by Piper Denna
“Did you go out last night?” he asked, an edge of either excitement or fear in his voice.
“No. Worked. The husband in my story just turned up dead.”
Chuckles. “Oh. I see. I thought you’d go out, you know, over the weekend. That’s when people are out and about. Single-type people.”
“God, do you just want me screwing somebody else? I’ve been busy, that’s all. Oh, I get it. You want me to go fool around so you won’t feel so bad. You slept with her, huh?”
“You told me to.” He was defensive.
“It’s fine, really.” It wasn’t. “Tell me all about it.”
“Ali. The point of this being apart is for you to… well, I don’t really get the point. But you’re not doing anything. You’re just alone and hurting. Let me come see you.”
“No. Cam, no. Look, I really need to get showered so I’m not late. Don’t be feeling sorry for me, okay? I’m not drinking, and I’m not lonely.” I was lonely, but I couldn’t bear to tell him so. “You won’t let her, um, swallow your heart?” I hated myself for caring. I hated myself more for asking and letting him know I cared.
“No. Most women aren’t really begging to do that, you know.”
“I know. I hate it, myself. I’m just… because you won’t let me, I guess. I better run. Bye.”
*
Elsie had been Mom’s friend and fellow church-goer for as long as I could remember. She was a sweet, caring woman who consistently gave me guilty goosebumps by making me feel like I’d abandoned God and everything He’d blessed me with. It was like that with all the church folk and, once I was surrounded by them, I couldn’t think why I hadn’t anticipated that this would be the “Save Ali Rally.”
Could there be a religion more invasive than my mother’s? The people went door-to-door, handing out magazines and arguing about Armageddon, for God’s sake! What the hell had I let myself in for, and was there anyone bearable in the bunch?
The one bright spot from my adolescent church-life walked in the door, and reminded me. Aaron was the reason I’d attended every single meeting from the time I was fourteen until I had a job at sixteen. Kids were supposed to court and marry within the faith, though dating was strictly prohibited. Using group outings, a couple was somehow supposed to determine that they were right for each other, without so much as touching, lest their evil bodily desires take them over and tempt them to fornicate.
As a child of a divorced parent within the faith, I was never good enough for Aaron by his parents’ standards. His father was an elder, so I was on the outside of all the adult-endorsed group outings. Yet, my naïve youthful heart pined for Aaron at each meeting. My eyes followed him up and down the aisles as he carried the microphones to members of the congregation when they had a comment. He was a big boy back then, tall and always coming out the sleeves of his suit jacket, his thick neck straining constantly against the confines of his tie.
I was eventually lured away from the fold by a “worldly” boyfriend who never made me feel dirty or tainted or less perfect than him. Thus marked the end of my church days. Mom and I fought bitterly over my refusal to attend church and be treated as a lower life-form, so I made sure my shifts at the coffee shop conveniently coincided with church times. Given our usual flat broke and barely-scraping-by status, Mom could hardly reprimand me for choosing work over worship.
Even then, I’d still see Aaron while working. Church folk inevitably congregated at the coffee shop after services, and before going out door-to-door. He seemed slightly more interested in me there, coming back to the counter once or twice for desserts or something, without the rest of his family. He was awkward in conversation, unless he was flipping coins or betting on something (a practice done quietly so some elder lurking nearby didn’t notice), or maybe repeating a joke he’d heard.
The only indication I had that he was attempting to flirt was his blushing. Poor guy blushed at the drop of a hat, and hardly completed a transaction at the register without turning second-degree-sunburn red. Interested in me or not, he had no hope of ever dating me, not as long as his parents were alive. I was out losing my virginity long before Aaron courted his first girl. Once we’d graduated from high school together, I’d only seen him in passing or heard updates from Mom about what he was up to.
*
Aaron entered the room in his suit pants and a tight, pull-over knit shirt. Everyone else had come straight from church, but he’d managed to slip out of the requisite jacket, tie, and shirt, and pull on something comfortable on his way over. I appreciated the effort he’d made to be comfortable. Gangly teenager had matured to buff man. His family were water sports enthusiasts and his normally fair skin was quite brown. Nonetheless, when he’d made his way through the crowd to the food table and our eyes met, a gratifying shade of red lit his tan.
