Three Years 1

He looked at the clock with deep, burning eyes. He waited and waited for the red lines to form 12:00. Only two more minutes until his wish would come true. Only one hundred and twenty seconds until what he waited three years for would happen. He almost felt bad being so direct, so prompt about it, but he was a man with wants and needs. A man with a burning desire he kept hidden for twenty six years. Twenty-six. They were sixteen when they met, when he first gave into devilish thoughts. Thoughts of impure nature, of lust and sweat, of loving until the sun began to peek through the windows. But that was it, they were just thoughts. Now, everything he ever thought would become a reality. A truth he never spoke of.

He looked at the clock. 12:00 a.m. It was the thirtieth of April, their anniversary and his birthday. He turned to his right to face her sweet sleeping face. She looked so peaceful, so calm, he hated to wake her up, but he knew she would laugh. Carefully he placed a hand on her almost bare shoulder and shook her gently.

"Sweetie, wake up." He whispered as though there was someone else there he didn't want to disturb. She didn't even stir. He knew how heavy of a sleeper she was. He tried again, this time harder; she stirred and then mumbled,

"What?"

"Baby, it's April thirtieth. Our third anniversary." She opened her eyes and looked at him, slightly confused. She glanced past him at the clock reading twelve o' one.

"This couldn't wait till the morning? Reilly, it's midnight, I have school and work and you have school and work. We'll celebrate tonight. I mean tomorrow night... you know what I mean."

"Right. But TONIGHT is the three years, and we made that promise to each other..."

"You're kidding? No!" She started to laugh and that was all he wanted; to see her smile.

"You are out of your mind, you know that? I'm in love to a crazy man." She ran her fingers through his jet black hair and put her face an inch from his.

"That was my first mistake." She whispered.

"What?"

"Falling in love." Then she placed her lips delicately on his.

"Happy birthday by the way. But absolutely not. I'm tired, you're tired, it can wait a few more hours." She smiled, kissed him quickly and put her head back on her pillow.

"Please..." He began to beg like a dog.

"NO! I want romance, not spontaneity."

"Spontaneity is romantic," he replied.

"Spontaneity is not romantic. Taking a bath together while drinking wine and listening to soft music is romantic. A walk in the park is romantic. A midnight booty call is NOT romantic."

"Fine. If you want to wait for romance, that's fine." He turned to his side and acted like he was mad.

"Reilly, don't be like that." She went to touch his arm when he grabbed her and began to tickle her side, where she was weakest.

"Stop! Oh, ha, ha, ha, ha!" She squeaked through tears of laughter. Finally he let her go.

"You are something else, you know that?" She said as she moved back to her side of the bed.

"I didn't want you to go to bed mad at me. This whole thing was for a laugh; because all I wanted was to see you smile. If you want to wait another three years, that would be fine. If you wanted to wait the rest of our lives, well I wouldn't be happy about it, but I would be ok with it. No matter what choice you make, I will respect it. Abigail, I love you." He smiled a sincere smile and kissed her hand. She kissed him deeply and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Just make it special." She whispered faintly. He nodded and cuddled next her, while the wheels turned and turned for the perfect evening.

Reilly got up before his alarm so he could check what he had to work with food wise for the evening. The freezer was pretty barren except for a package of pork chops, half a bag of frozen broccoli, and something that at one point was most likely a hot dog but now just looked like a discolored icicle.

Reilly shut the freezer door gently, so not to wake up Abigail. He opened the fridge door and found a slightly better situation, but not much. There was a half gallon of milk, five eggs, a few strawberries, a quarter gallon of orange juice, Abigail's chocolate stash for those "rough times," and some left over's.

He closed the door with a slam that made him cringe and curse under his breath. She remained undisturbed, thankfully. Reilly leaned against the counter to ponder what he would do. He couldn't afford to take her out to dinner, but he couldn't really cook. Just a few things his mom taught him so he could fend for himself. That's when he got the perfect solution to his problem and when Abigail's alarm went off in their room.

Reilly slipped into the bathroom's side door so she wouldn't suspect anything out of place. He wanted her totally surprised, and she would be.

The morning went as usual, coffee, breakfast, quick dress, and a kiss good-bye.

