Innocent Milf

Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Cary's apartment wasn't much different than I remembered.

Her room was a mess, as if she had given up trying to keep it clean for the past year. The only thing that grabbed my attention straight away was a stack of envelopes on top of her TV. My letters.

Following my glance, Cary nodded. "I read them. All of them." She wriggled against me and heaved a shattered sigh. "I have a feeling that I'm going to be saying 'I'm sorry' a lot. And crying. I had a lot to work through, and I'm so sorry that I hurt you."

I pressed her to me. "I... it hurt. A lot. I guess you know that if you read the letters. Or at least the ones you got. But we're together now."

Cary tensed again. "Oh my God, I'll freaking kill him. How?Howdid he do it?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. But that doesn't matter right now." I kissed her again.

She melted into me, moaning. "Oh, God, Matt. I missed this so much. I--I need you right now. Right now. We can talk in--"

Her words were buried under my kiss. I slowly turned her so that I could still kiss her from above and behind while I pulled her bottom into me and popped her buttons open. Her purple satin blouse fell away, leaving her ivory-white pushup bra and gold bracelet. I pulled her wrists across each other and trapped them with one hand while I unzipped her gray pencil skirt and sent it slithering down her sheer stockings to crumple at her feet.

Cary moaned in mixed hunger and relief and pushed her bottom into the rapidly-hardening bulge at my groin. Grinding herself up and down against me, her breathing deepened and roughened. I leaned forward and nipped at her ear, and Cary uttered a combined yelp and gasp of pleasure. Goosebumps popped up across her skin despite the summer warmth in her room.

I released her wrists and let my hands run down her sides to her belly. She lifted her arms up behind her and grabbed the back of my head, urging my kisses down towards her neck. My dick felt like it was crushed and imprisoned against the seams of my slacks. I reached up and cupped Cary's breasts, tugging the cups of her bra down to free her nipples. She cooed as the air touched her bare skin.

Quickly, she turned in place, facing me, and unzipped my trousers. Her hands deftly unbuttoned my shirt, and soon we were both entwined, wearing only our underwear. Cary ground and writhed against me impatiently, and I picked her up and carried her to her bed. She giggled and teared up. "I wanted this for so long," she breathed.

I had torn off everything she was wearing other than the gold bracelet. She hurriedly yanked down my boxers and smiled, inviting. Just as I lifted her and slid her further up the bed, a thought occurred to me.

"Uh... I don't have--" I stammered. "I haven't needed one for--"

Cary put a finger to my lips. "I don't want one. I wantyou. All of you."

Past talk, I plunged into her, and our passionate fucking led us both to heights I hadn't experienced in a year. She hiccupped and cried and giggled, and made all of the sounds I had missed so much. And when I finally let loose inside her, it felt like all of my anxiety and sadness and hurt went with it. Cary shuddered and then ran her hands aggressively up and down her body, biting her lip.

We weren't done yet, but I could think a little more clearly now. I rolled over and pulled Cary against me. The ceiling fan above spun in a lazy loop, doing very little to cool us down. Cary's delicate hands played over my chest and stroked my short goatee. "It's different," she said thoughtfully. "Sort of rough and soft at the same time. It feels funny on my skin."

I raised an eyebrow. "Bad different? Or good different?"

"Just... different." Cary heaved a deep exhalation. "Oh, Matt. I love you so much. And I'm so sorry."

"We have a long time to talk things over," I said, hoping to sound sensible. "But why don't we start with some of the bigger things now?"

"Bigger things?"

"Yeah," I said, moving my hands down to her breasts. "I know it's been a year since I've seen them, but I wouldswearyour boobs are bigger."

Cary giggled abruptly, such a sweet and carefree sound, it made my heart leap. "Um. They are. I noticed in the mirror that they were starting to sag. And I wanted to look young and pretty for you." She made a little noise. "Andfor myself, I guess. It hurt my vanity. So, I got them bumped up back to what they were a little before you and I met."