“Well, hey! Haven’t seen you in… forever,” he said. How many times had I mooned over those same stonewashed-blue eyes?
“I know. How’ve you been?” I answered. I wanted to tell him how good he looked but, with Elsie standing right behind me, it wouldn’t go over so well.
“Um. Good, yeah. Good.” Ever the big conversationalist, that Aaron.
“Good.” It was catching.
“Well, better get some food before it’s all gone,” he said, then worked his way over to the food, unashamedly loading two plates. He took a seat in a corner of the patio, near that holier-than-thou father of his, who shot me a condemning look. I was suddenly glad I hadn’t worn my wedding rings.
Once the church folk started eating, I felt less conspicuous. Their focus on getting me to the next service lessened as potato salad replaced preaching in their mouths. I gave my mother a quick and quiet goodbye with an excuse about work, and headed out to my van.
“Ali,” called a female voice. I stopped in my tracks and turned to face Missy, a friend only a couple of years younger than me.
“Oh, hey Missy. I’m heading out. It was really good seeing you again.”
“Hey, we’re all going to Spur’s later. It’s teen night, you know.” Teen night meant no booze, except in the bar itself, at the local country bar. Line dancing and no beer. Church heaven. “I’m chaperoning. I’d sure like it if you’d come.” If Missy was chaperoning, it meant mostly kids, young single people doing the closest thing they could to a night at the bar. It might be amusing and, if nothing else, I could use it as a character study for my writing.
“Mm, okay. What time?”
Missy smiled and told me the details. From my driver’s seat, I noticed Aaron watching at a window.
*
While parking at Spur’s, I realized my little black dress was probably littler than what most of the girls would be wearing. Oh well, I was an old, “worldly” woman. I had no one to answer to. If God wanted to strike me down for wearing a skimpy dress, He’d surely finish me off for the thoughts I’d been having all afternoon about Aaron.
He’d never been married, I knew. Which meant, in church-assumption, he was a virgin. I doubted the virgin thing, being realistic about how horny young guys are. If he didn’t get hitched by nineteen or twenty, chances were pretty good he’d gotten one of his chaste little girlfriends along the way to sin with him, or he’d had friends outside the church who’d hooked him up. Still, he couldn’t be very experienced.
Tempting him away, especially if his sanctimonious dad could know, would be hot. His dad couldn’t know, of course, or Aaron would be excommunicated. I wouldn’t wish that on him, but it was a damn hot fantasy!
With my stacked wedges, I felt taller. My legs looked longer, stretching down from my dress. Missy saw me immediately when I entered the bar and waved me over. A group of clean-cut kids were line-dancing on the floor. Where body contact was prohibited, eye contact increased. I was amazed the lot of them didn’t end up tripping and falling, for checking each other out. It made me smile, remembering the days when I’d get hot in my seat at church, just from imagining Aaron kissing me. Back then, I had no i
dea what to fantasize happened next. My chaste little libido ignited just by a kiss. An imagined kiss.
It wasn’t a surprise to see Aaron sidle up behind Missy’s stool. He was in shorts and a Lake Powell t-shirt. “Are your kids here, Missy?” I asked.
“No, they’re with the Jordans. It was a fair trade for chaperoning, they said.” All three Jordan teenagers were on the dance floor. Missy’s husband was playing pool, finishing clearing the table of balls where Aaron had just skunked him.
“Hey Aaron,” I said with a smile, making direct eye contact.
“Hey.” Blushing again. Poor guy got more embarrassed by the blush. He didn’t speak again until Missy’s husband showed up. Then Aaron razzed the guy about losing and collected five bucks from him. I wanted to remind them gambling wasn’t allowed, uh-uh, no way. One lady got excommunicated for not quitting her convenience store job where she had to sell lottery tickets. Instead, I watched Aaron pocket the five with a grin. How many other sins would he like to commit?
