Daniel knew this was no fairy tale. He knew that he was neither dreaming, nor hallucinating, nor revisiting one of the many fantasies, featuring him and Mecca in assorted sexual situations, ranging from the really commonplace come-back-to-my-apartment-and-let’s-fuck to the . . . slightly disturbing one where he’d fucked her at the cemetery just after his mother’s funeral.

The services were over, and everyone had departed, leaving in their respective vehicles, his father and older brother included. He, alone, remained. He’d come alone, and he’d intended on leaving alone. He’d driven himself, arriving in his own time. Instead of joining the family in the front, he’d taken a seat as close to the rear as possible. He’d secretly hoped that Mecca would be seated somewhere in the crowd, but he was later informed that she couldn’t come because she’d had to work. Though not there in body, she was certainly there in spirit, and her card of encouragement that he’d stuffed just inside his suit jacket gave him the little extra push he needed to stand up, make the long journey down the short aisle to the pulpit, where, much to everyone’s surprise, he eulogized his mother.

He began slowly, uncertainly, his voice barely above a whisper. It was nothing written, nothing planned. His first memories of her, her smiles, her laughter. The birthday parties she threw for him that made him the envy of all the other kids, the special lunches she made so he wouldn’t have to eat the dreaded cafeteria food, and always buying two of every toy–one to play with and one to keep Then there were the stories she read him, the music she introduced him to, the movies she let him see. Buying him his first guitar, his first car, and after totaling it, his second one.

Secretly changing his sheets while his father slept because he’d had an “accident.” Staying by his bedside when a movie monster had invaded his dreams. Sitting up with him when he’d caught cold or had simply eaten too much. And then there was his extended stay in the hospital after wrecking his car.

Commanding him to go pick a switch after mouthing off to her. Taking the TV out of his room when his grades weren’t up to snuff. Telling the principal off when he’d called “no good” and a “perpetual trouble-maker.”

Daniel sighed.

Then there were the changes they all had to make when she got sick. There were doctor visits in Virginia. Specialist consultations in North Carolina. Radiation, chemotherapy, operations. She lost weight . . . then her hair . . . then some of her teeth. She couldn’t cook for herself. She couldn’t clean up after herself. She couldn’t dress herself. He and his brother moved back home to help their father with her care, the women of their family, having lives and families of their own to tend to . . . but it wasn’t enough. Defying them, doctor’s orders and, what should have been, common sense, she tried to get out of bed while no one was watching. They’d been in the living room, watching TV, thinking she was asleep for the night.

She immediately went crashing to the floor and broke her hip.

Reluctantly, they all agreed the best place for her was a nursing home. He visited her every night after work. Watched over while she slept and kept her company when she couldn’t. Sometimes she’d scream, she’d cry, she’d hallucinate. He’d try to calm her, console her, keep her from causing herself any harm.

But, eventually, the nurses in the facility found out how she’d been reacting to her meds and strapped her down to her bed. He felt some part of himself die that day, as if all goodness and light had been systematically removed from his life, leaving him hollow, hardened and sad.

Mecca, for her part, did what she could to try to keep his spirits up. Clowning around, talking trash, bringing him food, buying him this-and-that, saying she saw it and immediately thought of him. She was being . . . ridiculously sweet, and he’d felt kind of heartless for not being more demonstrative towards her, but . . . he was losing the only woman who’d ever really loved him, and he was having a hard time seeing beyond that.

She’d tried to distract him on one particular occasions, asking him to go out with her and teach her how to play pool. She’d never played, she’d said, and had heard he was quite good. But he’d kindly (and with some degree of embarrassment) refused, choosing to sit up with his mother, instead. The doctors kept saying “it wouldn’t be long,” and if he missed her passing for any reason, he wouldn’t be able live with himself.

However, he lived to regret that particular decision after learning that it had been Mecca’s birthday, and she’d spent it sitting alone in a bar because she’d been so certain he’d say yes.

His mother had lasted another six months.

Daniel sighed again, digging his dull nails into the palm of his hand, trying to assuage the growing sadness in the center of his chest. He was not going to cry. He was not going to freak out the female currently laying beside him by punching the headboard, cussing at the top of his lungs and banging his head against the wall . . . though he was almost certain that was the only thing that would make this awful ache subside and fade.

In his dream, the one in the cemetery, as in real life, he’d stayed by his mother till she was safely in the ground, tucked in by a heavy blanket of dirt. The gravediggers left, the sun was setting, and he was alone. He kept standing there, staring at the raised patch of earth, trying to reconcile it with all the images he still had of his mother. He felt oddly . . . detached from it and everything around him. It was as if he’d fallen asleep and woken up in some hellish alternate reality where everything was exactly the same as the previous day, except something, no, someone was missing.

He knew how things would go. They’d watch him and whisper, asking his father how he was doing, too afraid to talk to him directly, fearing he’d break down, lash out or some other unsettling but expected reaction. They wouldn’t mention her name, they wouldn’t ask anything of him, they’d simply sit and stare, waiting for his inevitable collapse.

He’d watched her die, after all, and planned every detail of her services and burial. He didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat, and only left her side when the morticians had to do their state-mandated duty.

Everyone kept watching and waiting. He was “the baby,” after all, and was fully expected to take it worse than everyone else. But, he held it together. He maintained his composure and managed to hold his head high despite the weight of his grief.

But here, alone in the dying light, he had nothing left to prove and no one to prove it to. It was quite warm, here in the night air. Stars were shining. Crickets were chirping. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the gravediggers locking up, laughing as they discussed their plans for the rest of the night.

Then it was quiet. So very quiet. Like the hospital room after his mother finally stopped screaming and seizing, and she just laid there. Still. Quiet. Silent.

His father had immediately bolted from his chair and started screaming about calling a nurse and getting a doctor. His oldest sister tried to calm him down by burying her face in the crook of his neck, telling him it was over, and she was gone. It felt as if the room had dropped 20 degrees in temperature, and Daniel had to wrap his arms around himself to keep from shivering. It was cold now, and that particular moment in time was forever frozen into his memory.

“Get a doctor,” his dad kept saying.

Daniel covered his face with his hand and went down on one knee, too tired to stay upright. “Shit,” he heard himself say.

“Lose something?”

His head snapped up at the sound, quickly searching out its source as he ran his hand down his cheeks. Thankfully, his face was still dry. “Mecca?” he remained kneeling on the ground.

She stood there, dressed in white, a single white rose in her hand. “I would’ve been here earlier, but I had to work. Terri told me where . . . uh . . .” she seemed to be fumbling for the right words, not wishing to offend him or further upset him, he supposed. “Where uh,” she gestured to the raised earth, the headstone and all the other plots around them.

She cursed under her breath, rolled her eyes (which were blue that day) and just spat it out. “Where they buried your mom!” She quickly covered her mouth and closed her eyes, apparently horrified at how loudly she’d just spoken and how her voice echoed time and time again around the vacant grounds.

Involuntarily, he cracked a smile. It was very rare that she ever misspoke. “Laid to rest,” he mildly corrected her.

