We grew up together as neighbors just outside of Baltimore. Sam lived directly across the street from me. Our families knew each other well, often swapping casseroles or baked goods on weeknights. We spent our summers playing video games and riding bikes with a few other neighborhood kids. He was a couple of years older than me and by the time high school started, we grew apart. College separated us save for the occasional email here and there. We’d meet for coffee or drinks during holidays when we were home on breaks. I always looked forward to seeing him. It was easy to let my guard down when we were together. He listened intently and shared so freely that I’d get sucked into our comfortable exchange, feeling like we were the only two people in world.
Occasionally, he’d take me to dinner and we’d make out in his car. It was never anything we’d talk about, just something that would happen. While it was fun, it left me feeling confused. Was I just something to do to pass the time, or was he interested and unable to express it? What did I even think of dating him? Did I even want to? These questions went unanswered because he’d disappear once we went back to our respective schools. I always felt a little unhinged upon returning to class. Sam was like a drug. I wanted that feeling of comfort and ease that came from knowing someone my whole life, so I always went back for more, hoping that this time might be different.
I asked him once, during a Christmas break our senior year, over drinks why more didn’t happen between us. He shrugged saying. “I don’t know.” Then added with a hint of a smile, “I blame you.”
I looked at him, incredulously. “Me? You’re the one who would get in touch and who kissed me every time we got together! I participated, so clearly I was interested. And then I wouldn’t hear from you for months afterwards!”
He stared straight ahead, and shoved his hands in his pockets. His features hardened, and he didn’t respond. I never said another word about it. What did I care anyway? I was moving to Portland after school and he was staying in Boston. This was how we were anyway, the routine we had established. I was as much a part of it as he was.
I stop glowering at my computer to stare out the window, and I see him. I recognize his walk before I see his face. His back is straight, his gaze downward. His sandy hair is longer now than it was when I saw him last. He’s wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt with a light-weight olive green jacket. A faded, navy blue messenger bag is slung across his chest. I avert my eyes, returning to my screen and begin typing in an attempt to appear busy. My heart thrashes against my chest as if it’s sprouted wings, trying to escape.
The door opens and closes, the little bells attached to the doorknob tinkling. I hear him wipe his feet on the mat at the entrance, and feel my face flush pink.
“Hi Vanessa!” he says, a broad smile spreading across his face, his green eyes sparkling.
I feign being startled before beaming at him and standing to give him a hug. “It’s so good to see you Sam! Thanks for coming over.” I sit down as he takes off his messenger bag and jacket, putting them on the back of the chair opposite me.
“Of course. It’s great to see you. What are you drinking?” he glances at my almost empty mug.
“Just coffee.” I shrug.
“I think I’ll have some too. You want a refill?” he asks reaching into his bag and pulling out a brown leather wallet.
“Yes please.” I push the mug toward him. He collects it and walks to the counter, squeezing my shoulder, as he passes by.
I exhale, for what seems like the first time today, savoring the familiar warmth of his hand on my body. I shut my computer down and return it to my bag while listening to his voice ordering a coffee for him and a refill for me.
“This place is nice.” Sam says upon his return, setting our mugs down. “I don’t know too much about Portland, so I usually end up at Starbucks when I’m here.”
“Yeah, it’s the best one I’ve found so far.” I reply, wrapping my hands around the mug, warming my fingers. “I’m glad you got out of work.” I grin.
“Same here. It’s been what, a year or two since I’ve seen you?” his head cocks to the side. “I can’t even remember.”
I know that it’s been three and a half years but shake my head. “I don’t know either. A few years I guess?”
“At least.” he pushes his coffee over to the side, and leans forward, propping his forearms on the table.
“So how are you?” I ask, shifting around in my chair, tucking one leg under the other.
I listen while Sam tells me about the start-up he just began working at, his traveling and the girl he’s been seeing. My stomach clenches a little upon hearing this but it doesn’t sound like anything serious giving the flippant way he says “She travels a lot for work. We see each other when we see each other. How is everything with you?”
I fill him in on my applying to grad school, the freelance illustration work I’m doing, and recent move to live alone, without roommates.