Missy pattered on about who’d married who and how many kids they had, and a few current events in the paper, while I watched the kids dancing. She was a lousy chaperone. When she quit chattering and went off to the ladies’ room, a teenaged boy whispered in a girl’s ear, and his lips touched the ear. Mouth contact was not allowed.
My own ear tickled with a whispered, “Wanta go in the bar?”
“Oh!” I knew it was Aaron without turning. “Sure.” We slipped into the darkened bar, unnoticed, where he bought me a drink.
We sat in a round booth, closer than we’d ever been, he with his beer, and I with my rum and coke. “So. You’re not wearing a wedding ring.” Voila! He’d noticed.
“I’m… separated.” I felt ashamed admitting it, though I’d expected to feel liberated by the word.
“Mmm.” He smiled. It was dark, but I was pretty sure he didn’t blush. He moved closer. “I kinda always end up separated before the wedding.”
I laughed. “Well, I guess that’s better than after you have kids.”
“What did he do?” Funny how he assumed it wasn’t me screwing up my marriage.
“His personal assistant.”
Aaron choked on his beer. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, because I saw him turn red while he wiped his chin.
“Oh.” Back to being the big talker, he gulped from the beer.
“She’s only twenty-one and…”
“YoulookreallygoodAli.”
“So do you.” I made a bold move, and slid my fingers down one shoulder and bicep. He shuddered, turned red again. “I had such a thing for you in high school,” I admitted.
“Really?” he asked. “I did too. I mean, not for me. For you.” The blush showed no sign of fading.
“I wondered,” I said with an encouraging smile. “But then I was a bad girl. Off the list of possibilities.”
Aaron let out a shaky breath and guzzled the rest of his beer.
“Wanna get outta here?” He’d already stood.
I was sure if I refused, he’d take off alone.
“Okay.”
Outside, we agreed I shouldn’t leave my van at the bar, so he followed me to my house.
“You wanna come in?” I asked in my driveway.
Aaron shook his head. Was he chickening out?
Instead, he opened the passenger door of his big, black, knobby-tired truck. I smiled and climbed in, smoothing my dress against my legs when I sat. He leaned toward me, swallowed hard, as evidenced by his Adam’s apple bobbing. I made it easy for him and leaned, too. His lips were tentative, but hot and firm. He knew what he wanted—he was just afraid to ask.
I gave him all he wanted and encouraged him to take more. His hands soon held my face. He was one heck of a kisser. I supposed he’d done a lot more making out and a lot less making “it” than most guys our age. When he finally pulled back, he wasn’t red at all. Until he asked, “Um, would you like to see my house?”
From flat on my back! I almost answered. Instead, I nodded with a smile.
He shut the door and all but ran to the driver’s side.
Aaron had always driven like a hellion, tearing up the gravel driveway to church, raising a cloud of dust so the entire congregation could see when he was late, as a teenager. He had more reason than usual to be in a hurry on the way to his house that night. Riding high in that monster truck, I wondered if we’d make it there in one piece. When we skidded to a halt in his driveway, I was out of breath from fear.
His house was big and masculine, like him. All pine logs and rustic appeal, with jet skis, snowmobiles, and dirt bikes parked in the oversized garage he’d built to accommodate his truck. We didn’t spend much time looking at his house before he kissed me again. The way he seemed to take it all in, absorbing every detail of the kiss, was an incredible turn-on. I took the next step, sliding his left hand down to my butt, pressing myself against him.
He was hard, and pushed back against me, crushing me between his hand and his hips.
“Ali,” he sighed against my mouth. His right hand migrated south, and joined his left in kneading my bottom furiously. I was amazed at how slow he wanted to take it, knowing it had probably been a very long time since he’d had any sexual release. In church they said masturbating was wrong. It probably just made folks enjoy it more when they gave in and pleasured themselves.
Without warning, he picked me up like I was nothing and carried me back to his bedroom. “Aaron, you’ve done this… before, right?”
He looked away and muttered, “A couple times.”
