Dreaming Omega 
Spookey247 (spookey247@msn.com) 
 
5/7
Straw Dogs and Static: Two
 
COMFORT INN PARKING LOT, BUXTON, NC 2:11 AM
I now know that exactly two establishments serve alcohol in Buxton, NC on a Monday 
night. No bartender or waitress at either can claim to have seen someone fitting Mulder's 
description during the evening.
Sitting in my car in the parking lot of the Comfort Inn, I am confounded and tired and 
thoroughly miserable. I have no idea where to go next. My cell phone rings. I check the 
number on the caller ID. Damn. It's only Skinner.
"Having any luck, Agent Scully?" Concern hides under the surface of the nonchalance in 
Skinner's voice. "Where are you?"
"I'm in Buxton, North Carolina, at the Outer Banks, and no, I'm not having much luck."
I am pleased to have an opportunity to vent. "Mulder checked into a motel here...I've 
been to his room but he's not in it...his car is there, though, and I can see that his gun is 
inside. Sir, I just can't figure out where he's gone. There's no one here, the town's pretty 
deserted. It shouldn't be this hard to locate him."
"Is he on the beach somewhere?"
"There's no way to tell until the sun comes up...I..." I remember my vision of Mulder 
disappearing into the sky and cannot help but shudder, my mind filling with other 
images I'd rather not entertain.
"Have you contacted the local PD?"
"No...I was hoping to resolve this without setting off any alarms."
"Scully, I think you should take that step. You can't be everywhere at once. They can at 
least keep an eye out for him."
"You're right."
"Keep me posted."
"I will, sir." The local Police Department. Well, the Sheriff's office was not hard to miss. 
The small municipal center was brightly lit and shiny, obviously the newest building in 
town.
The office of the Dare County Sheriff is as deserted as the rest of the village, almost 
totally silent. A lone dispatcher sits behind a desk reading a paperback. She looks up 
with surprise when I enter. "May I help you?"
I show my badge and explain myself. As the dispatcher gets the forms necessary to fill 
out a missing persons report, the phone rings. She takes the 911 call about a domestic 
dispute and radios for a car to check things out. She then returns with a smile.
"Sorry about that. Big Monday night. We only have two Deputies on duty down this 
way and that's the second call in half an hour. Old lady with a heart attack down in 
Frisco, guy threatening his wife up here in Buxton. And now you. We hardly ever have 
anything on Monday. I'm missing my beauty rest. Now what's your friend's name?"
As I give out the information, I try hard not to sound as stressed as I feel. I hope Mulder 
will not give the Dare County Sheriff any more business on this busy Monday night.
 
BUXTON COVE DRIVE 3:09 AM
I can hear them arguing on the next block down. The angry clamor buzzes down the 
quiet street like a swarm of bees, sounding more violent as we draw closer.
Brian Cahill stands deadly still with his legs planted wide in Joy's driveway, a handgun 
dangling from a meaty fist. I can't see his face, only a huge mass of blond dreadlocks 
and a tattooed back that would not be out of place in pro wrestling.
Joy stands blocking the way to her apartment. Her expression is primitive and 
murderous, the skin of her face stretched tight with fear and anger. She is shouting as if 
the force of her voice could be enough to keep her husband at bay.
"I already told you, Brian. Even if it wasn't the goddamn middle of the night I wouldn't 
let you take her anywhere."
It becomes clear just how drunk Cahill is when he speaks. "You wouldn't 'let me.' That's 
really funny, Joy," he slurs. "'Cause I got a gun and you don't."
"You think you're a big man, now, don't you. You spineless shit. Get the fuck out of my 
driveway."
"Don't push me, Joy. I want what's mine."
"You won't shoot me. You can go straight to..."
The gun comes up. Before I can tell Cahill to freeze, CJ darts from behind me, slamming 
into his brother-in-law, taking him off guard and very nearly taking him down. CJ's let 
his hatred get the best of him, he means to make good on his promise to kick this guy's 
ass.
I shout, "Dammit, man, I had him cold!" But now we've lost our chance for an easy end 
to the situation. Pete dives into the fray, wrapping himself around Cahill's legs, trying to 
pull him down. CJ has Cahill in a death grip, one arm wrapped around Cahill's chest 
while the other grabs for the gun, which swings wildly as they struggle. That gun is 
bound to be loaded. Something's got to be done. I stick my own gun in the back of my 
jeans and lunge forward to break up the fight before Cahill's gun has a chance to go off.