I could feel my eyebrows lifting. "Whoa. That must have been expensive! I didn't know girls' cup sizes changed over time." I thought. "I guess it makes sense. I just... never would have guessed." The idea that Cary would getsurgeryfor my benefit--or at least partly--was deeply humbling.

"I hope you like them," Cary murmured. "I've had to make some adjustments. Some of clothes don't fit as well anymore."

"I love them. And it seems like a year of adjustments," I said quietly, hugging her closer with one arm. "Let's see if we can get some of this figured out, now that the important part is taken care of."

"Making love was the important part?" Cary chuckled.

"No. Well, yes. Second most important." I stroked her long, lean-muscled back, listening to her contented sounds as I did so. "The most important part was getting back together. But I think we should start sorting some of this mess out."

Cary nodded mutely against my chest, her body language suddenly as timid as a hunted fawn. "I... yes. Okay. But I want you to promise to make to love to me again in a few minutes."

"Of course." I chuckled. "That's the sort of promise I love to keep,mon amour."

"All right," Cary said. "I'll try to explain."

=====

"You know that I had a lot of issues to deal with. Adam putting things in my already naïve, mixed-up head about the sinfulness of sex and the submission of a woman to a man. Eric treating me like a whore and... well, just being Eric. Making me feel worthless and at the same time like the only thing of value I had to give him was my body. Which he wasn't even satisfied with. The lies, the cheating, the manipulation. You've heard it all before, I know.

Well, you figured it out before I did, to judge by your letters. It made me afraid. Afraid that what you and I had was so good that it couldn't possibly be real. That somehow you would turn out to have some hidden terrible side I hadn't seen. Or that you'd suddenly wake up one day and see what a worthless harlot I was and leave me for somebody better.

No, I didn't really believe it. Or that is to say, I only believed it on bad days. But those bad days were piling up like sewage. You and I had so many good days, and they made me happier than I'd ever been in my life. What I told you was true--I was terrified to lose you because I felt like I knew what was on the other side of it. Complete despair. Loneliness forever. A cold, empty world.

Yeah, you weren't the only one who felt that way. And I'm so sorry for putting you through that. See, the thing about that sort of fear is that it doesn't just wash away all at once, and it's buried even in the good things. So that even after something fun, it would leave a tiny little residue of 'what if I'm not good enough?' The more you loved me, the less I felt like I deserved it. And the more I loved you, the more convinced I was that it was due to fall apart any minute.

I didn't feel like that all the time, but it started to grow. Mostly out of everyday normal fears like 'what if he finds somebody else at college?' or 'am I really too old for him?' And so whenever I got even a little bit of confirmation of my fears--a pretty girl looking at you, your mom telling me you were missing out for my sake, your idiot friend telling me I must have been wild 'back in my day'--it all added to the fire.

I know better now. But my response was to try to be even more what I thought you expected me to be. I know, I know. You told me that you lovedme. But you see, even though it felt wonderful and warm and perfect for you to say that--to tell me exactly what I had always waned to hear--it also added a little bit of uncertainty, because it seemed too good to be true.

It's okay, love. And I want you to know that you didn't do anything wrong. Nothing you could have done would have fixed this--I had to fix it myself. So even if you don't understand, maybe you can accept that my own problems had built to a breaking point. And each time I pushed myself to do something outside of my comfort zone--oral sex in your car, painting naked, wet T-shirt contest--I felt myself slowly spinning further and further out of control into a terror that I was fooling you and myself. My friends all thought they were helping, and as soon as I suggested that I might give you a break to find yourself, they all tried to support me in their own ways.

Well, you know how it turned out. I felt miserable--I had to build myself up to it, and chickened out twice. I'd memorized parts of it, and I swear to God, it was the hardest thing I've ever done to look you in the eyes and tell you to leave me for a year. And I've given birth. Twice. I felt in my heart that it was a mistake right away, but it took me a while to wise up to that with my head.

See, I reallydidthink I was doing something good for you. I knew it would hurt, but I thought you'd come out stronger. Thatwe'dcome out stronger. And I was convinced at that point that there was somethingwrongwith me. I suppose there was. But I thought I was giving you a way out, in case I turned out to be unsalvageable. I feel you shaking your head, and I know. I know.

