Friday night was a Technicolor blur, a hot and dirty frenzied fuck that spilled hungrily over into Saturday morning. She had met him at the motel door with a lopsided smile and a rodeo hug and a long sloppy wet kiss that lasted only until he had time to lift her and turn and throw her at his feet. He fell on top of her and closed the door with a clumsy kick. They fucked ravenously on the hardwood floor, trying to kiss as they fucked but unable to meet each other’s mouths in the feverish movement of it all, their kisses transformed into snarling bites and glancing collisions of tongues and lips and teeth. Each hard thrust of his hips moved her several inches forward, so that they fucked their way across the room to the far wall like manifest destiny. Once against the wall she put her palms against the surface of it to brace herself and thus meet his thrusts with equal fervor. She pulled his hips tight against her own and rolled him over, laughing, his cock still buried in her pussy, taking her turn in the driver’s seat as her thrusts pushed him along the floor in the opposite direction, and they fucked their way across the room again.

It took them nearly an hour to even make it to the bed, and that was only so he could bend her over it to fuck her from behind, clenching her hair, slapping her ass.

They had both brought all the sex toys and objects of fantasy and fetish they had talked about for so long, so many times, but all were left ignored in their suitcases. They'd just get in the way. They'd come later. Maybe.

After that first hot fuck had finally wound down, they lay on their backs under the open window and let the summer breeze blow across the sweat of their bodies. They didn't talk for a long while.

She asked, "What are you thinking?"

He said, "I hate that question."

"I know." He could hear her smile in her voice.

"Then why did you ask?"

"Because I know you'll answer honestly."

Silence took the room for a long moment. Headlights splashed on the wall across from the window from time to time, arcing up the wall and across as cars passed. He wondered where they were all going. Origin unknown, destination uncertain.

"What am I thinking?" he repeated.

"Yes."

He murmured, so quietly she could barely hear him. "I was thinking how good it is to fuck you again. What a hot little fuck you are. How much I love to fuck you."

"Bullshit." She slapped him lightly on the arm. “I just think you like saying ‘fuck’ a lot.”

“There is that. But I love fucking you. Sometimes my life feels like I’m in a holding pattern, circling the runway, waiting out the time between fucks. Like, when I’m not fucking you I’m not fully alive. So that is what I was thinking. I was savoring the thought of three days doing nothing but fucking you.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you are being kind. And horny.”

He turned to her. “No, it’s true. Really. Look at my cock. It’s twitching. It's still having little aftershocks, trying to pump more cum. Still in the moment."

"I know. I saw it do that little twitchy thing.”

"You saw my cock twitch? Just now?"

"Yes. Like it’s alive."

“It is alive.”

“It gets me wet."

"If you saw me twitch you must have known I was thinking about fucking you. Wanting more."

"Yes, I knew you were thinking about fucking me.” She kissed his shoulder, then bit it lightly. “I just wanted to hear you say it."

Another silence. He asked, "Do other men's cocks twitch? Is it common?"

"I don't know if it's common. I’ve seen it before.”

“You’ve slept with other men before you met me?” This time the smile was in his voice.

“I’ve slept with other men until you. There’s a difference.”

“You’ve slept with other men after meeting me.”

“Oh, honey, there is no comparison. They are not you. Only you are you.”

His cock twitched again and they both laughed. In a rumbling whisper he teased, "So it makes you wet to watch my cock twitch?"

"Yes."

"Are you wet now?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

She flashed him a knowing feline smile and brushed her finger against the folds of her pussy, along the slit of it. She then slipped it inside, all the way in, excruciatingly slowly. It came out wet and glistening. She put it to his lips and let him lick it off, then brought her finger to her own mouth and sucked on it, slipping it all the way inside her mouth as slowly as she had her pussy.

His cock was hard by then, of course, and she slid down to the end of the bed and took him in her mouth. The first fuck had been all hard floors and floor burns and famished need. Things started much more slowly this time. She had described how she’d suck him a hundred times, in texts, on the phone, in emails, but only a small handful of times had she actually done what she had detailed. She licked the shaft of his cock while she fondled his balls and was met with a groan of submission. Her tongue traveled up to the very edge of the head of his cock without ever touching it, making him wait, tantalizingly close. She was so good at teasing him, and he was so ridiculously easy to tease; all it took was a sigh, or a slight catch in her breath.

Sometimes not even that. Sometimes all it took was a glance.

