Up For Review:
Pancakes: A Letter From Chrissy's Mom to Pat Allen
Author's note: This is the first in a series of letters between Pat Allen and Chrissy's Mom, who was introduced in Mark Aster's story "Chrissy's Mom." I hope that my story can stand alone, but regardless, I recommend everyone read Aster's story. You can find it at: http://members.aol.com/myfrthal/X18.TXT
Dear Pat,
I guess I should start by congratulating you on your newborns. Kedda and Thomas, right? Those are good names.
But you don't even know who I am. I'm sorry. How rude of me. I'm Shari. Chrissy's Mom.
Next, thank you for steering Daniel towards me. I know I must seem terribly rude not to have done this all those months ago, but I really didn't know the details of how that all happened. And I don't know exactly how much you know (or how much you care - feel free to stop now and tend to your little babies) - maybe you weren't expecting any thanks. I guess you do probably know that Daniel and I didn't work out. I called him up the other day, thinking maybe I'd want another chance with him, but of course he's with someone steady and regular now ... so ... anyway, he said that you and Al had had twins, and naturally I put two and two together and figured out that it was the same Al that I, that ... well, Daniel said that you knew all about that. It seems strange that you wouldn't care - but Daniel assured me that you wouldn't, and then he gave me your address. I guess he figured I might want to write to Al. But I don't. I mean I do, but the last thing I want to do is go behind your back.
I guess I thought some things about Al I shouldn't have thought ... about Al and me, I mean, after that night. I'd gotten used to an even keel, alone and lonely and unwanted, and then, after that night I was so up, so incredibly keyed with pleasure and good feeling and expectation. I did nothing but think about Al. I spent days in a daze. Ha! Just drifting through the air feeling good about myself again, feeling good about my future. Al made it clear he couldn't stay. No false promises. Nothing like that. Still ...
After a week or so I came to see that I needed him. Not just someone. Him. And I came to understand that I'd been expecting him, regardless of our parting words, to call, to come back, to be with me forever. Do you know how that is? Really, I almost hope you never know.
Whenever the phone rang, I was sure it was Al. But it was only someone trying to sell siding or storm windows or a dream vacation for two. Hah! Each time I hung up I felt more disheartened. That marvelous night and morning seemed less true - more like a mirage or myth or mistake.
And then Daniel called. He sounded nice. He explained everything very carefully. That he was a friend of yours but that mostly he knew your sister, Judy? And that ... well, the details don't matter. I agreed to meet him. I got a babysitter for the next Saturday. We went out. Dinner and dancing. He was nice. He danced smooth. So gentle it was almost as if he weren't there. Yes, he was nice. But he wasn't Al.
It was almost as if I needed a period of mourning. Humpf. First I needed to know that Al was in fact ... not going to come back for me. I didn't really know about you, then. I didn't really care.
The weekend after that, Daniel and I went out to a movie. He was sweet. A little shy. A little clumsy now that we weren't on the dance floor. (He spilled popcorn in my lap.) I was shier, clumsier. All week I'd wondered if he asked me out again whether we'd end up going to bed. He hadn't even kissed me that first night - just brushed his lips against my cheek. As the movie went on I got more and more nervous. It was worse than high school. Well, I hadn't had much experience. Sam, that was my husband, pretty much took control of me from the time my mother allowed me to go out at all. I never really got a chance to find out about boys. Sam was older. He swamped me. I was stupid to let him, but it didn't seem so at the time.
Daniel kissed me goodnight at the door. It probably would have been a good kiss, but I felt that if I let it be a good kiss I'd be betraying Al. How stupid, huh? But that's how I felt. I pushed him back a little with my palms. He probably thought he had bad breath or something. He looked so suddenly forlorn.
"Um, do you want to come in?" I said. I was taking pity on him. I couldn't bear to have him feel I was rejecting him because of him. At the same time I couldn't explain my situation. I couldn't really explain it to myself.
But I knew immediately it was a mistake. I knew that even before I found out that Chrissy wasn't asleep.
"What are you doing still up?" I said.
"She just couldn't get comfortable," my babysitter said.
"Well, she's not used to me dating," I said, thinking that would make Chrissy feel better after my modest scolding of a moment ago. I was secretly pleased that Chrissy was still up - no question of Daniel and me going to bed now - he'd probably go right off - maybe falling in love with the babysitter on the way.
With everyone still at the door, I introduced Daniel to Chrissy. A trifle tentative, he held out his hand.
"Are you here to clean my mommy's pipes?" Chrissy said.
I could have died.
