“Marlena, where does this box go?” John’s voice reverberates in the foyer of their spacious new purchase. His grip on the moderately heavy box in his arms begins to falter, and when Marlena does not answer right away, he calls for her again, “Marlena!”
“Which one?” Marlena’s voice rings out from another room, crisp and melodious.
Though he does not see her, his head turns in the general direction of her voice coming from what he thinks is the kitchen, if he memorized the floor plans of the house correctly.
“Um, the one with the big green ‘B’ on it.” He knows he should remember what that means, but he couldn’t be bothered with learning Marlena’s allegedly simple, yet actually complex labeling codes.
“Upstairs, in Brady’s room!” she shouts back.
John rolls his eyes a little, bemused, “I don’t understand why Brady needs a room. He hasn’t lived with us in years. The man is married for God’s sake.” John adjusts his grip on the box. “I don’t think living with Mommy and Daddy is on his life list of things to do.”
Her voice is closer now. “He’s still our son, John”
Marlena comes into his line of site just then, hairy messy and her cheeks flushed from her unpacking exertions, “Just because our grown children no longer live with us doesn’t mean we can’t give them a place here. I want them to know they’re always welcome, no matter how old they are.” She blows at her long bangs that have fallen into her eyes, “Besides, they left us with a ton of crap.”
Marlena moves to grab another box that is similarly labeled to the one in John’s arms, and walks behind him, “Go! Go! Go! This stuff is heavy.”
“Why didn’t we hire movers?”
“We did. Who do you think brought all of our stuff here.”
“I meant someone to put all of this away.”
“John, we didn’t really bring that much stuff with us.” She nudges his backside with her box, encouraging him to start walking up the stairs. “And I’d like to know where my belongings are going.”
“You mean you’re an organizational freak,” John corrects.
“Move!”
&&&
Marlena breezes out of the bathroom, dressed sparingly in a pair of plain bikini brief white cotton panties and a fitted dark blue t-shirt. Not her normal attire, but getting up and finding her regular sleepwear is too much of an effort for her at the moment. This would have to do.
The large master bedroom is at the moment a clutter of boxes, and a massive mattress resting on the floor, minus the frame. When they decided to make the move to a new home, the couple chose to leave behind most of their furniture, the bedroom décor in particular. Not only was it outdated, but it held memories that both preferred to leave behind. And so they ordered new sets, with not a floral pattern in sight. Unfortunately they were not due to arrive for several more days, and in the interim were relegated to their current, albeit temporary boho digs.
Flopping onto the disarray of sheets and pillows, Marlena notices John’s intense scrutiny of her chest area. “Stop staring at my tits.”
“On the contrary, that obscenely large ring on your finger means I can ogle your goodies any time I please,” John openly leers. “You have died of dysentery?” He motions to her shirt, “What’s that all about?”
“Huh?” Marlena glances down at the design, accompanied by a picture of a wagon, emblazoned across her chest, “Oh. That.” She shrugs. “I think this used to be Belle’s. I don’t really get the joke, but it’s really comfortable.” She settles into their makeshift bed and begins to rummage the area around her, “Where’s the remote?”
John looks around, “Probably in a box.”
Marlena shoots him a look, “You’re a lot of help.”
“Are you implying that I’m useless?” he playfully challenges, “You certainly don’t think I’m useless when I’m fucking your brains out.” He manages to partially dodge a fast approaching pillow; it hits him in the shoulder. “Hey, you almost hit my pretty little face.”
“I can arrange that.” Marlena reaches for another pillow.
“Ok! Ok!” John walks the short distance to large plasma screen that sits nestled in the wall, turning it on. “There, happy?”
“John, it’s the cartoon channel. Change it.”
“Doc, I am not going to stand here and flip through each channel manually.” John walks over to a small pile of boxes. “The remote has to be in one of these.”
“I’m sick of unpacking boxes,” she pouts. All day she has spent unloading clothes, pots, books, and the like.
“Well, how much do you really want to watch Pokemon?”
It is amazing how quickly the energy returns to her. “I’ll check those boxes over there,” Marlena affirms.
