Readers should read part 1 first, as this chapter will not work as well without it.
I saw Ed the very next day at church. We were both with our families so we couldn't talk much. I didn't like to do it, but I had no choice but to divert attention from myself so Ed wouldn't be suspicious of what happened with Rose after he'd scurried out of his brother's place.
"Where did you take off to?" I said in a low voice when we met in the church men's room, making the problem about him instead of me. "Left me holding the bag, didn't you?"
He wore a pained expression. "I'm sorry, Dan. She's living with my brother, okay? I was about as embarrassed as I could get."
We didn't say anything for a few moments, just finished up our business at the urinals and zipped up. This I did with care: my dick was practically raw from masturbating again, once last night and once in the bathroom early that morning, reliving what went on with Rose on Saturday afternoon. Truth is, I was delirious from the headiness of the whole thing, my mind full of images of her body and mostly of the way she had talked to me. I could have done myself again right there in the church restroom, raw and sore or not.
"Did she say anything after I left?" Ed was at the door, looking out through the frosted green glass of the upper part in case anyone should be coming. We'd already checked the stalls for occupants when we came in, like co-conspirators.
"Just that we shouldn't be careless leaving stuff out like that, and that maybe I should leave to be sure I wasn't late for supper" I lied. I held my breath to see if Ed would call my bluff. Maybe he'd waited down the street on his bike for me, maybe he knew how long I tarried at his brother's house.
I felt like a shit for lying to my friend, but at the same time was relieved to see him accept my story. Nothing good could come of him knowing about yesterday. I promised to myself it was the last lie I'd tell him, but of course that was not to be. Sorry, Ed.
All the rest of that morning and early afternoon after church I stayed at home and worked around the house like a busy beave. Dad looked at me funny as I attended to the lawn (even trimming the borders, a task I've always loathed) and clipped back the bushes by the front side of the house. Yes, he looked at me funny, but then again he didn't raise a hand to protest. How could he know that I was trying to keep my mind off of Rose and the way she had casually mentioned that Harland was "back on Tuesday."
This was still Sunday. Two days more until Harland returned from that construction site. Despite how much use my poor privates had been put to in the last 24 hours, I still had half a hard-on in my jeans, persistently reminding me of what I could be doing instead of setting up the lawn sprinklers at just the right points so that they covered the whole front yard, simultaneously.
In the shower, washing off the sweat and dirt from my efforts, I'll admit I did stroke my cock for a little while. It was a habit I'd indulged in since puberty, so it was no big deal. But I found myself drifting away to that house and the possibilities and questions there. Did she think I was too skinny? I looked down at my hip bones protruding ever-so-slightly, then further down to what seemed to me like knobby knees and long, thin feet. I suppose being skinny does make your dick look bigger, I joked to myself, as I idly palmed it. As far as the knees went, Rose hadn't minded using my leg to get herself off in that bathroom, so why should I think that she found me unattractive?
Bigger questions I tried to push away. Ones like: how can Rose keep her life with Harland separate from what she did for me yesterday? Or: can't a woman get pregnant even if the sperm doesn't get up inside, but only on the outside? I remember reading stuff about that. And, finally: what can you possibly say in defense if people find out?
You'd think that all this turmoil would have kept me away from that house forever. But you'd be wrong. A stiff dick has no conscience.
As I pedaled up her street I told myself that I was just going for a Sunday ride, just scouting out lawns that Ed and I might mow for some spare money. Not that I seriously figured I'd be doing yard work much longer in my life. I was getting too old for that shit. It was a fair weather time late in the month of May, so people were out walking. That's something you don't see much anymore – everyone's out shopping, I suppose, so they drive. I saw some folks I knew and felt guilty about where I was going, but certainly they couldn't have known. Besides, I had nothing to feel bad about, right?
Harland's house is set back from the road. I paused at the base of the driveway and thought about a cover story, in case his truck was around the back (Looking for Ed, have you seen him today?). I peered around at the neighboring houses, checking for snoops, and then rolled my bike up the driveway, satisfied that my approach wasn't causing any ado.
Rose looked sweet and soft when she answered my knock at her back door, thankfully not annoyed that I'd popped in. I wanted to embrace her as she opened it, but there was an awkwardness lingering from what had happened between us yesterday, a feeling that kept me from knowing quite what to do.
She was in a navy blue skirt, flouncy like a tennis skirt but not so short, and a white blouse with a scoop neck; it had a couple of translucent, aqua-colored buttons down the front. Her feet were bare, no stockings either. Her body looked good to me.
"I hope it's okay I came back so soon. You said that Har--"
"Yes, he'll return Tuesday" she interrupted me, like she'd rather I not say his name. "It's fine you came back. I was just about to have a sandwich. Did you eat?"
And so it was that I stood in her kitchen and helped with the turkey, bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches. She told me she'd cook a pound of bacon at a time and drain it, then keep it in saran wrap in the fridge so she could enjoy it on this, her favorite style of sandwich. Instead of mayonnaise she preferred Miracle Whip, just like my mother.
All the while she remarked on this I was eyeing her cleavage, admiring the fall of her hair, noticing the profile of her chin, checking the little stud earrings in her small ears, and yearning to run my hand up her exposed legs.
It dawned on me, even as I was inventorying her charms, that maybe one lesson I was learning from Rose was to appreciate everything about a woman, including her little ways of doing things (like making these sandwiches). Her speaking style, her sense of humor, how she might feel about simple pleasures in life, those are things that define a person. Whether I'd have figured this out so soon without the tantalizing lure of sexual activity is an unanswerable question.
As she finished the sandwiches and asked me if I'd prefer milk or soda, she switched subjects without any warning. "I don't want you to kiss me, Danny. I hope that's all right. I need to save that for Harland."
This she was saying while putting out State Line potato chips to go with the sandwiches, and pulling up a couple of tall chairs so we could eat right there at the kitchen counter.
"Okay, Rose. I understand." Of course I didn't, but if that was the way it was, okay. It's not like this was any kind of normal thing we were doing here, with pre-set rules. I dug into the sandwich.
After a few moments of us making eating noises, she asked me "Has a girl ever let you kiss her?"
