Author’s Note: Thanks to all the readers who’ve had to be very patient with Jimmy and Claire. I hope this conclusion to their story doesn’t disappoint. Finally, let me say thanks, again, to shygirlwhore, the editor, for her hard work and encouragement.
Claire’s boyfriend, Guy, left for the airport on Sunday afternoon. I didn’t go downstairs until she texted me. She was sitting on the couch.
“What’s up, Claire?”
“Let’s talk, kid.”
“Kid, huh? I’ll see you at dinner.” I walked away.
“Jimmy! Come back! I’m sorry!”
I stopped and went back. “Claire, you don’t need to apologize. I’m not asking you to. I’m done. I’m moving forward.”
“I know. We heard you. For two nights. Shit, we saw you on Friday night.”
“I didn’t ask you to look or listen. She was noisy, not me.”
“You were pissed and you planned it, Jimmy. Admit it.”
“So what if I did? I can’t fuck a girl in my own house? I need your fucking permission?”
“I don’t care about the girl. I care about how you feel.”
“When it’s convenient for you, maybe.”
“Say what you want to say, Jimmy. Tell me how you feel.”
I stopped, swallowed, and stepped toward her. “I’m so fucking pissed off at you, Claire. You know all the shit I’ve put up with—and, look, I don’t want to take anything away from what you’ve suffered here. I know. You’ve been through hell. It’s awful and tragic what happened. But, you just shit on me, just totally shit all over me when you invited your boyfriend over the second we got through your addiction together. And then, having me shave your pussy? Help you primp yourself for him? That was the lowest fucking move of all.”
She didn’t say anything.
“So, yeah, I planned it. I found the biggest whore in town, wined her and diner her and fucked her right over your head. And I was glad she was so fucking annoyingly loud. And I was thrilled when you got to see her sucking my dick. And I did it again on Saturday night, just to rub it in your fucking face.”
“You didn’t just fuck her Saturday night. We heard you two having anal sex up there.”
“Right, and every second of it, I was wishing it was you. If I could go back in time, Claire. Oh, how I fucking regret it now. You, sprawled out across your bed, begging me to fuck your ass. For a lousy cigarette, too. I should have. I wish I did it. I can’t believe how stupid I was not to.”
“And don’t, Claire, don’t condescend. Don’t play like I’m some fucking idiot little boy. Was I jealous? Sure. Who wouldn’t be? You’re beautiful and sexy and fun and everything a man could want. It was more than jealousy. Way more. You shit on me. It was humiliation is what is was.”
“You’re right. About almost everything. Will you listen?”
I tilted up my head: go.
“When you shaved me, I had no idea he was coming. I didn’t lie to you. It was itching me like crazy.”
I shrugged. “How does that explain how cold you were to me then? You didn’t say a fucking word to me for like, a day.”
“I was embarrassed, Jimmy. I had called you names, screamed at you, threatened you. I had tempted you in a way that I will never be able to forget—a way that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I was cruel and cunning and I threw my body at you like a prostitute. All for a drink. What do I say to the person who withstood all that and never left my side? You were my hero. I was in awe of you.”
Her eyes reddened and she sniffed.
“Well, for one you don’t invite your old boyfriend over,” I said.
“I didn’t want Guy to come; I didn’t ask him to. He bought tickets and thought to surprise me.” I took her a tissue, wiped her eyes and nose. “Thanks, Jimmy. We were never serious, but we never really broke it off, either. He’s a nice guy, and I thought maybe you’d want some freedom after putting up with me through all that.”
Fuck. I didn’t know what the hell to say. She sure as hell wasn’t lying.
She continued,”You’re right. I shit on you. When you were up there fucking Brie, all I could think about was how shitty I’d been to you. I deserved it. I deserved every scream.”
I finally spoke. “No, you didn’t. I was being a fucking jerk.”
“I don’t think Guy will ever come back here. I wasn’t much fun.”
“No, Jimmy. I’m sorry. Listening to you fucking Brie, I was jealous. I was jealous of her. I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Now I can.”
I didn’t say anything. Was I back in?
She took a deep breath, held it—thinking—and then sighed. Something was coming. “But, another thing you said before, about our future. You were right about that, too.”
She finished, “There is none. We’re not going to date or have a relationship or get married. The only thing our relationship can do is hurt others. Beth. You. Me. Our family. We can’t be together, no matter how badly I want it.”
