CHANGE OF PACE--an excerpt from one of my prize-winning stories.
Mik yawned sleepily and suddenly realized he had no idea what he’d read on the last two pages. What time was it? He looked at his watch—almost eleven.
Putting the paperback facedown on the coffee table, he stood up and stretched, then let his arms hang loose.
There was a clicking sound in the bedroom hall, and he was instantly alert. Every door in the hall was being opened and closed.
Sigrid was walking in her sleep, walking and searching just like she used to.
He waited. Finally she appeared in the doorway, her eyes glazed and staring. His manhood twitched with interest. Her pale aqua spaghetti-strap gown dipped down to the tops of her breasts and ended just above her knees. It wasn’t exactly see-through, but it didn’t need to be. Mik remembered everything that was beneath it.
At seventeen, she had been his own private goddess, golden and glowing, with high, pink-tipped breasts and thighs that seemed custom-designed to cradle his passion. Her breasts were a little heavier now and her butt a little tighter, but it was all for the better. Blood pooled in his loins. He’d wanted her then and he wanted her now.
But it wasn’t the right time yet.
She came into the room slowly, looking neither to right nor left. “Mommy? Where are you?”
He walked over and touched her arm. “Sigrid, sweetheart, wake up. You’re sleepwalking again.”
Ignoring him, she padded across the room to the front door.
He intercepted her as she fumbled with the lock. “No, you don’t. I draw the line at you parading down the hall in that snazzy little number.”
She nudged him aside as if he didn’t exist and continued to work on the locks. Gently he encircled her waist with his arm and led her to the couch. “It’s all right, baby. Just sit down and rest for a minute. I’ll get you some water.”
The second he released her, she stood up and headed for the door again.
In quick strides he returned her to the couch, staying beside her this time. “Sigrid, it’s me, Mik. I’m here and everything is okay. Can you hear me?”
Her only response was a shiver.
He put his arm around her shoulders, a dangerous thing to do, but she needed his touch. “Wake up, dooshuh muhyáh, my darling. You’re safe. Yah lyooblyoo tibyáh.” Oops, that just sort of slipped out. I love you. It was what he used to say when he was trying to awaken her. And he didn’t know if it was true anymore.
“Sigrid, wake up.” He spoke louder, closer to her ear.
Her body was warm and pliant, her pale hair loose and flowing like a shower of gold, not imprisoned in that twist thing she usually wore. He’d wondered how long it was. He lifted a strand and watched it fracture into a golden prism as it fell to mid-back, then nuzzled her cheek lightly, inhaling her feminine scent, and kissed her frozen brow. They’d always made love after he awakened her from her night wandering, and the old instincts were still there.
She sighed. Her eyes didn’t waver, but her arm flailed helplessly in the air and came to rest across his groin.
He shuddered and moaned to himself. How much longer could he take this? He gritted his teeth. As long as he needed to.