Memorizing You (17 page)

“Hate to break up you two lovebirds.” Marybeth was standing over us. “But I think we’re all getting a bad case of the munchies. We’re taking a vote. I have seven people who want me to make caramel corn balls, and six who want me to make fresh chips with some malt vinegar. So you guys could be the tie-breaker here. Not trying to influence you just because I’m the cook, but I do make some really mean-ass chips. So, what’s your verdict?”

Everyone shouted out their preference to us. I looked at Ryan. Both sounded good to me. I could eat either.

“If you’re askin’ me, I was really kinda hankering for some Toll House chocolate chip cookies,” he said,$ gImy looking at me, licking his lips.

The throng went silent.

Marybeth stood stone rigid in front of us. “Oh, my God! That sounds so good!” she finally said. We heard every voice readily concur. She wheeled, a bit unsteadily, and marched toward the kitchen, voice trailing behind her. “Semi-sweet chocolate with macadamia nuts. Maybe a little coconut…a dash of Amaretto.”

People danced. The sounds of laughter and good times came from every corner of the yard. I found myself once again in the shallow end of pool, slow dancing with Ryan to an ambient tune Chevy had selected. Matthew and Judy held a corner of their own in the glowing blue. Everyone seemed to have found someone to pair off with for languid conversations and fragrant drinks.

The smell of home-made cookies soon filled the air. It wasn’t long before everyone spied Marybeth exiting the kitchen with a large tray and roused to a singular intention.

The cookies were warm and chewy and delicious. I couldn’t believe how fast and how many I ate. It was a ravenous hunger. The more I ate, the more I felt the need to. In fact, everyone was doing the same thing. It was only after the cookies were gone that Marybeth then brought out a tray of caramel corn balls and chips with malt vinegar. She’d made them all. And all of it was devoured. It was as if none of us had eaten dinner at all.

After consuming so much food most of us felt compelled to find chairs and remain stationary. Only the bartender in the Hawaiian shirt felt the necessity to dance. By himself. Marybeth finally sat down, too. She and Donna pulled up a chair next to us, and Donna lay in her lap.

Marybeth was down-to-earth. In her forties, she was a hard-worker who loved the hard work. She didn’t make any pretenses of who she was. She cut her hair short, she said, not because that was a lesbian style, but because it saved her the expense of hairnets at work. She dressed practically for a heavy set woman. She was open and easy to like.

Donna was the typical gal next door. Shoulder-length blond hair, jeans, J.C. Penney blouse and ball shoes. She seemed like a quiet person, staying to herself most of the time, but if you got her talking, she could tear a mean streak.

They were looking forward to the trip to Woodstock. They were fans of Melanie Safka to the panties. ’t wait to see her sing in person.

“You guys should really go,” Marybeth said to us. “It’s going to be a real hippie-fest, and the music is going to be incredible.”

They rattled off a list of everyone that was supposed to be playing. It was impressive. Of course, we couldn’t. I had a job to do with my dad. Ryan had his birthday and the start of football practice.

“How long have you guys been together?” Donna asked.

We looked at each other. We had never actually ever said we were together.

“We’ve known each other several months, but…” I hesitated, not knowing how to finish it.

Marybeth picked it up. “You’ve actually never been together?” She interlaced her fingers. It punctuated the visual with the unspoken meaning. “Together.”

Ryan answered from behind my head. “No, we haven’t.” It wasn’t his strongest voice.

Donna looked at her partner and touched her cheek. “Isn’t that sweet?” “Most people just go right at it when they meet,” Marybeth commented. “Then three months later they find out they can’t stand the person, and it’s all over. I always think it’s advisable to get to know the person you think you’re in love with. Then you can hate them for the right reasons.”

We both found that an amusing observation.

“How long have you guys been together?” Ryan inquired.

They answered simultaneously. “Twenty-two years.”

We responded simultaneously. “Wow!” anyone who thought theyE stepped

It was funny. And odd to do what we had noticed them doing.

“How did you meet? Get together?” Ryan was the one asking.