“So, that’s it, then? It’s over?”
“Don’t you think it has to be?”
“No. We haven’t hurt anyone, Claire. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
“And how is that? Have you changed your mind?”
“It bahis firmaları never really changed, even when I was pissed. I want you. I think you’re amazing, Claire.”
“Don’t say that. Or don’t say it that way.”
“It’s the fucking truth is the problem.”
We stared at each other and then the floor.
She began. “This will be good for us. I don’t want you to come down unless I text you. I want to try to take care of everything myself.”
“I’ll find a way.”
I shrugged. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.”
She smiled and shook her head. “It’s still about what I want, is it?”
I shrugged. “Or, what I want doesn’t really matter.” I walked toward the stairs. “Text me when you need me,” I called out. “I’m going to go find a way to drown my sorrows in pussy.”
“What did you say?” she asked, yelling back.
I needed time to think. I spent the evening in bitter denial. Some awful thoughts ran through my head. I considered calling Brie again. I thought about what other girls I knew who could help me get back at Claire. I wondered if I should just take off for a few days, leave her completely by herself. I even thought about how I might get the sisters in a fight. I could tell my Mom that Claire was trying to seduce me.
I was in a bad place. What I didn’t consider was giving up. No.
When I got a little more rational, I concluded that I needed to stay with Claire, not abandon her. I needed to be the guy I was when she first got hurt. I needed to be courteous, helpful, and thoughtful. I needed to take the initiative and anticipate her wants or needs.
I knew what I needed to do.
I did the research that evening and made several phone calls on Monday morning after I had set her up with breakfast, which I did quietly and with a smile. She didn’t complain. I helped her eat. When I finally got on the phone, I asked some tricky questions and got transferred around between people, but I got my answers.
I went back down to Claire at around 10:00am.
“Shouldn’t you be drowning your sorrows in pussy or something?” she asked.
“It was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry.”
“Jimmy, you keep coming down. I asked you not to unless I texted.”
“I know. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“We’re going somewhere.”
I just looked at her: come on, lady.
“Ah, that’s the surprise, huh?”
I nodded. “We need to get dressed.”
“Let me go to the bathroom.”
I nodded, and after she left, I walked to her dresser and pulled out an old pair of jeans and a loose tee shirt. Then, I found her boots and her hat. Those, I took and put in the trunk of my car. I came back and laid out her clothes on the bed.
When she came out, she saw them and said. “Bit warm for jeans, isn’t it?”
“No, they’ll be perfect.”
“Help me get them on.”
I did, and dressing her reminded me of the good times. I put some tennis shoes on her. I brushed her hair and put it in a low ponytail. I didn’t do too badly.
“Let’s go,” I said.
We drove for about 15 minutes before she said, “Jimmy, thank you.”
She knew where we were going—to see her horse. But, she didn’t know what else I had in mind. When we arrived at the facility, I took out the bag from the trunk and we walked to the stables. Claire greeted some of the people she knew, and then she saw her horse and touched him.
“Shoshone,” she cooed, lifting her casts to caress the grey stallion’s chin and jaw. Tears began to well up in Claire’s eyes, but I was prepared with some tissues.
We opened the gate and took him out. The stable hands ran up, saddled, and prepared him to ride. Claire looked confused.
I pointed to a rolling set of stairs with a small elevator device built into it that was being wheeled out—a horse mounting device for the handicapped. Then I opened the bag with her boots and her hat. She looked up at me and gave me a huge hug with her casts. She kissed me on the cheek.
I helped her slip on her boots and don her hat. She looked ready to ride, and she was all smiles.
Shoshone was stationed at the end of the handicapped steps, and I walked Claire up them. She mounted gingerly, but successfully. One of the hands helped Claire with the reins, and she rode off through a gate into a fenced-in riding area. I watched her from behind the fence.
A duck on water, I thought. She could ride the horse with no hands. They walked a bit, and then she got Shoshone trotting. I heard her laughing, and several times, she just leaned against Shoshone’s neck and put her cheek against him. I heard her tell the horse how sorry she was. I heard her tell him that she loved him.
They rode for about a half hour before Claire rode him out of the gate and over to the stairs.
On our way back to the car, I said, “Every day, if you want. I’ll bring you back.”
“I would love that, Jimmy.” She reached over and took my hand.
I didn’t say a word.
“What do you smell, Jimmy?” she asked.
