When I was forty-nine （2016） #2
“It was about a month after your visit—by your calendar, of course. I started a new painting because I thought it would take my mind off you.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Some hope.”
The idea zinged into my head and I didn’t hesitate. “Would you paint me one day?”
He stared at me. “As if we don’t already have so much to squeeze into what little time we have together?
” He sighed. “I’m sorry. That sounded bitter.
So before I utter words I’ll regret, there’s something I’d like to show you.
” He led me through the house to the back door, and we stepped out into the warm sunshine.
I was standing in a garden, where there was row upon row of beds, each with greenery bursting forth from the dark earth.
I spied trees from which hung apples, cherries, pears…
Raspberry plants climbed slender canes, and lower down sat fat cabbages and cauliflowers.
“This is awesome. What else do you grow?”
“It’s easier to ask what I don’t grow. There are carrots, beans, peas, potatoes, radishes, onions, garlic…
” He let out a contented sigh. “I love spending time here. It calms me. Makes me feel good. However, magic does play a small part. My fruit and vegetables grow all year round. When they’re ready to be harvested, they stay ready until I pick them. And then I start planting again.”
“I have a confession.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do tell.”
“The night I met you? When you ate my mom’s cookies? I… I didn’t know you could eat. I thought you just… spirited away the cookies and milk so people would feel good.”
He laughed. “I may be a magical being, but even magical beings need to eat.” He held out his hand once more. I took it, and we went back inside.
“I love that you do that,” I said as he closed the door and led me along the hallway. He gave me an inquiring glance. “You hold my hand.”
“Hands are made to hold and be held,” he said quietly. Then he smiled. “They’re also made to touch, caress…” He stopped at a warm red door. “I didn’t get the chance to show you this last time.” He pushed it open, and we stepped into a light airy room, the focus of which was a bed.
A very wide bed.
Oh dear God, the images that went through my mind.
I forced a chuckle. “Do you need one that size? You must really move around a lot when you sleep.” That earlier fever was back, urging me to forget taking my time, that we both needed to be naked, right now.
“The bed is new. I got it just for us.”
“So, Santa does sleep?”
“Of course I do.” His gaze met mine. “That’s when I dream of you.”
My throat tightened. “I dream of you too.” And without a word we were in each other’s arms again, our lips locked, each kiss growing more heated as we removed our clothing garment by garment, until we were naked.
The dull thud when my pants hit the wooden floor reminded me. I released him, grabbed them, and fished my phone out of my pocket. “About that speaker…”
He clicked his fingers, and a blue cylindrical speaker stood on the nightstand. I connected to it, and hit Play. The first of the mellow tracks I’d saved poured into the room.
He smiled. “That’s perfect.”
I put my phone down next to the speaker. “I have over three hours of perfect.”
He coughed. “I guess we’re having a late dinner, then.”
I moved closer, until our bodies were touching, his skin warm against mine. “I really do need that photo,” I said. The previous year, I’d tried to fix his image in my mind, but as the days passed, it faded from my memory.
“And you’ll get it. So will I.” He lowered his gaze. “Is it okay that I want to look at you?”
“More than okay,” I murmured. “I’m doing the same thing.” His hands hung by his sides, and I grasped his wrist, bringing it to my chest where I pressed his palm to my heart. “You can touch, you know.”
Slowly, so slowly, he looped one arm around my neck, and our lips fused, our bodies meeting from chest to groin. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him there, feeling his dick so solid against my own.
Finally.
We were reconnected.
He slid his hand down my body to my dick, his fingertips brushing over it with a reverence that made my heart sing. “I was considering taking up ceramics as a new hobby.”
I blinked. “Okay, where did that come from?”
His eyes gleamed. “I wanted to make a model of your penis.”
“And why would you do that?”
He raised his eyebrows. “So I could cast it in silicone. So I’d be able to… appreciate it when you’re not here.”
I stared at him. “Now I know what to get you for next Christmas.” He frowned, and I grinned. “It’s a kit that lets you clone a penis.”
He gaped. “Those are real? I thought they were a joke gift.”
I laughed. “You and I are going to have a lot of fun, choosing toys for you.”
Except there wasn’t time for that, was there?
His eyes met mine. “Right now, I’d rather have the real thing.” He walked me backward until my legs met the edge of the mattress, then pushed me until I fell onto the bed. “I’ve waited a whole year for this.” He knelt before me, staring at my upright cock.
I wasn’t looking at my dick—all I could see was his face.