I boxed them and put them inside the cab high shell over the bed of my pick up. Two packing blankets, a big thermos of coffee, me, dressed like Nanok of the north and I was ready to go. Six hundred and seventy miles in three days was the goal. Mrs. I’m-Happy-to-be-rid-of-him saw me off in her housecoat and slippers, without leaving the kitchen table or standing for her Good-Bye kiss. As I left town I used my cell to call our kids and they each said I was nuts to drive seven hundred miles to say good-bye to a dead guy. Sharon, the oldest even used the same tone of voice and words her mother had used. What was it people say about the fruit not falling far from the tree? I sometimes think Sharon was a graft directly from her mother. As I drove east I thought a lot about Tank, Willi, Mike and Jose. Four men I spent a year with, not by choice but they were good companions and all five of us came back alive. Now that Tank was gone I was the last one still alive. Forty years since we came. I had planned to draw this out, to make it special and romantic. She had probably planned something, too. It didn't matter. Fuck plans. We let go of the embrace and kissed again, harder, making little grunts of effort as I unbuckled my belt and she unzipped my pants, reaching inside to draw me free. Her fingertips were like satin, wrapping around my cock and guiding it toward her. I pressed against her body, pinning her to the wall that I'd barely noticed was there, my hand moving down to her thigh and lifting it to my waist. My knees bent a little and I felt her free hand caress my cheek. Finally, I felt something hot and moist kiss the tip of my cock, and I thrust my hips.I sank into her easily, sparing not a moment in the task of burying myself in that heat. I groaned. She squealed. I felt her passage constricting like a vice around me, but it did nothing to slow me down as my thrust carried me into her depths, pushing until I felt the grind of her hips on mine.My left hand, still.
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