I was seated in an Adirondack chair on the screened porch of cabin number ten reading The Journeyer by Gary Jennings. She sat next to me in an identical chair reading The Hotel New Hampshire by John Irving. I wanted to fuck her more than any other woman in the world, but I didn't know where to start. The sexual tension between the two chairs was as palpable as the f***e between two large magnets with the polarity opposed. We looked at each other with furtive side glances. Up until a few months ago she had been my s****r-in-law and technically she still was, since neither of our divorces had been finalized. My fate was put into motion the previous Christmas.
"I want a divorce." She said standing in the doorway of the downstairs' bathroom.
"What?" I had just flushed thinking she had said something about wanting a horse.
"A divorce." She repeated in a soft, slow voice and walked away. I stared into the water swirling in the bowl. Merry fucking Christmas, I thought to myself.
As much as my ex-wife's special gift had devastated me, I tried to stay on good terms with the rest of her f****y, so friendly that a month later one of her b*****rs called me and wanted to know if I were still planning to take a Northwood's vacation the following summer and, if I were, could he, his wife, and their little girl join me and the k**s. The resort had ten furnished log cabins, a private lake, an in-ground swimming pool, tennis court, and a well-appointed lodge with a game room. I told him that his s****r let me keep the reservation for a three bedroom and that we could find a way to make everyone fit comfortably. My ex-wife never liked the woods, she preferred urban vacations like San Francisco or New York with lots of shopping and night life. Her younger b*****r and his wife had shared the same cabin with us a couple of years previously and, excluding my former wife, the two families had a great time together. I had always liked my s****r-in-law, more than liked, and I thought it would be great for my k**s and their daughter to see everyone getting along, that divorce didn't have to turn everything to shit.
Consumed with grief and the details of finding a new rhythm to life, I didn't have much time to dwell on the future. Sometimes, in bed alone, I stroked my sex-starved cock to the image of my s****r-in-law tanning by the pool. Technically she was my former b*****r-in-law's wife and not officially my s****r-in-law by Ann Landers' rules, but that didn't seem to be a significant detail. She was four years younger than me and had this little girl voice with a lithe, tight bikini body that she loved to tan during the summer. She was a teacher, the kind that every young male lusted for and, once, when saying good-bye after some holiday f****y gathering, I swear she slipped me her tongue in a quick kiss, a tongue that I couldn't put out of my mind.
"Uncle Steve and Aunt Lisa are getting divorced." My daughter, Katy, did it in a sing-song voice a few months later when I picked her and her b*****r up for our regular week-end. It was the first sentence out of her mouth getting in the car.
"You shouldn't k** about things like that." She was only seven at the time and not the most reliable source of information.
"It's true." Sammy said. "I heard mom talking about it." Her b*****r was nine and never k**ded. He was born a serious boy.
"Maybe your mother was talking about someone else." I saw them both roll their eyes in the rear view mirror, as if I were a moron who was unable to grant them their intelligence.
I called my ex-wife's other b*****r. Apparently Uncle Steve had developed a relationship with his secretary and had gone so far as to move in with her. They lived in another town a hundred miles away and, since I no longer attended my ex's f****y gatherings, I figured let sl**ping dogs lie. I didn't think my former b*****r-in-law would be going anywhere that summer. I wrote Steve and Lisa off as no shows, having enough trouble making my way in my world of divorce and pain. I thought about calling Lisa, but what was I going to say, hey now that you're split up, did you really slip me the tongue that time and oh, by the way, would you like to fuck?
July came. Sammy and Katy had spent the prior two weeks with my ex's parents in the same town Steve and Lisa lived. They were waiting on their front porch when I arrived to pick them up. it used to be my front porch too. I had more trouble letting go of that porch than I did the wife.
"We saw Uncle Steve." Sammy said.
"And Aunt Lisa." Katy said, as if that were a much more important detail.
"Uncle Steve's not going to cabin with us." Sammy said. He sounded sad, because Steve was a serious fisherman having caught a 50" musky in Sammy's presence the last time, and Sammy knew I'd be lucky to guide him to a few small blue gills and a too-small-to-keep bass.
"Sorry, buddy, I guess it's just going to be the three of us this year." Like it was some terrible fate to go away with their father.
"Oh no, Aunt Lisa's coming with Jennifer."
"What?" I remember everything about that moment, the angle of the sun, the clothes my k**s were wearing, the fact that I had a half-eaten Big Mac in the passenger's seat beside me.
"Jennifer's too small to fish." Sammy said, but he didn't refute his s****r's basic fact.
"You must have heard something incorrectly." I swallowed, my heart racing.
"She took us out for ice cream, don't tell mom." Katy said.
"She wants you to call her." Sammy said. He dropped a business card from Hansen's Ice Cream Parlor over the seat as if he were a spy making a drop. It landed on the crushed MacDonald's sack. Jack call me was written on the back in her loopy cursive with a number.
I called. We talked without subtext. She wanted to come. I picked up Lisa and her daughter at her parent's house, they don't live far from me and she came for a short visit before our rendezvous. Her mother was sweetly accepting of the situation, an innocent coming together of two broken families. Her father insisted we take his station wagon, I left him my little Civic. That brings me four hundred miles north to the Chequamegon Forest, back to the screened front porch of cabin number ten, the Adirondack chairs, the sidelong glances.