I hear Joy telling Tessa to go inside and lock the door, then she's screaming, "Stop it, 
guys, c'mon! Brian, goddammit this is so stupid, somebody's gonna get hurt, will you all 
just stop it!"
I grab Cahill by the neck, trying to pull him down into a headlock, but the guy is 
enraged, psychotic, and even bigger than he looks. His strength is astonishing. He 
reaches up and grabs my injured hand, twisting hard. A jolt of liquid agony shoots up 
my arm, taking me to my knees, paralyzing my entire body. Pete loses his grip on Cahill, 
who takes his opportunity and kicks me in the head.
I go down face first into the driveway. For a few seconds everything seems far away. 
Joy is screaming, screaming for her husband to give up, for someone to get the gun 
before the cops show, for all of us to please just stop it, stop it right now.
Cahill is wailing. "Joy...help me, honey, get them off me. Joy!"
He wants *her* to help him. He wants *her* to save him. Something must be wrong 
with my ears.
"Don't let them fucking do this to me, Joy..."
He thinks she's just a shadow, existing to serve only him.
The air is violet, indigo, amber. My soul fades. I can't feel the rage but it fills my heart, 
cold as rocket fuel.
He hurts her to show her she's nothing. He rapes her and calls it love.
I am a sledgehammer made of stone. Joy is screaming. She doesn't understand, but I 
know what I'm doing. I'm setting her free.
I smash Cahill's wrist on my knee and fling the gun aside. CJ holds him fast; we are one 
in purpose. It's a blur now, Cahill's body twitching under my fists - I need to feel his life 
slide out into my hands so that I can release it to the air like a bird. When it flies, she'll 
be free. When he dies, I'll be free.
"Fox, please." Joy's voice is low and desperate. Her hands beg me to stop as she lays 
them on my shoulders, always hands on my shoulders, their hands on my shoulders, 
obscene and ruthless - cajoling, compelling, coercing...I spin to face her like a vicious 
dog, ready to settle things once and for all.
"Fox, please, *stop*." Joy takes hold of the fist that is poised to strike her.
My vision settles like heat over a desert highway. I can hear a siren in the distance.
"Fox, stop and think." She lowers my arm to my side. "You don't have to do this."
My breath is coming in spasms. Cahill strains against CJ's grip, threatening further 
mayhem despite the blood streaming from his nose and lower lip. I whirl to face him, 
pulling my gun from my jeans and my wallet from my hip pocket. "Federal Agent. 
You're under arrest."
"Oh my god," Joy murmurs. This is a development I'm sure she could not have foreseen.
CJ's eyes are huge. "You're a cop?"
So I'm the fox in the hen house, it seems.
Suddenly all the energy goes out of Cahill's body. He begins to weep like a child.
"What the fuck, Cahill..." CJ gives him a shake.
"Yeah, you pathetic motherfucker, be a man. Shut up." Pete says, standing nearby.
Joy draws close to her husband, shaking noticeably. "Whatever happens, Brian, I don't 
want to see you again until you can act like a human being. Go home, pack your things, 
and go back to New York."
"I need to see Gabe."
"You're no good to her. She's better off without you. Now get out of here." Joy turns to 
me, tears in her eyes. "Please let him go."
"Joy..." CJ's face twists in anger. "This is not smart. Mulder, tell her."
"Joy, he's right. He threatened your life."
"I love you, Joy, I love you, Joy, I love you, I love you, I love you ..." Cahill blubbers 
drunkenly, disintegrating into a mass of self-reproach, doubling over and covering his 
face with his hands.
Joy's expression is penetrating and grim. "Fox, if you could please just look the other 
way on this, I'd take it as a personal favor."
She doesn't want to be protected. All she wants is some control. I have to respect that; I 
have to respect her decision.
I lower my gun. Suddenly, I'm shaking, too. "Get a restraining order." I'm not asking. 
This is my condition. "I'll let him go tonight. Tomorrow you'll get a restraining order."
"Okay. I'll do it."
I turn to CJ, who looks utterly stricken. I can sympathize. But this is Joy's game. She's 
got to call it the way she sees it. "Let go of him, man."
CJ leans into Cahill's ear. "Give me another chance, Cahill. You're dead."
Face dripping, Cahill pulls away from his brother-in- law and fixes his unfocused gaze 
on his wife. "I know you, Joy. You're the other half of me. I'm gonna be with you, 
baby."
"Brian, please just go. This is not helping." She holds her hand out without explanation. 
