Remember Me

by Bryce Taylor

  My hand on her face, palm cupping her chin, my fingers stretching up her cheek, index finger resting on her earlobe. She is tilting her face into my hand and there is an edge of vulnerability to her look now and I don't know why.

  I'm leaning slowly in, by degrees, giving her every opportunity to back out. She doesn't.

  Feeling her breath softly on my face. Opening my eyes, knowing that hers are on mine. Savouring the raw connection between us. Parting my lips slightly, signalling to her that this is her choice, she can decide if this is what she wants.

  The tiniest smile on her lips, in the depths of her eyes.

  Savouring this moment of anticipation, waiting for it to break into a million tiny pieces, to become something new, something beautiful.

  Till finally, her mouth is on mine.

  Our lips brushing. Soft and tingling. Tenderly capturing her lips in mine. I don't need to ask if she feels it too, this sensation floating through me because she is melting into me. Gently, mouth pressed against mouth, her head tilting as she moves to get that angle. Her smile curling her mouth, her lips pulling ever so slightly at mine, my sigh, pure pleasure, that I could do this forever.

  She takes a half step in toward me, my leg pressed in between hers, her arms tightening around me.

  Her lips opening.

  That first intoxicating touch of tongues. An electric bolt, hitting simultaneously through my heart, elbows, knees, grounding in the earth beneath us. She groans softly. The sweetest sound I have ever heard. Her hand in my hair, pulling my head closer. Her arm around my back pulling me tight, her kisses suddenly confident, burning with need, my limbs weak, yielding to her.

  She is pushing me into the house with her body.

  Firming her hold of me, directing me upstairs to a bedroom. The spare bedroom but I sense that now is not the time to mention this.

  "We don't have to," I tell her between kisses, "we can go slow."

  "I don't want to go slow," she tells me steadily, pulling my t-shirt over my head. Painfully catching on my ears.

  Right.

  Part of me is suddenly terrified. Would prefer to be going slow. That this is Jo and that there are a thousand ways that I could screw this up. I may not have ever been anxious in a relationship but I apparently am having pangs of uncertainty now.

  Only she is pulling off her own cardigan and tank because I am not moving fast enough and I am staring disbelievingly at her naked chest.

  At her body.

  The need of addiction, a crippling pain to just have one moment, just one moment and then just one more, my hands to caress each last inch of her.

  She was hiding all this under so much clothing? For what reason?

  What the hell is wrong with Mark?

  Please, please tell me that she is going to let me touch her.

  She is smiling. "That's a relief," she says.

  What?

  My eyes caught to her chest again. Flicking up to her face briefly.

  "That you like," she says, indicating downwards. My eyes follow.

  "Yes," I say hoarsely. "Like might be too weak a word, though?"

  Like is far too weak a word. Her body is a crippling sanity destroying obsession.

  Fuck.

  I am moving in closer to her, floating. Removing my bra. Not wanting any barrier between her body and mine. My hands brushing her sides, reaching around into the small of her back. Pulling her into me, her breasts softly touching mine, ecstasy. Agony.

  I must go slowly.

  My hands sneaking up her sides, catching touches of round edges. Bliss. My hands aching to cover them.

  She is groaning against my mouth, whisper soft exhalations of breath against my cheek, the sound in her throat, vibrating. Our tongues are entangled, learning each other's signs. Teeth tapping accidentally now and then, twin smiles when they do. She is realising that I will match her when she tries to invade my mouth, she is grinning, pushing back, her hand entwining through my short hair, cupping my head, keeping me right where she wants me.

  Where I want to be.

  All the muscles in my body are clenched, trembling, to stop myself throwing her onto the bed, ravishing every single inch of her. To not scare her. She is not so hampered by such scruples, her hands exploring every inch of my body, her hands sliding down the back of my shorts, her leg pressing between mine. I'm hardly trying to stop her.

  Till she stops suddenly. Her eyes tracing over my face with an intensity as if she has never seen me before or perhaps to commit my features to memory.

  The dawn light playing over her beautiful face, that this moment is going to stay with me forever, the intimacy of this, her, here with me, her hands holding my face, fingers extending up cheeks, my skin tingling under them.

  "I want you to do what you want to do with me," she says eventually. In a firm voice that sets my heart hammering.