The babysitter giggled. I blushed. I don't know what Daniel did because I was much too embarrassed to look. I hugged Chrissy up into my arms, and carried her towards the bedroom. "Beddy-bye time for you, Sweetie," I said for everyone's benefit. "Come by tomorrow for a check, ok?" I told the babysitter over my shoulder.
Chrissy took forever to fall asleep. Little Bear and Big Bear both had to tell her two stories and give her dozens of sleepytime kisses. "You're my girl," I said. "My dearest, dearest girl." I told her that even after she was sound asleep, and I gave her six or seven more kisses of my own. "Oh my sweetie, my sweet, sweet sweetie."
I didn't expect Daniel still to be there. He was sitting on the couch leafing through an old Newsweek.
"Oh," I said.
He got up and stepped towards me and took me in his arms. We kissed. It was long and hot and full of lovely promise. When his tongue touched mine I shivered. I felt the shiver all the way to my ... my deepest places. He swallowed my tongue, and my ... my sex shivered, threatened to flood. I took Daniel's sleeve and pulled him into my bedroom.
"Are you sure?" he said. I wasn't, but I pulled off my clothes anyway. I opened my legs and he pushed into me, the lovely full bulge of him. I was wet, so very wet, and in a moment he shot off and I was even wetter, but he was on the outside, getting small, and saying he was sorry.
"It's ok," I told him, "It's ok, hunny-bunny." I cradled his head with my hands and kissed his eyes and told him what a sweet guy he was all the while knowing we had no future. It wasn't so much that we hadn't started out right, that the sex had been bad. It wasn't. It was simply that he wasn't Al.
I took a deep breath, a shuddering sigh. Now that that was clear, I suddenly felt better. I suddenly felt like really giving him a good ... ok, I'll say it. A good fuck. A good goodbye fuck. One that he'd never forget.
I started out by tracing my fingertips around his face. Gentle. The fuzz of eyebrows, the tiny rasp of beard, the ridges of ear inside and out. I touched his whole face, always gentle, almost beneath feeling. I did this until his breath heated up. I fingered his lips, lightly, lightly, dryness to the edge of moisture, and then I went inside, one finger all the way in, and it was wet and slick, the thin juice of his spit, hot as breath, and he tightened his lips, sucked as I pulled out, and then I pushed it back in, through the pressure, through the tight teeth, and then I sat up on him, and with both hands bathed his face with slow even strokes, scraped my nails against his neck. I leaned forward and ran my tongue along the under edges of each ear, my nipples grazing his chest as I did this. I put my tongue in his ear and wagged it. I took his earlobe in my teeth and trilled the flap of skin with my tongue. I moved up higher so that my knees touched his jaw. I caught his eyes with mine. I made myself drool onto his face. I smoothed it into his skin. I moved up higher, my cunt nipping his nose. The flow spread against him, my heat, my wet mixed with his. I was so brave and bold. The way I am now. So hot. I hope you don't think I'm horrible, writing this way.
Before he could fully taste me, I swiveled around. He was hard, standing straight up as I knew he would be. Sitting on his chest, I tickled his belly hair, taking care to get close to the prick, close but not touching. I rocked forward, showing him my open cunt, breathing onto his pole, breathing but not touching. Teasing mercilessly. The tight stem trembled. With fingernails light as little mice, I scratched the skin beneath his balls. His prick strained straight upwards. I bent forward, letting my left nipple kiss its head. A slick spot caught there, pulled itself into a stretch of slippery string. It snapped soundlessly. Surrender. I backed up, my cunt still open, my wet welling. "Don't touch," I hissed, and then I swallowed him. Swiftly and surely with my wide mouth, and I coaxed my spit all around his cock, sucking it hard as I pulled away, letting it waggle in the air. And then I did it again. I sucked harder. I stayed longer at the bottom, feeling the bulge, the want. My nails teased beneath his balls again. His prick wanted me, wanted me with sweet urgency, I could feel the pulse in both places. Again I let him out. His big prick pulsed in the air. So big and bold! Again I took him in. My spit flowed, sweet as syrup mixing with his want. A spot of seed welled into the slit at the tip, wanting my tongue, wanting me. So sweet. I touched it with my tongue, the tip of my tongue tiptoeing into his sweet slit. His prick danced into my mouth, wanting to spew, to squander, but I wouldn't let it. I slurped slow and sure, I sipped the nip of skin. Slow and steady I sucked, my hands braced above his knees, squeezing, my bottom up, opening to his eyes, opening until I couldn't take it anymore, I had to sit on him, to snug myself onto that high, hot, velvet-hatted cock, coast my cunt down its adorably long length, coat it with my willing wet, cling and quiver and settle safe there, safe and snug, my hands still on his knees, my knees against his hips, my heart hurtling towards heaven. "Don't move," I hissed again. "Let me ... fuck you." I fucked him then. I rode him and rocked him and rolled him. I wallowed upon him, slapping the surge of me into his wildly steady lift. Pressing forward in a certain way, I felt it, I felt it catch my clit as if from outside and inside at once. I felt it start. The start of it. Gathering. Firming. Forming. I did it again, pressed forward that way. My cunt opened deeper than ever. My womb tightened. "Oh," I said without meaning to, and I pressed forward again. Nothing could stop me. So forward I was. "Oh. Fuck me, fuck me hard you big fat fucker. Fuck me!"