Like a guilty teenager, Cahill sullenly surrenders his car keys. "Now go up to the corner 
and call a cab." He grasps her hand for a moment but she shakes free, turning away from 
him. "Pete will drop your keys by tomorrow. Okay Pete?"
"Yeah, sure, Joy."
"You better go now, Brian."
We watch in silence as he stumbles away.
 
NC 12 3:34 AM
A gray patrol car, sirens blaring, blue lights flashing, hangs a left up the side street that 
runs by the Handy Mart. I wait for it to pass so that I can turn into the parking lot of the 
Surf Motel, which is beginning to feel like my new home away from home.
Oh yeah, a domestic dispute. Well, they're Johnny- on-the-spot, aren't they?
My head is full of white noise. I've been this tired many times before, but being used to 
exhaustion doesn't make it any easier to take. I'm going to have to sleep. There's no way 
around it.
I pull in next to Mulder's car. It's comforting, in a way, having this piece of his life, this 
tie to him, nearby. But something about it has changed. The interior light is on. Wide 
awake now, I scramble out of my seat belt. It's the driver's side door, unlocked and ajar, 
which is triggering the light.
His gun is gone.
No, no, no, no...
Which direction to run...I race into the motel, disregarding the desk clerk's inquiries, 
trying to get to Mulder's room before the unthinkable can happen. Or has it already 
happened? The room is empty, as I left it earlier. I head for the beach, legs pumping, 
sand flying, my heart in my mouth.
Panic, which I have held down with an iron will ever since Mulder's disappearance, now 
gets the upper hand. I scream his name into the night five times, ten times, but the only 
answer that comes is the sound of wind and surf.
You bastard, you bastard, you bastard...
Mulder, I am so fucking mad at you. I'll never forgive you for this.
I sit on the beach for a long time, cold in the wind.
This is just like Sacramento. The helplessness and betrayal don't feel any different. No 
matter how desperate I may be to protect him from himself, Mulder is out there making 
his own decisions, living his life according to his own dictates, and there's nothing I or 
anybody else can do about it. In the end, I am not, cannot be responsible for him. I have 
to let him go.
Maybe I should just go back to Washington.
To do what? Wait for the phone call that confirms his death?
 
17-B BUXTON COVE DRIVE 4:39 AM
"What the hell is wrong with you, Joy? Don't you care anything about your own safety? 
What about Gabriel, for Chrissakes?"
"CJ, please calm down, I know what I'm doing."
"I can't fucking calm down. Your fucking husband just tried to fucking kill you and you 
could have had him arrested, but instead you let him walk. It's attempted murder, Joy. 
You had witnesses. Just say the word and we'll go get him."
"I can't do that."
"Please, Joy. It's not too late."
"I can't."
"Joy, he's right," Tessa says softly, sadly. "You can't let him get away with what he did. 
We can call the sheriff back right now. They can go pick him up."
"You guys, please calm down. He was just drunk, trying to get attention. He wasn't 
going to shoot me. He wouldn't shoot me."
"Oh, right. There's no problem, he's completely harmless. He was so fucking harmless last 
spring that you had to go to the hospital. You must have gotten brain damage from that, 
Joy." CJ's face is beet red and his large, square hands open and close with pent-up fury.
"Could we please not wake Gabe up, okay?"
CJ slams his body into a chair and has nothing further to say. He slumps, staring at the 
floor.
Tessa sighs. "Anybody want a shot? I think we could use one."
Pete speaks up from his perch on the back of the sofa. "I'll take one."
Joy takes a deep breath. "Yeah, me, too. C'mon, CJ. Have a drink. What about you, 
Fox?"
I look up. "Sure." I have not joined their discussion. It's not my place to speak. I've 
wedged myself into a corner of the sofa to rest my head against a cushion. I'm hot. I rub 
my hand across my face, discovering a whole new world of injuries left over from my 
encounter with Cahill's boot and the driveway.
CJ and Pete have their own injuries and seem nearly as sore and stiff as I am. Joy looks 
at us with a brave smile. "Look at you guys. My white knights. Anybody need a band-
aid?"
Her joke floats through the gloom unappreciated. She stands up, eyes flashing. "Look, 
everybody, cheer up. I'm really sorry for what Brian did. I know you think I'm crazy but 
you just don't know Brian like I do. He's Gabe's daddy, okay? I'm not going to put 
Gabe's daddy in jail. Guys, c'mon. You have to be patient with the people you love."
"Are you saying you still love him?" CJ mutters this from between clenched teeth, a sob 
in his voice.