This is all stuff you know already, but now you have a better sense of what was going through my mind when I did it. When I made the worst mistake of my life by telling you I wanted you to stay away for a year. I read your letters later, and heard what it did to you, although I think maybe you were trying to shield me some from how badly it really hurt.

Well, it almost ruined me, too. As soon as I walked out the door, I went and got my hair cut short. I figured that if there was nobody for me to look pretty for, then why bother with the upkeep? I turned into a virtual hermit. I painted furious, ugly things when I felt like painting at all. The kids were confused and anxious, and even Eric had started to figure out thatsomethingwas up.

I hadn't been to church in years, but I tried to go back for comfort. It didn't work; it didn't feel like home anymore. My friends were supportive of the break at first, but no friends or family can put up with the level of depression I had for too long. I was weepy and snappy and frustrating to be around. Finally, my stepmother came over, took the kids for the weekend, and told me to find a therapist.

She said, "You weren't this broken up when yourfatherdied. So whatever is gnawing at you, get it sorted." That put it in perspective for me. Because no matter how much I tried to tell myself I had done what was right for you, it hurt. And it didn't feel like I had done the right thing after all. So I did what Jennifer said. I went to a therapist.

It took some weeks for me to start to work through things with her. She helped me to understand where my responses came from, and that it was ultimately self-destructive. She asked about my support systems one day, and I became hysterical. Honestly, she almost called me an ambulance because I was having a full-blown panic attack. I suddenly realized that I had turned the strongest pillar of my support system away.

When she finally got it out of me, she just held my hand while I sobbed and said, "Grief makes us do strange things." I went home feeling as empty as I had ever felt in my life. It felt like morning would never come. I must have called Sami, because she came over, and then she, Samantha, Lana, and Lori all took turns to watch over me and make sure that I ate and slept.

It was basically an unofficial suicide watch.

By the end of that weekend, I had turned a corner. I knew that I couldn't look after the kids if I allowed myself to just wallow in self-pity. And you know, it was still before Halloween. When I allowed myself to think of you, I imagined that you were doing what I had asked--going out and partying and having fun. It was the only way for me to deal with my guilt.

Around Halloween, I had gotten my life back together enough to start going back to work. I started wearing my great-aunt's emerald necklace for emotional support. Eric had always tried to get me to sell it, so of course I held onto it out of stubbornness, and formed an even deeper attachment. I cleaned things up around the apartment and got the kids straightened out. Well, more or less. Oh, yeah, I'll tell you about them some time. But I started going back to knife practice and seeing my friends again. It felt artificial, but at least I was doing more than sitting around being said.

It was like waking up from a nightmare, but also like finding out that parts of the nightmare had been real memories. Important dates for you and me were particularly hard: when Halloween came, I spent half of my time thinking about the year before, and how happy we had been at the party dressed up as Cammy and Ken. I was getting better at recognizing things that would send me into a spiral--my therapist calls them "triggers." So when I started feeling bad, I would acknowledge that and try to figure out why it made me feel that way.

Well, that wasn't hard to guess. It was because you were gone. And I'd sent you away.

The next week I got a notice from work that somebody wanted to buy my "Grief" series. All of that ugly, hurtful stuff that I had painted really spoke tosomebody. They preferred to remain anonymous, but they bought all six paintings. It was a windfall like I hadn't had in years. Suddenly I didn't have to worry about work for a while, so I contacted my partners at the gallery and told them that I'd take a sabbatical for a while, since I was going through some things.

Honestly, they were happy enough to handle the business side of things; they could tell that I needed some time. It seemed like a perfect solution--I could take a break, spend time with my kids, and get my head in order. Because it was increasingly clear that I couldn't go back to you as broken as I was; it would be a recipe for disaster.

More importantly, I also got your first letter.

It was like a beam of light through black clouds."

=====

"I'm glad it helped," I said, letting my hands trail up and down her body. The echo of the pain still lingered, but it had lost its strength; it was just a memory of worse times. I hoped it stayed that way.

"I felt so guilty and ashamed of what I had done," Cary said. "I called you right after I read it."