Okay, it was all I needed. I didn’t want to be ravishing the guy and taking something from him if he’d been saving it for marriage.
“And this is like, just a one-time thing. ‘Cause I’ll be leaving town soon, and…”
He interrupted me with another kiss. “One crazy night.”
I let him undress me, which didn’t take long for his big eager hands to accomplish. He spent forever just touching and kissing each quivering part of me. Such a patient lover. When his mouth came back to mine, I took his tongue, tasting beer, sensing his uncertainty.
“Don’t be nervous,” I whispered against his lips. “I want you. It’ll be great.”
He relaxed on me then, and I could feel his tension draining as his body melted against mine. “We’ve got all night to practice if it’s fast the first time.”
His lips had trailed down to my ear, and his nervous chuckle tickled.
“Okay. You’re beautiful, Ali. God, I’ve thought of you…” His mouth moved down my neck into uncharted territory in the cleavage zone. I sighed and moaned plenty, to let him know what I liked best. I wanted his hands touching me in other places, but was he up to dividing his attention? Getting his clothes off would be good, too.
“Aaron. How ‘bout losing your shirt?” My request was met, and I let him know I certainly liked what I saw by sliding my hands over his shoulders. The feel of his firm, bare chest against mine sent shudders through us both when he rested on me again. My hands slid over his hairless back, feeling taut strings of muscle all the way. His mouth moved tentatively toward a nipple, and I moaned, “Yes. Please, with your tongue. Oh! God.”
His unsure mouth was gentle at first, then firmer, pulling on my nipple and sending need pounding in my head and throbbing between my legs. For just an instant, I remembered an old fantasy of him and me in the back seat of his IROC.
He moved to the other nipple for a bit, then started lower. His hands caressed my tummy, then lower, until he touched the mound of hair. His eyes closed. Was he having second thoughts? His lips cruised to a thigh, then down the side, around to my inner thigh, barely brushing skin. I heard him inhale. Had he ever tasted… well, probably not. In his church, oral sex was still as taboo as masturbation.
I told him, “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
“I do. I will.”
His exploration drove me wild. Each gentle touch or lick felt like his first. He moaned more than I did wh
en his tongue reached my clitoris. I found my hands in his hair, pushing his face against me.
“Sorry,” I laughed, pulling my hands away.
“'S'okay,” he answered. “Like it.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant he did or I did, but either was probably correct.
“Come here.” He moved up and kissed me again, still tasting of beer and now of me. I took his hand in mine and showed him where to touch me. His carpenter hands were rough. I liked the friction, and wanted him to rub harder. He slid a finger in, and I bucked against him. Then I showed him around, took him to my pleasure hub, and his eyes widened when he felt it. He rubbed from side to side, until I arched and tensed and sweated and came hard against his hand, surprising us both with the intensity.
“Your turn.”
I scrambled over him, had a good look at his back, tasted it thoroughly on my way down. At his waist band, I nibbled his lower back, lightly raking my nails down his ribs. He arched at the tickling, and reddened again.
“It’s way too late to be shy, Aaron,” I said softly. “You’ve had your face,” I paused, “in my most private place.”
“Nice little poem.” It had worked, and he was relaxed again.
“What comes next is nicer.” I didn’t need to ask if he’d ever had a good blow job; his nerves told me he hadn’t. Any guy who’d had one would have been excited, not nervous. I kept kissing his back while my palm cupped over his erection in his shorts. To tease him more, I snaked my hand up the inside of his shorts and rubbed between his legs. He rolled to his back and spread the legs for me to reach in better. I started my kisses, smiling, against his mouth, then moved progressively, slowly, lower.
“Remember what you just did to me?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
His breaths got faster. My kisses got slower, wider, wetter. I wanted him imagining my mouth covering him for the first time. As I unbuttoned his shorts, he reached up and turned off his lamp.
“Aaron,” I told him in the dark, “unless you’ve got some girl’s name tattooed down here, I think the pleasure of watching what I’m gonna do should outweigh any shyness about being naked.”