Page 17 - Sweet Embraceable You: Coffee-House Stories

Sweet Embraceable You 5

“Come on. We’ll get the car in the morning.” They both of them
knew they were odd. Not so anyone else took notice. Just late-at-
night odd: confessing, prevaricating, revealing to each other their
apt match.

*

“I should have written a different thesis,” Ada said. She turned on
her side in the bed toward Cameron and ran her hand down his
back.
“Lower,” he said. He liked the feel of her hands. Her light touch
floated across the dark hair downing his cheeks.
“My master’s thesis,” Ada said. “I should have written on Em-
ily Dickinson.”
“Lightly,” Cameron said.
“An American woman poet.” Ada sat up in bed.
“Don’t stop,” Cameron said into the pillow.
“Not a poetess,” Ada said. “A poet.” She hiked her nightgown
above her knees. “A bit of tippler, Emily was.” She straddled
Cameron’s thighs from behind. “A spinster like me.” She massaged
from the small of his back up the twin muscled ridges leading to
his strong neck. She touched lightly the scar on his left shoulder.
It was a bullet wound from the war that he had hated.
Cameron moaned in pleasure, his face buried in the pillow.
“What?” Ada said. She pushed hard on the base of his spine.
“You’re no spinster. You’re a married woman.”
“Then I haven’t been a spinster twice.”
Cameron rolled over beneath her light straddle. “You’re my
first marriage,” he said.
Ada laughed. “But hardly your first fuck!”
“I’m cold,” he said. “Come here.” He pulled Ada down, her
face to his face. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
She kissed his ear. “Then there’s a pair of us....Don’t tell.”
He began the familiar rocking motion, holding her. She was a
little girl and a grown woman, in a boat, holding the sides, laughing

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