She lifted the hem of her sundress and knelt beside him. She was wearing those gladiator sandals again that wrapped all the way up to her knees, and she smelled of cocoa butter and coconut oil. One scent emanated from her skin, the other from the tight ringlet curls in her hair. In truth, this was the closest he’d ever been to her, and even though he knew this was a dream, and she was only here because he wanted her to be, he couldn’t help feeling slightly claustrophobic, as if she’d moved too close too fast.

“I really suck it this,” she said, tossing the rose on the pile of dirt. “Funerals and . . . stuff. I’m always afraid of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing and making the person feel a million times worse than they already do and,” she drew in a deep breath, “I wasn’t even gonna come. I mean, I went to the wake yes– Wait. Ya’ll call it a viewing, don’t you? But, anyway, I’d already offered my condolences and handed out the cards and–”

“I liked it,” he cut her off.

She merely stared at him.

“The card,” he clarified. “Every other one was ’sorry about this,’ ’sorry about that.’ In your time of grief, in your time of loss, in your time of sorrow. With our sympathy, with our deepest sympathy. With regret, with sincerest regret. And then there were the religious ones about ‘being called home’ and ‘joining Our Father,’ and, frankly, they all made me wanna throw up. I mean, not to be rude or anything, but after you hear so much of that shit, you just want people to shut the fuck up and leave you the hell alone. But . . . yours wasn’t like that.”

She laughed somewhat uneasily, wiping something unseen out of the corner of her eye. “I looked at all those cards. I mean, all of them, and they just didn’t . . . feel right, you know. I figure you’re feeling pretty bad already, and the last thing you need or want is pity, so I tried a different approach.” She looked at him and smiled. “I looked in the Encouragement section.”

Though it felt somewhat odd, he didn’t move when she put her hand on his bended knee. Her blue eyes softened then she began reciting the card, word-for-word, not missing a single punctuation mark.

“Whether you realize it or not, you’re a pretty sensational person.” Color rose into her caramel-colored cheeks, her eyes falling from his face to the pile of dirt before them. “I’ve been a big fan of yours for quite a while, so I ought to know.”

This time it was his face that colored.

“I’ve watched you face difficulties with determination and confidence. I’m impressed by how hard you work and how well you deal with every new challenge.” She paused there a minute, something seeming to catch in her throat. “You’re a winner . . .”

He moved both of his hands to cover the one she’d placed on his knee. She was shaking.

“. . . not because you never lose, but because you are always willing to give it a try. So keep reaching for your dreams. And please remember,” she looked up at him then, “I’ll always be cheering for you and wishing you the best.”

“E. Cunningham,” he said. He didn’t know if the author was a man or a woman, old or young, living or dead, but he’d never heard such welcome words in his entire life, and he was grateful for the obvious gift he/she possessed in writing such a thing.

This was a dream, mind you. The card was real. Mecca’s appearance at the viewing had been real. But, in real life, he didn’t see her again until a week later when he felt he could finally show his face in public. The only mention they made of the card was: did you like it? And, yes.

But in the dream . . .

“I don’t want you to be sad,” she said. “I know you can’t help it, and I know it’s . . . natural, but . . . I can’t stand this . . . completely helpless feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s somewhere between nausea and hunger, and it’s just . . . unbearable. It’s sitting there and watching someone suffer, knowing no matter how much you want to help, it’s not really gonna change anything. Because, at the end of the day, things are what they are, and that’s just the way it is . . . shitty as it may be.”

He . . . snapped at that point. That was it. That was everything he’d been feeling over these past 15 years: diagnosis to death. He did everything he could for her, but, in the end, it was nothing. She still died, and he still missed her. He started shaking from head to toe, his chest clenching, his breath seizing, his eyes stinging.

She put her head on his shoulder, looping one arm around his waist. “You can cry if you want to.” She spoke lowly into his ear. “I won’t make fun of you . . . this time, anyway.”

But he didn’t cry. He crushed his mouth to hers, forcing her lips to part with the probing tip of his tongue, shoving her to the ground as he drew in ragged breath after ragged breath, seeming to suck the very life from her.

“Daniel,” she gasped. “Please . . .”

He knew she couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t want to hurt her, but he needed her. All of her. He continued to assault her with his mouth, sucking insistently on her sweet flesh till a tiny bruise appeared on the taut column of her throat.

She turned her head from his. He was getting her dirty, rubbing dark soil all over her white dress. “Please,” she said again. “Not here . . . not now.”

He knew it was obscene, an abomination, to attempt to take her on this mound of earth where his mother slept so soundly below, but . . . “Please,” he pleaded, trying but failing to part her thighs with one of his knees. “Mecca . . . please . . .”

She felt so warm, so soft. He’d been feeling so awful for so long, and this was the only thing he’d done in months, no years, that actually felt good.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” He reached up, untying one strap of the sundress, pushing the rouched fabric down, exposing her bare breast and dusky nipple. It was much paler than the rest of her flesh and felt heavy in his hand as he squeezed and carefully tested its weight, continuing to grind himself into her still resistant flesh.

“Daniel . . . please . . . It’s a cemetery.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just . . .” He wrapped his lips around the quickly hardening peak, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. He sincerely hoped that if he gave her enough of what she needed, she’d give him what he needed. “I need you,” he insisted. “Please, Mecca. I’m begging you.”

She bucked beneath him, still attempting to dislodge him.

Why? he cursed himself. Why was he doing this to her? Why couldn’t he stop? Why did she have to look like this? Why did she have to smell like this? And, more importantly, why did she have to . . . taste so damn good?

Her breathing became heavier, her struggles losing their strength. “Daniel . . . Please . . .”

“I want to please you,” he breathed against the side of her neck.

“It isn’t right,” she nearly whined. “Your mother . . .”

The stinging returned to his eyes, and he immediately distracted himself by burying his face between her breasts, one clothed, the other naked, open, and vulnerable to his hot mouth and teasing tongue. He, again, welcomed her flesh into his body, licking the stiff peak, kneading the firm flesh, suckling her till he felt her arch against him, her hips thrusting against his weeping erection, her hands fisting in his hair, holding his face (and, therefore, his mouth) firmly in place. “Come for me,” he quietly commanded.

Her thighs parted, of their own volition, and he felt the wet heat of her clothed core as she insistently pressed it against his upper thigh.

“Yessss,” he hissed. “So good.”

She released the hold she had on his head, running her hands down his back to cup his rear, wiggling her fingers between his legs, lightly brushing against the back of his balls. “Do you wanna . . . fuck me, Daniel?”

“Please,” he nearly cried. “Please, let me.”

“And you want me to come for you?”

“Please,” he replied again. “Please, please, please, Mecca.”

She shifted beneath him, relocating her right leg, so that he was now between them. She then turned her head, peering slightly over her shoulder at the earth he’d forced her onto. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she was thinking . . . but he didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to force her to do something she didn’t want to, but . . . He didn’t want to be alone. If she left him, he felt he’d never leave this place and he’d forever be trapped by his mother’s side, having lost too much of himself to her. He’d be alone. Always.

