Chapter 11 - Mona #2
“All right. That’s how I feel too, but I wanted to make sure it was addressed.”
“What was the other issue?”
“Ah.” He clears his throat. “It is… it’s…”
I’m so surprised as he trails off that I gape at him, waiting. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him not complete a sentence before. He might be quiet and thoughtful, but he’s also incredibly articulate. Every word he speaks is considered.
He doesn’t ever babble like I do.
Finally I ask softly, “What is it, Douglas? You can tell me. I’m not going to be upset or annoyed.”
“No. I never thought you would. But it is rather… embarrassing.” He clears his throat. Opens his mouth. When nothing comes out, he tries one more time. “I haven’t had sex in ten years.”
I grow still, not because I’m shocked but because he’s so clearly concerned about my reaction to his admission.
“I haven’t had sex since Hannah died. My closing the door on that side of my life was complete. And even before her, I… I was never with anyone other than her.” He drops his eyes, appearing relieved to have gotten it said.
“Douglas, why would I care about that?”
“I don’t know. But people do. There are these expectations about sexual experience at various stages in life and a lot of judgment when other people’s real lives don’t match these arbitrary expectations.
Hannah was also a virgin when we got together, so I’ve never been with someone who has been with anyone other than me.
” He shifts in his seat, glancing up to check my expression.
“I can tell myself over and over again that every life is lived differently, but I want you so much. I’ve been obsessing about being with you like that for days now.
But I don’t want to only please myself. I want to please you.
And you are young and passionate and… and full of life.
I am none of those things. With limited experience and nothing at all in ten years.
I don’t want you to be disappointed in me. ”
“Oh my God, Douglas.” I have to take a minute to control my voice and expression.
Ridiculously, I feel like I could cry again.
“What you just said might be the sweetest, most vulnerable thing any man has ever told me. I don’t have overblown expectations.
I can’t imagine there’s any way I’ll be disappointed in you. I’ve never…”
This time it’s me who’s hesitant to speak words. I take a couple of raspy breaths as we stare at each other.
“Tell me, sweetheart.”
I gulp. “The guys I’ve been with before were generally good guys.
None of them were particularly selfish or inconsiderate—in bed or out.
But I’ve never been with anyone who sees me as deeply and appreciates me as fully as you seem to.
And in my experience, sex isn’t distinct from a relationship.
It’s an extension of it. It feels like the relationship you’re in—just more so. ”
He nods. “Yes. That rings true to me.”
“So I think if we decide to have sex, it’s going to feel like the way we’ve been together so far. Just… just more of it.”
We stare at each other some more.
Suddenly I’m scared. There’s so much going on in his face, in his eyes, in his brilliant mind and deep heart.
It’s a lot. It’s big and full and heavy.
And it suddenly feels like it’s all resting on me.
Me.
He trusts me. With the man he is. With his truth, his experiences, his insecurities.
Quite honestly, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to carry it all. Even just for December. I’ve never done anything like it before.
I take a loud, ragged breath and manage to say, “Okay. Let’s do this. We’ll put it on hold for right now. We can think about it and reassess when we’re not so… so physically affected.”
He studies me closely, and I don’t know what he’s looking for. “All right. That sounds like a wise plan.”
I don’t like his tone. There’s a very faint hint of resignation under the gentleness.
It makes me feel like I’ve made a mistake.
But I don’t know what else to do. My head is whirling in so many ways, and my heart is pounding like there’s a crisis.
I stand up. “I’ll clear up and do the dishes. Then we can do our own thing this evening and see how we feel tomorrow. Does that sound okay?”
He stands up too, carefully pushing his chair back in place under the table. “That’s more than okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Before he starts for the door, he pauses right in front of me. Then presses a featherlight kiss against my lips before he walks out of the room.
* * *
Two hours later, I’ve cleaned up, showered, changed into fleece pajamas, and talked to Quince on the phone for forty-five minutes.
I should be ready for bed, but I’m not.
My brain won’t settle. Neither will my heart.
Despite the logic of my suggestion at the end of the evening with Douglas, it doesn’t feel like I’m being safe or mature or reasonable.
It feels like I’m running.
It feels like I’m retreating.
And I’m certain Douglas recognizes it too.
