Black to White

Was I the only virgin in my class? I doubt it but it didn't seem to matter then; the time would be right when the time was right and, in the meantime, I could wait. Jokes and societal norms aside, I was three years into nursing school and this solid thing in front of me was essentially still terra incognita.

I looked around, listened. The place was absolutely silent. We might have been the only people left on the planet.

Paul wasn't, shall we say, massively equipped, not like the actors in the videos some of my classmates produced during parties. He was about textbook 'average', but seeing one for the first time in real life, it still seemed very large to me. I found myself wondering how a woman — any woman, let alone me — could possible take all of that into herself.

I shrugged, then decided that, no matter what Devon had said, Paul shouldn't be left here all night. I reached over the back of the chair and brushed his hair with my hand.

"Paul" I said gently.

He stirred in his chair.

"Paul? Get up now. It's time to go to bed."

His breathing paused. He gave a small hiccup and I sensed groggy awareness returning.

"C'mon, Paul. It's time for bed."

He got up, his robe falling closed as he stood. His eyes were open, but look on his face was vacant, unaware, almost as if he were seriously drunk. I stepped forward, took him by the upper arm, tugged gently.

"Let's go, Paul. Just down the hall, into bed. Let me help you."

He let himself be guided, led down the hall and into his bedroom. He stood still long enough for me to turn down the bedclothes.

"OK, into bed," I whispered. When he didn't move, I turned him and gave him a gentle push. He shrugged out of his gown, lay down obediently, closed his eyes as I drew the covers over him. I noticed his erection had subsided. I folded the gown and left it on a chair.

"Sleep well, Paul," I whispered and started to step away.

I gave a small cry when his arm shot out, caught me by the wrist.

"Jessica?"

He pulled me towards him, not roughly, but with a strong grip.

I bent over him, stroked his forehead with my other hand.

"Go to sleep now. It's OK."

"Come to bed. Please, Jess. I've had such a bad dream."

Now what?

Despite the strength of his grasp, I didn't feel in any danger. I'd read of this in college; it was akin to parasomnia or sleepwalking. The poor man was dreaming, I thought to myself, searching for something he'd treasured deeply, now lost and gone.

And the one thing he needed most was the one thing I could not give. But maybe I could pretend for a minute, long enough for him to drift off again.

I kept my voice gentle.

"I'll be here, Paul. You go to sleep now."

I slid under the covers behind him. He released my arm and I moved to snuggle against him. I took a moment to pull my nightie closed, put my arm over his chest and pulled myself in tight against his back.

"Good night, Paul."

His hand reached over, patted my hip tenderly.

"G'night, Jess." His soft whisper trailed off almost immediately into an equally gentle snore.

I could feel his chest rise and fall under my arm. Despite the basic weirdness of the situation, being there felt pretty good. His warmth next to me was nice in the cool night. I decided to give him five minutes to fall completely asleep before I went back to my room.

I realized that I could once more smell him. Without thinking, I inhaled deeply, filled my lungs with him. There was something I couldn't identify, something subtle but touching me lizard-brain deep. It set my heart pounding hard enough that for a moment I imagined it might wake up Devon across the hall.

I felt my tummy tighten and my nipples spring to attention. I gave a small gasp when Paul rolled over towards me. Automatically, I rolled myself, felt him spoon behind me. His arm came down over my waist, hugged me gently before his gentle snoring restarted.

I trembled a little, tried to think of Paul as Devon's dad -- the gentle, friendly, kind figure he'd always been.

Paul.

+

I awoke when the bed lurched under me. A distant streetlight seen through the window provided the only illumination.

Sheets in a tangle, crouched with his knees pulled up against his chest, there was a look of shock and horror on Paul's face as he stared at his daughter's best friend.

Obviously, I'd dozed off. Well, poop!

His eyes dropped from my face and his mouth fell open. My eyes followed his and I realized my nightie had fallen open during the night, leaving one breast exposed.

Not wanting to sit up, trying not to make a big deal of it, I grasped a lapel, pulled on it. It moved enough to cover my boob and that would do for now.

I tried to keep my voice soft, managed a decent smile.

"Hello, Paul. How are you feeling?"

"Sam... What are you doing here?"

I could see shame and worry building on his face.

He'd clearly forgotten the events of a few hours ago, so it was an obvious question, but my answering it properly would have required unzipping about three big bags of Embarrassing and I didn't want to go there if I could help it.