"What?!"

"I called, but your line was busy. It was busy for hours, and every time I tried for the next few days, it was either busy or nobody answered." Cary took a deep breath. "I started wondering why."

"Fucking Aaron," I growled. "Playing his online-internet games, tying up the line. Jesus Christ, I had no idea." A sudden twinge of what could have been tugged at my heart. This could have been fixed in November!

"Well, I read over your letter again, and convinced myself that you were probably doing your best to enjoy your 'rumspringa.'" Cary was still tense. "I readallof your letters after that, and tried to follow my own advice, like you said. By this time, I was worried that I had co-dependency issues--Lori mentioned that once or twice--and I wanted to be a whole, healthy person for you when you came back."

I ran my hand through her hair, luxuriating in its feel. "I just wanted you. No caveats, no provisos. Just my Cary. You were always enough. And you always will be."

Cary sighed in contentment and squirmed against me, as if trying to push herself even closer. "I... I know. I know. And I love you so much. And I want to give myself to you completely. I just wanted to feel like what I had was worth giving."

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"I made myself move along with life until Christmas. Of course, I missed you terribly and felt guilty, but your letters gave me the lifeline I needed. Every time I thought about writing back or calling you, I was afraid of undoing whatever good had come of the separation. And I still worried that if I couldn't do without you, then I would be using you as a prop for my self-esteem.

As usual, Sami was my cheerleader for "getting back out there." She talked me into a couple of double dates that went nowhere. I mostly just ate and listened to boring businessmen talk about themselves. Sami knew better than to try dragging me to any of her singles bar nights, but she still wanted to make sure that I got a chance to meet some people.

On the one hand, I was pretty annoyed with what I thought of as her arrogance. Even if this had been a permanent breakup,Iwould be the one to decide whether I should put myself back out there or not--and when. Of course, then it occurred to me that it was hypocritical of me to be grumpy with Sami when I had basically done the same thing to you.

I only got through any of the dates by making myself think of what you had been up to. Your letters were occasionally circumspect, but I thought I could read between the lines well enough. You made it very clear that you weren't happy, but that you were doing this for me. You talked about meeting girls and hanging out and going to Todd's parties. And even though I had told you to do it, it made me sad to think that you were cuddling with other women.

Just after Thanksgiving, Paul from knife-fighting asked me to go to dinner and a movie with him. I figured he was pretty safe, since we were already friendly acquaintances. We saw the new James Bond, which just made me think of you and our time at Ty's party. Therapy was helping, so I was able to make it through the date and give him a friendly peck on the cheek before I got inside and fell apart. Hey, having the tools to help yourself doesn't always mean that you're in any shape to use them.

Of course, I expected Christmas to be bad--the one before had been so magical and wonderful. Truly, one of the best days of my life, even without my kids. And to know that I was going to go through this one without you--it was rough. Sami surprised me in two ways--she remembered that you had given me a stocking the year before, and that it really meant the world to me. So, since you and I weren't seeing each other, Sami went out of her way to get me one. It really cheered me up.

She also very abruptly decided to stop pushing me to go on dates. In fact, she started being much more sympathetic when I got maudlin about missing you. And about what I had done. She was the first one to suggest that maybe I should just call this whole thing off--after all, I was clearly miserable. You know me--as soon as somebody suggested I was wrong, I dug in my heels.

When you went back to school, I stopped getting your letters."

=====

I sighed. "It sounds like that's when Eric started finding a way to steal them. Or redirect them. Or whatever." I kissed the top of her head. "I never stopped writing. I told you that earlier, but I hope you know I never stopped." I frowned. "Holy shit."

"What?" Cary shifted and looked up at me. Her luminous gray eyes in the dim room were huge and trusting. I could feel myself stirring again.

"That was the letter where I wrote that Paul told me about your guys' date.Andwhere I wrote that Paul told me about Eric's visit." I gritted my teeth. "So that means Eric had been reading the letters before that, but started to steal them once he knew I was onto part of his plan."

Cary made a fist. "God, I just want to punch him in the gut."