She looked down at him. “You feel really bad, don’t you. It’s eating you up from the inside out.”

“I just feel sick,” he said. “And cold . . . and . . .” He closed his eyes refusing to let the tears fall.

Mecca laughed quietly. “Kind of reminds me of that scene in Monster’s Ball between Billy Bob Thornton and Halle Berry . . . Where she’s just in this . . . really bad place and needs someone, some thing to get her out of it. So she starts stripping off her clothes and asking him if he can make her feel good.” She laughed again. “Really like this, actually. She just whips out a tit and shoves it in his face and–”

He caught himself mid-sob and forced itself back down.

She cupped his left cheek in her right cheek. “Don’t do that,” she frowned. “I know I said you could, but I really couldn’t stand it if you did.”

He began to tremble, his breath coming in gulps and swallows.

“Daniel, please.” She craned her neck upwards, pressing her lips to his. “Please, don’t,” she shook her head.

But he couldn’t stop.

She immediately reversed their positions, forcing his shoulders to the ground as she straddled his hips. She then brought her forehead down to his, kissing the tip of his nose. “Stop.”

He tried to turn his head away, but she held it firmly in place. “Don’t look at me,” he closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of her. He could feel the warm water running down his face and into his ears. “Please, dear God, don’t look at me.”

“Shhhh . . . it’s all right.”

He was going to be sick. What kind of man acted like this?

He pushed at her thighs, refusing to open his eyes. “Get off, Mecca. Please . . .”

Quiet.

He knew she was still there. He could feel her. But he couldn’t hear her. “Mecca?” He wanted her to leave. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, least of all her . . . but, he didn’t want to be alone either. “Say something, Mecca.”

He heard her sniff, then he felt her descend upon him: her stomach to his stomach, her breasts to his chest, her cheek to his, then her lips to his.

It was wet. Her cheek. It was just as wet as his. He opened his eyes.

When she noticed him staring at her, she stopped. “Fuck me, Daniel.”

* * *

The sleeping female beside him stirred, moaning most erotically in her sleep, rolling over, mouthing his name, smiling, then falling back asleep.

Daniel rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, that old, familiar feeling rising in the pit of his stomach: nauseas but hungry.

Chapter 2

Instead of answering her, he reached down, and, taking hold of her firm posterior, edged her forward till her dripping wet slit was positioned squarely over his face. He reached beneath the skirt of her dress, found the flimsy fabric of her thong, pushed it aside then proceeded to familiarize himself with her nether lips.

Mecca gasped.

He hooked his arms around her thighs and gave her one long, languid lick from entrance to clit, planting his lips over the tiny nubbin, gently sucking on it before releasing it with a teasing nip.

Her hands found their way to the top of his head, and she began to trace tiny designs in his scalp as he serviced her with lips, teeth and tongue. She smelled like heaven and tasted sweetly of sin. Light and heady, but still intoxicating. The scents around him mixed and mingled forming one, delightfully delicious aroma: the freshly dug earth beneath them, the female musk above him, the sweet, subtle cocoa butter scent coming from each of her thighs and the crisp, clean scent of her cotton sundress filtered into his nostrils, making his head swim and his other senses come alive.

He felt the gentle motion of her hips as his nose brushed against the well-groomed hairs of her pussy. He heard the muffled moans she made as her thighs squeezed tighter and tighter against the sides of his head. He tasted her sweet nectar as his tongue delved deeper into the undulating, aromatic canal, drinking down every drop of her liquid heat, his smooth lips carefully caressing her velvety softness.

“Daniel! Shit . . .” Her whole form went rigid above him as her fingers first clenched then relaxed in the loose curls of his hair, as she came over and over into his awaiting mouth, his talented tongue making the moment last longer than should have been humanly possible.

When he was certain she was finished, he urged her off him then sat upright.

She continued to collect herself as he undid his fly and released himself from the confines of his trousers. He then leaned over and placed an open-mouthed kiss in the crook of her neck. “I hope that more than makes up for before.”

“Before?” she asked airily.

“When I pushed you down on the ground and started kissing you senseless.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “That was . . . a little trippy. I’m not used to guys treating me like that. When I say ’stop,’ they stop. Or I cause them a massive amount of pain.”

This was just his dream, remember. An odd little adventure his mind had cooked up between insomnia and weed-induced unconsciousness. He had no idea how a woman would really react. He just made her say the things he thought she should say. And, of course, this was before she’d told him what had happened with that guy . . . whatever his name was. The guy she’d had to kick and claw at to get him off of her.

In his dream, he wanted her to like it, but he wasn’t sure she would. But, being in a world of his own making, things turned out the way he wished they would. In real life, however, he knew if he ever did such a thing, she’d leave him without a second thought. She’d lived through such a thing once, and to knowingly put her through it again . . . he’d deserve to have the shit kicked out of him.

But in his fantasy world . . .

He reached over and untied her other shoulder strap. “I still want you, you know.” He kissed her on her neck as he tended to her previously untouched breast. “Right here,” he added. “On your knees.”

Mecca laughed. “You men and your one-track minds.”

He scooted closer to her, settling his erection on her left thigh. He then licked the outer shell of her ear. “Please.”

“Daniel . . .”

His hand dropped from her breast to the crux of her thighs. Once there, he proceeded to rub her through the cotton of her dress and the lace of her panties. Even through the two layers he could feel her heat. As he continued his ministrations, stroking her slit, massaging her mound, and kneading the firm, supple flesh of her inner thigh, he moved himself even closer to his female companion, his legs stretched out on either side of her, his chest to her back, his head on her shoulder, his rock hard cock just above her hip bone.

He silently slid his hand up her dress and made a direct assault on her center of pleasure, causing her to moan and gasp, her shapely ass grinding into his groin. “On your knees,” he urged her. “Grip the headstone, spread your legs, close your eyes and enjoy.”

He lifted her dress further up her seated form, situating his pulsating member in the crease between her hip and thigh. The hollow was soft, perfectly smooth, wonderfully warm and already slick with her perspiration. He rocked himself against her, his own thrusts keeping time to the rhythm of his thick digits as he finger-fucked her tight hole.

She threw her head back against his shoulder, biting down on her lower lip.

He quickly pulled his fingers away.

Mecca groaned.

“No,” he lightly warned her. “I wanna be inside you when you come this time.”

“Daniel . . .”

He gave her a slight push forward. “On your knees.”

At last, she obeyed, planting her bare knees in the soft earth as her hands took hold of the cool marble of his mother’s headstone. She glanced over her shoulder at him, lifted her dress, then spread herself wide.

“She would have liked you,” he slid in behind her, his boxers and pants pooled around his knees, his weeping dick in hand. He placed one of his hands over hers, then guided himself home. Her sheath was smooth and tight, gripping him in the most delightfully warm and wet embrace, fully engulfing him, completely accepting him, totally absorbing him. His grip momentarily tightened on her hand as a jolt of pure pleasure shot down his spine at the shear bliss of being joined so intimately with another human being.

