new Jaguar or BMW; their neighbors' cars were routinely broken into.
Mal had the best luck wherever street parking was concerned, said he
simply visualized a spot, and an opening appeared.
"In that case, why don't you visualize us winning the lottery?" she
teased.
They no sooner opened the door to their condo when the phone
started ringing.
"Ignore it," Malachy said, leading the way to their bedroom.
"It might be Casey," Lana countered, before realizing what she was
saying. Casey didn't seem like a threat because he was leaving town
soon but the alchemy of any relationship can be a fragile thing; what
happened that night would make it difficult for the three friends to just
"hang out" together again. Even before the night had begun, she had a
feeling the chef's invitation augured trouble.
Malachy took Lana's face in his hands and looked at her for a long
moment.
"Ignore it," he repeated.
He began peeling off her clothes layer by layer then swiftly
removed his own garb. His desire was palpable and Lana knew this
was an opportunity to repair whatever fissures had rent their sweet
20
union over the past few months, that this was in fact a slide toward
grace.
"It's going to be really good, isn't it?" she asked, her voice soft as a
petal.
Malachy opened the top drawer of their dresser and retrieved a
leather restraint.
"I want to take you someplace you haven't been before, L. I want
to take you and show you that you're mine. You belong with me and
you belong to me."
Lana could feel wetness moving over her like a cloud. She was his
already.
She offered him her wrists to be bound and he secured them with
the manacles. He grabbed the pillows off the bed and tossed them at
her feet.
"Now, I want you to inhale my cock like it's the only thing in the
world that can satisfy you. Give me something Promethean."
And she did. She kissed and coddled the tip of his penis before
listing into a primal sucking position. Malachy gently held the back
of her head as she opened herself up to him completely, holding
nothing back. Her loins trembled from the ferocity of her mission and
moisture from her mound ran unchecked, creating trails of dew down
her inner thighs.
She could have remained buoyed like that forever with her lips
caressing the base of her lover's shaft, surrendering wholly to the
rigors of deep throat but Malachy pulled her up, up and down she
went into a supine position where he took her without foreplay.
He mounted her and thrust his cock deep inside her quim, knowing
she'd be wet as a river for him; she was wet before he even put his
cock in her mouth – fellatio was Lana's idea of foreplay. He fucked
her hard while murmuring tender words in her ears and the dichotomy
sent her over the edge, she came and cried and let that night stamp her
with the indelible knowledge she could never love another.
After love, when they were curled together on the sofa eating a
snack and watching some mindless albeit entertaining show on TV,
21
Malachy turned to Lana and said, "You asked if we have enough in
common, babe. You wanted to know if it's just about sex."
"Yeah," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder.
"We wouldn't have lasted this long if it was just sex. You know
with us it's all about love. I love you, Lana. And I know you love
me."
She chuckled into his bicep. "Yeah, I've got it pretty bad."
And so, the couple overcame their little dry period, no longer
playing Box and Cox or wondering if the other person was bored.
They were happy. There's a funny thing about happiness: if you
don't guard it carefully and keep it under wraps, someone might come
along and jealously key it like a new Mercedes.
It was on a Monday morning when Mal had left to teach a class that
Lana thought she might never breathe freely again.
Casey was waiting for her outside the condo; there was no telling
how long he'd been standing there.
"Casey. What are you doing here?"
"There's something I have to say to you. Have coffee with me; we
need to talk."
"We can talk here."
"C'mon, Trooper. I won't make you climb Mount Rainier just for a
cappuccino."
"Casey, only Mal calls me Trooper. Boyfriends and girlfriends
give each other nicknames. You and I are friends, remember? You
and Malachy are friends."
The chef looked out of sorts. His hair was disheveled and he could
have used a shave.
"I doubt Malachy would consider me a friend now that I want to
steal his girlfriend. I can't stop thinking about you, Lana. I want you
to come with me to Berkeley."
Lana gripped the ornamental railing that proffered a superfluous S-
curve from the stoop of her condo to the sidewalk. She was only two
steps away from concrete but feared she might buckle from this new
affront.
22
"It's not just about what happened in my apartment," Casey
continued. "I've wanted you from the moment I met you. It's just,
you seemed happy with Malachy."
"I am happy with Malachy."
Casey looked away then returned his gaze to her concerned face.
"He's using you, Lan. If he wanted to marry you, he would have made
a commitment by now."
"Go, Casey. I want you to leave and we'll forget we ever had this
conversation. Good luck in Berkeley."