“Where’s your place?” he asks.
“Uh, about two blocks from here. I pretty much walk everywhere. Do you still have your car?”
“No, I bike more than anything. I miss having the car sometimes.”
“Only rarely, do I ever think about a car again!” I laugh.
There’s a pause, both of us sipping our coffee, eyes smiling at each other over the rims of the mugs.
“So are you seeing anyone?” he asks, setting his mug down.
“Nothing worth mentioning.” I wink at him. Truth be told, I’ve hit a dry spell. He’s the first man I’ve been out within months.
“What’s this?” he taps the little gold band on my middle finger.
“A ring.” I laugh.
“No.” I look down at it. “I bought it while I was visiting Seattle. I just liked it.”
“You don’t normally wear jewelry.” he smiled as if he were still expecting more of a story.
“Well. Now I do.” I extend the finger with the ring on it, playfully tapping the knuckle of his index finger.
His eyes hold mine before I look away. “When do you have to go back to work?” I ask while looking out the window. The traffic light just changed from red to green. Cars and a couple of SUV’s pass by along with a couple of cyclists.
“I don’t. I just had that meeting today so I’m free. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Quick trip.” I observe. Rain begins to fall, fat drops of water pelting the pavement and the window we’re sitting next to.
“I was going to suggest we go for a walk, but guess not. There’s a theater down the street that shows a lot of independent movies. You wanna see what’s playing?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.” he nods looking outside.
Sam takes our mugs to the bus bin at the end of the counter once I finish my coffee. I gather my things and watch him put on his jacket. I try not to stare at the sliver of skin that flashes when the hem of his shirt lifts as he throws on his bag, exposing his stomach and a thick dark trail of hair that falls beneath the waist band of his jeans.
He catches me and we stand there for a beat too long, looking at each other.
“Ready?” he asks, gripping the strap of his bag.
“Uh huh.” I place my hand on top of my bag.
We walk out the door and he goes to the left.
“This way.” I laugh, stepping to the right.
As we walk, I loop my arm through his and we silently make our way to the theater taking long strides, the rain falling down on us. I just colored my hair a deep shade of violet and hope I don’t end up with a streaked face once we get inside. It always take a few shampoos before the color fades enough to where it doesn’t end up on my skin, pillow case or towels.
“What do you think?” he asks as we’re both staring at the movie options above the cashiers, people stepping around us to get in line.
There are two options that are playing relatively soon. Something romantic and a suspense movie. If I were alone, I’d pick the romantic one. It looks like a dramatic tearjerker and I haven’t seen something like that in a long time. The suspense option is probably the better bet to see together.
“How about the suspense one?” I reply, wiping mascara from under my eyes.
“Yeah, that works.” he steps forward, and I follow as we join the line. I dig around in my bag looking for my wallet.
“What are you looking for?” he asks.
“Wallet.” I say to my bag.
He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got this.”
“Next in line!” A large woman with a thick, glossy ponytail cascading over her shoulder calls from her perch behind a shield of glass.
We approach, and I zip my bag as he hands the woman cash for our tickets.
“Enjoy your show.” she says, handing Sam the tickets and his change, her hot pink fake nails catching my eye.
“Thank you.” I say to him once we’re out of line.
“You’re welcome.” he puts his arm around my shoulders.
“Hey is my face purple?” I ask.
“What? No!” he laughs. “Why?”
“I just colored this, and it fades a lot right afterwards.” I reply, pointing to my hair.
We get a medium popcorn to share and make our way into the darkened theater, choosing seats in the middle, tossing our bags into the seats next to us. We’re the only two people there save for a middle-aged couple, and an elderly man sitting a few rows ahead of us.
As the lights dim and the movie starts, Sam moves the arm rest out of the way. My heart starts to race again. He’s holding the popcorn we’re sharing. Our fingers keep touching as we watch a series of previews and simultaneously reach into the bag. I watch the flicker of characters on the screen. I hear their voices, but I don’t comprehend anything. My mind is on Sam, on the tiny bits of contact our fingers are making.
