miscarried. She didn't want to tell him that she wanted to have that child.

They lay quietly. Slowly, like wisps of fog blowing into a field, Gleason's dream took shape. Without realising it, her breathing increased.

Bobby felt the change and looked at her, "Honey?" He watched the play of emotions over her face, "Glea-, what's wrong?" He got up on his elbow again. "Gleason, look at me."

Her eyes moved to his and she said, "I had a dream the other night. A bad dream. That little boy, Christian, he was crying, lost. And I couldn't find him."

Bobby's lips shut tight as her words brought back his dream, the same dream. They had had the same dream, again. It was Gleason's turn to recognise the subtle change in Bobby's demeanour. "What?" she asked. Then she knew, "You had the same dream, didn't you?"

Bobby lay back again and set his hands on his chest, fingertips resting. Gleason got up on her right elbow and looked down at him, "We had the same dream. Just like before." He stared at the ceiling. "Bobby, he's our son. He's lost without your mother to give him hope. He's frightened; in the dream he thought we didn't want him." She was working herself up.

He looked at her and said, "Gleason, it was just a dream. The child was a hallucination, that's all. We both felt bad about the miscarriage and the dream is a manifestation of that guilt." He was feeling anxious and feared another explosion was on the horizon. He didn't want her to get upset, because this morning was too important. He glanced at the clock, six twenty-nine.

"Come on, we both need to shower."

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Across the alley, Drumiester grunted out his orgasm and spewed short jets of cum into the paper napkin he had grabbed at the last second. He sat panting, then wiped himself and set the sticky wet napkin back on the table. He hiked up his briefs and trousers and hoped he hadn't missed anything important. He made a mental note to burn a copy of that segment for himself and jotted down the approximate time.