Into the Garden (Wildflowers 5)

"Yes," I said. "I like you, too?'

"Good, good?' His lips were on my bosom again and his fingers undoing another button and another until he was able to separate the sides of my blouse. He lifted me from the back of the sofa gently and brought the sleeves down my arms until my blouse was off. I kept my eyes closed and felt his lips touching me everywhere while his fingers unclipped my bra.

"It has to be loving and gentle," my father instructed. "No groping like some sex-starved animal. Every touch is full of passion but respect. Like this, see? See the difference?"

"Yes," I said aloud as Stuart's fingers moved my bra away and he brought his lips to my budding nipples. He took it as my approval, but my mind was reeling through time, remembering, confusing moments from the past with what was happening now.

"You're wonderful, Cathy," he said. "A promise, fulfilled. Do you like me, really like me?"

"I do, Stuart."

"Do you trust me? It's important, Cathy. First, we've got to trust each other. Do you?" he pursued.

"Yes."

"Because I'll never disappoint you. I promise," he said.

"Beware of their promises," my father advised. "It's like pulling on a string and pulling with expectation that something wonderful is at the end, but when it's all there, you find nothing, nothing. I promise to always cherish you, they'll say."

"We're good together, Cathy," Stuart said. "It's something you can easily tell, you can easily feel. Do you feel it, too, Cathy?"

"Yes," I said.

My father's touch always made me feel safe, I thought. When I was little, it was all I had, the only affection I enjoyed. Why shouldn't I have surrendered to it, rushed to it, welcomed it? I can't be blamed, can I? Stop looking at me with those eyes of accusation, Geraldine. Even now, even under the ground, you're looking up at me.

I turned my head and then my body to avoid any more of Stuart's kisses and caresses.

"Are you all right'?" he asked.

"I don't like doing this in this room," I said.

"I understand," Stuart said, but instead of retreating as I expected, he slipped his hands and his arms under me and then, as if I didn't weigh anything at all, he stood up with me cradled in his arms like a child.

"I'm too heavy:' I protested.

"You're a feather tickling my heart," he said, and kissed me on the ear and the neck as he turned and walked with ease out of the living room. He started up the stairs, steady, strong. My head rested against his chest.

My father sometimes carried me this way when I was little, I remembered. He'd nuzzle his face in my hair and lick the back of my neck so that it tickled, and then he'd laugh. He did it again when I was older.

"Remember when I used to do this?" he'd asked me. I couldn't help but giggle. Then he'd moved his tongue down my neck and over what were my emerging breasts at the time, lingering on my nipples. "Good touching," he'd whispered. "See how nice it feels."

"Which room is yours?" Stuart asked, pausing with me in his arms when we reached the upstairs hallway. I nodded at my door, and he opened it and carried me to my bed. He lowered me softly on to it and then he stood up and took off his shirt. I watched him unzip his pants and slide onto the bed beside me. We kissed, a very long kiss with his tongue touching mine The only light came from the hallway.

His fingers found the zipper on my skirt and lowered it. Then he sat up and slipped it down. As if every naked part of me was like a magnet to his lips, he kissed me quickly on my stomach and then moved down with kisses until he was at my waist, fingering my panties.

"Stuart..." I whispered.

"It's all tight," he said. "I'm a Boy Scout." He leaned over the side of the bed, picked up his pants, dug into his rear pocket to get his wallet and then pulled out the protection.

I started to shake my head and he put his finger on my lips and I stopped.

"It's all right:' he said, "especially when two people find something as special as we have. I want you. Don't you want me?"

"They'll touch you here," my father said, "and you'll lose your ability to think. You'll be on a merrygo-round. Your head will be spinning. Is it spinning now? Is it?"

"Yes," I said.

Stuart brought my panties down. In seconds, he was there, naked and hard, pressing forward, his kisses clearing the way. I kept my eyes closed, thinking, what if I can't ever love anyone because of my father? I've got to do this. I've got to love someone. I've got to relax and be unafraid and prove to myself that I can.