  I raise both my eyebrows. "Seriously?" I choke out.

  "Well, I don't know what I'm doing but I'm pretty sure you do," she says, a half smile on her lips.

  It's not a question. She is right. I do know what I'm doing.

  "I'm pretty sure you could use your imagination?" I ask, just in case.

  She is grinning. "I have had a few thoughts," she says.

  Oh, my god. I can't wait to explore those.

  "Right now, though," she says still smiling, "I want to find out if I am gay for you?"

  You heard the lady.

  I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her with passion, until she is legless, her arms wrapped around my neck, short, sharp breaths against my lips, pressing herself against my hip, my thigh between her legs. Gently direct her towards the bed.

  Raise one eyebrow, asking her if she is sure, this is what she wants.

  "Yes," she says her voice rasping.

  Kneel to pull her shoes and tights off.

  We don't need those.

  Worshipfully press one kiss, two, into her hip bone, the soft skin of her stomach, my arms around her thighs, her hands in my hair.

  Slide her underwear down over perfect slender legs.

  Stand and rip off my shorts and underwear, discard them on the floor.

  Not planning on needing them either.

  Her hands cupping my face as she lays down on the bed, bringing me with her.

  Crawl over her, eyes ablaze, cover her body with mine, burning with a need for her, it's incomparable to anything I've ever felt. Skin sliding over skin. Her hips rising to meet mine. Her eyes startled at the feeling, our lips the barest distance apart, her groans against my mouth. I kiss her deeply, our bodies moving together, her hips rolling, thrusting against mine, until I feel her start to change beneath me, her body become pliant, her sighs and groans telling me that if I don't stop, don't slow down, this is all going to be over too, too soon.

  I pull back a little or at least I try. Strong arms clamp around my body. A leg. Holding me right there.

  "No," I tell her, kissing her lips lightly, teasingly.

  "Yes," she says insistently, her eyes determined. Not wanting to be thwarted in this.

  "Not yet," I tell her, grinning now, "it gets better I promise."

  "I don't know if I can cope with better?" she says, an intensity in her grey eyes that is burning me up.

  "You will," I assure her, grazing my lips across hers one more time, bending my head to nuzzle under her chin with my nose.

  Her arms, leg reluctantly loosen. A little.

  I kiss her under her ear. Lightly. An immediate groan.

  Again. Her head bending inwards to mine.

  My teeth scraping across the same spot.

  Her shiver. A louder groan.

  "I didn't know gay sex was all above the shoulders," she says huskily. I want to laugh. This being such a typical Jo observation.

  "Would you like me somewhere else?" I ask. Voice deliberately low. My lips brushing her ear. Tongue touching the hard edges and grooves.

  Her body shudders against mine.

 
Fuck.

  "I may actually die," she admits and I can feel her smiling, at herself, at me.

  "Well, sing out when you are either gay for me or in love and I'll stop," I tell her, smiling unconsciously back at her.

  "Either?" Amusement. Her smile against my cheek.

  Fuck. Fucking lawyers.

  "Both," I tell her, "I don't plan on giving up until I have both."

  Pure bravado. I'd actually settle for a regular Sunday morning coffee date but I don't plan on telling her that. It's not all the unvarnished truth after all. Just the important stuff.

  I take her hands in mine. Raise them above her head. Hold them there, barely, one handed, no pressure. Captured, not trapped.

  My eyes on hers.

  My other hand is exploring. Down the side of her neck, her collarbone, up the inside of her arms. Tracing lines over her palms. Her body is reflexively bending towards mine. She is making frustrated noises in her throat. I am kissing her there. Against her throat, the vibrations passing through to my lips.

  My hand lowering, caressing lightly across her stomach. Shivers, prickles, running after, obedient to my command. The heel of my hand pressing into her hip, pushing her back into the mattress, her body straining against me for more.

  Her head is arched back into the pillow, unable to take the pleasure, the anticipation much more.

  She mumbles something. I pause.

  "What was that, darling?" I ask.

  "Meg," she grates out, "you are rapidly making me gay for you, but your chances of my falling in love with you are decreasing."

  Got it. Enough teasing.

  I release her hands. Take one and put it on the back of my head. Indicate that she should do the same with her other hand. Smile to feel her fingers threading through my hair, warm against my scalp.