"Paul," I said, firmly, "nothing happened. We just slept."

He turned to stare at the wall, obviously considering what to do. I reached up, took his head in my hands and turned to towards me.

"Paul," I repeated gently, "We did nothing wrong."

His eyes were closed. I pulled his head closer. "Look at me, Paul."

His eyes opened, stared at me.

"Paul," I whispered. "It's just me, just Sam."

OK, in for a dime, in for a dollar. Tell the truth.

"You were sleepwalking, Paul."

That was enough. I didn't want to mention his having mistaken me for Jessica just yet.

His blue eyes bored into mine. I'd tried to skip around the question, but now he froze suddenly, his eyes opening even wider. Obviously that particular memory had caught up to him all on its own. His face sagged into a map of remorse.

"I'm sorry, Sam. So very sorry." I could see a tear in the corner of one eye.

"Don't be silly, Paul. You just had a bad dream." I tried to pull him into me, but he resisted.

"I thought you were..." His words were cut off by a ragged sob.

This time he didn't resist when I put out my arms, pulled him against me - Basic Friendly Hug Therapy. I felt his arms close around my waist, softly at first, then with increasing, growing strength. His head fell to my shoulder.

"It's OK, Paul. You loved her. very much."

Under my arms, I felt his breath shift as he fought his regret, his loss. He took a deep gulp of air, started to let it out slowly. Instead, it turned into a shudder, then a growing series of quiet sobs. I felt another tear on my neck, another, then a broken-hearted Paul wept nine years of grief and loneliness.

I'd never had a child cry in my arms before, much less a grown man, but every woman is wired at the factory, if not for compassion, then at least for empathy. Tears were the medicine he needed and I let him go on, held myself to merely stroking his hair and whispering soft words as soothingly as I could. For some reason I couldn't put my finger on, he'd never seemed so lovable as he was now. Maybe it was his vulnerability, I don't know.

My robe had fallen open and I could feel his cheek whiskers on my breast. It didn't matter. I found myself clutching him into me, harder now, felt my heart fill with love for this poor, decent, tormented man.

"It's OK, Paul," I whispered. "It's OK, baby. I'm here."

It went on a long time. He'd cried himself out and had essentially fallen asleep again when was a gentle knock at the door.

"Daddy?" came Devon's voice. "Dad? Are you OK?"

I gave Paul a soft kiss on the temple.

"You sleep, Paul. I'll get this."

I slid out of bed, made darned sure my gown was closed and, blocking the line of sight into the room with my body, opened the door.

Devon's jaw dropped. I pushed through the opening, pulled the door shut behind me.

"Sam?" Her eyes were wide. "What...?"

This discussion was so not going to happen where it might wake Paul up again. I put a finger to my lips, took her firmly by the upper arm and dragged her down the hallway.

Her face was flushed, filled with shock and wonder. I could see anger sweeping in, too - at whom, I wondered? Me? Paul? Both of us? Herself?

I grabbed her by both hands.

"He was sleepwalking, Devon," I said. "He needed somebody. I put him to bed and dozed off myself."

She stared at me, not understanding a word.

Devon and I had been friends forever. We'd had the odd quarrel, but never a serious fight; I wasn't going to let this develop into one, especially not over a misunderstanding.

"Nothing happened, Devon." I told the flat truth as sincerely as I could, praying she'd believe me.

"Whose idea was this, Sam?" She'd calmed down, but her voice was still cautious. I could see the wheels going round and round in her mind. Had I seduced her father? Had her father, turning his back on both her and her mother, seduced her own best friend?

I looked her straight in the eyes. "Nobody's idea, Devon, it just happened. I got up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and he was still in the chair. I put him to bed and was leaving when he caught me by the hand, thinking I was your mom."

I thought her eyes had been wide before.

"He didn't do anything, Devon. He just wanted to cuddle the wife he'd been dreaming about. I felt so sad for him, so I spooned behind him and he went right to sleep. I meant to slip out, but I fell asleep, too."

Her face softened, just a little. We were besties, after all; I could see her long-standing trust winning out. A moment later, she nodded slightly, not entirely convinced but giving me the benefit of the doubt. I pulled her in for a much-needed hug.

"That's it?" she asked, relaxing a bit.

"Not quite," I said. She stiffened in my arms.

