Jake folded up his notepad and packed up his art supplies. Still perched on his artist's stool, he pulled me by my waist so that I stood between his muscular, jean-clad thighs. Then he looked at me, regarding me carefully. "I am so glad that I took this class. So fucking happy." And he kissed me on the nose with a smile.
It was important that he was smiling. While his dad was still in the hospital, he was recovering. I knew that Jake went there at lunchtime every day. But he was at my house for dinner. And we were starting to call my house his home.
And I'd also taken another step. After I kissed him in front of Rob on Christmas, since he was around so much and since Rob knew him and liked him, he'd taken to spending the night at my house. The mom part of me wondered if I was going too fast with it, but it felt right-Rob knew he was my boyfriend. I still worried about how Rob would take it if Jake and I broke up. Rob knew he'd be imminently moving, so I hoped that having him stay with us for now would be okay. Second-guessing myself as a parent was second-nature.
We left the art class and, instead of Jake going to work, as was his habit, we went to the hospital to check on his dad. After assuring himself that his dad was stable and recovering, we left and went to lunch. Then he looked at me, an unusual, impish, conspiratorial look on his face.
"Let's go do something."
"Sure," I agreed easily. Spontaneity was a good thing and something that I didn't often get as a single mom. The freedom that I had while Rob was with his dad was something that I could be grateful for, even if I had my problems with Carlos. I was still tired from being sick, but I was happy to go and play.
"I feel like I'm playing hooky. Yes, I know it's Saturday," he said in response to the dude-are-you-serious? look on my face, "but let's go down to L.A. and go to the Getty."
The huge Getty Museum perched on a hilltop, surveying all of Los Angeles, its fancy Italian stone warming the modern building. Jake's eyes lit up as we took the monorail up to the museum. We wandered around the galleries, looking at a photography exhibit that interested him and then at the illuminated manuscripts, which interested me as a writer. I marveled at how someone took that much time to decorate a single page. When I wrote, I typed pages on my computer so quickly. Each page of an ancient, hand-written manuscript, decorated with ornate designs, must have taken days. It made me think about how my words might matter more than the value I placed on an easily delete-able electronic document. What if every word needed to have that kind of artistic weight?
As we walked through the galleries, I noticed the reverent way that Jake looked at art. He stopped, giving each piece attention, commenting on styles, subjects, artists, compositions. Totally in his element. I enjoyed seeing it. My style at a museum was more to go through quickly before heading to the gift shop. But I loved taking this slower pace with him. It was a form of negative space in our lives. Recharging at a museum for inspiration.
He got naughty too, when we were looking at the nudes-women with glorious curves lolling on chaise lounges, or in classical poses. "We need to get you back home, don't we?" he said in my ear, coming up behind me.
"Why is that?"
"I think I need to see you naked."
"That's nothing new-you drew me today."
He laughed. "Okay, I want you naked, but bent over my bed, Lucy, that glorious ass all mine. I want to use my tie. Then I want you on top. All your beauty. Mine."
Uh huh. That. We could do that.
He continued. "Think your parents will watch Rob next weekend?"
"Yeah, they don't mind."
"Then we're going to go away. I'll take you up on my Christmas present."
Yay.
"So, as I recall," said Jake thoughtfully, as he inserted the key into the hotel room door, "one of the items on your wish list-your list of things you write in your books-was sex in a hotel room. Correct?"
I nodded and grinned.
It was the following weekend. Jake's dad had been discharged from the hospital and was now home, on a slow but steady recovery. Roberto had gone back to school after winter break. I was almost done with my first draft of my new book. And Jake? He'd told me that he'd given a few of his cases to other attorneys in his office, so that he could have free time. Free time! After all, there was no law saying he had to single-handedly take care of all of the work in the office by himself. Instead of filling up his time with the office, he came to me. He helped Rob construct a papier-mâché volcano for his science fair project, complete with red-painted lava and well-contoured landscaping. And now he let me take him on vacation.
One of the few times that he'd ever been away for fun. So special.