She looked up into his eyes as she licked the skin just below the head of his cock. His eyes pleaded for more and she acquiesced, unable to refuse him. She took the head of his cock between her lips, moving them back and forth across the crown, knowing how sensitive he was there. She circled the head of his cock with her tongue, licked to the tip and pushed her tongue against the hole, then took her lips back down along the crown, ticking the underside with her tongue in that magical way he craved since the first time she had done it, years ago. She scraped her teeth against him and he moaned and threw his head back, pushing his hips toward her, and she let him push deeper into his mouth, thrusting until he was deep in her throat, gagging her. He felt her throat constrict against him, tightly gripping him, felt the rush of blood into his cock, his balls tightening.

He pulled his cock out of her mouth, dripping with saliva and pre-cum, and rested it against her lips. “I don’t wanna cum yet baby,” he panted, barely able to speak, trying to regain control. He rubbed the head of his cock against her lips, on the verge of cumming, just at the feverish edge of it, so that if she were to give just the tiniest flick of her tongue on the underside of the crown cum would come flooding out, splashing against her lips and tongue as it filled her mouth.

“Fuck me, then. Please fuck me, baby.”

He kept his cock against her mouth, so he could watch her speak as he rubbed her lips and tongue.

“Tell me again,” he growled. ”Say it.”

The words came stumbling out of mouth faster than she could control them, “Fuck me, fuck me now, I need your cock,” and her words turned to sighs and mewls as he took his cock in hand and traced a wet trail down her chin, her neck, between her breasts, took side trips to each of her fully engorged nipples, then slid his cock down finally down her stomach and between the soaking lips of her pussy. Her pussy lips felt so much like the lips of her mouth, wet and warm and full and inviting; in his mind they were sometimes the same thing. He rested the head between her pussy lips now, drawing out the tease, sliding his head slowly between the slit between her lips, just as he had done with her mouth. Her hips rose up to meet him, and still he would not allow her the pleasure of penetration. Not yet.

“Beg for it.” He slid his cock just a breath further inside her and she cried out, “Oh, please let me have it, I need it so badly, please baby, I’ve been waiting so long,” and he couldn’t say no, couldn’t deny her, his mind screaming yes! yes! yes! as his voice rumbled, “Take it, baby, take my cock, take it hard,” and bent her legs back to her head and fucked her hard and deep and roughly, holding her against the bed with his arms clamped tightly around her wrists, taking full control, pounding her into the bed.

Mere minutes later she arched her back and cried out his name and came, wave after wave, and the sight and sound of her in such animal ecstasy, joined with her pussy deliciously gripping his cock as if were in her fist, made him cum seconds later, his cock pumping so hard it rippled through the clenched muscles in his ass and legs and stomach.

They lay together in the afterglow. It had never been easy to differentiate between fucking and talking and teasing, whether it was on the phone or in person; it was all tumbled together, sex followed by post-coital conversation that turned from the heat of their last fuck to the heat of previous fucks, then to old boyfriends and girlfriends and ex-wives and one night stands and friends with benefits. And from there the whole world opened up, telling stories of childhood and family, memories and dreams, myths and nightmares. They could talk about anything, effortlessly and at length, until his cock began to stiffen or her pussy began to tingle, and the talk would not even stop, merely transmute into something else, some other way to connect.

They slept, finally. He awoke to find her awake, staring at the ceiling.

“What are you thinking?” he asked her as they lay in bed. The first long fingers of dawn peered over the horizon and faintly backlit the curtains of the front window.

“I thought you hated that question.”

“I hate getting asked it. I don’t mind doing the asking.”

She propped herself up on one elbow and turned to him, “Why do you hate it so?”

He took a long time before answering. It was not an angry pause, or a sad pause, or even thoughtful. It was just the two of them in the bed together. Outside in the early morning cars passed by. Headlights skittered across the far wall, curving away and out of sight. “It’s not fair. That question.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one really knows what anyone else is thinking.”

“Then why did you ask it?”

“Because I know you’ll answer honestly.”

Silence. Again. “I was thinking about time,” she said.

“Time?”

“Yes.”

“In what sense?”

She turned to him. “How long have we known each other?”

“I don’t know. Several years. Four, five maybe.”

“How many times have we talked?”

“Hundreds. Like every day. Like….”

She smiled. “You’re doing the math in your head, aren’t you?”

“Only because you can’t.”

“How many then? Smarty pants.”

“A thousand? Fifteen hundred?”

“Okay. And how much time have we spent together?” she asked.

“Actually? With each other?”

“Yes.”

Let’s see.

Three weekends. Three weekends, three days each. That’s….”

She stopped him. “Let me do the math this time.” He laughed. “Stop, I can do it. I’m not stupid. I’m just….”

“Math challenged?”

She smiled.