“Good girl.” John makes fast work of opening a medium sized box in front of him. “Whoops,” John takes a quick visual inventory of the contents, “Think you mislabeled this one.” He pulls out a green hulk action figure, “This is definitely not ours.”
“Oh, Lucy must have put Brady’s box in our pile by mistake,” Marlena explains. John nods in understanding. Lucy is their housekeeper. “She packed the kids’ things.”
“Gotcha,” John goes to put the item back, but then something else catches his eye. There in the bottom of the box lay a small black valet. John smiles, recognizing it immediately. Victor had given it to Brady when he was younger, before he left for boarding school. There had been a lovely expensive watch inside. Brady wore it for years. “I remember this.”
“Remember what?” Marlena’s voice rings out from the other side of the room.
“That old box that Victor gave Brady.” John undoes the small latch to peer inside. “I’ll call him and see if he-” Expecting to see the watch, John is unprepared for what he sees, “wants… this… back.” His speech slows to a stop. “What the hell?” John picks up a small rolled item from inside the box, where 2 other identical ones remain, accompanied by a zippo lighter.
Marlena looks up from what she is doing, and notes the item in his hand. “I didn’t know Brady smoked cigarettes.”
John raises a curious brow, “He doesn’t.” He takes the roll to his nose, smelling it briefly. Just as he suspected. “Hey Doc, this isn’t tobacco…”
Marlena continues to busy herself shuffling through a box of perfumes and various vanity items, “Well then what-” she freezes mid-sentence, and it dawns on her. Marlena abandons her search for the missing remote and moves next to John, staring at the proof in his hands. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“You mean that’s…?”
“Yup.”
“And Brady used to…?”
“Looks like it.”
“Wow.”
“Ohhhh yes.”
They are silent now, coming to grips with what this means, and how it alters their perception of their son.
John speaks first, “This is normal right? I mean, aren’t kids supposed to do things like this?”
Marlena follows his lead, and tries to further rationalize things, “Well, sometimes teens and young adults are curious about these sorts of things, which can lead to experimenting. Marijuana isn’t a gateway drug though, and this shouldn’t be any indication that he abuses drugs now.” She pauses, and slaps a palm to her forehead, moaning “Christ, I sound like my old text books.”
“Let’s face it, our boy is a statistic.”
“Well, it could have been worse,” Marlena leans her head on John’s shoulder, pensive. “I bet this was because of that boy Jeremy.
I never liked him, you know. Maybe we should have forced Brady to stay home and play nightly games of Monopoly or Candyland.”
“Shit Doc, we aren’t Mormon.”
“I suppose. No one ever finishes Monopoly anyway.”
John studies the joint thoughtfully, “I wonder if this stuff ever goes bad.”
“John!” She bolts upright, pushing him lightly.
“What!?” he looks at her incredulously, “Oh don’t give me that. Your parents told me about your free ballin’ hippie days. Don’t tell me you never tried this.”
“Oh please.”
“…. Marlena…”
“It was only once!” Marlena stops to think, “Or twice? I remember being told it would ‘enhance my physical perception of reality’ and I was dumb enough to believe it. But the only thing it did was encourage me to eat an entire pie and fall asleep.” She sighs.
They are quiet, until John looks up at her, a sly, yet curios grin on his face. “Let’s smoke it.”
“No.” Marlena takes this joint from his hands.
“Yes.” John snatches it back.
“No!” Marlena makes another play for the item, but John moves it from her reach.
“Baby c’mon, let me relive the youth I don’t remember,” he pleads.
“Okay firstly, that made no sense whatsoever, and secondly, we don’t know how old that thing is. You said so yourself, what if it’s bad?”
“It can’t be that old, and really, doesn’t weed fall under the ‘organic’ category? Mother nature doesn’t have an expiration date, honey.”
“Ladies first,” John holds the joint out for Marlena to take.
She gives him a pointed look, “Ever the gentleman.” She takes the roll between her fingers, “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this…” she eyes it cautiously before bringing it to her mouth, slow and timid. “Okay,” she breathes, “Spark it.”
