Family Ties

“Then you have a fight between what you want here…” I touched her forehead for a moment before I gently traced my finger down her nose, between her breasts, and finally to the warmth between her legs. “And what you want… here.”

She gasped and squirmed as I teased her opening. Then she moaned when I gently pushed my finger into her.

“Oh, wow. You’re wet and ready, aren’t you?”

“Well, what’d you expect? You were playing with your penis. And we’ve been talking about sex while Mr. Big is pressing into my stomach. So, yes, I’m a little hot and slippery.”

I grinned down at her. “You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

“Especially when I think you’re making fun of me. And don’t you forget it!”

“I wasn’t making fun of you. I was just surprised.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I be a little worked up? You are! We’re partners, you said. Equals. So why shouldn’t I be equally… um… aroused?”

“No argument from me.”

“Thank you!” She took a deep breath and relaxed. Then she closed her eyes and very firmly pulled my finger out of her pussy. “Thank you,” she said again. “I can’t concentrate when you do that. I can barely think straight when Mr. Big is— No! Don’t take him away.”

I chuckled and rolled toward her again. Mr. Big returned to his warm little spot on her hip.

“Better. He was fine where he was. As a matter of fact, I should probably hold on to him, just in case he tries to get away again. Now… where were we? Before you so rudely interrupted by sticking your finger where it didn’t belong?” She thought about what she’d just said. “Okay, it does belong there, but you know what I mean.”

“I do. And we were talking about you and guilt.”

“I thought we were talking about me and drinking.”

“We were, but that’s only a symptom of the problem. And I shouldn’t even call it a problem. It isn’t. It’s just part of who you are.”

“Only… you want me to change.”

“I think you do too. I mean, you must be really unhappy sometimes.

You’re torn between what you want and feeling guilty about it.”

“You can say that again,” she muttered.

“And that’s why I want you to ask for things, or to just do them.”

“But… why? Why is that so important to you? You know what I want.

Why can’t you just do it?”

“Because I don’t want you to feel guilty about it.”

“What makes you think I will?”

“My past. With Kendall.”

“Ugh! You keep throwing her in my face.”

“Sorry. I’m not trying to compare you to her, but I’ve been through some of this before. And I didn’t do anything about it the first time. I don’t want to make that mistake with you. So I’m telling you about something that bothers me.”

“I know. I get that part. But I don’t like being compared to someone in your past.”

“I can’t help it. I really grew to resent Kendall, to resent the fact that she wouldn’t just do what she wanted. I see you doing the same thing. You want something, but instead of asking or doing it yourself, you hint real hard for me to do it, to make the decision for you.”

“But I asked! Okay, so I was a little drunk at the time, but I still asked.”

“Yes, but… even then, you were still putting the burden on me.”

“Burden! What burden? How?”

“Through your words.”

“What about them?”

“Okay, you know how words are important to me, right? I… paint with them, like you said. Well, when you paint with oils or acrylics, brushstrokes matter. You paint up and to the left, the light reflects one way. Side to side, another. You follow me?”

“Duh. I’m a better painter than you.”

I grinned in spite of her tart reply.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, really. Well, nothing that has to do with what we’re talking about. I’ll tell you later, but the short version is that I really like how feisty and competitive you are.”

“I can’t tell if you’re teasing me or—?”

“No, I really like it. But where were we? Yeah, words. So, they’re like brushstrokes. Say them one way and they mean one thing. Say them another and they mean something different.”

“No they don’t.”

“Yeah, they do. Listen: what’s the difference between ‘I want to…’ and ‘I want you to…’?”

“Nothing. Well, no. Duh, I hear the difference. It’s ‘you.’ But what’s the big deal?”

“Responsibility. Who’s responsible for the actions? You or me?”

“Well… you. And me.” She shook her head in irritation. “Who cares?”

“I care. Obviously. ‘I want to…’ means you’re taking responsibility for your own actions. ‘I want you to…’ is putting the burden on me.”

“Oh, and it’s such a burden,” she said sarcastically.

I stared at her until she backed down. “It is a burden,” I said. “Maybe not much, but it adds up. It was one of the reasons I broke up with Kendall.”

“Lucky for me,” she said. Then she thought it through. “Um… maybe not. The same thing might happen with us.”

“Right,” I said heavily. “Kendall never took responsibility. She did in lots of other ways, but never about sex. She put the burden on me instead. And it bugged the hell out of me toward the end. It was more complicated than that, but it made me furious, like I was in charge of her happiness.”