"Love you," Abigail said as she and Reilly parted ways for the day, her going to work and him to school.

"Love you too. I'll see you later." He smiled mockingly at her. She just laughed, started her little boxy car, and drove off.

Reilly could hardly concentrate in his classes that day. When he was suppose to be writing notes on the Enlightenment and the over throw of the French Monarchy, he was writing down things he would need for dinner that night. When he was suppose to be thinking of the symbolism of the word home, he was thinking of Abigail's favorite songs. He knew he would never be able to get this night off right unless he had time to work on everything. If he went to work he would have only two hours to shop for food, cook, fancy the apartment up, and prepare himself. As much as he didn't want to take off from work, to make this perfect, he knew he had to.

As soon as his last class let out, he called work, told them he was having car trouble and was stuck at school. Then he got in his car and drove to the closest grocery store. Thirty-two dollars and forty-five cents later, he was on his way to the perfect evening.

The second he got home he did a time check; he had four and a half hours to cook, find the perfect music, set up the apartment, shower, and change. He breathed slowly through his mouth; the places where his teeth didn't line up made a small whistling sound as he sucked in air.

"Ok, time to do this." He got pans out, oil, milk; eggs, everything he knew he would need, and then he called his mom.

"Hello?" A woman with a Jewish accent answered on the other line.

"Hey mom," Reilly replied.

"Reilly! How nice to hear from you. How are you my sweet heart?" The old woman asked.

"I'm fine. But I'm trying to make dinner for me and Abigail, and..."

"Have no fear! I am here to help. That's very sweet of you, I'm sure Abby..." Reilly cringed upon hearing the shortening of Abigail's name. She hated the shortened version, said it sounded more like a dog's name than a person. Sometimes late at night, after a hard day and they just barely made the bills, Reilly would joke that their first dog would be named Abby. Abigail would laugh and her beautiful smile would light up the room and Reilly's heart. It was moment's like those where he knew just how much he loved her.

"Reilly? Are you still there?" His mother asked on the other line.

"Yeah... sorry. So I was thinking of making the chicken sauce thing with the cream..."

"You mean chicken alfredo with the base sauce?"

"Yes! Can you help me, over the phone?"

"Honey, how did you think I learned?"

The process of making the chicken turned out to be more of a fiasco then he anticipated. The chicken was dried out because he cut it up

before

he put it in the oven. Then while making the sauce from scratch, he splashed a bunch of it on his jeans, the counter, and the cabinets below. The first batch of the sauce had no flavor because he forgot too add the pepper and salt. The only thing that came out fine was the spaghetti. Once it was done and over with, Reilly bided his mom a thank you, a good-bye, and started the next project: their bedroom.

He wasn't sure how many was too many, but he bought a canister of white rose petals that he sprinkled across their freshly made bed. He looked through her CD's and found her favorite romance artist: Beth Orton. He popped her favorite CD in the stereo and put it on standby. Reilly checked the clock, one hour until Abigail would be home. That gave him just enough time to get in the shower, put his nice dress shirt on, and set the table.

Fate had different plans for him though, for nothing in life should be easy. The hot water heater finally gave out and Reilly was forced to take an ice cold shower. When he went to put on his nice shirt, a paper thin, white cotton polo; the nick he had given himself from shaving showed up in a penny sized drop of red toward his torso.

"Damn it," he exclaimed to the wind. One of the buttons popped off leaving an uneven pattern in the buttoning. But there was no time to worry about things like this.

Reilly moved his attention to setting up the table. He set the place for him and Abigail at their small card table. He grabbed the only wine glasses they had and set the bottle between their plates. Then he lit two candles, and waited for her to get home. Twenty minutes of waiting resulted in the familiar sound of her key in the door.

"Reilly, I'm home, and boy did I have the day from he..." She stopped dead in her tracks. Reilly stood in the kitchen entrance, dressed slickly, with the familiar sounds of Beth Orton in the background; dinner on the table.

"Happy Anniversary." He smiled at her. Abigail looked at him in total disbelief, her hands cupped around her mouth, tears welling in her green eyes.

"Reilly..." She managed to breathe out. Then she dropped everything. Her backpack, books, keys, and ran into his arms. There was just silence and small sobs as they held each other.