Halfway into the movie, the popcorn long gone, he taps my knee with his. My eyes stay glued to the screen and I tap him back. He does it again, and so do I. My stomach aches with desire. I place my hand on his thigh, still watching the screen, still not truly paying attention to the movie as he places his hand on my thigh.
My belly and chest are feverish. This contact is familiar and brand new. I feel pummeled by a hurricane of emotions and sensations whirling around my insides all the while, my exterior is completely motionless, poised, save for my shallow breaths.
His hand’s squeeze is barely detectable. I slide my hand to his inner thigh and back up to the top. He laces his fingers with mine, our hands resting on my thigh. I sink down in my seat a little so my head can rest on the back of the chair. I feel heat and pressure throbbing inside my cunt that feels like a bruise.
Sam’s thumb rubs mine in a slow deliberate motion. I peel my eyes away from the screen to watch this, to see how our hands fit together. His nails are bitten down to the quick. Mine are short and painted a deep shade of navy blue that’s so dark they seem black at first glance.
My thumb matches his gesture. I’m acutely aware of the softness of his skin. All of my attention is focused there and it feels like the softest, silkiest skin I’ve ever touched. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so present with anyone.
I return my focus back to the screen, thumb still moving, and my cunt still aching. I’m so wet I’m afraid I’m going to soak through my jeans. I shift around again, sit up straighter, and cross my legs, adjusting our hands so they’re closer to my hips. Sam leans in and presses his lips to my neck. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out in sheer ecstasy. If I turn to face him, it’ll be over with. I’ll take him right here. I manage a smile and brief glance in his direction before returning to the movie.
I don’t trust my legs to hold me upright once the credits start rolling. Sam lets go of my hand, the rush of air hitting my palm jolting my awareness to how warm my skin had gotten. I perch on the edge of my seat and finally look at him.
“Whatdaya think?” he asks, reaching for his bag.
“It was good.” I reply, wondering if it was. “You?”
“Yeah, I liked it.”
Once outside and away from the doors, we stand there, facing each other. The rain has stopped, leaving the sky overcast.
“Where to?” Sam asks, tapping the tip of my boot with his shoe.
“Wanna see my place?” I shrug my shoulders up towards my ears before releasing them.
“Sure.” he smiles, kicking my toe tip again.
I notice the warmth in his eyes as he agrees. This is what pulls me in to where I can’t see through my own stupor to make sound decisions. I’m flooded with desire for him, with wanting to be near him, to listen to his voice, to hear his heart beat.
“It’s this way. Just a few minutes from the coffee shop.”
I point out the roads I like to run on, a cute brunch place with the best blueberry pancakes I’ve ever tasted, and a couple of other coffee shops that have made it into the rotation of my routine. “When one gets old, I just go to another.”
“You ever get tired of it? Just working in cafes?”
“Nope. I like being around people. Working from home makes me a little crazy. I get distracted with everything I could be doing like laundry or alphabetizing my bookshelf.”
He gives me a wide-eyed look.
“I’m kidding.” I laugh.
I dig through my bag for my keys once we arrive at my little walk-up apartment. Sam looks around as I unlock the door. “It’s heavy.” I warn, pushing it open and holding it for him.
We walk up the stairs to the third floor and into my unit.
“This is it!” I beam, tossing my keys on the little table next to the door. I take off my jacket as he walks in, relieving himself of his bag.
“I like it. It’s very bright.” he says, setting the bag down and shedding his jacket.
I just painted the living room a canary yellow and the kitchen a sky blue. I hadn’t hung any of my art on the walls yet.
“Thanks. I can take that.” I hold my hand out for his jacket, and hang it up on the wall behind me before giving him a brief tour.
We end up on the couch a little while later with beers, our fluid banter continuing.
When we finish the first beer we decide to open another. He gets off the couch and retrieves two bottles from the ‘fridge, opening mine first and handing it over as he sits down closer to me than before, our thighs touching. I yank out my bun and let my hair spill over my shoulders. I run my fingers through it a couple of times, ridding it of tangles.
Sam reaches toward me and takes a little bit of hair between his index finger and thumb. “I like the color of your hair.”
“Thanks. I haven’t been purple in a while.” I look down at my plum colored ends resting on top of my chest. I bleached it for so long that I missed it being an actual color.
