Enemy of Mine (35 page)
“I thought homosexuals could marry during this time. So wouldn’t Bill be Ben’s spouse?” He could barely grunt out.
She stopped and gripped him around his hips, rocking into him. “God, it makes me hot that you know about current events.”
“I know the present Prime Minister in England and the President of America.”
She moaned and arched again, then began to kiss down his neck.
He laughed. “And, Erva, darling—”
She stopped, her eyes glassy, her cheeks flushed with passion.
“I even know the Prime Minister of Canada.”
She moaned then giggled, beginning to pull down her pants, even if Will was on her or not. “Need you now.”
He kept chuckling, but once she finally freed herself of her jeans, he quit. Urgently, she found his member with her hands and began to guide him into her hot, wet flesh. He couldn’t joke after that.
“I love you,” she whispered as she maneuvered her body to take in more of him.
Lord, this was better than any dream. He pulled slightly out, but then gently plummeted his way back in. He didn’t know what he’d done in his life to deserve the woman he made love to, for he’d never thought love could be this freeing, this giving, and this good. He found a rhythm, but was surprised that she quickly internally squeezed until she cried out, she cried out his name. All of it made him think he might explode, and the warm air in his lungs invaded every muscle in his body tightening him, adding more pressure. Then he reached down and stroked against her little nub, making her clutch at him all the more. Her legs shook, but she held onto his shoulders in a tight squeeze.
“I’m going to...again,” she sweetly whispered.
“Yes, my darling. I want you to.” For he knew he couldn’t stand much longer himself, but promised himself that next time he’d go slow. Well, slower. Hopefully.
Her internal muscles squeezed him again, then she yelled his name once more while she tilted her head back. Watching her orgasm made all the pressure build until he couldn’t hold back any longer. When she opened her eyes and looked deeply into his, a bolt of lightning ran though him, then he pushed himself all the way into her body, feeling as though he was transferring his very heart and soul into her. He gazed into her honey-colored eyes the whole time. His spasms seemed to take longer than usual to end, and he held onto her with all his might.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He gathered her in his arms, their bodies perfectly aligned and still one. Kissing her gently, he lifted himself to whisper in her ear. “I love you. Not even two hundred years could hold me back from loving you. I love you timelessly.”
“W
hat is he singing?” Clio asked Erato, as they glided down Erva’s apartment building in a window-washing boatswain’s chair. It had been a few weeks since they released Will back to Erva, and they had thought it best to give the couple some privacy. But they had to check. After all, it was their jobs. Truly though, they were nosey too.
They finally perched themselves on one of Erva’s windows. Both wore matching golden work coveralls, looking in at Erva who was typing happily away at her laptop, but they could hear Will loudly singing, probably in the shower, since the sound echoed and was accompanied by the orchestra of running water.
“I believe that’s from one of those men’s groups of the early ‘90s. He wants to sex her up.” Erato shook her head.
Clio winced. “The man progressed with his music.”
Erato smiled and was about to add a sarcastic remark, but then heard Will holler, “Why am I taking a shower alone? Where is my blue haired darling? I can stop singing if that’s more tempting?”
Erva giggled, then pressed save. She hollered, “I keep forgetting to ask you about your spies. You had a lot of them, right?”
“I’ll tell you everything if you join me in the shower.” Will laughed.
Erva then ran from the room, tearing her t-shirt over her head in the process. “I’m coming.”
“Not yet, but I’ll get you to,” Will growled.
Erato and Clio looked at each other with huge eyes, and they covered each other’s mouths to stop from giggling.
Clio had the sense to lower the boatswain chair, and when they were closer to the ground floor, they burst out giggling.
“I think they’ll be fine.”
Erato nodded. “I think better than fine.”
Clio laughed again, but when they found themselves on the ground they lingered, giggling quietly. It was then she saw the small figure approach. She nudged Erato, pointing with her head toward the petite woman walking toward them. She should have turned heads with her long rich brunette hair, braided down over one shoulder and stopping at her waist. Her white shift didn’t stand out too much, because women of this time liked embroidered summer dresses of a similar fashion. However, it was fall, and not the time for such garments. She walked through the crowd of Bostonians, not one of them paying her the slightest heed. Through it all, she stood out, yet she was clearly invisible to the humans. Well, ghosts usually are.
