When Mark and Melissa went to bed that night, Mark tried to think of a way to ease any misgivings she might have developed by any incestuous relationship she had probably had with her father. They lay naked on their sides under the covers. She lay in front with him behind her, his arm around her as he rubbed her breasts with his hand.
He thought of something to say to make her feel blissful so he might accomplish his mission of getting her to talk about whether her father ever molested her as a child or more recently. He put his hand on her hip and said, “Mark Matthew Mitchell and Melissa May Monroe! MMM. Reminds me of Marilyn Monroe. Ever heard her called MM, honey?”
She put her hand on top of his still on her waist and replied, “Yes I have, and she has my last name too.” She giggled, “I wonder if we’re related.”
They rested a while, then Mark continued his conversation, “Melissa, I have a question. You can tell me to go to hell if you want to, and I won’t ask it anymore, but … has Allan ever approached you sexually?”
She started to speak; a high-pitched sound came out. But she lost her thoughts to the confusion. She didn’t consciously remember the encounters anymore because it had been several months since the last time it had happened. After she lay there for a few more seconds, she tried again, “Mark, I’m not sure. I have this thing I do that I don’t think about. I just don’t know. I’m not sure.”
That led him that closer to an answer but was not a yes or no as he had expected. At least he thought she was probably being honest. He reached toward her body and felt her breasts with his hand. He knew he couldn’t get any more answers that night, so he initiated the usual, asking if she wanted to make love by saying, “Want to do it?” She rolled over on her back and spread her legs. They enticed each other with sexual caressing and made gentle love to each other.
In the morning when he arose, she had his coffee and breakfast ready as usual. She had her own ready too but had waited for him. As they sat at the kitchen table, she said, “Mark, you know that question you asked me last night? About my father? Well I think …” She paused and didn’t say anything more for a few seconds.
He urged, “Yes, Melissa, go on.”
She replied, “I don’t remember anymore. I had something on my mind, now it’s gone. I can’t remember. That’s the way it always is. Or always was. I think I remembered for a second. Now I don’t remember, can’t remember.”
He consoled her, “It’s alright Melissa. It’s alright.”
“I tried, but I just can’t remember.”
“It’s alright Melissa, when you’re ready you’ll remember. I know it’s hard.” He put his arm on her back and gently rubbed it with his hand.
He thought she must have some kind of mental block but could remember anytime. He would be there when she was ready, and he would take into stride anything that it entailed. He thought that he truly loved Melissa.
He wanted to persuade her to remember and share with him what had occurred to help her get over it once and for all. He knew she had been close that morning; that the truth had lingered just under the surface of her memory. He just had to help her bring it upwards and in so doing let it breach the surface and get out in the open. Then she could face it and get on with living her life.
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