He laid his head on her shoulder, simply savoring the tightness and rightness of their union, Mecca’s juices continuing to coat his cock as he worked his hips slightly up and down, rubbing his heated groin against her puckered anus.

“A lot,” he finally added, turning his lips, again, to the sensitive flesh of her neck.

Mecca sighed, sinking back against him. “So . . . good.”

He slipped his fingers between her parted digits, gripping her hand tightly as he earnestly began to move within her.

“Fuck, Daniel.”

He couldn’t see her face, but he could tell that she was gritting her teeth. “Relax,” he cooed to her, running his other hand along her side, lightly grazing the underside of her breast. He knew he was big, and he could feel how tightly he’d stretched her, but he was hoping he’d properly prepared her. “Please, Mecca.” He kissed up and down her spine as he stilled his hips and massaged her right ass cheek. “Let me make you come.”

“Daniel, it . . .”

His hips remained stationary as his mouth continued to move, up her back, across shoulders, over to her right ear then to her left. “You feel so good . . . Please, don’t ask me to stop.”

“Never,” she shook her head violently. “Too . . . good . . .”

He felt a grin of self-satisfaction creep onto his face. “Is that right?” he whispered.

“Dammit, Daniel. Please. Get on with it.”

He pulled back an inch then pushed back in. “Is that what you want?” he asked, teasing her. “You want my cock in that hot, little hole.”

“Please,” she groaned. “Move it.”

“Like this?” he put a little swerve in his hips, rubbing it all the way around her inner walls.

“No!” she screamed. “Fuck me. Hard. Now.”

He drew her left earlobe into his mouth then lightly worried the tiny piece of flesh between his teeth. “You mean you don’t like this?”

“Daniel . . . please . . . make me feel good.”

“You want it?” he asked gruffly.

“Please . . . I need you.”

He gently took hold of her chin, forcing her to face him. He kissed her, then. Deeply. Purposefully. Passionately.

When he finally released her, her eyes were dazed, her lips were swollen, and her breathing was deep and ragged. “Do as I said.”

Dutifully, she closed her eyes, turned away from him and tightened her grip on the tombstone.

He began slowly, drawing it out then pushing it back in, relishing each one of the wonderfully tight slides. Mecca moaned, arching her back, keeping perfect time with each of his thrusts. “Does it feel good?” he asked casually.

“Very,” she panted.

And so he picked up his pace, decreased the distance of his entrances and exits, not taking it all the way out, but always slamming it all the way in. She’d shudder and gasp and moan, her hips constantly in motion, her hands opening and closing, clenching and releasing the headstone as he fucked her from behind.

“Yes,” she cried out. “More, Daniel. More.”

As he increased the intensity, plowing into her at full speed, his cock pistoning in and out of her, sucked into her hot, wet interior then expelled into the cooling night air, the facts of the “real” world slowly began to slip away.

His knees weren’t being rubbed raw from the dirt beneath them. His thighs weren’t straining from exertion. His ass wasn’t burning with exhaustion. His hair wasn’t plastered to his head with sweat. His hand wasn’t cramping from holding onto hers so tightly.

There was her, there was him, and there was this amazing rippling effect as his hips rammed into her ass, the resilient, fleshy but firm globes, absorbing most of the shock of his repeated blows.

“So . . . Damn . . . Goo-ood!”

He closed his eyes, meeting his orgasm head on, enjoying the fantastic free fall as his balls tightened, forcing fluid into his thick shaft that roared, then spurted, and finally dripped from the slit in its head.

Mecca convulsed as her own orgasm overcame her, buoying her up then dragging her down into a peaceful heap on the ground as the tiny tremors moved through her, signaling her satisfaction and milking him for all he was worth.

* * *

“Dammit!” Daniel cursed. He was trying to relax, trying to fall asleep, he didn’t mean to…

He turned his head to the side as his female companion, again, began to stir. He closed his eyes and silently prayed she didn’t notice. He’d only been joking about that coming-on-her-face-while-she-slept bullshit, and, technically, he didn’t get it anywhere near her. But it was all over him.

Mecca yawned and stretched beside him, her form still nude from their previous love-making. She opened one honey-colored eye then the other.

“Morning,” he said somewhat uncertainly.

The girl laughed. “It’s not morning. It’s still dark outside. Didn’t you get any sleep?”

He shook his head.

She put her hand on his bare thigh and gave a light squeeze. “Still pretty wired, huh?”

“Something like that,” he nodded.

Then she felt it. Her hand stilled, and she pulled it away to examine it, giving it a light sniff then a tentative lick. “Have you been masturbating?” she laughed.

He folded his arms over his chest, refusing to answer.

“You could’ve just woken me up, you know.”

Still no reply.

She propped herself on her elbow, exposing those lovely, large tits and her splendid throat. “Or were you dreaming?” she asked. “Something naughty?” she prodded. “Maybe about me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he finally said. “Why would I dream about you when you’re lying right here?”

Mecca shrugged. “I had a dream about you.”

He shook his head, the barest amount of coloring rising to his cheeks. “Quit lying.”

“Fuck you, then. I won’t tell you about it.”

He laughed to himself, at last letting his arms fall back to his sides. “What was I doing in this . . . dream of yours?”

Her smile grew. “Amazing things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Doing laundry, cleaning the bathroom, washing the dishes . . . You were incredible.”

He shook his head again, trying not to smile. “You just ain’t right. You know that, right?”

“I told you. Girls don’t dream about sex. It’s completely attainable for us in real life, so why waste valuable dream time on that bullshit.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

She scooted over to his side, then snuggled against him, nestling her chin in the crook of his shoulder, her bare breasts resting against his left bicep. “Whatta you mean?”

“So what if I did have a sex dream? What’s wrong with that? Not very prude-like, I might add.”

“But ultimately pointless,” she shrugged.

“So, you’ve never had a sex dream about anyone at any time,” he stated flatly.

“Nope,” she agreed. “I have more interesting things to occupy my mind. Like being elected president. Or going into space. Or . . . having my first kid. These things are maybes. They could happen, just not very likely that they will happen. Sex is just . . . Well, it’s not blasting off into space.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked.

Mecca shook her head. “You are so weird, Daniel.”

“I mean, you don’t feel like you’re lifting off or . . . I don’t know . . . just . . . going off into another world?”

“Don’t get me wrong, darlin’. It . . . it feels really good . . . with all the tingling and trembling and when you . . . when you kind of care about the other person involved, it’s just really . . . magnificent. But . . . that’s a real world pleasure. I don’t have to close my eyes and nod off to sleep to get my rocks off. If there’s someone I wanna fuck, I just go out and try to do it.”

Daniel swallowed hard and tried to get the words out before he honestly forgot what he was going to say. “I, uh, I had a dream about you.”

“I knew it!” she laughed. “What was I doing?”