Donna looked into Marybeth’s eyes and took the reins of the story. “I was working in my mom’s florist shop during college when Marybeth walked in to order a dozen roses.”

“My mom was in the hospital and I was getting them and a box of Whitman’s to cheer her up,” Marybeth explained.

Donna took Marybeth’s hand in hers. “I was taken with her the minute she walked through the door. But I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know how to react.”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of her either.”

“I gave her the arrangement; some of the most beautiful roses we’d ever had. She turned to leave, but before she got out of the door, she came back to the counter. She claimed that the arrangement was shy a rose.”

“She looked very distressed when I told her that,” Marybeth interjected. “She started to count them right there again.”

“That’s when she took one out of the bunch and handed it back to me. Said, ‘This one belongs to you’.” She brushed Donna’s hair.

“Twenty-two years ago.” She pressed her fingertips against Marybeth’s lips. A corner of her eye shined brighter.

“That’s a long time,” I thought aloud. “That’s really nice.”

“It worked out good. I love to cook and started the catering service. And Donna knows how to do floral arrangements and tablescapes. A team dreamed up in ZorImyheaven.” She looked back at Judy in the arms of Matthew. “We met Judy catering her wedding six years ago. Been friends ever since.”

“What’s your secret for being together so long?” Ryan asked them.

They looked at each other like the question was foreign. After a moment, Marybeth replied. “No secret. We love each other. Love doesn’t have anything to do with time or making things work. It just is.”

As the hours wound in the night, people gradually began to disappear. Some had left, others were inside, in the kitchen, scrounging for food again. That left only Matthew, the girls, M.B. and Donna, and Ryan and myself. The girls, seemingly, were taking a snooze. Matthew and the bartender were chatting in low tones. Ryan and I sat on the steps inside the shallow end of the pool. Matthew soon found his way close to us and parked himself on the ledge, dangling his legs in the cool water.

“How you guys feeling?”

We both were feeling extraordinary. Like never before. Relaxed. Carefree. Beautiful in each other’s company. I have no idea what expression was on my face, but Ryan’s was permanently fixed with a dreamlike smile.

“How long you been modeling?” I wondered.

He looked like a person who could have started at birth. He had that perfect bone structure. The coloring. The poise. Every simple movement looked like pose. Even as he lit up a cigarette. Blew out the smoke. You could snap a picture of it, and it would be magazine ready.

“I did some commercials when I was twelve, I think. Can’t really remember.”

“Is it fun?”

He shrugged. “Nothing much to it.”

“You get to meet some neat people?”

The same dismissing shift of shoulders. “Only people interested in other people for their looks.”

“You make a lot of money at it?”

“A little bit. Enough to pay college stuff. Wanna be an architect.”

“That’s neat,” Ryan commented. “Why an architect?”

“Ever since my mom took us to New York and I saw the Empire State building, I always wanted to design buildings.”

“I would have never looked at you and thought that,” I said.

He peered down at me with the strangest of expressions, face illuminated by the bright blue of the pool. “What’s the first impression you get when you tell people you’re gay?” he asked. It wasn’t a hostile question, but it was certainly pointed.

I got the implication. “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean it that way,” I apologized.

“Not a problem. It’s the nature of the world. Judge someone before you know them. People are pretty much wrong with that first impression stuff.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“Gay people don’t bother you. Everyone else seems to have a problem with it these days. Why not you?” It was Ryan who asked.

“When I was young, working on a commercial, my mom told me to stay away from this one guy on the set because he was gay. And gay made him dangerous because he liked guys. Of course, I was one of those kids that liked Frankenstein and Dracula movies, so dangerous meant exciting to me. So one day, when my mom wasn’t watching, I asked this dangerous gay guy why he liked guys? He looked at me like I’d asked the $s aupstupidest question in the world. So he goes: ‘why do you like girls?’ I told him because I always did. Made perfect sense to me right then and there.” He took a deep drag off his Pall Mall. “It, also, told me that what my parents were trying to teach me was a cargo load of horseshit.”