I get in bed. Toss and turn for fifteen minutes. Review every single thing that happened this evening. Imagine every single thing that should have followed.
So then my body is as unsettled as the rest of me, and there’s only one thing I can do about it.
I’ll never sleep. Never rest. Never find the peace and composure I’m used to going through life with.
I can’t let this be my answer.
So I get out of bed and walk down the long hall to Douglas’s bedroom. With no shame and no hesitation, I knock on the door.
He must not have been sleeping either because I hear the creak of furniture and then his footsteps on the old wood floors. The door to his room swings open.
He’s wearing pajamas too—the old-fashioned style with a button-up top in a thin dark blue fabric. His face is sober as he looks at me over the threshold.
“I didn’t… I didn’t like how it ended between us earlier.
The truth is I don’t want any time to think.
I know what I want. I want to be with you all the way.
Not forever. I know that’s not going to happen.
But for this month. All the way. And I understand if you’re not there or if you’re not ready.
But if you are, if you’re where I am, I’m ready. Now. Or whenever.”
His eyes widen and his lips part slightly as he stares at me.
He clearly wasn’t expecting this.
Flushed all the way down my throat, I add, “You don’t have to say anything. I know it’s weird to show up at your bedroom and announce that I want to have sex with you. I’ll understand if the answer is no. If it is, just close the door.”
He blinks. Looks down at his hand, which is still wrapped around the doorknob.
Then he steps back. Shifts his position.
Opens the bedroom door all the way.
* * *
If I’d had time to think about it, I might have wondered if things would feel kind of awkward as we got going. After all, I’ve never come to a man’s door to ask for sex before, and Douglas hasn’t had sex at all in ten years.
But it’s not awkward. At all. In fact, it’s as far from awkward as is possible to be.
I step into the room, and he closes the door behind me with a soft click. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.
It doesn’t matter because he moves forward, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me. Not hard but urgent. Ardent.
My breath hitches at the surge of pleasure and excitement. Energy. I grab for his shoulders and kiss him back so enthusiastically that he ends up walking us back toward the bed. When he bumps into the bed frame, we break apart, me giggling and him smiling.
He was obviously in bed when I knocked. The covers are pushed back messily, and there’s an indentation from his head on the pillow.
For some reason I love the sight of it. The domesticity. The intimacy.
When I turn back to Douglas, his eyes are running up and down my body.
There’s nothing particularly sexy about me at the moment.
My cozy pajamas are blue gray with a snowflake pattern and show off exactly none of my body.
My hair is loose and messy, and my face is washed clean.
But if I measure by the hungry heat in Douglas’s gaze, I could have been a lingerie model.
His open appreciation inspires me to take off my pajama top and then my bottoms. I’m wearing nothing but simple cotton panties beneath.
His face flushes as he takes in my mostly naked body. I can hear the texture of his faster breathing in the otherwise silent room.
I restlessly push my hair back over my shoulders. “Well?” I prompt at last. “Usually a guy will at least say ‘nice’ or ‘not bad.’”
He chokes on a ragged laugh, his eyes still raking up and down my body.
“In fifty-two years, I’ve never heard an understatement as appalling as your calling yourself ‘not bad.’” He drops his pajama top on the floor and steps closer to me, framing my face with both his hands.
“You, my dear one, are a daydream come to life. I’m still not sure how this miracle is happening to me. ”
I soften so much it feels like I’m melting. “Don’t exaggerate.”
“I’m not exaggerating. You’re more than simply beautiful. You’re everything I could ever want.” He leans down to kiss me very gently. “I don’t want you to regret this, Mona.”
“There’s no way in the world I’d ever regret it. Now will you please take off your pants so I can see you too?”
He steps back, his mouth twitching. Then unties the waist to let his pajama pants drop to the floor. He’s not wearing underwear beneath them.
His body is tall and fit, as I’d known it would be.
He’s a runner, and he looks like one. Long legs and lean muscle.
But he’s not perfectly molded. There’s a little bit of softness around his middle.
He’s got hair on his chest and at his groin.
He’s fully aroused already, and his erection is thick. Looks heavy.
“Definitely no regrets,” I manage to say rather hoarsely as my eyes take all of him in.
He must have been slightly uncertain because he relaxes visibly. “Shall we move this to the bed?”
“We shall.”