Clio and Erato finally unbuckled themselves from the boatswain chair, then rose to meet her. Her eyes were almost black and haunted, but when she looked up at the building she smiled. And the gloom from the woman vanished.
“That’s the happiest he’s ever been,” she said.
Clio and Erato didn’t know how to acknowledge that, so they glanced at each other nervously.
The woman beamed at the muses too. “Thank you for giving Minerva the
glimpse
. She’s perfect for Will.” Her smile turned sad, but then her eyes sparkled with rueful happiness.
“Of course, Lady Hill,” Clio said, “it was a pleasure to see both of them find such...happiness.”
Erato glanced from her sister to the little brunette.
Julia nodded. “They are. They both are. They are truly happy and so in love.”
Clio nodded and took a tentative step closer, reaching out a hand, but never able to touch the apparition. “You can let go now,” she said calmly, reassuringly.
Julia let her smile blossom. With a tiny wisp from the wind her image brightened then turned golden. She burst into sparkles of dust that swirled around Clio and Erato for a few seconds. The golden powder rose to Erva’s apartment then it dissipated into nothing but a beautiful cloudless day.
Clio glanced at her sister.
Erato’s eyes glistened with moisture. “Sissy, why didn’t you tell me—?”
Clio shrugged.
Erato shoved her sister’s shoulder with her own. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were getting rather sentimental. And romantic.”
Clio glowered, but then she bit her bottom lip with a small smile.
“I know that face. You’re up to something else!”
Clio beamed. “Well, I had so much fun with you, I was thinking...I know a Green Beret turned academic who is also in love with the American Revolution, particularly a pretty little British spy.”
Erato frowned. “I know a woman much like Erva, complete overachiever, no idea of her worth, who could stand a good time with a brawny Highlander.”
“And don’t forget the World War I doughboy that Odin sent back to Rome. He’s been there for, well, a very long time now. Maybe we should help him back to 1917?”
Erato shook her head. “You got to choose last time. It’s my turn now.”
Clio smiled again. “So it’s settled? We’ll play time-traveling stewards?”
Erato folded her arm into her sister’s, and they marched down the sidewalk. “This will be so much fun! But I really do get to pick for this next round.”
“Who’s it going to be?”
Erato turned toward Clio with a coy grin. “Well, I want to see a picture of the Green Beret before I make up my mind.”
Clio laughed.
THE END
By
Red L. Jameson
T
he muse sisters, Erato and Clio, sat beside the deserted Scottish road, A838. The perpetual slate sky set against the steely North Sea made the picture monochromatic to say the least. But the strip of color, a luscious green grass beside the road, seemed home only to the Highlands. The sisters sipped margaritas under a huge golden beach umbrella. Lounging in wicker chairs, their feet were propped on small wicker ottomans. Clad in gold jogging suits with gold sports caps, their unruly, dark red, wavy hair stuck out at classic Greek angles. They wore gigantic, Jackie O sunglasses, proving that neither of them was there for running, especially since they were giggling nonstop and waving their lime-green drinks toward the road.
“Oh, oh, oh, there’s our girl,” Erato, the muse of romantic writing, nodded toward the direction of an approaching runner.
Clio, the muse of historical writing, narrowed her eyes to make out the feminine form in a dark jogging suit with a bouncing black ponytail. “She’s prettier than I thought.”
Erato shoved her sister’s hand with her own. “What? You think only historian geeks can be pretty? My girl, even if she is a nerdy genealogist, is very pretty.”
Clio arched an auburn brow, but rolled her lips inward to keep from smiling. Finally, she said, “We seem to have a thing for geeks, have you noticed that?”
Erato shrugged, intently watching the jogger run closer. “We’ll choose a non-academic next time. Oh! She’s almost here!”