“It, um, wasn’t now. It was, um, right after Mom died, I, uh . . . I dreamed that you showed up at the funeral and, uh . . .”

Mecca frowned. “You had me fuck you in a church?”

“No, um . . . in the cemetery,” he admitted quietly. “I just . . . really wanted someone to . . . live with me, you know. Be alive with me. To breathe and . . . all that other living crap.”

“So I fucked you in a cemetery.”

“After I . . . kind of . . .” He gave his head a mental shake too timid to tell her what he’d really done to her in the dream. If she knew he had dreams like that, maybe she’d think he wanted to make them a reality. “Begged you to do it.”

She smiled at him, a warm, endearing light shining through her lies. “I would never make you beg,” she said. “That’s just . . . mean.”

“I really liked that card,” he finally said. “That one you gave me at the viewing.”

“You already thanked me for that, dumbass.”

He laughed, grasping her tightly around the shoulders, pulling more of her onto him. “I had that dream because of that card.”

Mecca laughed. “So, Hallmark makes you randy, huh?”

“No, um, you’re . . . you’re a . . . you . . .”

“Just spit it out, Daniel. C’mon now.”

“You’re um, you’re a really . . . b . . .”

“Bitchy person,” she laughed.

“No, uh . . .”

“Bad-ass?” she poked him in the ribs.

“Yes, but no.”

She thoughtfully gnawed on her lower lip. “Couldn’t be boring. Mecca is many things, but boring isn’t one of them.”

Lying there, looking at her, feeling her pressed so closely against him. Hearing her laugh, seeing her smile. Smelling his scent lightly wafting from her skin. “Beautiful,” he finally said.

She laughed again, not as easily as before. “You are really full of it tonight, aren’t you, Daniel.”

He shook his head. “You’re it for me,” he said. “I’d be . . . royally fucked if anything happened to you.”

She wiggled away from him, rising to a seated position. “Shut up, Daniel.”

He sat up, too. “What? What did I say?”

She raised her hands defensively, seemingly trying to ward him away. “Just shut up, okay.”

“I mean, you . . . feel the same way, right? I mean, at the shop you . . .”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t . . . use those words any more,” she said.

“What words?”

“The ‘L’ word,” she rolled her eyes. “I don’t use it. I certainly don’t say it, and I never wanna hear it.”

“What?” Was he dreaming again? Was this some odd delusion his brain had worked up in its sleep-deprived state?

“I don’t wanna get into this right now. I mean, we’re having a good time, right? I like being with you; you like being with me. Everything’s cool. That’s good enough.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Her shoulders slumped and she sighed heavily, inadvertently causing her bosoms to bounce. “You know how I said I wasn’t . . . used to having people treat me the way your dad did?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m . . . I’m not used to anybody treating me that way. I mean, every now and then I might find someone that kind of gets me. But, ultimately, it never lasts, and I end up feeling more alone than I did before I met him. I . . . I’m feeling good right now, Daniel, and I don’t wanna think about not feeling good. I don’t wanna think there’ll be a time when you . . . don’t wanna fuck me any more . . . or just plain don’t wanna have me around.”

“That’s . . . beyond ridiculous,” he countered.

“It happens,” she said flatly. “You’ll wake up one day and just . . . see this as some tremendous mistake and wonder how the hell you’re gonna get the hell out of this shit. You’ll forget about the shop. You’ll forget about the card. You’ll forget . . . how nice your father is to me, and you’ll just–Shit!” She jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. “Why do you men always have to ruin everything?!”
Chapter 3

He couldn’t see her, but he could see the rectangular ray of light emanating from the crack under the bathroom door. And he could hear her, sobbing, the toilet paper roll rattling as she pulled sheet after sheet of tissue from the double-sized roll. She sniffed, then blew her nose, then continued to cry.

It was just like that day in the shop she made that confession in his bathroom. But worse.

Apparently, she was crying because of something he’d said, not because of being forcibly sodomized by her best friend’s brother.

“I’m not . . . I don’t know what I did wrong,” he weakly admitted. “I thought . . . I thought girls . . . I thought you might wanna hear what I thought about that. The way you look, I guess.”

Mecca scoffed. “Do you think I’m stupid?” she asked. “If you didn’t like the way I looked we couldn’t have spent the past 45 minutes fucking like rabbits.”

“You . . . timed us?” he asked.

“No . . .”

“Then that was just some arbitrary number you pulled out of your ass.”

“No. I didn’t time us,” she reiterated. “I knew what time we left the shop, and after we were finished I just happened to look at the clock.”

He wasn’t sure he believed her.

“This is really stupid,” she sighed.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I . . . tell you you’re . . . you know . . . and you flip out on me.”

“You can’t even say it again,” she pointed out. “If you can’t say it now, you shouldn’t have said it then.”

“But I felt it,” he argued. “I was just lying there, looking at you and . . .”

“You messed yourself?” There was no humor in her voice.

“No! Well . . . it did make me think about the dream, and the dream well . . .”

“Do you think I’m some sort of sick freak?” she asked. “Fucking guys in a cemetery because they beg me to?”

“No.” He wasn’t sure he could get the words out, but he was certainly going to try. “That’s what made it . . . made you so . . . b–beautiful. You . . . didn’t really wanna do it, but you did because I thought . . . you know . . . that you, um,” He really wanted to use the word ‘love’ at that point, but having already been warned about its implications . . .

“You didn’t really want to but . . .”

“But what!” she screamed.

He drew in a deep breath and pushed it out along with what he wanted to say. “You didn’t wanna do it, but you did because you loved me, and you knew how badly I needed to be with someone like that at that moment. I was . . . all kinds of messed up, and that was the only thing you could think of that would make me feel better.”

Damn! he cursed to himself. She was going to leave. She was going to burst out of the bathroom, grab all her shit, and just leave. Forget that she was ten miles from town. Forget that he’d driven her here. Forget that it was probably ten degrees outside. Anything had to be better than being around him right now.

It was quiet. Too quiet. He desperately wanted to call her name and break the silence, releasing all this pent up shit he had building inside him, but, having her here and quiet was better than not having her here at all.

“I . . . I told Allen I . . . loved him once and he . . . he didn’t say it back. He just sat there looking at me like . . . some horrific accident. Like he didn’t know me or what I was talking about or anything. I . . . didn’t know how to recover from that. I mean, when you say something like that to somebody, you expect them to say it back. And when they don’t . . . it’s just . . . awful. And you start to wonder if, you know, you were involved in the same relationship all this time.

“I mean, if they . . . made you . . . love them . . . shouldn’t they love you, too?”

“Unrequited,” he said solemnly. “It happens. And it sucks.”

“No,” she said. “He talked about marrying me and getting a house. And what we’d name our kids and . . . He loved me, Daniel. He just . . . didn’t want me to love him back.”

He chuckled lightly. “What was he smokin’?”

“Don’t make fun of him,” she said evenly. “He had it rough.”

“And you haven’t?” he asked. “I haven’t?”