He lets go of the strands, and pushes his hand through the back of my hair, fingers grazing my head, pulling me into him so my head is resting on his chest.
I don’t look up, just allow myself to be pulled. Every fiber of my being is standing at attention. He sets his beer down on the table next to him, takes mine from my hand and does the same. With my cheek resting on his chest; he pulls the rest of my hair off of my face. I place my palm on his thigh near his knee and start rubbing his leg.
Abbreviated breaths escape me as my hand moves inside his shirt. His skin warms mine, the hair of his chest moving with the motion of my palm. I want to press my mouth against him. I want the hardened nipples beneath my fingertips to be against my tongue. I want his scent on my face as I bury his cock in my mouth.
I trace a nipple with my finger before turning my face up towards his. We stare at each other, years of life and memories between us. I could consume him. Every last drop of him. The laughter, the playfulness, hurt and the confusion and the fun, everything. I want to devour every ounce of him.
He kisses the top of my head and I look up at him, pressing myself upright. He leans forward and I feel the fullness of his lips against mine, electricity lighting me up. I open my mouth to him, taking his lips between my own, tasting him again and again. His tongue slips between my teeth and I meet it with mine. I push harder against him, wanting to deepen the intensity of our kissing, but he continues at a solid, steady pace.
Sam leans back, pulling me on top of him. Flashes of our twenty year old selves crammed into the back of his 1990 Jetta, me on top, grinding against his erection puncture the current moment, and I stiffen slightly, afraid to give in, and let go.
His hands travel down my back along my spine, his gentle, but firm pressure bringing me back to the present, and back to what I still want; him inside of me.
“Bedroom?” I ask, having little interest in fucking him on my couch with limited room to play.
“Yes.” A boyish giddiness I’ve never seen him emote before flashes across his face. I push myself up and off of him, feet touching the floor, but that barely registers as I float to the bedroom with Sam in tow.
His mouth meets mine before we collapse onto the bed. He pulls me on top of him. It’s all the same, this configuration of me on top, clothed while his dick is pressed against me, but different now. It feels the same because I’ve been here so many times before, and different because I am showing up as myself and not trying to change my personality into who I think he may want me to be so he’ll like me more. He doesn’t want anything more form me anyway and I don’t want anything from him despite feeling so much comfort with him. It’s nice, but not enough. This realization relaxes me, letting me sink further into him, any tension that was present, melting away.
He moves on top of me, pulling at my shirt. I take it off and pull his off as well. I can barely see his skin through his dark chest hair. I had forgotten how furry he is. He unbuttons my jeans, and I squirm out of them.
I tug at his jeans in between kisses and he pulls them off. I sit up, reach around my back and unclasp my bra. I see him out of my peripheral vision, staring at my chest. I smile and lean towards him.
We smash together, our limbs intertwined. His embrace feels like putting on a warm blanket in the middle of winter in front of a fireplace
Sam reaches for my chest, his palm settling on my breast, tenderly squeezing it. He moves on top of me again to kiss my nipples. His closed eyes, allow me to admire his long, thick eyelashes and the curve of his cheek. He moves to my stomach, then down between my legs.
My belly trembles, silent breathes escape me in disjointed exhales. I study his face to see if he notices. He hasn’t once glanced up to look at me during all of this kissing, and I wonder if he’s nervous as well. I place my hands on my stomach, and push down its length and over my hipbones.
He distributes imperceptible kisses my inner thighs, stopping briefly to spread my pussy open with his fingertips, then gently licks me. It feels delicious. He pushes a finger inside of me, and I relax into the sensation, my breath returning to normal. His thumb is at the base of my clit and is bent so the knuckle is grinding against it while his mouth is pressed against me. He alternates between keeping his mouth there and using his thumb to push against me. It’s intense, and I’m squirming a little, my back arching. This is mistaken for pleasure, and he continues, pushing harder until I say, “Sorry, that feels really good, but it’s starting to get too intense.”
He lightens up the pressure, continuing the same motion against my pussy. I enjoy how my body moves, how my back keeps arching and how the sensation of his fingers feels like walking a fine line between pain and pleasure.