"No, no, that's not really what I mean." Joy kneels down next to him, touching his hand. 
"CJ, he's Gabe's daddy. *She* loves him. I've got to work this out some other way."
Their eyes lock in the kind of communion that can only exist between siblings. He leans 
his head against hers, tears of frustration fresh on his face.
I close my eyes. I cannot stand to watch them together. I had a sister once. I would have 
a bond like this, had it not been taken from me.
Tessa returns from the kitchen with Kyle, carrying a bottle of Jim Beam and a couple of 
shot glasses.
Emily, who has been sitting silently near the front door, stands up. I sense that she 
would like to escape an uncomfortable situation. "Guys, I'm gonna go home," she says. 
"Fox, can I give you a ride back to your motel?"
Oh *right*, Emily. Just let me get you alone.
Joy speaks up. "Fox needs nursing care before he's allowed to go anywhere."
Emily acknowledges this with a knowing look. "Okay. Hey, Fox. It was really nice 
to...meet you. Anybody else want a ride back?"
Pete swallows a shot. "Yeah, me. Shit, I've gotta check the beer in at noon. What about 
you, Kyle?"
"I'm gonna stay here tonight."
"CJ, need a ride?"
He looks up with a frown. "I'm not leaving."
Emily pokes him with her foot. "Grump. Good night, everybody."
Tessa pours me a shot. "Here ya go, Fox. Drink up, it's good for you."
I lean forward to take the shot glass from her. A stab of pain shoots through my body 
and my head begins to spin. I collapse back into the sofa with a groan. I'm ready to pass 
out now. Nothing would be nicer.
I am surrounded by the smell of jasmine as Joy sits next to me. I wish I could hide in 
that scent, pulling it around me like a blanket. Her hand is on my forehead. I'm so hot. 
"You are a mess, Mr. Federal Agent. Lie down and I'll get something to clean that 
scrape."
I sink into half-consciousness. Someone tells me to sit up and take these aspirin, and I 
do, falling back onto a pillow that wasn't there before. I can feel the sting of alcohol, her 
soft hands gently dabbing my face.
Someone covers me with a blanket. I am vaguely aware, as I pull it over my head and 
give in to unconsciousness, of CJ and Joy nearby, arguing on and on in low and earnest 
voices.
The next thing I know, gray daylight is soaking through the curtains of the living room. 
A small face hovers above mine, looking concerned.
"Fox has an owie." Gabriel proclaims in a very serious voice. "I'll kiss it." She leans down 
and plants a kiss on my cheek just below the scrape.
"Thanks, Doctor Gabriel."
"Gabey, don't wake Fox up, he's not feeling well." Joy comes into the living room, fully 
dressed. The smell of coffee drifts in with her from the kitchen.
"It's okay." I mumble, feeling completely washed out. I sit up, although I would like 
nothing better than to go back to sleep. "I should go back to my motel."
"No, stay here. There's coffee, and some juice in the fridge. I have to take Gabe over to 
my mom's. I'll be back in half an hour." She leans down and kisses me on the top of the 
head. "God, Fox. Thanks for all you did last night."
Shit. What does she mean? I guess she's referring to the way I handled the Sheriff's 
Deputies who showed up soon after Cahill's departure last night. It was against my 
better judgment, but I did what Joy wanted me to do: I identified myself as a friend of 
the family, flashed my badge and told them we had the situation under control. I gave 
them Cahill's gun so that they could dispose of it, and that was that. They were satisfied 
and so was Joy.
CJ had stood at the bottom of the stairs fuming until the deputies were gone, then laid 
into Joy with so much fury I thought we would have to call them back. There was 
nothing I could do about that, though. It was their argument, and CJ was right. My 
current state of sobriety makes me wonder if I should have taken his side.
"Jesus, Joy, I hope you don't end up regretting the way we handled things last night."
"No, Fox. We did the right thing. Thanks for standing up for me. Tell Fox 'bye', Gabey."
I get a hug almost sweet enough to ease the soreness in my body.
I sit motionless on the couch for a long time after they've gone. CJ is rolled up in a 
sleeping bag on the floor, snoring. Outside, the sky is the color of old dishwater and it 
looks like it's going to rain.
A perfect match for conditions inside my head.
I go to the bathroom and then creep to the kitchen, wrapped in my blanket. Two glasses 
of water slide down my throat like a quart of old motor oil. I pour myself a cup of 
coffee. There's a bedroom just off the kitchen - Tessa and her sister are still sleeping 
soundly. It's totally quiet. I lean against the kitchen counter, staring down blearily at 
black and white tiles that shift and weave in a most disconcerting way.