"Listen to me, Devon," I continued. "There was something else. He woke up half an hour ago and had... oh crap, well...a meltdown."

"What?"

"He cried, Devon. You said you've never heard him cry. Well, tonight he thought your Mom was back. When he woke up and found it was me instead, I guess he couldn't dodge it anymore."

She pushed back far enough away from me that she could look me in the eyes, brushed her hair off her face.

"Crying, Sam?" she said. "For real?"

I nodded, tried to smile. "He needed to, I think. I guess that's what woke you up."

I could see her assessing, judging.

"Listen to me, Devon. I'm not trying to steal your dad from you. And I'm not trying to replace your mom, 'cause nobody could ever be Jessica."

She looked at me, more calmly, but still a bit wary.

"I love you, girl," I continued. "You know that. But here's the thing. I think he needs somebody with him tonight. It's been a tough night for him and nine years is 'way too long.

"The way he clung to me, Devon - he needed company. No, more than that. He needed somebody to hold him, be gentle with him, help him get through this."

I tried to smile at her. I found I couldn't and carried on anyway.

"He still does, Devon. I think he'll need somebody with him when he wakes up."

Her expression didn't change. I took a deep breath.

"So, unless you take a baseball bat to me, Devon, I'm going back in there. Now."

Her body tensed just a hair for a moment, relaxed gradually as her decision solidified. Her eyes turned away, came back.

"OK," she whispered. "OK then, Sam."

I turned, stopped when she said my name again.

"You sure...?"

She didn't finish. She didn't have to.

I nodded. "It'll be all right, Devon. G'night."

I could hear her as I closed the bedroom door behind me.

"G'night, Sam."

Paul was fast asleep when I quietly re-entered the room. In the dim light, the look on his face seemed happier. I looked at my nightie, thought for a moment, then dropped it on the floor as I moved to the bed. I slipped in behind him and was asleep almost instantly.

+

The clock on the side table said 7:33. We were spooning. His back against me felt warm, solid. I lay quietly, treasuring the feeling.

I felt his breathing change.

"Good morning, Paul," I said softly.

He rolled back to face me, became aware of our nudity.

"Sam," he whispered, "you can't be here! Devon..." There was fear in his voice now, but it was fear of hurting her. How he loved that girl.!

I leaned up a little, pulled him down, kissed his forehead lightly.

"She knows, Paul." I saw the dismay on his face.

"Devon and I talked, Paul. Last night, no, this morning. She's OK with it."

"You talked. To Devon. Today." He spoke very slowly, very carefully.

I tried to sidestep, get to the heart of it.

"Who am I, Paul?"

"I don't understand."

"I'm Devon's friend, yes?"

He nodded, unsure where this was going.

"You've known me since I was a kid, right?"

Another nod. His eyes turned away from me.

"For as long as you've known me, Paul, I've always been 'Devon's friend' to you, just a little girl, somebody you let throw sticks for your dog, played silly board games with Saturday afternoons, hosted at sleep-overs, that sort of stuff. Just a kid."

His eyes were on me now.

"Well, I'm not eight years old anymore, Paul, and you can stop treating me like I was. Please."

His face was expressionless, but he'd stopped trying to move away from me.

"Paul, last night, you let me comfort you, let me hold you. Do you remember that?"

He didn't move, but I could see that memory battling his sense of propriety. Old men shouldn't...  

I tried to break through that line of thought. "Last night, Paul, you needed a hug. Right now, I need one. Would you do me the favor of bending that far? Just a hug? Please?"

I turned my best pleading puppy eyes on him and, after a moment's hesitation, he moved an inch towards me, lay down on his back, his right arm up and out of the way.

I slid over to him, lay down with my body against his, put my head on his shoulder. I smiled as I felt his arm come down around my shoulder.

"Thank you," I said gently.

I smiled again as I felt him relax a little.

"And thank you for being such a great friend to me all these years, when I really was a kid. And for being such a great father to Devon, Paul. You did a great job, really."

He was silent. I could hear his heart under my ear, felt his chest rise and fall as he breathed. I stroked his chest with my fingers, watched the hair curl around my fingertips. I spoke gently.

"Just so you know, Paul, you're one of the best men I know -- patient, kind, wise... I'd put 'handsome' on the list, but you'd go all silly-weird embarrassed on me."

I could see I'd been right with that last. He was smiling a little now. It was good to see.

"I know one thing, Paul - it's no good being alone."