“That’s my girl!” John flips the lid of the zippo, and after several tries, ignites it, lighting the joint in synch with Marlena’s inhalation.
Marlena takes a slow hit, breathing it in carefully and letting the smoke glide in. Her lack of experience and tolerance however, makes it impossible for her to take in much, and her throat burns in protest, triggering a small coughing fit as she exhales. “Oh my God,” she manages to wheeze out in between coughs.
“You ok there, champ?” John rubs her back lovingly.
”It feels like,” Marlena fumbles for a bottle of water she had spotted laying on the floor earlier during her rummaging, “BURNING.” Once found, she opens it quickly and nearly empties its entire contents in one large chug.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she glares at John, “I told you this was a stupid idea. I don’t know how I let you talk me into these things.”
“Because you love me?”
“No, I don’t think that’s it…” Marlena taps a well manicured nail against her chin, in mock contemplation.
“Oh, now you’ve hurt my feelings.” John takes the joint from Marlena, and after taking his turn, the two pass it back and forth between each other until it’s gone. The room is clouded in smoke and the strong stench of marijuana. And now they sit, and wait.
John is the first to speak “So do you feel anything?”
“No. Do you?”
“I don’t think so,” John raises curious eyebrows, “Maybe we should be listening to trippy music?”
“I still can’t believe we did this.” Marlena laughs a little, “We’ve got to be the worst parents in Salem.”
“Why are you laughing?”
Marlena stops, and looks around, as if searching for an answer, before erupting into laughter again and merely shrugging, “I don’t know.”
&&&
“I’m hungry.”
“Have some ice cream.”
“But I don’t want ice cream.”
“Well go make yourself something.” Marlena is reclining on the bed in a slouched position, playing with a tube of lipstick, rolling it up and down repeatedly. Occasionally she eats spoonfuls of ice cream from a carton that sits next to her. “I don’t think this stuff is working. Maybe it did go bad.”
“I think I want some nachos. But I can’t make nachos.” John rubs his chin thoughtfully, “Do you think there’s such a thing as nacho delivery?”
“Probably not. And even if there was, I don’t think they’d deliver this late.”
“That….” John stalls, looking for a word, any word, to complete his thought accurately. “… sucks.” Well, he tried.
A television commercial abruptly grabs John’s attention. A long haired man in a flowing white robe is slowly approaching the screen, an ethereal glow following him. “No wait, we should get pizza. Look, God is telling us to get pizza.” The telephone number flashes in a multitude of colors above God’s heavenly halo.
“Oh,” Marlena mumbles. After a beat, her eyes drift up slowly to meet John’s, her expression vacant, “… huh?”
“It was a sign. I said I was hungry and it came on, and it even gave me their phone number.” John points to the phone sitting about a foot away from Marlena. “Babe, call them.”
“Call God?”
“No, Papa John’s.”
“My dad’s name is Frank.”
“No, the pizza place!” John continues to point to the phone, “The phone’s right next to you.”
“Alright, alright,” Marlena rolls over a little to grab the phone, which is just off the mattress on the floor. Marlena dials quickly and waits while it rings, “So what do you want-” A small voice on the other end of the phone cuts her off, “Oh someone just answered,” Marlena sits up straight and rigid, turning her attention to the person on the other line, “Hi yes, I’d like to order a pizza,” she pauses and listens to the pizza employees response on the other line.
What size would you like?
“My man is pretty hungry,” Marlena explains. “A big one.”
The large?
“Uh,” her words come slow, slurring a little, “sure.”
And what would you like on it?
“Oh. Uh,” Marlena stops to think, “Cheese. Lots of cheese. And bell pepper. Yeah bell pepper,” She sees John give her a big thumbs up, before waving at her to continue adding ingredients. “… and some onions….” John shakes his head and she quickly corrects herself. “No wait, I’m a liar. Not onions, I really meant those other round things.” Marlena’s voice raises several octaves, and her words begin to tumble out quickly as she struggles to remember the name of the item that escapes her, “You know those red ones, that are really fatty, that taste kind of spicy, but not like hot spicy, and you can buy them in a log at the market and eat them with cheese and crackers and-”
Pepperoni?
