I thought about it for a moment, having trouble finding just the right words, so I settled for the first that came to mind. “Warm, cozy, sweet, sincere. I guess, in my teenage fantasies, what I always thought it would be like.”
“And what you’re doing with Cletus now . . .?” Shelly lifted an eyebrow, her concern persisting.
“It feels—” Heat rose anew to my cheeks, my ears, up my neck, but I ignored it and forced the words out. “Sometimes rough, hot, hard, painful, but in a really good way, you know? It makes me feel lost but awake. I don’t know how to describe it, I guess.”
Sienna blinked a few times, like my description had caught her off guard, but she said, “That’s a pretty good start.”
I wasn’t finished. “It feels animalistic, primitive. While making love feels more civilized, enlightened, refined—”
“Polite,” Shelly supplied, crisp and succinct. “You think making love is polite and the other—let’s call it ‘humping like rabbits’—is rude?”
I cringed at the phrase she used, but I supposed it was a fair description. “Maybe. Does that make sense?”
“It does.” Sienna cut in. “But what I don’t think you understand is that part of the benefit—the joy—of being in a fully consensual relationship with someone is that you get to do whatever it is you want to do with that person—as long as they consent.”
“Consent is key.” Shelly leaned back in her chair again, folding her hands over her stomach. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s between you and Cletus, and no one else. You and Cletus.”
I frowned, processing this statement, It’s between you and Cletus, and no one else.
“Plus, you love each other. If you both want to hump like rabbits, then hump like rabbits. If you want to make love, make love. If you want to dress up and role-play something completely scandalous, do it.” Sienna laughed, sounding joyful. “You get to share your kink, whatever that is, with someone who is amazing, and who adores you. So let him share it.”
“My kink . . .” What even was my kink? Did I know? Did everyone have a kink? What if I didn’t have a kink?
“And when he wants to share his kink with you, be open to it,” Shelly added.
Sienna nodded, like this point was extremely important. “Yes, be open to kink.”
Goodness! Did Cletus have kinks?! He’s never mentioned any. Just the thought of Cletus sharing his kinks made me want to find him right now, demand a list, and start . . . doing it, whatever it was.
“But, if you hate his kink, tell him.” Shelly’s voice turned stern. “No one should be forcing another person into nonconsensual kinkery.”
“Yes! That.” Sienna pointed at Shelly but continued to address me gently, “If you don’t like one of his kinks, or he doesn’t like yours, talk about it. Find new kinks together. The sex part of a successful relationship is all about finding someone who has compatible kinks, and then indulging them. Together.”
Chapter Seventeen
*Jenn*
“Man is now only more active - not more happy - nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.”
Edgar Allan Poe
I took three things away from my conversation with Sienna and Shelly:
1. Lusting after Cletus didn’t make me fundamentally weird or wrong.
2. What happened between me and Cletus was no one’s business but ours. If he was happy, I shouldn’t fret unless he spoke up and expressed concern.
3. I couldn’t let my desire for Cletus become the center of my universe. Whether I liked it or not, there were other things needed doing, other situations I’d let linger in favor of indulging my Cletus fantasies. It was time to confront those things and situations. Once done, I could get back to the Cletus fantasies, in moderation.
Which was why I’d decided to stop by my mother’s house after the wedding shower instead of heading home with my man. There’d be plenty of time for us to be wrapped in each other. Neglecting present pressing issues and worries would only make those issues and worries worse in the long run.
In the spirit of confrontation, I knocked on my momma’s door, waited a tick, then entered. “Momma? I’m here, and I brought you food from the shower. Are you feeling better?”
I understood why my momma couldn’t come to the wedding shower. Cletus had suggested she wear gloves all day to avoid leaving fingerprints, but we both knew this was a silly idea. She couldn’t wear gloves on a sunny spring day without raising eyebrows and suspicions, even more suspicions than her absence from society.
Most folks had just assumed she’d been torn up about my father’s death, seeing as how they’d been married for so long and had two children together. In the end, we’d decided to perpetuate this story by having her feign a lingering illness instead of attending the shower at the Winston homestead. Of course, the unmarked van along the street outside her house raised a few eyebrows, and folks were starting to whisper more and more about the possibility of her being a suspect.
They didn’t whisper these thoughts to me, obviously. Especially since I’d been the one arrested.
Regardless, I did feel badly about continuing to keep Ashley in the dark and hoped I’d get a chance to make things right in the future. I’ll throw her wedding shower! Maybe I’ll ask Drew to jump out of the cake. It was an idea I tucked away for later.
“I’m in the back office, dearest. I felt a little better, so I decided to finalize the seating plan for the reception.” Her wan voice traveled down the hall, and I knew some of the words were for the benefit of the FBI, still watching the house from the road and listening in daily.
I carried the covered plate of food to the office and stopped just inside the doorway. She’d been telling the truth; my mother sat in the office chair working on the seat assignments, a pile of RSVP cards on one side of the keyboard, a printed-out spreadsheet on the other, and a seating diagram on the computer screen.
“You do look sick still,” I said, even though she looked great. Turning to face me and wearing a small smile, I noted that she’d showered, put on makeup, did her hair, and had dressed in a cream-colored pantsuit, the jacket hanging on the back of her chair. My heart did a sad flip-flop because it was the outfit she’d planned to wear to the wedding shower today.
My momma waved me forward, opening the notebook we used to write messages back and forth when I visited. This had been my idea and started up right after I’d been released at my arrest. It was so nice to “talk” to her again. Understanding the extent to which she was being watched by the law had been a relief. Now we could circumvent their systems.
Placing the loaded plate on top of her desk, I said, “I have just a few simple things, since I knew you weren’t feeling well,” while unwrapping a giant plate covered in a sampling of the yummiest dishes: spinach dip and homemade pumpernickel bread, veggies and smoked salmon dip, fancy cheeses and artisan sea salt crackers, sausage pie, coleslaw, fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, green beans with bacon and onions, and collard greens (also with bacon).
“I suppose I should eat something.” Her eyes twinkled but her voice sounded pitiful.