Our c***dren were asl**p, the kind of sound sl**p c***dren sl**p in the middle of a pine forest with frogs peeping and a fresh lake breeze adding oxygen like the aerator in an aquarium. It was the fifth day that I had watched her oiling her umber brown body as I stood in the pool throwing c***dren this way and that, imagining how white the bottom of her breasts must be and her perfect halves of ass. The fifth day of smelling her hair as she passed me in the cabin. The fifth day of our hands grazing and lingering as I handed her the salt, passed her a can of Boston baked beans for dinner, handed her dishes that I had washed. The fifth day of absorbing every word she spoke for hidden meaning, for no meaning, for the fact that they were words she had uttered and should be preserved. The fifth day turning into the fifth night. Marco Polo had reached China in the 13th century and I couldn't reach across a two foot space to touch her.
"My neck is sore." She said it idly as she rubbed it a bit.
"Let me fix it." I said it as if she were a door that needed a new hinge.
"How?" She didn't look at me, her how, echoing my fix, as if she were wondering if I were going to use phillips or slotted head screws to fix the hinge.
"You'll have to move to a chair in the kitchen so I can massage it."
She moved to the chair without affect, like anyone would walk to a kitchen chair, and I took my place behind her without any salacious intent. It was only in the instant of touching her skin, of her pushing her hair up and her bowing forward a bit, the fine golden hairs of her neck, and the slope her body had become, that the raging waters of lust broke through our little pretend dam. The massage turned into an entanglement of rapture the likes of which I have never felt before or since, an awakening of desire and love, a fecund discovery of what female meant. All that was in the first touch, my s****r-in-law, my love.
"I wasn't going to be the first to make a move. You had to take me." She said.
"Come to bed." I replied.
We moved silently, not wanting to wake our c***dren, asl**p in the two other rooms. I held her every step of the way. We didn't turn on any lights. The northern Wisconsin night hid us in my bed as we stripped each other, I wanting to press my body against hers, unable to see her tan-lines in the dark. We kissed. I sucked every inch of her body. She had this amazing scent of Coppertone mixed with green tea. I lapped at her golden tuft of pussy, like waves lapping a sandy beach, changing my tempo as she altered her moans and directed my head with both hands.
"Please cum in mouth." I lifted my head and begged her.
"What will you give me in return?" That little girl voice, her legs wrapped around my back.
"My raging cock." I said and placed my hands beneath her ass and lifted her a bit and supped until she arched her back.
"Jesus, Jack, that's it, lick my clitty, Jack, oh fuck Jack, cummmiinnnggg!" She said in a horse whisper, my c***dren a wall away, her body bucking up and into my mouth. I took every drop.
I still remember the shadows across her face when I finally looked up at her, the black and white flesh of her, how hungry we were.
I crawled up to stretch beside her, she gripped my cock in her soft teacher's hand and said, "I want you to fuck me now. Right now, Jack, put it in."
She pulled my cock like she was trying to jerk a well-rooted weed from the ground and my body followed. I mounted her and pushed into her tight, silky slit. It was if we had been joined together by Grecian gods. I looked down into her eyes, I couldn't speak, nor could she.
We fucked. Lisa beneath, Lisa on top, Lisa side to side, Lisa doggy, and Lisa back beneath me. We fucked without a sense of time or place. We fucked. I was stripped of my soul, losing it inside her. We fucked. It became so other-worldly that I thought it must be a dream, that I had dozed off in the Adirondack chair and there must be a book in my hand, but I was in Lisa's pussy and it felt so sweetly right, fucking my s****r-in-law, on a moonless Wisconsin night. There was never any talk of using protection or me pulling out, she was on the pill, and suddenly everything inside me began a violent swell and I pumped trying to push the entire reach of me inside her tight perfect loins.
"Going to cum." I whispered.
"Give it to me, Jack. I want it all." She whispered back.
We rolled and twisted together until I felt her wetness peak and exploded.
"Jesus, Lisa, fuck, fuck, fuck, cummmmmming so fucking hard."
"Oh god, baby, give it to mommy." And with that Lisa had me forever.
I made her promise, before she left my bed that night, to repeat a code phrase in the light of day, a phrase to ensure that I wasn't in some deluded dream, a secret phrase that would carry all the purpose and intent of our fuck.
"Special K." I said.
"The cereal?" She looked up at me as I cupped one magnificent breast, the weight of it so perfect in my hand.
"Yes. You have to say Special K in the morning and look at me so I know that this was real, that you are real, that we made such sweet love to each other."
She laughed. I made her laugh and worshipped her. I have always regretted the fact that it took me five days to make my move, that if I had boldly touched her the first night we had arrived I would have had so much more of her. We lasted three more months. It was hard, she living so far away, but I would have dropped everything, done anything to keep her, but came to understand that I was just a fuck to her, a momentary thing. She said we could be friends, I said thanks, but I have enough friends. She eventually remarried someone fifteen years younger, it's funny the things you can find out by googling a name, little bits and pieces of a life. I remarried and went on with my life.
I still go up north to the same resort, but never back to cabin number ten. Now I toss Katy's c***dren this way and that in the same swimming pool and imagine Lisa tanning young and lithe beside it. I walk past the cabin we shared, the corner bedroom points to the gravel road that connects the lakeside cabins to the main lodge. I haven't seen or talked to her in twenty plus years. I love my wife, but if Lisa called and whispered the words Special K, I would return to her without regret, my s****r-in-law, my love.