For the last 36 hours, large quantities of alcohol have enabled me to avoid thinking about 
Scully. I'm no more willing to think of her now, but it is still and silent, and I am alone 
and stone cold sober. Remembrance starts as a tight feeling in my throat and quickly 
washes through my whole nervous system, flooding my body with the pain I have been 
trying so desperately to avoid.
What the hell am I doing here? What kind of complete asshole am I? She must wonder 
where I am. She's probably worried sick about me. I didn't show up for work yesterday; 
I haven't called...after what happened, I'm sure she would have wanted to talk. Shit, she 
said as much.
After what happened.
I've dreamed about it for years, rehearsing in fantasy every nuance of the moment I've 
been sure would come one day. In my imagination I take her in my arms and kiss her so 
tenderly that there can be no doubt in her mind of my intentions...our lips meet and in an 
instant she knows how I want to spend the rest of my life. Her face lights with one of 
those rare Scully smiles, the ones I wait for and cherish when they come.
I've been insane, all these years, to dream of her. I'm as full of delusions about my 
relationship to Scully as I have been about everything else in my life. I'll never be with 
her the way I've imagined, because I am ineffectual as a human being, incapable of 
connecting on an emotional level, incapable of the tenderness to which I have aspired. 
I'm cold as stone. There's nothing in me that's worth offering to her.
When I kissed her the night before last, it wasn't about showing her how much I loved 
her. I don't want to think of it, but I can't help remembering the look of confusion on her 
face. That kiss was nothing more than my selfish attempt to make myself feel better. 
And god help me, she knew it. She tried to tell me.
I can't believe I did that to Scully. It was disrespectful, a betrayal of all we've shared 
over the years. I've asked too much. I've ruined everything. I don't know if she'll ever 
forgive me for this. I know I'll never forgive myself.
I don't want tears, but they're coming anyway. There's nothing I can do about it 
anymore. I've smashed things and hurt people and wrecked my body trying to deny this 
pain, but it's still here. It's still here. It won't go away.
I could keep trying but I don't see the point. My gun sits on a high shelf above the 
television. I take it down and check the clip; it's ready, just like yesterday.
I try not to wake CJ as I push the screen door open. I step barefoot into the late 
September morning; the stairs weave under my feet like the tiles in the kitchen. It's much 
cooler than yesterday, and the salt air hangs leaden under a blanket of low clouds. 
Nearby, marshy grasses that were hidden in darkness last night stretch out to the banks 
of the Pamlico Sound. All I need is a quiet place, out of the way. As I reach the bottom 
of the stairs, though, all the blood drains out of my head. Fuck, not again...the siding is 
rough against my shoulder as I slide down the wall, coming to rest on the bottom step. 
Oh, Christ, come on. I just need to walk a few more feet. I can't fucking shoot myself on 
Joy's doorstep.
"You all right?" Suddenly, Joy is next to me, touching my arm, her voice barely audible. 
Has it really been half an hour since she left? I didn't hear her come home.
She takes my gun gently, without comment. "Can you walk if I help you?" She takes me 
by the arms and guides me effortlessly up the stairs, through the living room and into her 
bedroom. I sit on her bed, curling into myself, trying to make myself small. I have never 
felt so impotent. God, how I wish I could just disappear. Joy is holding me, her body 
warm against mine, but I am alone, locked away, as always.
I don't deserve kindness. It's too late now.
"Fox, why did you come here?"
My mouth is dry. It's hard to speak. "I lost my mother last week."
Joy's tone is light and low. "I'm sorry."
"She..." It's still so vivid. "There was a gas oven...sleeping pills..."
I shudder in the ensuing silence. Her next words come in a hush.
"That's no reason for you to do it, too."
God, I'm choking. Why can't I breathe?
"It's more than that, isn't it?"
Now I'm speaking in rapid gasps, forcing the words to come. "God, you wouldn't even 
believe most of it. The hardest thing is, I have a friend and I'm in love with her."
I can't talk about this. I can't. I won't survive.
"She doesn't..." Oh fuck. What the fuck. How can this hurt so much?
"Fox, I've been where you are. I know it doesn't seem like it, but there's a way out. 
You're denying yourself, denying the way you feel. You can't do that anymore. Face it, 
Fox. Touch it. Make it real."
"I don't think you know what you're asking, Joy."
My heart is swelling. With each beat it grows larger, taut with years of negation and 
despair. Waves of pain crash against its doors, tightly locked and barred against the 
surge.
