Could He See Me Trembling?
Ed was a scruffy dreamboat from Pitcairn with long bleached-blond hair, sparkling green eyes, and a slow, deep voice.
One day, unbeknownst to Larry and me, Ed hopped on his Sportster and rode from Pitcairn to Florida. He appeared on Larry’s doorstep on a random Saturday afternoon.
“Hey Man!” Larry said, patting him on the back and inviting him in. “How ya’ doin’? Ya want a beer?”
“Yeah,” Ed drawled. His voice was even deeper than I remembered. “My fuckin’ ass is killing me, fuckin’ Sportster! I gotta get a bigger fuckin’ seat.”
I glanced quickly at Ed’s 25-year-old butt, wondering briefly if he needed a massage.
Larry laughed, nodded, lit a cigarette. “I guess my brother told you where we live!” It wasn’t a question.
Ed cracked his beer. “Yeah,” he said. “I hope it’s okay if I crash here for a few.”
“Of course!” Larry said. “Stay as long as you like!” With Joe gone, we had a whole couch available for Ed.
So Ed stayed.
When Larry and I went anywhere, we took Ed with us: me on the back of Larry’s bike, Ed on his Sportster. I ogled Ed as he rode, his shoulders almost always bare in spite of sunburn, his hands clad in fingerless leather. Ed would take off his helmet, shake his head like a wet dog, and emerge like a GQ model.
When he smiled, showing all his perfect white teeth, my stomach would flip; around Ed, I felt like a schoolgirl.
At the bars, Ed and I discussed music that wasn’t country. Ed would dump all his quarters into the jukebox to play Rough Boy on repeat. He’d play bad air guitar, his wild locks flying, then he’d run one giant hand through his hair, willing it back into place. I melted every time.
When we played pool, I’d casually rub against Ed as we moved around the table. When Ed’s hand slid down lower than it should on my back, I not only allowed his hands on my body, I craved them.
One day we all went out in Dave’s pickup, and Ed and I hunkered down in the back. We had to stay under a tarp to avoid being noticed by law enforcement. Ed and I were under there for an hour, our hands wandering all over each other, exploring what we couldn’t have. We started kissing under that tarp, my insides topsy-turvy, and kissed until the truck stopped moving. Then we hopped out and never mentioned it again.
Ed and I stayed up nights drinking while Larry slept, completely hands-off. But when Ed would pass out, I’d sit in my chair and stare at him sleeping – drinking my beers and drinking Ed in.
One morning, I was still staring at Ed when he woke up.
He saw me staring and stared back, hard. Could he see me trembling? Please, I begged telepathically, please, now.
Finally Ed nodded toward Dave’s room, sitting silently open and empty.
Obediently I left my chair and threw myself onto Dave’s bed. Ed followed me in, closed and locked the door in one motion, and never said a word.
I started to whisper something but Ed put his finger on my lips, then carefully, passionately kissed me. The anticipation, the reality of succumbing to this particular desire, made us wild with desperation. But we remained deathly silent. Whatever we consummated in that room had been coming for a very, very long time.
Afterward, satiated, we padded back to our original positions on the couch and chair.
Larry was asleep in the room next door.