by M. C. Cerny
Pausing, I think for a moment nibbling my lip. I’m about to bite my thumbnail but think better of it and shove my hands under my butt.
“Okay?” I say it like a question. I want to see where Van is going with this.
“How do you feel about phone sex?” Van’s voice drops a notch in a way that makes my panties wet and my legs squirm. I swear this man lives to throw me off kilter with his wild open-ended questions. It’s a moment like this that I wish I had a desk chair to swirl around in to give me something to do. Instead I’m perched awkwardly on the end of my bed in my tiny room.
“Laurel?”
“Ummm.” I’m caught completely off guard by Van’s question. I know what phone sex is, but I’ve never done it let alone had the other kind, the real kind between sheets and bodies and hot…I fan myself because while it isn’t ninety degrees in here it sure feels like it.
“Laurel?”
“Van.”
“Sweetheart, talk to me.”
“You mean like right now, over video chat.” My face is hot, blushing, maybe feverish. I wonder if I’m coming down with something. I don’t think so, but one can never be too sure.
“I was thinking maybe over the phone. No video. Nothing that makes you uncomfortable and definitely not if you don’t want to do it.”
The deep breath I take must be ridiculous because Van chuckles a deep rumble that makes me antsy.
“Alright. Let’s do it.” I cringe the second I say it. It makes it sound like I want him to take me to pound town. I’ve never had anything pound me, barely a light flow tampon and my nerves never let me close enough to a boyfriend in the flesh long enough to go that far. I suddenly hate my inexperience.
“There’s no rush, Laurel. I just maybe thought since we can’t see each other this might be fun, together?”
“We haven’t even kissed.”
“I know, but maybe that’ll make the anticipation of our first real kiss all the more magical.”
“You say that like you plan on kissing me.”
Van groans out loud rolling his head around on his neck like he’s in acute pain.
“Baby, when I get my hands on you, and I will…the things I want to do to you.”
“Yeah?” I ask eager for him to explain further exactly what those things might be.
“I’m going to kiss you, lick you, taste every inch of you.”
Impulsively I whip my t-shirt off shivering from anticipation and the chill that comes over me from the wicked thoughts he’s inspired.
“Damn Laurel. You’re killing me. Pink lace?”
“Mmm.” His desire for me is palatable through the screen. I sweat with need for him. He clenches his fists and I picture him crawling through the screen to lay over me. My hands reach for my breasts and knead them once, twice until he bounces obviously adjusting the screen.
“Killing me.” He says again biting his lip.
“How do we do this?”
“First, let’s turn the video off. I’ll uh, guide you over the phone.”
“You mean like how to touch myself?” I find a new energy that has me curious and intrigued what Van will ask me to do.
He makes more audible sounds that trigger uncontrollable shivers in my body before turning off his camera view.
“Hey where did you go?” I click the screen, but he’s already gone dark.
“Sweetheart.” His voice takes a soft but pained tone. “I plan on touching myself while you’re touching yourself and uh it’ll feel like a porno if we keep the video on.”
“Oh, ah huh.” Excitement comes over me. “But maybe we could have the video on another time?”
“You have no idea how badly I’d like that.”
“I hear a but coming.” I rack my brain for internet rules and laws. If we’re both consenting it’s okay right? No laws broken?
“Call me crazy, but I don’t want the slightest chance for anyone but me to see you. Is that odd?”
“No. Sweet, I think.”
“Lay back on your bed and try to relax.”
“Wait.”
“Laurel?”
“I just wanted to turn all my lights off.”
“Good. Now unless you feel uncomfortable or want to stop do everything I say, sweetheart.” The timber of his voice carries me away. I do as he directs. Relaxing isn’t easy but his voice caresses me. He’s right, with a video on it would feel like a movie. This is sensual forcing me to focus on all of my senses except sight.
“Take off your pajama bottoms.”
I slink out of them and add my underwear to the pile on my floor sliding underneath my top blanket.
“I took off both.”
“Eager and way ahead of me, but that’s alright.” I imagine his lips curling into a pleased smile.
“Slid your hand over your soft belly.”
I whisper, “How do you know it’s soft?”
“Laurel.” He grunts like he’s chastising me. I can’t help the giggle that escapes.
“Okay, okay.” I wait with baited breath for his next set of instructions.
“Slid that hand over your belly and then over your mons slowly dragging your fingertips back and forth. What do you feel?”
“My nails are short and scrapping over my, um, landing strip?” I don’t know what else to call the patch of hair there. Luckily, we haven’t run out of razors for shaving because I have a thing about being well groomed.
“Damn. I wish I was there. I’d give it a little tug. Not too hard, but enough for you to feel it.”
I whimper and tug it myself wishing it were him.
“Soon.” He says.
I’m panting in the dark. “Not soon enough.”
“Now slid those fingers lower. Spread your thighs open and touch yourself. Slowly and only on the top.”
“Van.” Gasping, I repeat the slow movement. I want to press forward, but I listen to his directions.
“Are you cheating on me, sweetheart?”
“No, but please.” I’m whining and writhing on my bed.
“Alright. Slid those fingers lower. Are you wet yet?”
“Mmm.”
