Page 54 of Cillian

“Something wrong at the theater?” Bellamy greeted.

“This might be better in your office. I don’t plan to take long. I just had to ask you something.” Bellamy's face became unreadable, but even so, he pushed open the door to his office, silently inviting me to sit.

“I won’t be long, so maybe it’s better if I don’t sit.”

“What was better in my office?” Bellamy eyed me curiously.

“I just didn’t know who to ask. If anyone would know, I figured it’d be you.” He shot me a confused expression, the kind where he wished I would get to the point.

“Get that look off your face. You act like I'm asking you to bury a body.”

“When either of you come to me, sometimes I wish it was as simple as burying a body. At least with that, I know what I'm doing.” Which still rang true. Bellamy preferred fighting to taking care of certain things. But he didn’t mind the clean up as much.

“You know what? I will sit down. But only if you promise not to laugh at me.”

“What are we five?”

“I'm serious.”

“If I didn't think you had the answer, I wouldn't burden you. But I need to know tonight. And you're used to stuff…that's riskier.” I resisted the urge to say anything further, as I didn’t want to shame him for his addiction to hookers. Wasn’t no way he was paying for it and not getting the full experience.

“What's this about Cillian?”

“My wife. We've been talking and she wants me to do things to her that I've never done before. I don't want it to be bad for her, so I could use some brotherly guidance.”

“What exactly does she want you to do?”

I tried not to show it, but it was hard not to brag that my wife was open to things neither of us had done. “She wants me to put in her arse. I didn't even suggest it—she was the one who brought it up. But I've heard more than once that it always hurts the woman. How can I do it where she fancies it or isn’t just enduring it for me?”

Bellamy fell into his chair loss for words. “I'm a little impressed. Maybe even a little jealous. That could have been me,” he joked.

“Choose those next words carefully. That's my fucking wife you’re talking about.”

“Well, I can't give you advice that I I've already given you. What I said still stands. Patience is the main thing. Anything you rush, a woman’s gonna hate. Some women like it. Some woman can't handle it. Some women go in thinking this is the furthest thing from God and can't think to scream anything else when you're giving it to them. But it don’t wet up like a cunny does, so you’ll need lube. Vaseline if you don’t have that. And definitely use a rubber. Especially if you want to fuck proper afterwards.”

“So that's all it takes?”

“Fuck no! But some things I can't help you with. You may have to help her breathe in the moment. Kiss her more than you normally would. Tell her that she's beautiful. Lick it so she gets used to you touching her there. In my more successful experiences with it, sticking a finger in there before you do it helps. Show them that with patience, it won't hurt. And don't just be ramming it in her. Inch in. Little by little at a time. Make her feel like you’re making love to her. You got all that?”

“Tell her she’s beautiful. Kiss her. Wear a condom. Don’t go too fast, did I miss anything?”

Bellamy flashed me the kind of condescending smile an older sibling gave when they barely saw you as an adult. “You look happy.”

“Fuck off.”

“You know you got a keeper, right?”

“I know.” When it came to my wife, my brothers were just fishing for a compliment.

“In a bit, I’ve got to head down to the Four Leaf. Make sure my night manager’s still making my money for me. But good luck, Cill. Glad you got her instead of me.”

***

Stopping at the chemist to stock up on lube and condoms because…well if she liked it, we were going to need them. But because my woman liked flowers, I figured it couldn’t hurt to pick up her favorite type of bouquet. Seemed like every place I went had kids running around.

Ever since Queenie had told me to put a baby in her, its weighed heavy on my mind. It didn’t help that I'm clawing at her three times a day. But something about watching her grow carrying my child made me feel like we weren't fucking enough.

Pa claimed nothing made Mum more salacious than when she was carrying one of us. But even more, I wanted to be a better father than I had been taught. Sure, Pa had taught me how to be a man, but what he hadn’t taught me was how to love your kids. There was too much love between Queenie and me where whatever she popped out wouldn’t get better than we had.

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