"Well, take this and think about what I said." He handed her a
postcard bright and cheery with the Golden Gate Bridge. On the back,
Casey had written his new address and phone number.
When the chef disappeared into the mire of yet another typical gray
Seattle morning, Lana took one last look at the postcard before ripping
it to pieces.
For the most part, that day was like any other as she ran errands and
checked off mundane tasks on her To Do list. She went about her
business until she could anticipate hearing Malachy's footsteps, the
soft squelch of his brogans against their hardwood floors vanquishing
the clatter of Casey's judgment, the cacophony of his words
confronting her only in the darkest hours of her insecurity, those small
hours before dawn while Mal snored sweetly in his slumber: if he
wanted to marry you, he would have made a commitment by now."
23
ROLE PLAY FOR A SPECIAL DAY
Lana looked at her "Coffee for all Seasons" wall calendar and tried
not to sag. She was staring another birthday in the face and the
countenance wasn't smiling pretty.
The youngest of a large brood, Lana had been the classic
underachiever. Bouncing from job to job, never finishing college, she
had worked for many years as a barista. That's how she met Malachy.
She served him a macchiato and when her fingers accidentally
brushed his, she felt more alive than she had ever felt in her life.
For some women to fall in love, they need only build on an initial
; attraction. They might think, Wow, that guy's cute.
Lana was a tough case. She needed a man who could distract her
from thinking about her father because thinking about the old man put
Lana in a dark, sooty angry frame of mind. When Lana thought about
the countless cruelties she endured growing up, she was tempted to do
bad things. Tempted to even the score. Life had been unfair; the
world owed Lana big time.
Or so she thought. The greatest thing about love was the mentality
shift, the swift kick to the conscience. Life hadn't been fair to Lana
but at least it had given her a new frame of reference and that frame
was constantly focused on Malachy Moore, Hibernian hunk exemplar.
He wasn't just handsome. He was patient, thoughtful and kind:
everything a good man can be.
A new frame of reference. Lana had known countless people
whose parents were alcoholics or gamblers, irresponsible adults
addicted to some vice or other who gave no hope to the kids they
brought into the world. The lucky escaped the loop; the not so
fortunate repeated the cycle of abuse.
It was only with a good man Lana had learned not to dread her
birthday. On one of the birthdays her father had bothered to
remember, Lana had received a Waterpik. What ten or eleven year
old kid uses a Waterpik? The intimidating instrument collected dust
in Lana's closet before finding its way to her father's bathroom – its
intended destination all along. When she was seven, she thought her
24
father had simply forgotten it was her day for balloons and cake so
she asked him for ballet lessons. He laughed in her face and walked
away. The worst was when she asked for a dog. No, you can't have a
dog, he had said. We live too close to the main road. It'll get hit and
you'll start crying. Sure enough, shortly after Lana left home, the old
man got himself a pet. A Bichon Frise, no less. Called it Fifi.
Cooked it chicken every night to mix in with her dry food because a
pet named Fifi always deserves a treat.
"What are you thinking about, love?"
Lana twirled around to see Malachy, the love of her life, staring at
her intently with his arms crossed over his white button-down shirt.
"How long have you been standing there?"
Malachy took her in his arms and inhaled the apple scent of her
shampoo. "Long enough to guess where you're going with that
thousand yard stare. You were looking right into your dysfunctional
family's closet. You're afraid I'll give you pencil shavings for your
birthday. Or an ant farm. Actually, I thought I'd get you an economy-
sized bottle of awful-tasting cough syrup."
"All cough syrups taste awful."
"Yeah, but you won't notice the taste after you try my toadstool
layer cake lanced with too many birthday candles to make you feel
old."
Lana looked up into her lover's eyes and saw a world full of hope
there.
"I love you, Malachy."
"I'm not your father, Lan. I would never belittle you or hurt you in
any way."
Mal pressed his lips to Lana's cheek and held her close until
nothing else mattered but the two of them in their cozy living room.
Their relationship had lasted through all manner of ups and downs.
They even survived the drama of a love triangle initiated by their
friend Casey. Casey was a marvelous chef who wasn't taking his last
breakup well. He invited his good friends Lana and Malachy over for
a farewell dinner before he moved to California. After much drink
and convivial talk, Lana confessed to a longtime fantasy of orally
25
pleasuring two men at once. Her fellating must have been pretty good
because Casey wasn't satisfied with a one-time offering. He asked
Lana to leave her peerless man for a different life, one filled with
culinary as well as carnal delights.
She didn't even have to think about it, of course. Malachy was the
only man she had ever wanted. If Mal left her for someone else, she
would simply never date again.
