*
*
Pam has always wanted to see the Pacific Ocean. In her beautiful mind, she’s cultivated and nurtured this desire ever since she was a child. I know she would leap tall buildings in a single bound and wash the dishes when it’s not her turn if it meant meeting Mr. Pacific. But I know my wife and she will never suggest splurging on such a trip, especially now with our little one outgrowing everything she owns.
But for her birthday, I’m taking her there.
When I told her we were going away, I purposely made the destination a surprise. I knew she would be burning up with curiosity and would use any means necessary to get it out of me. I was ready, but I should’ve known better. One day I came home late after a sales-call and found her giggly and pink with pleasure.
I knew immediately.
“Hey…” I said.
“Hey,” she replied, walking towards me with a new spring in her step. She hooked her arms around my neck and welcomed me home with more pump than circumstance. I couldn’t help but laugh at her inability to conceal her giddiness.
“Okay, Sherlock. How do you know already?” I said in between kisses.
She pulled back, biting her bottom lip, looking sheepishly at me and said, “I saw the note you made for the travel agency.”
I had burned that note. “How?”
“I saw the impression on the sheet below the one you wrote on.”
Yeah, she’s good.
But we’re here, away from the humdrum of our daily lives—an idyllic interlude.
We arrive at the house I rented along Venice beach around six o’clock at night. The sun is beginning to set in the distant horizon and a display of oranges and yellows dance along the white walls. We are exhausted, and ecstatic. We decide to watch the sunset and I wait with our jet lagged babe while Pam freshens up in the bathroom.
Cecelia is wilted in my arms, with her head buried on my shoulder and her arms wrapped around my neck. I think the unfamiliarity left her a bit out of sorts. She’s very big into routines, much like Pam. She won’t kick and scream if something is out of the ordinary, but will behave pretty much like she’s now—all heartbroken and clingy, sticking to Pam and I like bubblegum underneath our shoes.
We don’t mind.
I kiss and tickle her round little belly and a promising smile breaks across her face. Like Pam, she’ll come around soon.
Speaking of Pam, she comes out of the bathroom all cheeky and cheery, lacking any traces of fatigue. She’s wearing a simple sundress and her hair is piled high on her head. She radiates happiness and anticipation. She fishes for her sketchbook while I grab an oversized towel and Cecelia’s sippy cup, and off we go to the greet Mr. Pacific.
When we reach the beach, I can feel Pam’s heart leap forth and suddenly enlarge from being so close to the broad, blue, sunny deep. Even though I’ve been here before, her excitement is so contagious that it pulsates with every beat of my heat. I almost forget how humid and sticky hot it is. I’m not complaining. This is a nice change from the bitter weather back in Scranton.
I strip Cecelia’s clothes off and leave her only in diapers and a pink onsie that reads, ‘Kisses 25¢.’ She’s more alert now that we’re outside, pointing to everything and uttering word-like sounds. Her porcelain skin is a bit flushed and her brow seems to be permanently furrowed in question. It’s cute how she’s still a bit perplexed by all of this.
Pam’s impatience has quickened her pace and she’s a few steps ahead of us. She’s eager to bathe her feet in the water. I lag behind to set aside the towel and the rest of our belongings down. As I jog to catch up to her, Cecelia bursts into laughter as she bounces in my arms. As I begin to slow down I lift her above my head and she erupts in giggles again.
“You silly girl.”
She smiles around her fingers bunched in her mouth.
Pam looks back anxiously. She’s just a few feet away from the water. “C’mom!” She beckons me to hurry. I love the smile embellishing her face. She looks beautiful with the soft dusk colors washing over her.
I come along side her and she hooks her arm around mine and says, “Ready?”
“When you are.”
She reaches up on her tippy toes and kisses Cecelia. “You ready baby girl?”
There’s a quiet moment where we don’t move, but just wait. All the near noises are swallowed up in the heat while an overwhelming chorus of crashing waves reaches the shore. The scene before us is breathtaking. There’s just so much reverence and awe that we need to stop and grasp the enormity of it all. It is bigger than us. Cecelia sighs contentedly and rests her head on my shoulder.
She feels it too.