“Actually,” she said, “you kind of . . . remind me of him . . . in some ways. It’s not always a bad thing but . . . you just made me so happy tonight and . . . I don’t get to be happy.” The sobbing began anew, quickly accompanied by the rattling roll.

He scooted to the edge of the bed, placing his feet flat on the floor, feeling suddenly light and giddy. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Mecca sighed. “It’s like I’m cursed or something. Every guy I’ve ever liked: a)didn’t like me back; b)had some extremely racist friends or family members; or c)just plain flakes out on me. I mean, part of the problem is other people. I mean, I like all kinds of men, you know. Not just white ones. But whenever I would end up with a white one, my life would just go all to hell.”

The room, again, fell quiet. “And why’s that?” he asked.

“People are just hateful and don’t wanna see me happy.”

“And why wouldn’t they want you to be happy?”

She half-laughed, half-sighed. “C’mon, Daniel, you’re a smart guy.”

“Are you saying ‘The Man’ is trying to keep your love life down?”

“Think about it,” she said. “If I don’t fall in love, I don’t get married. If I don’t get married, I’m not gonna have kids. If I don’t have kids, that’s at least one less black person ‘The Man’ has to worry about.” She forced another laugh. “And if I kill myself out of loneliness and desperation, all the better.”

Daniel, sick of all this silliness, stood, approached the door, then cleared his throat. “Come outta there.”

“What?”

He stiffened his spine. “You heard me. Come outta there.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked, half-teasing, half-serious.

He shrugged. “I’ll break the door down.”

Mecca laughed. “Bullshit.”

He ticked off the count of three on his fingers, then crashed through the door.
Chapter 4

“What the fuck!” She leaped off the toilet and pressed herself against the back wall between the end of the bathtub and the sink, crossing her arms over her chest.

Daniel was nonplussed. “I told you. Are you gonna come out, now?”

She shook her head. “You’re out of your mind.”

“You wanna leave? Fine. You never wanna see me again? Great. You wanna sit in here and cry while I have to take a piss? Not gonna happen.”

The tension from her face faded, and she visibly relaxed. “I was not crying.”

“Sure, you weren’t.” He slipped an arm behind her and ushered her out the door. “And no peeking. I know how you chicks are.” He closed the door after her.

“And how’s that?” she wanted to know.

“You’re all a bunch of Peeping Toms. Had this girl ‘accidentally’ walk in on me in elementary school. Second grade. Her name was Angela. Well, it was a one-person unisex bathroom, no stalls just a toilet.”

“And she saw it,” Mecca laughed. “Must have blown her eight-year-old little mind.”

“I guess,” he said. “When Valentine’s Day rolled around, instead of giving me one of those little cards that come in packs of 18, 24, 32 or whatever, she got me a real one. With hearts and flowers and birds and shit.”

“Did you try to feel her up?” she teased.

“She was eight, you sicko.”

“So were you,” she retorted.

“She was . . . not cute,” he finally said. “Kids had a nickname for her.”

Mecca huffed. “I’m sure it was really rude and demeaning.”

“It was,” he agreed. “If I’d had a brain in my head back then, I wouldn’t have been such an ass to her.”

“You probably broke her heart and turned her gay and shit.”

“Actually, she, um, she came down with leukemia and died. That was the first time someone I knew had died.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook himself off, flushed, and washed his hands. She took a step back as the door opened, and he rejoined her in his room. “Why? You didn’t do it.”

He walked back over to the bed, pulled the covers back, then laid down, tucking himself beneath the quilted comforter. “You’re still naked.”

She shrugged. “You were expecting me to leave, I guess?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what to expect from you. You’re just . . . full of surprises.”

“I, uh, I didn’t mean to flip out on you like that. I’m sure it was completely out of right field, and I’m sorry. Tonight has just been . . . really weird for me, and of all the things I’d expect you to say, that wasn’t one of them.”

“You look cold,” he said. “Come back to bed.”

She shook her head, assuming this utterly demure posture in front of him, off to the left side of the bed. She crossed her arms in front of her, covering the dusky peaks of her breasts, while hiding her pubic triangle with the palms of both her hands. It accentuated the strength of her upper body, the roundness of her shoulders, the slant of her collarbone, the lean lines of her biceps, the ample cleavage of her chest. Then there was the outward flare of her hips, the thickness of her thighs, the tapering to her knees then the swell of her well-muscled calves. If every woman in the world was built like her, all laws prohibiting public nudity would be lifted.

“I feel like an ass,” she said. “I feel like I have to explain myself.”

Daniel shrugged. “Explain away.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a real girly girl. I mean, the way I talk, the way I present myself, my attitude about sex . . . I mean, I guess that’s why guys find me so easy to be around: I’m like one of them. But I’m not. I’m a chick. A heterosexual chick that likes heterosexual men.”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“You know when you first meet someone, and you’re just getting to know them, and there’s this slim window of opportunity where your relationship could go either way. You could either be ‘just friends’ or maybe it could be something more?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ve had girl friends before.”

“Ones that you would never fuck because they don’t appeal to you in that way.”

“Yeah.”

“Girls with ‘great personalities.’”

“Yeah.”

“You remember what I looked like in school, right? The double chin, the clothes from KMart, the really, really thick glasses.”

Daniel shrugged. “I know we were in home room together and stuff, but I, honestly, can’t remember that much about you . . . Appearance-wise, anyway.”

“Well, I had an exceptional personality. I was funny and witty, and crass and vulgar. I always knew the right thing to say. I never got in any trouble. I was just . . . If more people had gotten past the whole ‘black’ thing, I would’ve been really popular.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“But, anyway. I dressed kind of like a guy back then. I was into the whole grunge scene: Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Bush . . .”

“I remember those bands.”

She smiled and nodded. “Anyway, there were a bunch of guys I got to hanging out with, and, being a heterosexual girl around a group of heterosexual guys. I got a crush on one of them and made the mistake of telling him.”

“And what’d he do?” Daniel asked.

Mecca rolled her eyes. “He flipped out. He thought it was gross and wrong and . . . he didn’t even think of me as a girl. Well, being an adolescent female, I took that kind of bad and . . . well . . . I gave up on men. I assumed that every man in the world was going to respond to me like he did, and I didn’t wanna deal with it. I couldn’t stop being me, you know. I couldn’t wave a magic wand and turn into a cheerleading, cock-sucking, slut, so I kind of settled into this . . . inherently male way of thinking. You know, if he doesn’t want me, fuck him. Plenty more where that came from.

“But, I got older, and my body changed, my style evolved, and I finally attracted some genuinely male attention . . . and any time they tried to treat me like a girl: lift ‘heavy’ things for me, hold open doors, pull out chairs, all that chivalry bullshit. I’d get kind of mad, and be like ‘Thanks, but I could’ve done that myself.’ So, I got labeled a bitch.”

“Because you didn’t want some guy sucking up to you to get in your pants.”

“Exactly! I mean, I’m not an idiot. I know the only reason you walked across a crowded dance floor to talk to me is because you wanna fuck me. That doesn’t make me mad, but just be honest about it. Don’t lie to me and sweet talk me and try to sugar-coat shit. Just say what’s on your mind: Mecca, I think you’re hot, and I wanna fuck.”