“Yes! Pepperoni! Thank you young man!” Marlena is relieved she can stop talking, and sags back into the pillows. Finishing the rest of the order is quick, and moments later she turns to John and smiles, “Your pizza will be here in about an hour.”
“An hour?” John laments. He wasn’t sure if he would last that long.
“Yup.” Marlena goes back to her carton of ice cream, and notes that it is suddenly empty. “Hey,” she whines lightly, “Someone ate all my ice cream.”
“Yeah, you did.”
Marlena looks at the spoon in her hand, covered in a thin layer of ice cream. “Oh.” After a beat, she breaks into peals of laughter, dropping the spoon and falling onto her back. Why is this so funny? Is that the ceiling? Is she lying down? Oh, but it’s quite soft. And did she really eat all the ice cream?
John notices the way her shirt has risen up, exposing her flat stomach. How the muscles constrict every time she laughs, how her breasts rise and fall in time with her heavy breathing. Her eyes, peering out at him from beneath sensually heavy lids. Damn, he’s got a hard on just looking at her.
“What?” Marlena’s giggles have subsided enough for her to speak.
John gets on his hands and kneels, crawling the short distance to her “Hmmm?”
“You were staring.” He settles next to her, and begins to alternate between rubbing her tummy with his palm, and brushing the skin with light touches of his fingers. It feels nice.
“Was I?” His hand inches upward, underneath her shirt.
“Mmhmm…” John is moving agonizingly slow, and she arches her body into his hand, encouraging him. “John…” a murmur so soft, he thinks he might have imagined it.
“Maybe I was,” he cups one of her breasts, brushing her nipple with his thumb, massaging it slowly, “No bra huh? I knew you still had a little hippie in you.”
“You know I probably still would be, if it weren’t for the fact that everything we used to do for fun is considered a felony in most states now…”
“Oh, you bad girl,” John runs a hand down her torso, playing his fingers along the waistband of her panties. Marlena puts her hand over his, encouraging him to delve further, sighing contentedly when he gives allows her to guide him, and slide his fingers lightly around her pussy, enjoying its bareness, “Babe, I’m horny. Wanna fool around?”
Her short sighs tell him she is enjoying his ministrations, but eager for more. “Maaaaaaybe,” she draws out. Marlena’s eyes are closed, and her head is swimming in the sensations of what he is doing. He has done this before, but somehow, it feels different, surreal almost. All that exists is the pulsing of her body, flashing white hot. Applying more pressure now, he cups his hand around her center, massaging the flesh, and teasing one finger in and around her clit, with measured slowness. She is slick and ready, pleading for completion.
Marlena’s body begins to buck slightly from the slowly building tension, “Oh, shit.” She breathes. While John is admittedly very good at what he does, she has never felt herself react so strongly and so quickly. Her nerves tingle and throb, and the sound of her own breathing echoes in her ears. She tosses her head back, and John notices her eyes have lost focus; all she can see is the agony. “John… John…” she repeats mindlessly.
And just as she feels the dull ache begin to mount, Marlena feels an abrupt loss of contact, and lets out a sharp cry, her frustration evident. “Oh baby, no don’t stop….”
John places his strong hand on her belly to still her writhing, “Easy, easy.”
“I hate you.”
“Oh yeah?” John rubs a legs between hers, grinding into her. She moans in appreciation.
Rather than answer him, Marlena creeps a hand into his boxer shorts, and grips him, letting her fingers tickle along the length. Marlena pumps his cock in smooth and steady strides, running her hand expertly, apply gentle pressure, letting her fingers ring around and glide along the ridges. She feels it become engorged as she works it, and John grunts his approval, bucking his hips slightly. The tip oozes with precum, and she takes her fingers and rubs it around the head, enjoying the feel of it, before bringing her fingers to her mouth, and licking them clean. Her gaze is intense, and John snaps, suddenly losing what little restraint he’d had. Grabbing her wrists, John removes her hands from his body, and places them above her head.