Pam starts pulling me with resistant steps and the sand feels cold as the water begin to creep in between my toes. Soon enough small waves are crashing and leaving foamy traces against my calves. The water feels cool, but it is a nice contrast to our warm surroundings.
I look at Pam and she’s in another world. For an artist, this is major sensory overload.
I let her have this moment.
Meanwhile, I bend down and lower Cecelia’s tiny feet in the water. She recoils at first and grasps tightly to my shirt. But when I sprinkle her with water, she immediately recognizes our bathtub game and squeezes her eyes shut. I blow a raspberry on her cheek and her response is filled with merriment and music. I hold her up and she stands on wobbly legs. She’s can’t walk yet, but if crawling were an Olympic event, she would definitely medal, no doubt about it.
She attempts a few steps but prefers splashing the water instead. A few droplets splatter over her mouth and she scrunches her face, tasting the salty water. She thinks it’s the funniest thing. In Cecelia’s world there are no seven wonders, but seven million. She squirms to escape from my grip and I’m almost tempted to let her roam and maybe get a little wet, but I know it will get dark and chilly soon.
Tomorrow.
Pam comes up behind us and bends down to Cecelia’s level.
“You like the water, uh?” Pam says and looks up at me with that infectious smile. “C’mere you.” She picks Cecelia up and holds her really close and it’s just beautiful seeing them. The shoreline washes them in blue, and then orange and their shadow elongate and deliberately fuse with mine.
We wander back to our stuff and I stretch the towel for us to sit on. Pam eases Cecelia down and grabs her sketch book. Cece crawls to the edge of the towel, but stops where the sand starts. She’s hesitant about crawling over, but ventures a hand onto the sand. She examines the speckled grains stuck to her palm and shows it to me.
“S’Okay…” I tell her.
But she scrunches her nose and is not pleased. I pat her hand and lift her to me. She nuzzles her head on my shirt—she’s tired. I lay down and nestle her on the crook of my arm. She fusses and whines tiredly, but begins to calm as the crashing waves puts her to sleep.
Pam is drawing—hand gliding seamlessly along the paper. She’s biting her bottom lip in concentration, as though the world has fallen away, leaving only her and the object of scrutiny. I follow her line of view and she’s gazing into the horizon where the cloudless sky meets the ocean. Painting is Pam’s way of keeping a diary. She can say things better with color and shapes than she could say any other way.
The only artistic piece I’ve created (with Pam’s help, of course) is now soundly asleep—our flesh and blood, born out of love so profound that transcended all forms of contraception.
And that’s the best art of all the other arts.
I shift my slumbering masterpiece so that she’s sprawled on top of my chest and her eye’s flutters open, sleepy and green. She looks at me with heavy lids, but nestles down, bringing her tiny fists under her chin. Pam thinks she looks like me when she sleeps. I’m starting to think so too.
I close my eyes, but not for long. The breeze has chilled for the evening and the sand no longer exudes warmth. I feel Pam cuddling close to me and I shift towards her as she nuzzles her head in the crook of my arm.
“This place is really beautiful.”
“Mmhh..” I hum.
She draws closer and traces her fingertips along Cecelia’s back. “I can’t wait to see her in the two-piece.”
I chuckle ‘cause it’s this polka doted cutesy thing. “I know.”
“I still can’t believe I’m here,” she says it more to herself than to me. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for being born.” I pull her close and kiss her hair.
When we finally decide to return to the house, the first stars can be seem shimmering in the distance. It’s quiet a lovely night. Pam walks a few steps ahead of me holding our slumbering girly in her arms. She strolls ahead, rocking and kissing the light golden strands of hair atop our baby’s head. Cecelia loves Pam. It’s fascinating how her face lights up at the sight of momma.
She got that from me.
I catch up and snake my arm around them—my family. I lower my lips and plant a lingering kiss on Pam’s hair. She looks up at me and simply smiles. When we reach the house, Pam lays Cecelia on a crib in the adjacent room and we know she’s done for the night, and in all honesty, so are we.
I change into my pajamas and climb into bed. Pam finishes her nightly routine in the bathroom and joins me soon after. We turn the television on and soon we’re dozing off to its drone.