"Sam..."

I could see where this was going. I cut him off.

"Do you know what I told Devon last night, Paul? When we talked?"

His sudden silence was so loud that it almost echoed.

"I told her that unless she took a baseball bat to me, I was coming back in here, and be like this with you, just as we are now, cuddling each other. I told her you needed it."

His eyes swept over my bare body, returned to my face. I tried to meet it with a solid smile.

"When I told her that, Paul, Devon wished me luck. She knows, Paul; she approves. She doesn't want you to pass any more lonely nights.

"So, for right now, how about you just relax, maybe get some more sleep? It's OK. Really."

I could feel the hesitation, the uneasiness in him.

"Samantha..."

"Please don't be mad at me for saying this, Paul, but unless you call for Devon with her bat, I'm staying here for right now. It's your call." I hugged him again and again swept my hand over his bare chest.

There was a long pause.

"I'm not angry at you, Sam." He paused again. "But it's strange, waking up in bed with my daughter's best friend, who's wearing..."

He sniffed slightly, gave a wry grin.

"... what smells like a very good shampoo."

I giggled. It felt like I'd broken through. To some extent, anyway.

"Maybe. But hugs are therapeutic. I'm a nurse, so don't argue with me about that."

I hugged him, hard now, smiled inwardly at his one-armed hug in return.

It was a good start.

I counted heartbeats, waiting, then reached over with my free hand, took his left wrist and pulled his arm over me, put his hand on my hip.

"That's better," I whispered. It felt good.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly.

Time to play that hole card...

I pulled out of his arms, pushed myself into a half-sitting position. He tried to be polite, but his eyes dropped to my boobs, flipped back and forth between them and my face. I could see the fascination in his eyes. I counted to three, lifted his chin.

"You're a nice man, a good friend. And it feels good to be here with you. But if it upsets you, say so and I'll leave."

He was silent, his eyes locked on mine. I gave a long five-count, allowed myself to fall back to his side, my head on his shoulder again.

This time, I didn't have to put his arms around me.

I wriggled against him, just enough to express my happiness.

"Thank you for that, too, Paul. Thank you so much for trusting me."

That earned me a gentle hug.

It was peaceful, pleasant. I allowed myself to relax, my body flowing into his, molding myself against him. It'd never been this way for me before; I was finding that I liked it a great deal.

I liked the way his hand was moving over my hair with soft, fond strokes. I liked his skin against mine, liked the sound of his breathing, liked his warmth, the way his chest felt under my fingertips. It brought a new level of contentment to me.

"Sam," he began.

"Mmm?"

He paused as I shifted to lie on top of him. My hands slid down to either side of his chest, my breasts flattened against his chest.

His hands came up, held me around my waist and I smiled happily.

I smiled again as I felt a soft touch at my hip, well away from his hands. This was entirely new to me and my eyes opened wide. I wasn't objecting, mind.

I felt ready now. I inhaled deeply, held it with the joy of discovery.

I lifted, raised my lips towards him - and jumped at the sound of a loud knock at the door.

The door opened a crack. Devon's voice came through from the hall. Paul suddenly looked petrified.

"Daddy?"

"Um, I'm not dressed, Devon."

"I'm coming in, Daddy. You and Sam have ten seconds to cover up."

I rolled off him, came to rest under his arm. He yanked up the duvet to our noses, leaving us looking like something out of a British sitcom.

The door opened. To my relief, Devon's face was calm, almost serene. She kept her gaze averted from us and I could sense Paul relax slightly. In her hands was a tray with two cups of coffee. She walked to his side of the bed, set a cup down on the side table, then around to my side with the second cup.

She paused by the door on her way out and for the first time looked her father in the eyes.

"I'm doing it this way so that you can't try to pretend, Daddy -- not to me, not to Sam and not even to yourself."

She looked down, bent over and picked my discarded nightie off the floor. She contemplated it for a moment then looked back and forth at us in bed before setting the flimsy thing down on a chair.

"I love you both. Breakfast is in half an hour."

With that, the door closed behind her.

+

What followed was, to say the least, a bit difficult.

Much to my regret, Paul had been too embarrassed to share his en suite  shower. I'd used the main bathroom, skipped washing my hair and still beat him to the kitchen.

Devon's eyebrows rose as I entered the kitchen.

"So?"

"So, nothing. Devon, like I said, we just cuddled."