Clio studied the human woman. High cheekbones with pink spread throughout—obviously the girl had been running hard. The woman’s dark eyes were intense, determined. Angry. Yikes. But even through the anger, Clio noticed the soft, delicate planes of her face, the plump pink lips, the way the anger seemed turned inward rather than out. The girl needed a break, but she wasn’t giving herself one.
Barely paying heed to the muses or perhaps trying hard to ignore the scene the muses created, the jogger ran by on a wildflower-scented breeze, like the Clarkia Pulchella—Pinkfairy flowers. It was a sweet, delicate smelling blossom, native to Montana and the Dakotas. It was also a hades of a lot stronger than it looked. Clio wondered if the girl was the same.
“Did you see her ass? She has such a great ass.”
Clio turned to her sister, frowning, one eyebrow seriously arched now.
Erato shrugged. “What? Like you didn’t notice?”
Clio dragged her gaze back to the runner’s behind. Narrow hips boasted a tight little fanny. All right, the girl, even if she wasn’t a historian, was a hottie.
Clio inhaled deeply and patted her sister’s knee. “Time to get to work.”
Erato giggled. “I can’t wait for this
glimpse
.”
“The hell you will,” said a very male, very annoyed voice behind them.
As one, Clio and Erato turned to face the tall dark god, attired in leather leggings and a breach clout. He was muscular, his six-pack abs proving it, but it was his broad shoulders and the power through his chest that had most women swooning. It didn’t hurt that the man had a mane that hung almost to his waist and looked more like a curtain of onyx-blue silk than real hair. The sisters both bit their bottom lips, trying to curb in their lascivious grins.
“Coyote, how nice to see you here,” Clio cooed.
“In Scotland too. This is such a pleasant surprise.” Erato’s voice was wispy and beyond flirty. More in the realm of sex.
Clio glared at her sister as they fought their way to stand.
Coyote was a trickster, and the muses admired his mischievous ways. He held a hand up to the both of them. “She’s mine, and you know it. Leave her alone.”
Both the muse sisters glanced the direction of the runner.
“But she’s—”
“Actually, the laws don’t—”
Coyote raised his hand again to the sisters, halting their protests immediately.
He sighed and shook his head. “If you’re going to whirl her back in time, give her this
glimpse
, it’s on my terms, understand?”
At that both Clio and Erato rushed to him, embracing the large god. He held each sister around their waists, pulling them tighter with a sly grin, as if he’d known all along his protest would actually merit their undivided attention, which was more than alluring.
“You won’t be sorry. This will be a wonderful experience for her,” Clio gushed.
“Been working out? My, what big pecs you have.” Erato’s hands spilled down Coyote’s chest to the ridges of his stomach.
Clio again glared at her sister.
Coyote laughed and soaked up the petting and sibling rivalry until it was time to go to work.
A Note
about the Glimpse Time-Travel Series
Often, history is taught with a clear beginning and end. In a class titled, The History of Western Civilization, it would usually begin with Homer and might have an ending around the Industrial Revolution. It is almost always taught with linear projections—you learn about events in a certain year, work your way forward, then end so many years in the future.
It wasn’t until I was in graduate school that I began to learn history by skipping around, much like a time-traveler would. In order to understand why the Highland Guard in South Carolina fought so urgently
for
their British monarch in 1776, one needed to understand why they fought so bravely
against
that similar monarchy in the Battle of Culloden just thirty years before. I’d never had more fun than when I bounced through time, absorbing an event in a particular era to see it shine through a hundred years later, or understanding one happening, only to reexamine it through another aspect of time.
When we are taught history with a linear projection, we see it through the lens of the latter era. I know I did. I often saw the Enlightenment period through the optics of the Victorian. But they were vastly different phases of time, often having varying roles for women, men, and children as well as diverse social mores. It is when we prance about in time, I believe, that we can see history more clearly for what it is.
The
Glimpse
Time-Travel series will jump, dance, and sprint through different eras of time. My greatest desire is to entertain you, so you feel a resonating similarity with my characters, and in the end maybe come away from the experience thinking no matter what the time, no matter the individuals involved, people have more similarities than differences, more hope than despair, and more love than hate.