When they finally parted, Abigail wiped the tears from her eyes and looked once more at what he did.

"I can't believe this. It's so beautiful." Her head said shaking as she spoke.

"I wanted to do something special for once and I know we can't afford a lot, but I thought..." He was cut off by the softness of her lips on his.

"It's perfect. I'm going to change and then we can celebrate." Reilly sat around for another fifteen minutes, worrying the food would get cold, until she came out from their room, then he thought he may have died and went to heaven.

Abigail was dressed in an off the shoulder dark blue top. The collar scrunched around and then made a loop at her collar bone; it stopped a little below her belly button. On her hips delicately sat a full skirt that stopped below her knees. It was white, mint green, and blue in intricate patterns. She had her light brown waves tied into a loose bun, the baby blue butterfly clip her grandmother left her holding it in place. She smelled like orchids and coconut to make it even better.

Reilly was speechless at how beautiful she looked.

"Wow, you look... amazing." He managed from some place in the back of his throat.

"Oh, this old thing?" She giggled. Fixated on her every move, he grabbed her chair and scooted her in.

"So what will we be having tonight?" Abigail asked, moving a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Chef Reilly has prepared Chicken alfredo with a base sauce and fresh bread. To drink madam, your choice of white or red wine." He said in a terrible Italian accent.

"Well... that sounds delicious." She replied with a smile. The microwave beeped to let them know the food was warmed. Reilly pushed the chicken and pasta onto the nice white plates they owned and placed it in front of Abigail.

"Red or white?" He asked, holding out the bottles of wine.

"White."

"Excellent choice my dear!" He popped open the bottle and poured her a glass full. She took a sip and gave him the thumbs up. Once he sat down and served himself they dug in. The chicken was like rubber and sauce had congealed a little, but you would never know by Abigail's expression. She treated it like the best meal she had ever eaten.

"Hon, this is so good. Everything tastes wonderful. You did an amazing job." He knew she was lying because he barely wanted to eat it, but he just smiled and said thank you.

They talked of their days, Reilly's cooking call to his mother, and he told Abigail about her calling her Abby. She cringed like Reilly did when it happened and then laughed.

Abigail lifted her wine glass to Reilly,

"Here's to us, to this amazing meal, to three years of love and support and hopefully to many more." Reilly nodded and they drank to it.

After their meal, Reilly asked Abigail to dance. She grabbed his hand and placed her head on his shoulder as he hit replay on her CD. They moved slowly around the apartment, their eyes closed. Slowly he leaned in and kissed her neck. She breathed slowly, and then whispered into his ear,

"You know, I'm not wearing a bra." He stopped moving and looked oddly at her.

"What? It is three years, isn't it?" Her voice playful.

"Yeah, but... I... I don't want you to do something because you feel like you have to... or because you're drunk." She laughed loudly.

"Reilly, I'm not drunk on the small bit of wine I drank. We made the promise three years ago that we would sleep together on our third anniversary." She pointed to her wrist where a watch would sit to indicate how long it had been.

"I know but... you're sure? I mean... this would be it." She placed her right hand on his soft cheek and said,

"I could think of no person I would rather share such a moment with." Then she placed her soft lips on his and kissed him with everything she had.

He grabbed her by the hand and led her to their bedroom. She was taken back by the scatter of white rose petals all over their wine red comforter. Reilly laid her on the bed, some of the older pedals crunching under the weight.

They resumed the position from outside, lip locked, hands restless. She moved her fingers through his hair and down his neck while he let his lips wander down he neck and her collar bone.

Then he stopped.

"What?" She looked baffled.

"Good-bye Beth Orton, sorry." He said as he turned off the CD. Abigail laughed and went back to kissing him. He moved his long fingers up her skirt and felt the inside of her thigh; grabbing a handful of flesh. She moved her hands up his shirt to feel his backbone; his hot skin. She moved her fingers to the buttons of his polo and let out a small laugh.

"Oh Reilly." He looked down and smiled a shy smile. She undid the uneven buttons and pulled his shirt off. Abigail always loved the way he looked with no shirt. He wasn't buff and muscular or had amazing abs. He was medium build, a small bit of stomach to him that was barely noticeable to anyone but him. But when she saw him like that, she saw a real man. Not someone who pumped themselves full of protein shakes and steroids, nor a man who was small enough to hide behind a pine tree. No, Reilly was one hundred percent man, and she loved it.