Daniel considered this. “So . . . if a guy doesn’t come out and ask for it . . .”

“He either doesn’t want it, or he’s trying to play me for a fool, and I can clearly imagine him laughing while he’s leaving cuz I finally gave him what he wanted.”

He cleared his throat, a slight smile quirking the corners of his mouth. “I remember you coming into the shop once, a bit after I’d first opened, and you’d told me what you really wanted wasn’t on any of the shelves.”

Mecca shrugged. “It wasn’t.”

“Three years,” he said. “You kept hanging around me for three years without . . . anything.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I had my hopes, my suspicions . . . your dad and Terri.”

“So . . .” He knew she was trying to make some kind of point, but he wanted her to say it out plainly, so he didn’t make any more verbal faux pas.

“I’m like a guy, Daniel. I don’t like talking about my feelings and all that shit. And I don’t wanna hear that I’m . . . pretty . . . or whatever. Even if you mean it,” she looked up at him, then, looking him straight in the eye, “and I’m sure you do. It just . . . sets off the little warning bells in my head, and I’ll wanna get as far away from you as possible.”

“So . . . no ‘I love yous.’”

Mecca laughed, again refusing to meet his gaze. “Unless you want me to puke.”

“But I can say: Mecca, you’ve got me so hard, I wanna fuck you till you can’t walk straight.”

The girl nodded. “That is . . . acceptable.”

“Can’t say: you’re beautiful inside and out and feel extremely blessed by the pleasure of your company, but I can say: come suck my cock and swallow my load, while I eat you out and lick your anus.”

Mecca swallowed hard. “If that’s what’s on your mind.”

“What if I . . . grabbed you around the waist, laid you across my knees, smacked that ass and fingered that pussy till you were nothing but a sobbing, quivering mass in my lap.”

She had no verbal response for that one, merely parted her lips then wet them with the tip of her tongue.

He, himself, could feel his sleeping member return to full alertness. “Suck you like a cow, ride you like a horse, fuck you like a dog.”

At that, the one hand covering her sex moved to finger her slit, while the other slid along her inner thigh.

“Don’t you dare,” he barked out.

Her hands immediately stilled.

“Bring yourself on over here.”

Her breath came in pants and gasps, her chest heaving, a translucent line of moisture running down the inside of both thighs. “I don’t think I can make it.”

“Did I ask you to think?” he retorted. “I told you to bring yourself over here and get. In. This. Bed.”

She bit her lower lip then ran her tongue over the minor wound. “What’re you gonna do to me?”

He refused to play her little game. She’d woken the monster, now she’d have to lay him back to rest. “I’ll give you till the count of three, Mecca.”

Her breathing rate increased and he could smell the musky scent of her growing arousal. Her feet, however, remained stationary.

“If I have to get out of this bed, woman, and I have to chase after that fine ass of yours, I will take you where I fell you and fuck you within an inch of your life.”

Mecca huffed lightly, an altogether erotic light glinting in her eyes. “I’m faster than you are.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, “but you don’t really wanna run. You wanna come over here and lay down like a good girl, spread them legs and let me get in between him.”

She, again, wet her lips, her entire body growing ripe with arousal before his very eyes. Her skin glowed, her lips reddened, her nipples extended, and she couldn’t keep from rubbing her thighs together. “So you can fuck me with that big dick of yours? Shove that thick monster in my hot, little hole?”

It didn’t even take three steps to reach her. He rotated his legs to the left edge of the bed, slid his ass to the edge, sprang to his feet, and knocked her to the ground.

“Daniel!” She scrambled to get away from him, but he held her tightly around the waist, flipping her onto her stomach.

“I warned you,” he admonished, pulling her back flush against him, sliding his erection between her slick folds, fully coating his member in her abundant juices.

Mecca moaned, bucking against him.

“That’s right,” he breathed harshly against the side of her face. “Whose pussy is this?”

She slid herself up and down his body, grinding her rear into his heated groin.

He smacked her left ass cheek for not replying. “Think you can stand up there and tease me?” he asked. “Make me talk dirty to you while you play with yourself?” He smacked the cheek again, continuing to run his cock along her slick valley. “Whose. Pussy. Is. This?”

She let out a deep, guttural moan as she threw her head back, rubbing her left cheek against his right one.

He sent his right hand between her thighs to assault her center of pleasure, twisting the tiny nubbin between his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t make me hurt you, Mecca.” He kissed alongside her neck, suckling on her earlobe, then licking along her collarbone.

“Daniel . . .” she sighed.

“Daniel what?” he asked. He increased the pressure applied to her clit, forcefully rubbing it with his first, middle and ring fingers. “Whose pussy is it, Mecca? Who do you belong to? Who do you love?”

“You!” she cried out, a fresh gush of fluid coating his fingers.

He loosened his hold on her, scooted himself slightly back, wedged her thighs further apart, positioned himself at her entrance, then smoothly slid it home.

They both groaned in unison.

He’d never had a female in the raw. And the feeling of her hot, wet interior fully embracing his bare shaft was . . .

“I wanna come, Daniel. Please, help me come again.”

“Bend over,” he instructed.

She bent her back, placing her hands flat on the floor, her ass to his groin, his cock deeply buried in her scorching hot snatch. He gripped her hips, then began to move.

“Yeah,” she called out. “Like that.”

He had to concentrate this time. If he wasn’t careful, he’d come too soon and ruin all their newly-discovered fun. “Say it again,” he told her, sliding back and forth in her tight interior. “Tell me you love me.”

“I . . . I can’t . . .”

He increased his speed, increased his force. “You can,” he insisted. “You will.”

“Please!” she cried. “Daniel . . .”

“Say it, Mecca.” He slowed his pace, but deepened the penetration, taking it all the way out, then shoving it completely back in. He covered her back with his chest, reaching beneath her to fondle one breast then the other. His tongue caressed her collarbone as his lips kissed her fevered fleshed. “Does it feel good?” he asked her. “Do you want me to make you come?”

She let out one, long sigh. “Yes, Daniel . . . Please, Daniel . . .”

“Has anyone ever fucked you like this?”

She pressed herself against him as his left hand rubbed slow circles over her clit.

“No, Daniel . . . Just you, Daniel . . .”

He, again, turned his attention to her left ear, licking along the outer shell, then pulling the lobe into his hot, humid mouth. “Do I make you feel good, Mecca? Does my cock feel good in your cunt?”

“Yes, Daniel . . . Very, Daniel . . .”

“Do you wanna make me happy, Mecca?”

She was getting close, now. He could feel the beginning of tiny fluttering all along her canal.

“Yes, Daniel . . . Please, Daniel . . .”

“Tell me again,” he whispered. “Tell me, Mecca.”

Her back arched upwards, then resumed its previous position.

He continued to kiss her, circling her clit as he pushed himself in deeper and deeper. “You’re so . . . beautiful, Mecca . . . and you make me feel so good.”

