Joe was half-done cleaning his workshop when he
remembered it was his night to water. Early fireflies floated
through twilight. Joe came inside after giving everything a
good soak. He stood in the archway of his living room to
watch JoJo, who was curled up on the far end of the couch
reading. Concealed behind her knees, the book evidently was
interesting. JoJo’s lips were parted slightly, her eyes devoted
to the page. Joe admired the snug curve of her bottom, the
fluff and halo of her auburn hair in the amber glow of the
reading lamp.
“Do you think there are fewer fireflies this year?” Joe
whispered.
“Oh, honey, you startled me!” JoJo smiled and hastily set her
reading aside. “All done sprinkling?”
“Yup.” Joe dusted his hands. “Just a few drips this time. I
think the coupler is fixed. Good book? A gripper?”
JoJo shrugged and smiled. She rose quickly, crossed the
living room, and put her hands upon Joe’s shoulders.
Standing on tiptoes, she pulled him down enough for a deep
kiss.
“Mm,” she said, slipping her hands into the back pockets of
his jeans. She kissed him again.
“So what about it?” Joe asked, a third kiss accomplished.
“Oh, I think there are as many fireflies as before. It’s not like
lightning bugs explode.”
“No, I meant your book,” Joe said. “You seem so … sexy
this evening.”
“Do I?” JoJo nuzzled Joe. Now his hands found her pockets.
Pulling her tight, he steered her toward the stairs.
“Was it … explicit?”
JoJo laughed. “Not everything has to be explicit. Bed isn’t
everything.” She sat on the stairs and slowly unbuckled his
belt, cautiously undid the button, started to tug down the
zipper, but then turned and skipped up the stairway. Joe
followed.
“Sometimes,” she said, blocking the doorway to their
bedroom, “sometimes a couple in a book is so achingly right
for each other, and they know it, and everybody knows it,
especially the readers. The readers know it more than
anybody. But bed is just not to be.”
“It isn’t?” Joe said, staring into her solemn eyes.
Her lips parted. A soft frown. “No.”
“Isn’t that sad?”
“Yes. Very.”
“If we were characters in your book, wouldn’t we be meant
for each other?”
“Yes,” JoJo said, unbuttoning her blouse. Taking it off.
Shucking her shorts. Her panties. “Luckily, we’re not in a
book. And you know what that means?” She lay on the bed,
her legs slightly parted.
“What?”
“That we can fuck, silly. But first I get to kiss you
everywhere, first with my pussy, then with my cunt. Your
knees, your nose, your oh, oh. Oh, honey! There. Yes,
especially there. You’re a real gripper.” As the night wore on,
endlessly snug silkiness expanded. A billion fireflies
exploded.