Welcome to Friday Fiction. Things have been so busy the last month or two, that I have not had much chance to write anything lately, and hence, have been rather scarce here as well. I’m hosting this week, though, so I need to do something. I WILL get “Mermaid Weekend” finished and posted soon, but for this week, I decided to not try and rush the next installment. Instead, I’m offering an excerpt from “Marta’s Pod.”
Bill Williams is the FBI agent who makes his first appearance in the later part of “Cardan’s Pod.” As “Marta’s Pod” developed as a story, so also did Bill’s character, and he became a rather important member of the supporting cast, so to speak. This scene, from chapter 45, is a nice look at Bill through the eyes of his wife, Angela, away from his more official duties. I hope you enjoy getting to know the Williams a little better.
Please add your link to your Friday Fiction post in the Linky tool below, and accept my apologies for being gone for so long.
Angela woke early Saturday morning. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she retrieved her nightgown from where she’d tossed it on the floor the night before. Shedding it in the night had not been a romantic gesture; she’d just gotten too warm in it with Bill close beside her. The man could radiate an incredible amount of heat, and she’d found as she’d aged that her body didn’t seem to regulate temperature as well as it once had. Some nights she could press herself against him and still never feel warm enough. Other nights, he could be clear across the bed and she’d roast. Sometimes she’d toggle between the two extremes several times in one night.
Bill was in the process of getting his retirement from the Bureau arranged, and until he did they spent their weeknights apart. When he arrived on the weekends he could not seem to get close enough to her as they slept, and hence she’d spent most of the night with him snuggled up behind her. She’d gotten up to use the bathroom around two that morning and shed the sweat-dampened nightgown at that time. Bill had stirred just enough when she crawled back into bed to mumble an approving comment at her nudity before he dropped back into a sound sleep.
After all their years of marriage, she still enjoyed having her husband snuggle her and very much appreciated the fact that he still wanted to be close to her. She just wished her body would make up its mind whether to be hot or cold.
She regarded her nightgown, and carried it to the clothes hamper just outside the bathroom. It would need washed before she wore it again.
The first order of the morning was a shower. It wasn’t unusual during the week for her to spend as much as two hours in the evening soaking in the tub, but her morning routine always included a shower. The hot water washed away not only the overnight sweat, but also the remnants of sleep and helped her start the day fully alert. She shampooed her hair, then soaped up the bath puff and began scrubbing.
Bill peeked around the shower curtain. “Need a back scrub?” he offered.
“Please,” she said, handing him the soapy puff. One thing she looked forward to each weekend was getting her back scrubbed since Bill could put a decent amount of force behind the effort. She liked a solid back-scrubbing to the point where he’d sometimes suggested that she wanted him to completely abrade her skin away.
He stepped into the shower with her as she leaned against the wall, bracing herself with her arms. Even so, her body pushed forward as he commenced the scrubbing with a significant portion of his weight placed behind it. She sighed with contentment; it was much like getting a deep massage and her back washed all in one. He finished with a bit of a flourish across her bottom and handed the puff to her.
“My turn,” he said, turning around to present his back to her.
“It’s my girlie soap,” she warned him.
“It smells better than my manly sweat. Besides, I doubt anyone will get close enough to my back to notice that I might smell like my wife’s soap, and if they do, so what?”
She always attempted to put as much strength behind scrubbing his back as he did hers, yet for all the pushing she did, he never so much as teetered forward an inch. “Ahh,” he breathed. “Oh, yeah; right there. I got an itchy right there.”
She pulled the puff away and looked, seeing the angry red spot on his back. “You’ve been feeding mosquitoes again?”
“Probably a flea,” he said. “I helped Stan out on a visit to this old gal that had a house full of dogs. I think we were both itching before we got out of there.”
She finished up by wrapping her arms around him and rubbing the soapy front of her body against the back of his in a playful motion. She brushed the bath puff up across his chest as her other hand massaged the soap into his belly. Despite his age, his abdomen was still muscular and trim. All that truly betrayed his years was the copious silver flecks that punctuated his jet black hair, and that just made him look distinguished.
Holding him as the hot water pelted her back; she took a moment to count her blessings. She had a new job with a boss who was as easy to get along with as one could wish for. She had students who eagerly waited for their lessons five mornings a week. She had two terrific sons who were pursuing good educations at esteemed universities; and she had one fine looking figure of a man who was a devoted husband, loving father, great friend, and frankly, a dynamite lover to boot.
He’d even thought to stop on the way to the island the night before and buy her favorite bagels and cream cheese for their breakfast that morning. The coffee maker in their room would already have clicked on automatically. They had a toaster for the bagels and the cream cheese waited in the refrigerator. All alone in their room, she would not even have to wait to get dressed to enjoy breakfast.