“Why’d you-“ Marlena is mid-question, when she feels John remove her panties swiftly, followed by her cotton t-shirt. She doesn’t have much time to think about what to say next; moments later, John has parted her thighs, and thrust into her in one quick stroke, unexpectedly. The sound that comes from her throat is somewhere between a cry and a laugh, a slight grimace on her face, her hands attempting to twist into the carpet beneath her. It hurts for a briefly as she adjusts to his size, but pain then gives way to pleasure, as they both slowly begin to rotate their hips in tandem. Marlena alternates between clamping down on his cock and relaxing her muscles, letting her walls pulse all around him.
The pressure drives John mad, he thinks he might shoot his load right then and there. She is amazingly tight, he can never get enough. But instead he decides to concentrate on his movement, and bringing her to orgasm. Bending down, he leans in and catches one of her supple breasts in his mouth, sucking until his cheeks ache, and flicking his tongue across the sensitive nipple. How he loves her breasts. Gripping his shoulders, Marlena digs her nails down hard into his skin, breaking the skin a little, and then lets out a long, low moan as John leaves a wet trail from her chest, up along the long curve of her neck, and to her ear. He can taste the salt of her skin.
“You like that baby?” John stills for a second, and pulls out completely, before pounding into her roughly. “Hmm?” he repeats the motion.
Marlena whimpers after each stroke, and can barely get a reply out in between, “Ye-… yeah…” He loves that sound.
“Tell me,” John’s voice is low, serious, demanding.
“I love- Oh god –“ it is so exquisite, Marlena thinks she will die right then and there from the pleasure, “love it,” her voice comes out in bursts of breathless whispers. She runs a hand along his back to grip his backside, encouraging him to continue, urging him to go faster, harder. Her thighs clamp tighter around his body.
Uncoiling her legs from around his torso, John hooks his arms underneath her knees. His movement becomes urgent now, and jerky, no longer smooth gliding. Marlena can tell he is close, so damn close, and she is not far behind him. The beads of sweat roll down his face, and splash onto her chest, face red from the exertion, similar to her own. She is about to reach a hand down to where they are joined, but John beats her to it, as if sensing what her intention was, and begins rubbing his thumb along her clit. Marlena can feel the knot of tension tightening deep in her belly, she knows what is coming. She arches her back into him, the angle allowing him to reach further inside her. She cries when she feels him brushing along the edges of her womb, over and over.
Bringing his head down to hers, she is able to engage him in a long, hard kiss, playing her tongue with his, loving him with her mouth. She feels his body being to quake, and it is all she can do to stop herself from biting down on his tongue. John takes hold of her hips, and pushes himself into her with all the force he has. It shocks her nerves, and sends ripples of pleasure across her body. She can see herself now, at the top of a cliff, teetering over the precipice.
Attempting to focus, she stares into John’s eyes, really watching him. She loves to see him in this state, the look of concentration on his face, skin slick, the prominent vein in his forehead, as he grunts his pleasure. She runs a hand along his handsome face, and he catches it, bringing it to his lips, kissing it. With a final cry that can only be described as wild and primal, John stiffens, and shoots into her in hot spurts, filling her, completing her. Marlena slams her eyes shut, and can do nothing but ride the waves. He strokes her face as she bites her lip, dropping her head, as they both encounter their long awaited release, bodies trembling. Spent, John collapses atop Marlena, mumbling his gratitude.
The room is quiet now, save the sound of their heavy breathing. They do not move for several minutes, as they lay there, still joined intimately, attempting to come back to reality. John moves from atop her, slipping from her body, afraid that he is crushing her with his weight, “am I alive?”
Marlena’s eyes shift back and forth, and she has to mentally check to remember if she is still breathing, “I think so.” Marlena burrows into his side, smiling when his arm automatically accommodates her shape by wrapping around her. She leans in to smell his scent, allowing her lips to lightly tickle his skin “I love you,” she murmurs softly. And truly, she does. This is more powerful than anything she has ever felt.
John runs his fingers up and down her slick spine, drawing invisible patterns as he traces the freckles he loves so much. “I love you.” What he feels is so much more than that; he wishes he had a way to express it, but he knows she can feel it.