I'd wanted to go to a place where we could drive away for the weekend, so we went to Palm Springs, which had lovely weather in winter. While, sure, it had the reputation of being a golfing paradise for the retirement set, it also had a thriving gay community, wonderful shops, and cool architecture. It was a whole lot of fun.
Deciding that we needed to have the whole mid-century modern experience, I booked us into a boutique hotel near downtown-a converted 1950s apartment complex with a retro-style pool and patio, a kitschy pink-tiled bathroom, and a bedroom that even had a record player with Frank Sinatra records.
We set down our bags, took a quick look around, put on a record, and collided into each other. In seconds, we were tumbling out of our clothes. First, my wedge heel espadrilles were off. Next, his shirt, buttons undone and thrown to the side. Then, his shoes kicked off. He didn't even bother to take his belt out of the loops, he just undid it, unfastened his pants, and they were off. My blousy lavender shirt? Off. My shorts? Off. And then I could feel him, his soft skin running under my fingers, his lips insistent, and his hands all over me.
With a flick, he released my lavender bra, pulled it off of me, and backed away from me, wearing only his boxers and socks. His eyes raced around my body, lingering on my nipples, my belly button. And then his socks were gone in a flash.
He did a little twirling motion with his fingers, wanting me to spin. As I was wearing just some little lavender panties, I knew that he would get a full view of my ample booty. So I stuck it out, smiled, turned slowly, and gave it to him, and I heard him groan.
"Dat. Ass. Lucy."
When I finished turning, his erection was no longer within his boxers, because his boxers had disappeared. And my man stood there naked, wanting me, and I wanted him back.
"Let's get you wet," he said and he walked me backwards to the bed. Perching my booty on the edge of the bed, he gently spread my knees and then kneeled between my legs. Next, slowing the frenzied tempo, he bent forward and let the tip of his tongue softly dance on my pussy, teasing it, teasing me. Darting around, his tongue made my whole body quiver. Ooh baby. Then he flattened his tongue, licking the whole length of me, which felt like I was on fire from my toes to my waist. So hot. And then he did it again. After a while I couldn't take it anymore.
"Come up," I moaned, "I want you inside me. Now, please, guapo. I want your cock in me."
Giving me a half grin, he stood up, put his hands under my ass, and moved me up the bed. He covered me with his body, embracing me, resting his torso between my legs.
"Now," I ordered. "Now. Move up. I need you inside me. Fill me up, Jake."
At my words, my frank begging, he positioned his hard cock at my entrance and slowly, carefully, slid in, and stayed there, enjoying the connection. Now this was what I wanted.
"Oh that feels so good," I groaned. "God, I love you inside me."
I didn't realize that I'd dropped the L-word until he looked at me quizzically. "Me too," he said and I wondered what he was referring to. And then finally he started to move, kissing me, kissing my cheek, my shoulder, the top of my hair, running his hand down my curves.
But then suddenly, he grabbed my ass and flipped us over, keeping the connection, so that I was on top, astride him. My hair reached down past my shoulders, and some of it covered my breasts. He swept that hair aside, brushing it behind my back, and lifted his hands up to rub my nipples, cupping my breasts.
"Ride me," he said. "I want to see you."
I began to move up and down on his cock, thumping him soundly, so wet, enjoying the way we were connected, enjoying the sensations of him inside me and under me, and I started to build my own orgasm. He reached out and stroked my clit insistently, letting me come. I did. Hard.
Once I came down, he gave me the little twirling motion again, with his finger. I looked at him, questioning. "Turn around, I want to see your ass," he urged. "Keep the connection."
Very carefully, I leaned and moved around, so that I was now facing away from him, and he reached up and fit his hands along my booty, massaging my cheeks, and spreading them.
"Oh yeah, baby," he groaned. "Win."
Moving up and down, I gave him a view of my booty. Suddenly he knifed up, wrapped his arms around my middle, and flipped us over again. This time, I was on all fours. I loved it this way.
Reaching down between my legs, he again massaged my clit until I climaxed. A few more thrusts and he pushed into me, letting go with a groan.