If he left her, she would die a little more each day. Malachy was
the first thought she had in the morning. When they weren't together,
she talked to him in her head. At night sometimes, she dreamed about
him. Casey tried to plant a kernel of doubt by suggesting she was
being used. His Parthian shot had been: If he wanted to marry you, he
would have made a commitment by now.
What a thing to say! Lots of people dated or lived together more
than two years without getting married. That didn't mean they didn't
love each other enough. What did it mean?
"What does love mean to you, Malachy?" Lana had asked midway
through her birthday dinner. He had taken her to a seafood restaurant.
There was nothing like a plate of bowtie pasta covered with sockeye
salmon in a lemon cream sauce to make a girl feel special. He had
surprised her with a stack of books including a novel autographed by
one of her favorite writers; he was the only man who had ever given
her books. He had also given her a giant umbrella which, when fully
opened, gave passersby a canvas of Renoir's The Umbrellas: a perfect
gift for a Seattleite.
Malachy sat back in his booth, running elegant fingers through his
thick black hair. "Hmm. Good question. For Jenny and Oliver of
Love Story fame, 'Love means not ever having to say you're sorry.'
I'm not too proud to apologize when there's a miscommunication, so I
guess for me, love is all wrapped up in the way you make me feel.
The way you look at me, like you can't live without me."
They were holding hands and close to kissing when a waiter swung
by with a dessert menu.
26
"Not that you two aren't sweet already," the server observed with a
wry smile.
Malachy said, "I guess he's seen as many people break up as cuddle
in these booths."
"Yeah, well, if a penis dropped from the sky and fell in my lap I'd
know just what to do with it."
"Lana, you're always horny!"
"That's because I'm always with you."
"Let's skip dessert. I want to take you home where your real
present awaits."
"Wait, I want to tell you about a dream I had last night."
Malachy rolled his eyes good-naturedly. His girlfriend's dreams
had a way of turning into shaggy-dog stories but it was her special
day, after all.
"I had a dream that I applied for massage school again; I'd get it
right this time. In the dream, I was apologizing to one of my
instructors for being such a bad student. I wasn't a bad student per se;
I just couldn't touch people without feeling like a whore. Funny, I can
write you the most erotic love letters and feel perfectly good about it.
It's when I'm touching someone for real that makes me feel dirty ...
especially if it's someone I'm not attracted to and I'm getting paid by
the hour."
Malachy laughed. "You obviously just want to be touching me,
and guess what? You just gave me an idea for a perfect role play.
Wh
en we get home, you'll be my masseuse. Only the kind that ends
up giving me a blow job."
Lana bussed his cheek. "What are we waiting for?"
They got out of the restaurant in a hurry. Malachy didn't think the
service was great that night but he still left a generous tip; that's just
the kind of guy he was. One summer waiting tables his freshman year
in college was all it took to instill lifelong empathy for anyone whose
job required a food handler's permit.
The restaurant was just a tenth of a mile away from their Belltown
condo so they walked home. They walked so briskly, by the time they
reached the condo and sprinted up two flights of stairs (Malachy
27
believed elevators should be abolished) the two lovers had worked up
a sweat.
A perfect beginning for role play.
"Okay, I'll take a shower first and put something skimpy on. Then
you wait in the hall, knock on the door and we'll take it from there."
Mal caressed Lana's bottom, pulling her in for a deep albeit sweaty
kiss.
"And what's my masseuse's name?"
"Sunny!"
"Nah, that makes me think of Al Pacino's brother in The Godfather.
How 'bout Champagne?"
"Champagne it is." Lana took a quick shower and slipped into a
diaphanous wrap and marabou feather mules. She was feeling like a
pro (with heart!) already.
"Okay, handsome. Outside you go."
Malachy went out into the hallway and knocked as instructed. His
masseuse opened the door, eyeing him appreciatively.
"Hi, handsome. Here for your appointment?"
Mal looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
"Yeah, I really need to relax. The agency promised me a blonde.
They didn't say I'd be getting such a beautiful blonde."
"Charmer! Why don't you take a shower and when you come out,
I'll have your table ready."
"Thanks, Champagne."
While Malachy showered, Lana set up the massage table she had to
purchase for massage school. She never did get licensed. With her
surfeit of sexual energy, she would just be inviting trouble. She was
so glad her education wasn't going to waste, though; she was lucky to
have a man who appreciated sensual touch.
Malachy emerged wearing only a towel. It was all she could do not
to jump him right then. The sight of his bare skin was enough to take