“Horses. kaçak iddaa Dirt. Leather.”
“Me, too. Don’t you love it?”
“It’s too new for me to love, yet. But, I can see how a person might.”
She smiled. “No more Advil, Jimmy. I’m done with pain killers.”
“Okay. You don’t need them.”
“When we get back, can you help me clean up?”
I nodded. “After one more thing. We have another stop to make.”
“Dr. Borst’s office.”
“Drop something off; pick something up.”
“You really are full of surprises, college boy.”
A half hour later, we were in a room with two nurses. Each was removing a cast. Claire looked at me, all full of questions.
“Be patient,” I said.
Her bare arms reeked. I told her so.
She kicked me.
The nurses then washed her arms down and left.
“What’s going on, Jimmy? There’s no way I’m ready to be out of casts after—what—17 days.”
A few minutes later, the nurses came back, each carrying a device. They had blue padded tubes, one for the upper arm and one for the lower, and they were connected by black metal splints. Each had two circular elbow hinges.
The nurses explained them—how they were removable and adjustable, how they could get wet and be washed, and—most importantly—how they could pivot at the elbow.
Claire looked up at me in amazement. “How did you set this up, Jimmy?”
“A little bit of research. Making sure your arm breaks were the right type and in the right places. A few phone calls. Your PayPal account—I hope you don’t mind.”
She shook her head.
When they were on, Claire moved her arms. “Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh, I love this.”
They weren’t perfect. The range of motion wasn’t great. She couldn’t, for example, rotate her wrists. Still, it was way better than the old casts. She could bend her elbows. No more Frankenstein arms.
When we left, she was glowing.
“Freedom,” she said.
“What are you saying, Claire?”
“That’s what you’ve given me: hope to ride again and compete; freedom to be independent and take care of myself. I don’t know what to say.”
“Just be happy. That’s all I really care about, Claire.”
“You’re amazing, Jimmy. I envy your future wife.”
I held her hand all the way back to the car. We drove home.
Once there, Claire said, “I know I asked you to help me get cleaned up, but…”
“But, I’m afraid of what it might lead to.”
I nodded, trying to stay positive. “You don’t really need my help, though. You’ve got this.”
I left. Damn it.
My Mom called me that night, pouring thanks and pride down on me for how I had helped her sister. Claire had called her earlier to brag me up.
She spent more time upstairs. I helped her prepare her food—not much, though—and she was eating it by herself.
Every morning, I drove her to the stables and she rode. That was about the extent of my duties.
On Friday morning, the pool guys showed up. They took off the cover, cleaned it up, and dumped in the chemicals. By the afternoon, it looked swimmable, but we had to wait 24 hours for the chemicals.
Mom flew home that night. The three of us had dinner together upstairs. I cleaned up afterwards to let them talk and catch up. As I finished up, Mom got a work call and she took it upstairs. I sat across from Claire.
“Jimmy, I’ve got to tell Beth the truth.”
“I’m living under her roof. She’s my sister. You’re her son. I can’t take living with this guilt. I’ve got to tell her.”
“Look at me, Claire.”
“Do I look like I feel guilty?”
“You’re not me.”
“The High and Mighty Claire, so much more morally sensitive than the rest of us.”
“Do what you think is right, Claire. I don’t care, just so long as this is the last time you humiliate and shit on me.”
I left. Fuck her. When I didn’t feel like fucking her, I felt like killing her.
It was Friday night. I should have been out. I didn’t feel like it with Claire’s looming nuclear strike. Mom came up to my room sometime around 10:00pm.
“Hey, Jimmy. Can we talk?”
“Sure, Mom.” Here it comes.
“I’ve got to fly back early tomorrow morning. Our expert witness can’t testify; we need to find a new one and get him prepared. I’ll need every second. I’d go tonight, but there are no more flights out that I could make.”
“Geez, I’m sorry, Mom. That sucks.”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be fine.”
No mention of Claire. I sighed in relief when Mom left my room. Then I sent a few texts, made a few calls, and went out.
I slept in Saturday morning—Mom had already gone. I woke up at almost noon and grabbed a bite to eat.
I considered my options.
I didn’t want to give up on Claire, and I didn’t believe she had given up on me. The tension was still there between us. There was unfinished business, and I think we both felt it.
Getting her jealous just didn’t work.
But, kaçak bahis being super nice really wasn’t working, either.
What if, I thought, I just had fun?