Any further loving moments of mutual appreciation are suddenly put on hold by a foreign sound. “Did you hear that?” John wonders. The sound comes again, and this time he is sure it is the ring of the doorbell. “Oh my God, it’s the police.” John jumps from the bed, and after a second of confusion, begins to spin in circles, searching for his shorts. “We have to hide!” He stops to reach down and tug on her arms, “We can’t get arrested, Marlena!”
“John…” Marlena begins to laugh, “Stop, hold on…”
Pausing for a moment, a brilliant idea hits him, and John bolts for the master closet, “Pack your bag. We have to run away to Mexico. I think we can scale the wall-”
“John, the pot is making you paranoid!” Marlena attempts to explain in between fits of giggles. “It happens to some people. I remember Sam thought she was being attacked by birds.”
“I am not being paranoid. I can feel it, they are coming to get us.” John begins to stuff several pairs of socks into his briefcase, but stops short when he spies a very naked Marlena making her way to the outside balcony that attaches to the master bedroom. She is eating from a bag of potato chips that she has picked up from somewhere in the room, relishing each crispy bite slowly, and leans over the side of the balcony casually.
“Honey,” she lifts a chip to her mouth in between a small pause, “pizza’s here.”
&&&
John can hear a slight buzzing in his head. It grows louder, and louder, like a swarm of bees fast approaching, until they begin to sound like words, simple and rhythmic. And oddly cheery. Is that a chorus of children he hears?
And now, having come into a lucid amount of consciousness, John opens one eye, and quickly identifies the noisy culprit: an episode of Dora the Explorer on the television, still on from last night. They are executing a particularly grating song and dance number. I’m the map. I’m the map. I’m the map. I’m the-
Ok! You’re the fucking map. It is suddenly very imperative that he finds that remote control.
A soft sigh reminds him of the leggy blonde on top of him, her regular, steady breathing an indication that she is obviously still very much asleep. Her legs are intertwined with his, head buried in the crook of his neck. A small smile plays on her lips, and John imagines whatever it is she’s dreaming out, it must be pleasant. John surveys the room. There are bags of snack food and miscellaneous items of clothes scattered around the floor, a half eaten pizza and an empty carton of ice cream. “Damn.”
“Mmmmm,” Marlena mumbles lazily into his neck, eyes closed, fighting to break free from sleep, “Your hair smells like oregano…” her voice trails off, the words tickling his neck. She stretches and contorts her body, working out the kinks, and rubs his thigh with one of her feet lovingly. Up and down, slowly, slowly.
“Baby will you make me waffles,” she says in that coquettish little voice she uses when she wants something, and punctuates her request with small pecks across his strong jawline.
“Uhhh…” John moans a little. Truthfully, he cannot muster the energy to move from his warm spot in bed, let alone go to the kitchen and make waffles. But then he looks into the sweet warmth of her eyes, and knows he can’t deny her such a simple request. Even if it does take him an hour to get up. Gods, no wonder Brady couldn’t be bothered to get off the couch and do something most of the time. It was all that damn weed he smoked.
John squeezes her briefly and plants a quick kiss on her lips, “Alright,” he acquiesces, “Blueberry or strawberry?” He begins to untangle himself from her, and slowly stands up. Marlena openly admires his physique, watching him pad around the room nude. He notices her stare, “Lecher!” Marlena’s only response is to waggle her eyebrows suggestively. Finally, he locates his boxers, and slips them on.
“Strawberry.” Marlena grabs his pillow, and cuddles into it, holding it like she would him. It is warm and smells like his familiar musky aftershave. Now he really wishes he was still in bed.
“Oh, and cream. And powdered sugar!” she yells to his retreating form.
“You know,” John remarks on his way out, winking back at her, “if it weren’t for the fact that you’re a terrible cook, I’d have thrown you over my shoulder and tossed your ass in the kitchen by now.”
“You’re such a pig.”
“Aww, but I’m your pig.”
“Hey John?”
“Yeah?”
“What’d you do with the other joints?”
“I left them in the valet, why?”
“Feel like making brownies later?”
Finis
The Jarlena Journal 