“Yes or no?” His demanding question ignites a fire in me.
“Yes, a bit.” I roll my finger over my bean feeling the pulse.
“Pinch it.”
“Pinch?”
“Pinch your clit.” He demands.
The pain pleasure overrides any embarrassment I might of have sending electric zings down my legs and centered in my core.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“I’m jerking myself. God this is so hot. You have no idea how much I want to be with you. Hold you. See you.”
I slip my finger inside. One at first and then a second feeling myself flutter from his words. It’s too much hearing his grunts and the slick sound of my arousal and I come biting back a soft cry.
“Laurel.” He pants until he stops.
“Donovan.” I’m out of breath and curl onto my side suddenly sleepy. How is it possible to feel so much in such a short amount of time?
15
Van
I’m itchy to expend the pent-up energy from my call with Laurel. I hadn’t expected to feel so wound up listening to her panting breaths. It’s good thing the camera wasn’t on. That was one visual I didn’t need. Her flushed cheeks, pale skin glowing dewy from her arousal. Damn. It made me hard all over again. Hearing her was enough to send me over the edge.
I had to see her. Despite the city-wide lock down and social distancing, I couldn’t not see her. I rush downstairs to the parking garage and get into my car. My fist jams the key lock and I turn the engine over letting it start. I check the mirror to back out of my spot when my phone pings. I reach for my phone and slide the screen over to read the message.
FlowerGirl23: Stay home.
FlowerGirl23: Please.
My head bangs against the headrest. She’s right. One hundred percent right. It’s well after midnight and I respect that she lives with her
family, just barely. She makes me want to break those rules, but for her I don’t. Mentally I’ve reached a breaking point. It’s not enough and yet I know it has to be, for now, for this hopelessly undetermined amount of time.
I want to text her back, but I know it’s a bad idea because then we’ll spend the rest of the night chatting and we’ll never sleep. I could go without, but I know Laurel has responsibilities and I want her to know that not only do I respect that, I’m honoring her request. Tomorrow will be a new day to defile her with words. I can sneak her cheeky grins over the work video chat and call her afterward to hear her chastise me. We’ll muddle through no matter how long this takes, because…I’ve definitely got more than just feelings for her.
I think I love her.
16
Van
The restriction is finally lifted. Ninety days of absolute hell and we’re told we should still be cautious and careful. I’d rather never hear those words again, but I understand. Luckily, Laurel is safe. I’m safe, and now I’m driving on my way to see her as fast as my car will drive across the bridge. Everyone flocks outside despite the pouring rain. There is no parking on her street and I take the chance to double park not giving a shit. I need to touch her, feel her soft skin and run my hands into her hair. If this is what a drought feels like, I’m a thirsty man craving the one thing that I believe can quench my thirst.
“Laurel!” I yell at the top of my lungs like a madman fresh from Belview. Her doorway is barred by a group of people coming and going. There is no way I can push past them and get up the two flights of stairs as quickly as I would like. I have zero opposition to climbing up the stairwell if I have to. “Laurel!” My throat is scratchy as the only use it’s gotten is talking to her nightly.
I check my phone to call her, but I don’t have cell service and my bars are low. Everyone must be calling loved ones jamming the cell towers. I start singing our song. It’s the only thing I can do.
“Donovan?” Laurel peers down from her open window. Rain slashes my face and coats my clothes as I look up at her angelic face.
“I’m here sweetheart.”
“I can see that. What are you doing?” She sticks her leg outside her window as if she plans to step out on the iron framework. My heart jumps and my breath hitches. After all this I’m not losing her to fall two stories despite my confidence that I’ll catch her.
“Stay inside, love. It’s wet and slippery up there.”
“Seriously, Van? I’ve been inside for almost twelve weeks. A little rain never hurt anyone.” She moves to pull her other leg out and stand up.
“Stop! If you slip and fall, I’ll be spanking your ass red. I’m coming up to you. Don’t you dare come out.”
She huffs whining, my darling brat. “Van.”
“I swear, Laurel.” I rush the doorway to push past folks who smash themselves against the walls to avoid me. “Sorry. Apologies. I’m going up, apartment 3D.”
I jump steps and hop over a dog laying across the stairwell. “Sorry Buddy.” I recognize the dog from Laurel’s photos. I turn the corner and head up another flight of stairs, almost there. I’m out of breath by the time I make it to her door and I see it pop open. Three faces peer out at me, but none are Laurel. Where’s my girl? I panic scan the hall.
“Laur…” I clutch my chest and the stitch in my side from galloping up the steps. The door opens wide and I see everyone but her.
“Quickly, before he dies in the hall.” Mrs. Murphy lifts my arm up over her shoulder and half drags me inside. Hannah tries to push my butt while Lavender holds the door scanning the hallway.
“Van!” Laurel rushes over soaking wet from being outside except she changed her t-shirt. Too bad, because I’m soaking wet and I pull her up into my arms sharing the cool dampness. It never felt so good before to just hold someone. The briefest physical contact is the worst sort of foreplay. We’ve been battling the sexual tension between us for weeks now with nothing to do except get to know one another and a few sexy phone dates mostly cut short by her living situation. For me, this is as close to heaven I could be without leaving Earth.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
“I’m going to kiss the sh-crap out of you.” I say eyeballing her sister and niece. Her mother doesn’t bat an eyelash and instead ushers them out of out the common space and down a hallway.