A contented sigh passed through her parted lips, something between a purr and a groan.

“We fit right together, and I . . . love when you say my name.”

“Oh Daniel . . . Daniel . . .”

“I want you to come.” He gave her right breast a particularly tight squeeze, then gave the nipple a tiny pinch between his thumb and index finger. He skin was so soft, so smooth. And the pebbled texture of her nipple, a pure delight to explore. “I want you to come, and I want you to love me.”

Mecca groaned.

“Please, Mecca. Tell me.”

“Daniel . . .”

He watched as her fingers flexed in the shag carpeting below them. “Please, Mecca. I can’t keep doing this . . . if it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Everything,” she sighed. “It means . . . everything.”

He pulled himself away from her, again taking hold of her hips. He drew himself out, then shoved himself back in.

“Ohhhh . . .”

His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. Never again, he swore to himself. If she couldn’t give him what he wanted. If she wasn’t willing to please him the way he wanted to please her. If that word refused to come to her lips when she thought of him . . .

“Mecca . . . Dammit . . .” He held her perfectly still as he shot stream after stream of hot semen into her awaiting womb. Her body responded to his, clenching him tightly, massaging him gently, thoroughly draining him dry. He withdrew, and she collapsed to the floor in a sweaty, panting heap.

He turned away from her. “I don’t wanna see you, any more.”

“What?” she pushed her hair back from her face, staring at him, clearly distressed.

“You’re not . . . who I hoped you were,” he replied.

“Because I can’t say it?” she asked.

“Won’t say it?”

“So what?” she snapped. “It’s just a word.”

“My . . . Mom always said if you can’t say what you feel, then you’re probably not feeling anything at all.”

“Well . . . my grandma words are meaningless without the actions to back them up. Anybody can say it,” she claimed, “but how many of them actually mean it?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed. “If I can’t say it to you, and you won’t say it to me… What’s the point of all this?”

Her eyes fell to the ground, her shoulders slumping. “Because I . . . like being around you. I mean three years, for Christ’s sake. Isn’t that worth something?”

Daniel frowned thoughtfully. “I think . . . you value your pride more than you value me.”

Mecca laughed. “Fuck you, then. Wanna throw me out like trash cuz I can’t do everything you want me to?” She pushed herself to her feet, then began wandering around the room gathering her things.

“Please, don’t leave.”

Mecca scoffed, temporarily. “I’m not perfect, Daniel. I’m not some fairy tale maiden you rescued from a tower or saved from a dragon or awoken from an enchanted slumber. I’m a real woman with real and real fears. You can’t . . . snap your fingers and wish away 32 years of upbringing. That word has never come easy for me. With Allen I just . . . I had to say it. I was . . . sick with wanting him. I’d tried . . . seducing him, I guess, and when that didn’t work . . . I . . . showed him my soul . . . and I guess he thought it was pretty repulsive.”

He punched the mattress beneath him. “I. Am. Not. Him.”

“You think I don’t know that! Damn, c’mon! I would’ve given anything to have done with him what you let yourself do to me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? ‘Let myself do to you?’ I wanted to take you to bed, so I did.”

“But I wanted you before you wanted me.”

“So what!” He grabbed his boxers and shoved his legs through the appropriate holes. “Damn, you’re moronic sometimes.”

“Don’t call me names.”

“Then don’t act like the names I cal you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fuck you.” She, again, began rummaging for her clothing.

“Don’t,” he said. “Talk to me.”

She continued to dig through the clutter on his floor. “I already did. Apparently, what I had to say wasn’t good enough.”

“But you’re all I have.”

She, again, stopped her search and stood up straight. “You’re all I have, too.”

“Then why . . .”

“I used to gamble a lot,” she said. “No matter what the odds, I was willing to put everything I had on the line. When I won, I won big, and when I lost . . . Well, it took me a while to recuperate.” She sighed, her head falling back, her eyes rolling back to the ceiling. “I can’t do that anymore. I’m too old. Believe it or not, I really big plans for my life when I was younger. I wanted to go to school and get my Bachelor’s and then a Master’s. While I was studying for my Master’s, I was going to meet my future husband, we were gonna fall . . . madly in love, and I’d be finished having all my kids by the time I was 30. We’d get a split level in the country. I’d teach at a moderate-sized university. We’d retire at 60, buy a Winnebago and drive across the States.

“Well, Daniel, I’m 32. I do have my Bachelor’s and my Master’s, but I’m not married; never even been asked. I’m a renter. I don’t teach, and nothing living has ever passed through my womb.”

He proffered her a reassuring smile. “You could still retire at 60, buy a Winnebago and drive across the States.”

“With the gas prices as high as they are?” she laughed. “Fuck that.”

They were both quiet.

“What if . . . what if I didn’t let you ’seduce’ me?” he asked. “Would you have just left and never brought it up again?”

She bit her lower lip, shaking her head. “No. I . . . eventually, I’d get to the point where I couldn’t take it anymore, and I’d just have to . . . bet it all.”

He lowered his eyes. “You’ve lost with me before, though. Before Mom died. You wanted me to teach you how to play pool. You spent your birthday alone in a bar.”

“The big three-oh,” she said with a watery smile. “Yeah. That pretty much sucked.”

“I won’t do that again, Mecca.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m . . . not goin’ anywhere, and, uh . . . eventually I think I can convince you to bet on me . . . again.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged.

“No. There is no ‘maybe.’ I either will or I won’t.”

Mecca laughed. “Star Wars philosophy.”

“Actually, it’s: ‘Either do or do not. There is no try.’”

“So,” he said, “come back to bed?”

She remained motionless. “I do care, you know. It’s not as if I’m heartless or anything.”

“I know.”

“And you can never trust the things people say when they’re in bed together. It’s just bullshit, you know. Kind of one of those ’say anything’ situations.”

“I just wanna make it through the night,” he said. “I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go in the morning.”

She shuffled her feet. “You don’t . . . hate me, do you?”

“Not possible.”

“I guess I’ll stay, then. Just tonight.” She dropped the few pieces of clothing she’d gathered and slid in beside him.

“Am I allowed to say it, though?”

She sighed, fully slumping against the pillow beneath her. “If you must.”

He reached out and brushed back some of the fine hairs from her temple.

“You are so weird.”

He shrugged, continuing to trace the contours of her face. “It’s something you’ll have to get used to.”

She slapped his hand away, then curled into a tight ball, pulling the covers tightly around her. “And no more masturbating,” she warned him. “At least not while I’m here.”

He nodded his assent, and, again, she began to drift off. He, too, tried to settle down, rolling on to his back, staring up at the ceiling, giving her a quick glance then closing his eyes.

Eventually, he’d hear her say it again. He wouldn’t try to force it out of her or coerce her or make up some gay ultimatum. As long as she wanted to stay, he’d happily have her, no matter what the conditions. But . . . he was certain now more than ever, she was his, and what sleeping beauty could resist her prince charming?

theMaven

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