I don’t come though. Instead, I gently squeeze his shoulders, whispering “C’mere.”
“You wanna get under the covers?” he asks.
“In a bit.” I move on top of him, kissing his neck, then sinking my lips into his chest, stomach, and the inside of hips before putting his dick in my mouth.
He’s perfectly average and has no particular taste. He’s silent as I suck him, my tongue trailing the underside of his cock, applying more pressure against the tip. I apply more pressure, then less, waiting to hear some kind of assurance that this is indeed pleasurable for him. I’m met with silence. Eventually I stop and crawl up the length of his torso to kiss his mouth, then lay next to him. He kisses me back, his fingers finding me again.
Our eyes open to look at each other occasionally, making everything feel extra intense. I climb on top of him, his fingers pushing deep inside of me. He’s pulling them in and out of me, my hips moving against them. While I want it, I’m afraid it’s going to make me too sore to fuck. I reach for his hand to stop him, grinning.
I take his cock and push it inside of me, my body consuming him completely until my hips are settled against his. I rock back and forth with him deep inside of me, my palms resting on his chest. His eyes hold mine. I’ve never looked into someone’s eyes for so long while having sex. It’s glorious and terrifying at the same time, and I wonder if he feels the same way. I lower myself onto him, my arms looping under his so my hands can grip his shoulders for better leverage. I breathe in the scent of his skin smelling of the coffee we had earlier and remnants of the soap he used this morning as he moves, burying his face into my hair.
My mind tries to hang on to every moment, to every sensation, to the feeling of his cock filling me up, but I know the memory will fade. We’ll part, he’ll go back to Boston, and I’ll return to my work in coffee shops. He’ll marry someone, and so will I. I’ll forget what he tastes like. The intensity of his eye contact will fade in my mind’s eye and I’ll simply remember that it happened, and not so much what it felt like.
For now, though, we’re joined together, in this moment, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be. His entire dick slides in and out of me. His pubic bone is pushing against my clit. I fuck him harder, wanting to tear him to shreds, and be torn to shreds. I want him to fuck everything out of me. I want to feel intoxicated with him.
“What makes you come?” he asks, his words getting tangled in my hair.
“This. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” I get the feeling he’s close. I want to speed up to experience my own orgasm, but fear that if I go too fast, it’ll speed his up as well.
Sure enough, it happens anyway without either of us moving faster, or harder. He tells me he’s coming in a tone that’s just above a whisper. His orgasm is silent. It’s only when his dick pulses once do I understand that he’s let go. I keep going, keep pushing until I feel my own orgasm practically vibrating inside of me, then shooting through my bones, cunt, and inner thighs. I come hard and ostentatiously, not caring about what I looked or sounded like.
He watches me as I come. Even after my orgasm we’re still regarding each other, my hips slowing to a stop. He takes his time pulling out, and says he’ll be back before kissing my forehead. I watch him get off the bed and walk toward my bathroom. I listen to the water run for a minute or so, then reach over the edge of the bed for my sweater, pulling it on before grabbing my underwear, and slipping them on as well.
Sam returns, pulling on his boxers and lying down next to me. He pushes hair off my face, and smiles. “How are you?”
“Good.” I smile back, and wait for him to say it, say that he has to go.
“What time is it?” he gets off the bed again and pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket.
I prop myself on my side and wait.
“I should go.” he glances up at me.
“Sure.” I roll off the bed and continue getting dressed as does he. I’m stalling, moving at a slower pace, half hoping he’ll change his mind, but that’s never been how it’s worked with us before.
He smiles at me once I’m dressed and considering him, standing there, about to bolt like he does. All of our shared years and memories floating in the space between us. I can’t help but to think that this is the last memory, that I won’t do this again. I wait for the uneasy feelings of rejection and abandonment to rush in, like they do when he bails, but nothing happens.
I make the first move to head towards the door and we walk out and to the living room. I hand his jacket to him, and he thanks me. I lean in to kiss him, his arms wrapping tightly around me.
“I’ll call you before I fly back.” he says when he lets me go.
I nod, and open the door for him, knowing he won’t.