Daniel wasn't fat. Not at all. He was slim and trim, a well-built man with mild but obvious muscles. My sex words made me giggle. Ripples of mirth mixed with the lust. I was so happy, an instant of pure happiness. "Oh, sweetie," I said, knowing he was about to come in my giggling cunny, knowing his coming was going to take me with it. "Oh sweet, sweet, sweetie."
I turned towards him then, wanting us to see each other's ecstasy. It was a good idea.
It was a mistake.
Chrissy was standing in the doorway, her Little Bear dangling down, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes wide and still.
"Oh," I wailed, half in orgasm, half in despair. "Oh no." I dismounted, swinging myself off, just as Daniel's penis erupted, dollops of silver spitting between me and my daughter. Maybe it would have looked funny to someone, like when you take the mixer out of the cake batter before it's fully shut off and the stuff flies everywhere, but to me it was as far from funny as anything, it was about the worst moment of my life. I hissed something unforgivably vile. Chrissy, thinking the venom aimed at her, whirled and fled. I rushed after her. I gathered her up. She squirmed a moment and then was still, a trifle of whimper stuck in her throat, then swallowed.
"Honey, honey, honey," I said, taking her to her bed, arranging her carefully beneath the covers. "Not you. I didn't mean you. I didn't mean you."
I don't know if she knew what I was talking about. I don't know if I knew what I was talking about. I soothed her brow. I kissed her eyes. I crooned nonsense words into her little ear. I nested myself next to her, naked above her covers, and cried where she couldn't see.
She fell asleep. I pulled the bedspread over me and lay beside her. Eventually I fell asleep, too.
I woke with Chrissy still sleeping. Daniel was gone - not a sign of him. He'd straightened my bed. He'd put my clothing neatly on the chair. In the living room even the Newsweek was perfectly in place. It was as if he'd never been there. I took a quick shower and waited for Chrissy to wake.
"It's Sunday my Sunny Good Girl," I said when she came out of her bedroom sleepy-eyed. "What say we go for pancakes?"
Chrissy agreed. As we strolled across the Pancake Palace parking lot, I thought maybe Chrissy had forgotten about last night, or maybe she thought it had been a dream. Then she turned towards me.
"Why were you squashing that man?" she said. "Was he ... hurting you?"
"Oh no," I said, trying to catch the tremble in my voice. "He wasn't hurting me - I wasn't squashing him. I was ... We were ... We were making love, that's all. Just making love."
"Oh," she said. "It looked like you were squashing him."
"I was squashing him, wasn't I?" I said. "But everyone needs a good squashing now and then don't they?" Right there in the parking lot I picked Chrissy up and squeezed her and hugged her 'til she was sputtering with laughter.
Inside I watched Chrissy pour the syrup. The swollen stream kept coming. For a moment I was worried, but then she stopped. She looked up at me, smiling, satisfied. "Do you want me to help you slice?" I asked.
She shook her head. "You sure are getting to be a big girl," I said. Chrissy smiled.
"Do you want me to tell you more about making love?" I thought about offering, but Chrissy was so busily content slicing her pancakes that I let it go.
For a while I thought, despite what I'd said that night, that Daniel might telephone. That he might send a note. But he didn't phone. He didn't write. I can't say I was surprised. As the months rolled by, I thought about phoning him, apologizing. But I lacked the courage. And then it seemed pointless. Just an episode out of the past, nothing fit to build upon. There was one good side-effect - my crush on Al was eased. Oh, I still long for him sometimes, I still remember that special night with fondness, and sometimes, when I need to make myself hot and crazy, it's Al I use. Sweet strong Al. What a special man!
So that brings me to one last thing, if you might - tell him, tell him how dear I hold him. And hold him dear yourself - he deserves it.
In friendship,
Shari