For some weeks, I slept late, lazed about the place, drank Bitte’s homemade mead and waited for her to come home to hold her again next to me.
But I woke this day, realizing that I had done none of what I came for. I craved sweet Bitte, I loved the mead but I needed to get on.
That evening, I told Bitte my ambition to write a book about the insects my father described when I was a child.
Bitte was distressed. “Nicholas, you are juss like your da’. Don’t be goin’ and messin’ with the bugs. You mussn’t do this, It is dangerous for us all.” She said sternly.
“You look at old Ailill, the wood chopper. He is gone in the head from the snits, they have taken his speech from him. I will not have you this way!” she said.
“snits? Those are the tiny gnats, right?”
“They aren’t gnats! They can kill you!” She stopped for a moment. ’Twas only my ma coul’ save him,” she said looking at me reproachfully. And turning away, “You don’t be goin’ there, you hear?”
“Where?” I asked. She shook her head and refused to answer.
She said nothing for the rest of the evening. That night, we didn’t make love. She just held onto me.
Instinctively, or maybe because I felt that the question was in the air, I repeated, “its OK, I won’t go. It’s OK. I love you, Bitte.”
It took a while for me to fall asleep that night. When I woke, Bitte had already gone.
It was difficult to be around Bitte without wanting to make love. Fortunately or unfortunately, we also had to eat and she had to see to the house among other things.
Each morning, she collected the household staff and planned the day and, every afternoon, she would go off with the wood chopper to see her mother.
She never asked me to go and, quite honestly, I had no interest in seeing that particular woman again.
I was happy to wait for nightfall and her return to sit by the fire and talk and, later, indulge our appetites in the big bed I had upstairs. It gave me a chance to read and browse the estate.
Bitte and I hurried through our errands to get home.
I never wanted anyone or anything as much as I did her. And I could feel that she felt the same about me.
That night, we explored each other’s bodies from our toes to the hair follicles on the tops of our heads.
Bitte was fascinated with my body and was delighted in my erection. She studied it, gripped it, traced it with the tips of her fingers and manipulated my balls like some small baggage she needed to arrange. I could feel her touch deep inside.
Then I rolled her back onto a pillow and looked closely at her every exquisite feature, whispering hair near her ear, her soft warm skin, perfect breasts. I kissed her stomach, grasped her buttocks and pulled her to me.
I wanted to touch her heart as badly as she wanted me to.
Her need grew with mine and was only abated when I entered her and we began to move together pressing tightly against one another, her eyes, her head with mine, open mouth speaking silent o.
And there it was, somehow we did, somehow we met at a secret location within my Bitte, and we were able to become one mighty, glorious and wonderful person for a at least a moment.
Before separating, even if ever so slightly.
Where is that? Where is that tiny fraction of a moment between then and now?
When the last drop of rain fell? When the morning finally broke? When it could truly be said that you and I first touched? Where is that?
I moved closer to her feeling the distance change feeling her warmth grow in my presence feeling my vulnerability naked and screaming mouth open hopeless hoping for hope-
And kissed her on the side of the head.
She made a sound that only I could hear, her eyes flickered to mine and she smiled- and then back to her driving.
The moment was gone but a lot had changed.
I spent the next few days exploring the old place and spending as much time with Bitte, as possible. I was going to fall in love with her.
When you are a child you don’t pay as much attention to your surroundings as you do as an adult. As a child, I never thought about ‘feeling at home’ but now I realized that I felt very much at home. Almost as though it was made for me.
Most everything was wood and finished with exquisite hand carving. There were paintings in the entry way and along the stairs and large leather couches and furniture throughout the house. And a wonderful library with my old books on entomology and some I didn’t even know were there.
The house and estate seemed smaller than it did when I was a kid but I guess things are always that way when you grow up.
There was an old woodchopper with a salt and pepper beard he kept patting, “Got ta keep the snits out o’ it”. And a couple other men who handled the stable, barn and did most of the heavy work out in the yard. There was a horse, an old trap and a truck. The horse seemed to have a lot of free time.
In the house, Bitte was queen with two women helping her keep it the way she wanted it.
In the mornings when I came down the stairs, the bright sun was always streaming in through an open rear door lighting the front of the house.
At night, Bitte set a fire in the fire place.
Fortunately, her mother didn’t come back.
At the end of that first week, Bitte drove us both to town in the truck, so I could deposit a letter of credit at the bank and she could do some shopping for the house.
On the way to town, I worked up the courage and asked Bitte about her boy friend.
Her mouth opened slightly. She paused, and she said that she did have a boyfriend once but god took him. And then she smiled. “And sent you in his place.”, with what I took as the sound of triumph in her voice.
I hardly knew this girl, but hearing those words and seeing her smile at me became the happiest moment in my life.
She was beautiful. A little shorter than me, with very light colored skin, flaming red hair and light green eyes and a small child-like face. Those dreams of my childhood housemaids disappeared.
Her petite figure fit her apron and dark skirt perfectly and fixed my attention as she fluttered around the room dressing this, adjusting that, putting my freshly laundered clothes away.
The moment she left, I jumped up and got a pair of pants out of the drawer I saw her put them in, then found a shirt.
Soon, there was another knock at the door.
This time, I said, “please come in.”
And there she was again. Her smile sweet and inviting, like she knew me. She was both familiar and deferential . This time she brought a silver salver with a cup of tea and toast. With a raised finger and a sideways glance, she said that breakfast was ready whenever I got downstairs. She said, “You look like your father,” and left.
The tea had just a touch of lemon and honey. It fixed me right up. The headache disappeared and so did the mush mouth. I felt great and, for the first time I could recall in my young years, I was actually aware of being eager. It felt good.
I wanted to know more about Bitte; she certainly knew me. I searched my memory for all the little girls that I knew from back when I lived at the house but none of them looked like her. Of course, I had changed too.
She had me feeling all kinds of different ways and I liked it. I hoped her mother didn’t come back.