I walked out the front door, and the moment the hot air enveloped me, I knew: the pool. That would be fun.
I called in a favor from a friend and made a quick trip to the grocery store.
An hour later, I put on my suit and grabbed a towel and sunglasses. I got a cooler ready and went down to the basement.
Access to the pool was through the basement apartment.
Claire was on the couch with her tablet.
“Going swimming,” I said as I walked through. “Got some drinks and snacks if you want to come out.”
I didn’t wait for her to respond.
I pulled together two lounge chairs. Between them, I set up a table. I poured two ice-filled glasses full with margaritas. I opened a small cooler and pulled the top off two Tupperware containers, one full of salsa, one full of guacamole. I set a bag of tortilla chips beside them.
I jumped into the pool.
The water was cool, but the sun was so hot, it didn’t matter. Felt good, actually. I swam laps for about ten minutes, and then I climbed out, beat. I took a huge sip of my drink and laid in the sun, perfectly relaxed.
Then, I heard Claire beating on the window. She waved for me.
I went back inside.
“Is it nice?” she asked.
“Cool water, hot sun.”
“Care if I come out?”
“You live here, Claire. You don’t need my permission.”
“I can’t put my top on. It hooks in the back.”
We went to her room. She turned her back to me, and I helped her lift her shirt off. I caught brief glimpse of the side of her breasts, but I spent more time ogling her ass in those bikini bottoms. Then, we put her top on, and I latched it.
I was hard in my swimsuit.
I grabbed her towel and we walked out to the pool. I stayed in front of her, throwing her towel on the lounger where the untouched margarita sat perspiring.
I laid in the chair and took another drink.
Claire said, “Oh, it’s beautiful out here.” She walked over to the lounger and saw the drink. “This for me?” she asked, pointing at the cup.
“Is this a margarita?”
“You’re not twenty-one,” she pointed out.
I dipped a tortilla chip in some salsa, tossed it in my mouth, and mumbled, “Got friends, Claire.”
She sighed, and then she glanced at my trunks. “Look at yourself, Jimmy!”
I looked down at the tent and shrugged. “You look amazing. I can’t help it.”
She sat in the chair and lifted the cup to her lips. After she took a sip, she smacked her lips and said, “Ahh, that’s perfect. Thanks, Jimmy.” She crossed her legs.
I admired their shape. Her bikini was white, making her body seem just a little more tan than it probably actually was from being practically shut in from her injury. The straps on her hips were low. The top was equally low, exposing a significant swath of upper breast flesh.
She snacked and drank. The salty chips kept her drinking; the salty drink kept her drinking. I refilled our cups.
When she had finished about half of her second margarita, I asked her if she wanted to sit on the bench around the deep end and cool off in the water.
“Good idea,” she said.
I topped off her drink and carried both of ours to the end of the pool. I helped her down into the corner. She complained about the cold for a moment. The bench was submerged about 20 inches, and Claire sat with her new casts resting on the pool coping. I put her drink beside her hand and lowered myself next to her.
“This is perfect, Jimmy. I almost forgot you guys had a pool even though I could see it out my window every day.”
“No use looking at something you can’t use. Now you can,” I offered.
She took another big drink, and we basked in the June sunshine. Under the water, I gently rubbed her thigh and she did not stop me.
She said, “Remember when I told you that I envied your future wife?”
“I meant it.”
“But, I didn’t just mean it because you’re caring and thoughtful. And I didn’t just mean it because you’re handsome and sexy and strong.”
“When I said it, a part of me was thinking about your penis, too. You’re probably already aware of this—I don’t know, maybe not, you tell me—but that jaycock of yours is designed to give women orgasms.”
“I never really liked it.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I’ve—you know—seen other dudes. Porn. Whatever. But, I always envied the guys with normal ones—straight ones. I’ve always hated that I’m limited to certain positions, otherwise its uncomfortable for the girl, or for me.”
“What positions? From behind, you mean?”
“Yeah, mainly,” I said.
“Because anything from the front is going to be amazing—for the woman, at least.”
“But, you like it when you’re behind?” she asked.
Fuck, I liked this conversation. My cock was like the main mast of a sunken ship down there. “I like everything. I just don’t like being limited, and, yeah, I like bootys. I love yours.”
She smiled, “Oh, college boy, what am I going to do with you.” She took another drink, and I slid my hand along her smooth, beautiful thigh.