"Fox, Fox, you're safe here..." Her hands are on my face.
"Don't touch me." I'm so hot; I can't breathe, so alone, so alone... "Please, take your 
hands off me...god, you don't know..."
"Yeah, I do. Fox, you're not alone."
"I am. I always am."
"Not anymore. I'm here. I'll stay with you."
Gentle fingers turn my face toward hers. I'm closing my eyes. I can't look in her eyes...
My voice is whispering. It sounds far away. "Let me be dead or like the dead..."
"Fox, no."
"Let me be dead or like the dead..."
There is pleading in her voice. "You don't have to choose this. Be alive, Fox. Be alive."
I am shattering like ice. Falling like snow but I can't find the ground. There's nowhere to 
rest, nowhere to go...I can't breathe, I need air. I don't want this, oh god, oh take it 
away...
My body convulses and my heart bursts open. The deluge is thick and black, full of 
rocks and refuse and bits of my guts. It is a storm on the ocean, growing more deadly by 
the minute, sucking heat from the depths to fuel its violence. At once I am rigid with 
rage, sobbing into my hands as they tear at my face. There is a keening sound, like a 
wounded animal, suffering wordlessly, dying without questioning. That's me, I'm that 
animal. It's me.
"You're not dying, Fox. Shh, you're safe."
My grief is vast. It creates its own energy, humming at the core of my being, illuminating 
bones and sinews, burning flesh away as I reach to touch it. Embracing the heat, I am in 
flames. This is what is in me. This is what I am.
Joy holds me close. I feel her touch everywhere.
Time stops. I am ashen, lifeless, spent. I could crumble to nothing at the slightest 
pressure. I listen to the air as it moves through the silence - particles of matter and 
vibration pass through in majestic promenade, discovering the hollow recesses inside my 
soul, feather-dusting the raw nerves that line those chasms.
And I am breathing. Breathing, slowly.
When I open my eyes, she is near, her gaze unfaltering and passionate. She reaches up to 
wipe tears from my face, and then, oh god, we are kissing. I am dazed, falling, lost in the 
dusky feel of her mouth, the sweet sensation of her lips enfolding mine. She breathes 
into me. I feel her presence, pure as mist, intrepid and soothing, venturing with ease into 
places long denied. I am flinging wide the doors, opening every crevice of my self to let 
her in. I want her inside me. I want to be filled with her.
Now my hands are lifting to her face, my fingers are tangled in her hair as I pull her to 
me, kissing her with the fervor of the newly awakened. She is on top off me, her tongue 
buried in my mouth, thick and wet. We are one motion, locked chest to chest, belly to 
belly.
"Joy, I...shit." I interrupt myself with a hoarse moan as she slowly licks my bottom lip, 
sighing with pleasure. "Joy, can we? Do you want to?"
For an answer she leaves the bed and stands beside it, unbuttoning her green flannel 
shirt. She pulls the shirt free and I move to the edge of the bed, my hands roaming over 
her small, round breasts, so warm, oh god...my lips brush pearly nipples and then I lick 
them, one after the other. They are ripe and nourishing. Her light gasps are like music, 
her fingernails delightfully sharp as they dig into my shoulders.
I've got to see all of her. God, she's so beautiful. My hands travel under her flimsy 
cotton skirt, up long thighs like satin...no panties, oh shit, nothing in my way. We remove 
the skirt together. Her body is golden. She is my star now, the light on my horizon, my 
new beginning, my dawn.
I'm on my feet, pulling my shirt over my head, shedding my jeans, reaching from behind 
her to stroke her breasts again. She grinds the curve of her ass against my pelvis, reaching 
back to stroke my balls, throwing her head against my shoulder. I bury my face in her 
hair, feeding on her, finding her ear, her neck, her throat to devour.
She turns, wrapping her arms around my neck, and pulls me back onto the bed.
Joy sits astride me, her face exquisite, her hands massaging my chest and my arms, her 
fingers trailing like rainwater down my belly... She touches her lips to my ear. "Fox, right 
now, in this instant, we only belong to each other. There's nothing else but right now."
She lifts her hips, her fingers tight around my cock. I feel her, slick and soft, and now, 
ohhhh yessssssss...
I am memorizing this moment: her taste, her texture, the feeling of being inside her, the 
feeling of being joined to her. I am memorizing myself, the man I am in this instant. I am 
human. I am connected. I am capable of tenderness.
I'm not made of stone. I'm alive.
I'm alive.
End of Part Five