Their tongues tangled in their mouths as their fingers lingered into hair and the skin on backs. Reilly mostly wanted to take off her blouse, but he had never seen her breasts and was nervous. He had seen breasts before in movies, pictures, porn, but never in real life. Never her's. He skipped it for now and pulled down her skirt, revealing her purple cotton underwear. He didn't know why, but he felt this urge to touch the part of her where her leg connected to her body. Felt like it was right. He took his index finger and traced it. Abigail let out a small sound and bent forward to see what her amazing boyfriend was doing.

He returned her bewildered stare with a crooked smile and a kiss. Abigail wrapped her arms around his neck, his hand under her shirt kneading her breast. She began to kiss him lower, from his neck to his chest, from his chest to his torso until she got to the button on his pants. Her soft lips wisped over his belly button as her small fingers undid the button and zipper to his pants. When the zipper went down, the small sound echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the once white walls.

Reilly could feel the blood flowing to his lower body.

Once his pants were off, boxers growing in size, all that was left was Abigail's blouse. He still wouldn't touch it. He loved the way his fingers felt as they groped and grabbed the soft mounds, but seeing it was a different story. Abigail felt his uneasiness.

"What's wrong?" Her hair was wild and there was a hunger in eyes Reilly had never seen before.

"I just... I've never seen that part of you. I feel like I'm doing something... something wrong, something immoral." He turned his head downward and stared at a rose petal.

"Reilly..." She lifted his chin with the palm of her hand and stared at him with those hungry eyes.

"There is nothing wrong with you see my boobs." He cracked up laughing for some odd reason; he guessed he never would imagine her saying 'boobs' like that. Abigail laughed, but not as hard or much as Reilly.

"We are each others for the taking tonight, so do it right."

"I know. Thank you." He kissed her soft, moist lips and moved his hands underneath her blouse again. From the inside out, he pulled it over her head, the static making some of her hair stand up.

There it was, she pressed herself hard against him, his hands running up and down the soft skin of her back. Their breathing was uneven, quick and hot. Abigail began to feel a swelling that started in her stomach and moved its way down. Reilly nipped and let his lips wander all over her neck, small sounds of enjoyment escaping her mouth. He went just below her breasts and moved his kisses down to where the border line was of her purple underwear.

Slowly, and gently, he slipped his fingers into the elastic and eased it down her peach colored legs. Afterwards, he got up and went to the nightstand where he put the condoms he had bought earlier. After a few tries, he got it on, and slipped his boxers off.

Abigail was lying on the bed and smiled when he joined her.

They breathed slowly, looked at each other, and began to make love. Abigail winced at first, felt the pain, but Reilly made it go away with his tender ways of love. Sometimes when Abigail thought she couldn't feel anything more tender and pleasing, he would let his tongue wander over a part of her body that made her shake with nerves.

Reilly had good stimuli. Abigail's vocalizations let him know the right spots, let him move the right way, but mostly made him proud he was doing it right, that he was making her happy.

"Yes, right there." She moaned when he shifted a little. He kept the back and forth motion and knew it was coming. Abigail's fingers curled around the sheet of the bed, her muscles tightened, and she let out a deep sound that only emits from great pleasure. Her body shook against his, and she arched her back.

He didn't hold back the throbbing sensation he felt and went the same time she did. He hovered over her, breathing heavy and uneven, sweat forming at his brow. She stared into his eyes and pulled him in; kissing him with what strength she had left. He leaned his forehead against hers as they laid their, new people.

Reilly pulled Abigail to his side of the bed, where they laid wrapped in a thin sheet to help them cool off. She placed her head of brown waves on his hot chest, listening to the beating of his heart.

Reilly wrapped his arms around her, his fingers laced with hers as they laid there in silence. No words were needed. After they began to feel sleepy, Abigail spoke.

"I didn't think I could be as happy as I am right now."

"Really? That good, huh?" Reilly joked.

"Not just the sex, everything. The whole night was perfect. Absolutely perfect." She breathed out.