He said, “I love making you smile. I love making you laugh. I love your laugh.”

She laughed. It thrilled him.

Then she said, “Maybe two hundred hours?” her voice tentative.

“That sounds right.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Good.” The smiles faded. “So,” he continued. “Time. What were you saying?”

“That it passes. Time passes. That's all.”

“No it's not. It's not all.” He reached out to touch her hair, then stroke her cheek. “You don't have to tell me, but there is something else, hiding in that beautiful little head of yours. Behind those lovely green eyes.”

“How old are your kids now?” she asked.

“You know.”

“I suck at math, remember?”

“Thirteen and sixteen.”

“They're getting older.”

“Yes,” he said. “So are we.”

“Yes.”

“You miss them being little kids.”

“Of course.”

“You always talk about them when they were little. You tell me stories.”

“Yes. They were cute. Doesn't mean I don't still enjoy them now that they’re older.”

“I know. But those little girls are gone,” she said. “Where did they go? Where does time go? When it's over.”

“When what is over?”

“It. Time. Everything. Me. You. Your girls. Your wife. My…friends. It's there, then it goes away.”

“You are being oddly philosophical.” His hand reached out again, this time to her hip. He stroked her skin gently, his fingers drawing shapes he was fully unaware of, like the letters of a new language.

“I know.” She said, “Okay. Everything goes away. That is what I was really thinking.”

“I'm not going away.”

“I know. I'm not going away either.”

“I know. I’m glad.”

“But what happens next? Where does it all go?”

He said, “Right now it goes here. Inside this room. This is the world. All of it. Inside here with us.”

“Kiss me,” she said.

He did. They fucked again, languidly, bodies sweating in the morning heat. Her fingers in his mouth. His lips sucking at her pussy lips, his tongue flicking at her clit. Her mouth tickling the hair of his legs. His cock once was again sheathed deep inside her, thrusting, as if they were two halves of the same thing, desperate for reunion. Afterward they slept again. They woke up, ordered a pizza, watched some television with the volume low enough so that they could talk the entire time, ignoring the flickering screen before them.

Though they had planned to spend the entire weekend inside the motel room, never leaving, letting the pizza boxes accumulate as they fucked and talked and teased, the room began to feel a little hot and claustrophobic as the afternoon leaned into evening. She looked out the window toward the gathering dark.

“The first star I see?” she said.

“Yes?”

“It’s my grandmother. First star of the night, always, is her saying hello to me. Watching over me.”

“Let’s go outside and say hello right back,” he offered, and reached out his hand and she took it. He pulled her up and out of bed. They dressed, the first time they had been clothed in two days. He jerked the blanket from the top of the bed. She grabbed a bottle of wine from her suitcase.

They walked into a field of tall grass behind the motel. A sliver of crescent moon hung in the sky like a sickle. The first few stars were beginning to appear.

“Hi, Grandma,” she said soberly, looking straight above her at the first star to catch her eye. He wanted to tell her the name of the star was Vega, always straight overhead during the long months of summer, but he knew she didn’t care. It wasn’t Vega to her. It was her grandmother. He flattened down a patch of ground with his feet, then lay down the blanket. He offered his hand again, and she took it. He lowered her down on the surface of it, then lay next to her.

He opened the bottle of wine with a pen knife. They passed it back and forth, saying few words, taking in the world around them.

And so it came to be that their last fuck ever, the last time they saw each other, took place took place under a darkening sky littered with stars, a cool summer breeze blowing in the grass. The crickets began to sing their love songs. Fireflies strobed in the near distance, sketching circles and spirals in the in the air around them. In memory—for they both thought of it often, recalling it full decades later—it was difficult for either of them to pluck any one strand from the experience. It was a canvas, cut from whole cloth, no she-did-this he-did-that narrative. It was just him, just her, just the wine and the night. Just cock and tongue, pussy and fingers, scent and taste, moan and sigh, memory and desire, all inextricably bound together. “I love you” was probably said by both of them, probably several times, but words were just another thread of this improbable gift they held between them.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, cuddling next to him.

“I love the stars.”

“I love them too. I love them because you love them.”

Silence. The stars turned. The grass in the field blew in the wind. Fireflies flew about them in lazy curves of light. The crickets sang.

“It's like the stars are with us,” she said. “The fireflies. Like they are stars, flying down to meet us.”

“Perhaps they are. I’d like to think so.”

“That's not all you were thinking,” she added.

“No.”

She touched his cheek. She said, “I may never know what is inside your head. But I know when something is. And I trust you to tell me if it is something I need to know. I know you’ll answer honestly.”