When I wake up, the early morning light is still cool and blue. Pam is next to me, warm and soft and cast to slumber. Her hair is fanned over the pillow and her mouth is parted ever so slightly. Right now I want her more than anything.
I feel bad for this next part because I know how tired she is. But I gather her to me and begin trailing kisses from her collarbone up to the spot behind her ear. This is my favorite love-making-time. It’s languorous and unhurried and genuine and we’re just open to what the other has to offer. Not to mention that it’s also when our bundle of joy is peacefully slumbering away.
I don’t doubt that Cecelia was made during our love ventures in the early hours of the day.
Pam half wakes up and moans the sexiest protests in the back of her throat, but shifts to give me better access. I take it as a ‘go-ahead’ and slip my hand under her shirt to cup her breasts. I caress the soft skin there and she sighs pleased. I push her shirt up and over her head and envelope my hot mouth around her already hardened nipple. I feel her shiver.
“You good?” I ask.
“Mhhmm,” she hums. I know she is.
She suddenly becomes present and her hands begin to roam. She finds me hard and throbbing against her thigh. Her beautiful fingers do mind-blowing things that break my brain and I am, completely and utterly gone from this realm. Right now I just want to give her everything she wants and deserves.
I cease to caress her breasts and she’s disappointed, but knows where I’m going when I slip under the covers. My hand finds her first, swollen and wet—all ready for me. I easily insert two fingers inside her and she melts, whimpering for more. I lower my lips to her thighs and kiss a lingering path around where I know she’s anticipating my arrival.
But I'm fashionably late.
I love how impatient she becomes and how her hands forms fists with the covers and how I’m the only one who is privy to this very intimate side of Pam. The only thing I can hear is my name emerging from the deepest of moans, urging, “Jim, please,” over and over again.
My tongue finds her warm center and as I work her in my favorite way, she melts slowly and candidly opens to me, disregarding all her modesty. I’m reveling in her juices as the pleasure coils slowly unwinds within us. I continue to savor, suck, and lick her arousal and she lets me know, in no certain terms, that she’s almost there and God if I hold on a bit more I might explode from loving this woman so much.
I glide up her body and her impatient hands pulls my shorts down and glides me home. Her touch burns through my skin and I moan my love for her and it comes out hoarse and guttural. She wraps herself around me and I being to move inside her and she feels so tight, so fucking amazing. We moan and whimper and it’s hungry and raw and inelegant, but totally working.
As our pace quickens, I feel her body unwind, and soon she’s contracting all around me and I can’t form a coherent sentence as everything I want to say gets caught in my throat and I can’t begin to describe what I’m feeling right now as I am also coming so fucking hard into this perfect woman. I gather her even closer and let out bodies remain fused with one another. I bury my face into her neck and continue to kiss her as our erratic breathing slows to non- hyperventilating levels.
“Happy birthday,” I whisper in her ear.
I hear her chuckle somewhere in the back of her throat before she says, “Thank you.”
“How does it feel to be a year older?” I say kissing her mouth now.
“Umm…” she considers, “based on how I feel right now….. Amazing.”
“Good.”
“Best birthday ever,” she chirps.
“You’re easy to please.”
“I didn’t end up unmarried knocked up by some guy for nothing,” she says blatantly.
“Yeah you did,” I say and kiss her again. “Well, I just wanted to wish you a proper happy birthday.”
“What a gentleman you are.”
“I’m here to please, Pam.”
“And you did just that, Jim”
We are tired and deliciously exhausted. We cuddle close and I can feel sleep already pulling both of us under. “There’ll be more in the morning.” I say and she yawns and says she can’t wait. I gather her closer and whisper to her once again, “Happy Birthday.”
Story Notes:
I wanted to contribute to the series and wish NanReg a Happy Birthday! It is your birthday lady!
I still own nothing.
I still own nothing.
Chapter End Notes:
Happy birthday NanReg
Dedeen is the author of 20 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 10 members. Members who liked Pacific and Birthdays also liked 1966 other stories.
This story is part of the series, let?s celebrate birthday month in style today.. The previous story in the series is They Take the Cake. The next story in the series is Love is...Jell-O and Ice Cream.