“Van.” Laurel puts her hand over my mouth and rests her forehead against my chest.
“What is it? What’s going on?” If she tells me no or that she doesn’t want to see me my heart might shatter right here in her living room with three pairs of eyes looking on.
She mumbles into my chest and I step back to pick her chin up with my fingers. “I’ve never been kissed.”
I blink probably looking like a baby owl in my surprise. I mean, I know she hasn’t done other things besides our sexy phone times. Never been touched I get, never been kissed floors me. Something unfurls at the realization though. Laurel is my person. I want her. I want all her firsts even the strange ones we’ve managed through text and face timing.
“Van?” She looks up at me, her gorgeous eyes watering. I can’t have my girl crying. I want her starry eyed and coming home with me.
“Well, I’m about to remedy that. Hold on.”
My hands tangle in her messy bun anchoring her as close to me as I can. I’ve never been more aware of her size next to me then before and while I know so much about her, her body is still a mystery for me to explore. One I don’t want to do here in her mother’s place. I’ll save that for another time when she’s ready. For now, I want to kiss her until her knees wobble and her hands clutch my shirt with acute desperation. I’ve been denied her very essence and like a man in the desert, she’s my first quench of water.
“Van.” Her breathless whimpers unman me. I pick her up under her legs wrapping them around my waist and walk backward until I find the wall. Her lips disengage and she giggles in my neck.
“Oh my god, what are we doing.”
“Feasting. I need you.”
“Yeah, okay but the walls are paper thin and we have an audience.” She says this with a level of frustration I feel only we can understand.
“Damn right you do.” The shout from the back of the apartment sobers me up. Her sister laughs and I can hear the seven-year-old ask what’s happening out here.
“I told you that you were coming home with me.”
A bag flies out from the hallway landing at my feet.
“Your sister ever play softball?” I don’t think I ever had a bag tossed at me like that before.
“Pitcher.”
“Figures.”
“Can we go?” She asks with shy apprehension.
“Nothing has to happen, you know that right, right?”
“I’ve been waiting forever for this. Pretty sure it’s gonna happen.” She winks at me.
I kiss her nose and let her legs fall down. Picking up her duffel bag, I grab her hand and lead her out of the apartment.
“You kids be safe!” I hear Mama Murphy call out to us as I shut the door. Laurel is red faced, bun askew and glasses sliding down her nose in a disheveled mess I love.
“Move. Now.” She pushes me toward the stairwell and I move never once relinquishing her hand. I’ve finally got my girl and no amount of overthinking, traffic, or some other nonsense is keeping me from her. I don’t care if we watch a movie, order pizza, and fall asleep on my couch. There’s no way I’m taking a moment of this for granted.
17
Laurel
Standing inside Van’s condo is overwhelming to say the least. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before, all through his phone and the computer, but I’m still not prepared for the reality of sleek modern furniture and the back drop of floor to ceiling windows showcasing my favorite view of the park.
Sure I was ballsy making out in my living room and skipping down the stairs to his car, which he double parked in his rush to get to me. But this was an entirely different matter. We go
t to his condo and he ordered pizza. We argued over toppings and then Van said screw it and ordered two pizzas after a lengthy discussion of the possibility of cross-contamination of pepperoni and a white pizza with broccoli. We ended up swapping slices hand feeding each other on his leather sofa while Spiderman Homecoming played on his movie sized screen.
Now I’m standing in his bathroom having brushed my teeth and scrubbed off pizza grease from my face. I’m wearing one of his college t-shirts and lacey boy-shorts with my knees knocking together. No expectations, right? Except for the ones in my head and the hornets’ nest in my belly.
Nerves.
That’s all it is and I push them away. Van said we’d cuddle, but I don’t know if that’s code word for something else. Those pesky butterflies fluttering in my tummy spar off with the murder hornets in a knock down fight for the title of most anxious woman in the upper east side.
“Laurel, you coming out before the New Year ball drops?”
“Ha, Ha. Super funny!” I heave a deep cleansing breath before I chicken out all the way back to Brooklyn.
“Careful, I might have a birthday before you come out.”
I stomp out of the bathroom. “Your birthday is in December.”
“So is Christmas and the supposed coming of Christ. You coming to bed or what?” He teases pulling up the comforter for me to join him.
“Coming.” I huff into the dim lighting of the bedroom.
“Clearly, not yet.” He mumbles as he punches pillows and makes room for me to slide in between in the covers next to him.
I settle in expecting him to pounce on me, but he doesn’t. We lay awkwardly side by side for a moment before I garner the guts to turn my face and look at him. He’s smiling and it melts away the self-conscious worry.
“I just want to hold you.” He snakes his thick bicep around my middle and pulls me back toward his chest. He’s bare, but still wearing sweat pants. My nerves can’t decide if they want to ratchet higher or mellow out. His hand roams under my t-shirt, but stays on my belly tracing slow circles around my button making me shiver.