A cold wind blew through the field, and they cuddled closer to hide from it, wrapping the blanket around them, their arms and legs knotted together.

“How do you make….?” he began, then abruptly halted.

In a teasing tone she asked him, “What? How do I make chicken salad? How do I make my skin so soft? How do I make you hard with a single, solitary sigh?” She saw he was not laughing. He was not even looking at her.

“I’m sorry, baby. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Silence.

“Tell me, my sweet. You look sad.”

“How do you….” He stopped in the same spot he had before, but then took a deep breath and continued. “How do you make love stay?”

“Oh, honey.” She kissed him. “It does stay. It does.”

“No it doesn't.”

“You love your kids. You love me. Isn't that love staying?”

“Yes.” He considered. “No,” he replied. “My kids, they will grow up, move on. I will of course still love them. But they won't be with me.”

“No. But they’ll still love you. You’ll still love them.”

“Of course. But they won’t be with me. Our lives…. I won’t wake them up in the morning. Tell them to get ready for school. Have my life entwined with theirs, every day.”

“No. You are right. It won’t be the same. But it’s still love.”

“I’ll miss them.”

“Of course you’ll miss them. They won’t be with you.”

“You're not with me,” he said, turning to her, the slightest hint of hurt scolding in his voice.

“No. I can't, baby.” She held him tighter.

He softened. “I know. I can’t either.”

“My love won't go anywhere.”

“Yes it will. It's going back out to Denver. To….” He fell silent.

“We'll see each other again. Next year. Our next weekend together.”

“But you. You will go away. You said it yourself. Everything goes away.”

She sighed. “Yes. I did say that.”

“I’m not trying to be despairing. I know we love each other. I do. And of course I love my kids, and they love me. Honey. Love is everywhere. Love is like the fireflies. Like the stars. Like the wind in the fields. Surrounding us. Always.”

He pulled back, far enough out of their embrace so that he could see her eyes. “But things happen. It's time to go back home. Or a flight is missed and you never meet. Or you find somebody else. Or you grow apart. Or there is a misunderstanding that grows too big to overcome. Someone has an affair. Someone grows bored. Somebody gets jealous, or angry, or wants more than the other one. Expectations change. So many things can happen, honey. You have a fight and say things that cannot be unsaid. You lose each other. It is so easy for two people to lose each other. Too easy.”

“Yes,” she said. “Those things happen. But they haven't happened to us.”

“That doesn’t mean they won’t.”

Silence. The moon blushed. The fireflies danced. A falling star flashed across the sky.

He said, “Or. You stay together. You build a life together. You stay. She stays. You both stay.”

“You know I want to. Stay with you. You know I want to stay with you.”

“Yes. You know I want to as well.”

“Yes.”

He looked away, toward the highway. “I'm not talking about us,” he said. “Not exactly.” His eyes seemed to focus on something, far in the distance. She watched his steady gaze.

“Tell me, honey,” she said.

“So you stay together. Somehow. Incredibly. You find a way to make love stay. You stay together. You build a life. You somehow beat all the odds, all those insurmountable obstacles.

“One of you will still go away. One of you will die. And there is nothing to be done. You’ll watch them get sick. You’ll care for them. You’ll watch them die. Someday it will happen. If you beat the odds, and find each other, and stay together, impossibly, and build a life, it will still happen. One of you dies. Always. That’s how it works. Just inevitably fucking dies. And the other one is left alone. You die, or the one you love dies. Someone is left alone. Everything goes away. You'll go away someday. Or I will. Somehow.”

“I'm so sorry, honey.” She touched his cheek, turned his gaze back toward her. She saw the sheen of tears on the surface of his eyes. She kissed him softly, lay her head on his chest.

She said, “You are right. Everything goes away.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I will go away. Maybe you will.”

“Yes.”

“Get bored. Find someone else. Leave. Die.”

“It is so easy to lose each other,” he said.

She said, “But I am here now. I am with you now.”

“I know.”

“I am here,” she told him.

“I know.”

“You are not alone,” she said. She buried her face in his chest, hiding her own tears.

He stroked her hair. “Nor are you, my love,” he told her. “We are never alone. We have this.”

He pulled his arms tightly around her. They slept. The sex toys, the lingerie, the pearls and scarves lay unused and forgotten in their suitcases. The stars burned, the moon fell lower in the sky, then disappeared below the horizon. The Milky Way arced over them like a bridge to another place. The crickets droned. The fireflies painted the air. In the distance, the cars on the highway continued on their paths to wherever it was they might be going, distant and unknowable, their headlights slashing the air above the field, as insubstantial as smoke, as fleeting as ghosts.