The sleeping arrangements were first come, first serve, depending on who passed out where. The living room was dark, but occupied. We couldn’t tell by whom, but we could hear their snoring. The four bedrooms upstairs were all in use. We were debating sleeping outside on the pool chairs when I remembered one more room. The sewing room. There had been a leather sofa tucked away in its corner. I led Ryan back downstairs, into the hallway, and opened the door. Empty. Hooray!

I discovered a small lamp on an end table near the sofa. Turned it on, and turned off the harsh overhead fluorescents.

Ryan was looking through the racks of clothing. He seemed intrigued.

“This is what she does?” he asked.

“Yep.”

I found some pillows and a sheet for the sofa. Made up a bed for the two of us.

He pulled a powder blue lace negligee from the rack and held it up against himself.

“If you’re looking for a set of pajamas, those might be a bit skimpy.”

There was a devil of a smile on his face. “Yeah they would, wouldn’t they?”

I felt a twinge of excitement from his suggestion. “Try it on,” I said, challenging his devil with my imp.

“Really?”

I nodded. “Absolutely.”$ gImy

He ducked behind the rack of clothes. I could see only the bottom of his legs. His red swim trunks dropped to his ankles. He stepped out of them.

A few moments later, his voice came from behind the clothing. “You ready for this?”
Did I detect a slight tremor?

“You bet!”

He stepped out from behind the rack. Stood in the sparse light. He was in half-shadow.

I believe I gasped at the sight of him; his muscular chest and shoulders seen through the wispy pattern of lace. Biceps straining the sleeves. The weave of the panties looked tested by a swollen portion of his anatomy. The clothing had titillated his arousal. His tan lines from his trunks stood out like a relief. He pivoted to give me the full effect. His butt shown through the material like a plump, white melon.

“Whataya think?” He was watching my reaction, closely.

There was no hesitation in my reply. “Wow!”

That brought another outward twitch of material to the panties. “Now you,” he said, turning back to the rack.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of his butt. It was rock solid muscle.

Muscle under powder blue lace.

He pulled another woman’s nightie from the rack. The material had a leopard print on it, but was still entirely see-through. “Here ya go,” he said, handing this to me.

I was going to have trouble right away, and knew it. All the blood had shifted immediately to my groin. I ducked behind the rack as he took my place on the sofa. A spectator with a ticket for a show.

As to the panties.

“I don’t think I’d be very good in a fashion show,” I announced as I stepped out, revealing myself to him.

His gaze went right to the panties. “Holy smokes!” he exclaimed. “I mean, Wow! I would…have never guessed. Man, oh man.”

He stood and walked toward me. I could see that he now had the same dilemma.

His hands found my face as his mouth stole mine. Thinking evaporated as his hand found me and latched on.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was a night of many firsts. Mutual learning and teaching. Tentative explorations; curious experimentations. There’s nothing like the experience of first knowledge. We quake under it, thrill to it, learn from it and get consumed by it. Unnumbered heartbeats and breaths collide with the flux of sensations and thoughts that delight, confuse, and surprise as two people open themselves to each other. There’s nothing to compare it to, and it will forever be a standard of its own.

What we did first, demurely, we came back with understanding, and did again with vigor. The night waned into dawn before we’d spent what our body’s would allow us to do. Exhaustion wrapped us tight in each other’s arms on the small couch. The scent of both our body’s mingled and clung in the air about it. The smell of sex. I fell asleep on the warm skin of his back, knowing that what we’d just given each other was something greater than anything I’d ever known.

I felt love.

I slept deeply. I dreamed wonderful dreams. I’d never felt so enfolded in comfort. I sensed morning. Late morning. Sunlight high in the window, shining in. But I didn’t want to open my eyes. When I was aware that Ryan was not close by, I finally relented. I opened my eyes. The anyone who thought theymo5Kroom was bright. Ryan was in the window, wrapped in a white towel. He was watching me. His face was tranquil.

“Hey,” I said.

He said, “Hey,” back.

He walked to me and knelt. Fingers ran through my hair. Lips pressed mine. They stuck for a moment as if sealing us together.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

I wasn’t going to lie. My body felt like I’d done a new exercise routine. “I’m sore all over.”

He chuckled. “My back is killing me.”