  "I'd like to play a game," I tell her, our eyes fixed together, hers furious and frustrated and barely fucked. "Just one rule. You show me exactly how much you like what I'm doing."

  I push my head back against her hands to demonstrate.

  She catches on immediately.

  Our lips are instantly locked together, her tongue, invading, taking over my mouth, her hands holding me, directing me. I pull back and attack her throat, trailing kisses from ear to collarbone. Biting, sucking there.

  Hard pressure against my head.

  That's a winner.

  Downwards to her chest. Yes, she likes that too. My cheek pressed against the underside of her breast. Yes.

  My tongue tasting her nipple. Outlining the hardness there.

  I should have been prepared for the reaction but I'm lost in the taste, in the need for this. Her nails digging painfully into my scalp are a shock.

  Sucking back gently, flicking my tongue.

  My mouth on her ribs, chin pressing against hard bone, unable to stop, wanting to taste every last inch of her.

  "Oh, Meg," she groans, curling her body in, hips rocking inwards. I don't have long. She is so close to the edge. I look up at her.

  "Hands or tongue?" I ask.

  She doesn't need more clarification. Narrows her eyes, considering this.

  "Hands now, then tongue later?" she asks, fingers gripping my hair, pulling me back up to her lips. As if I might refuse.

  Whatever you want. I will be worshipping at your altar for as long as you wish it.

  My body pressed against hers, my lips pressed to her neck, my thigh sliding between her legs, entwining her legs around mine, slowly starting to move, rocking my body to hers, my hips circling, her moans getting louder, biting, nipping at her neck.

  My hand moving between her legs. Caressing the soft skin of her thigh. Lifting her leg over my hips, exposing her. The agony of not being able to just take her.

  Heart stopping dead at how wet she is. I can feel her burning up, so close, right there on the edge.

  I slide one finger in between her legs, just against her clit, rubbing delicately just there, a moment, two, triggering an explosion, shudders racing outwards.

  "Oh, fuck, fuck, Meg, fuck." She is crying out, clinging to me, her nails drawing down my back, wonderful lines of torment. Her hips jerking, body lifting off the bed, my arms sliding around her, under her, cradling her body, my leg firmly against her. Gently moving, my hip, my entire body behind each movement, tiny pushes into her. To keep this going as long as possible.

  Until she is drained.

  "Oh fuck," she says eventually, tiredly, limp. Sweaty.

  We are both sweaty.

  I'm grinning.

  Turns out there are curse words in her head. She obviously saves them for the right moment.

  "So," I ask.

  Her eyelids flicker but don't open.

  "Gay for me? In love with me? Both?" I ask, hopeful. Swallowing around the lump in my throat, nervous about this more than I logically should be.

  "Gay for you, yes, love, yes," she agrees, the tiniest smile quirking her lips.

  Sheer fucking relief.

  She opens her eyes and I'm looking into them, those blessed stormy eyes, the ones that have never held anything but honesty and sincerity. Every emotion on display, a bravery that I can't ever match.

  "Gay for you since I saw those pictures of you in your underwear two years ago. In love with you since you were so angry about me not having a bank account. Just now I've forgiven you for lying to me," she says, an intensity of feeling that is nourishing my empty soul. Always, telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  I am so unspeakably euphoric right now, a high that I am never ever going to come down from.

  She opens her arms. Invites me in. I shape myself to her body, her arms wrapped around me, my face burrowed in her neck. I was going to ask if I was better than Mark, but then I don't give a damn about him.

  "You?" she asks obtusely.

  "Me?"

  She chuckles. "Gay? Love?"

  "Always gay. Especially for you," I tell her, my voice cracking. "In love with you, yes, always, since that night we were at camp and you snuck us out for ice cream and we sat at the beach on the bonnet of your car and talked about the endless possibility of life."

  The best night of my life for so long. The breeze off the ocean buffeting her hair, the sweet tang of salt wreathed with my memory of her. Every word that she said an epiphany, a revelation. My ice cream melting stickily down my hand as I neglected to eat it. A night that has been eclipsed once already and I know will keep falling further down the list.

  No need to mention that there has never been anything that she needed my forgiveness for.

  She holds me closer. Her smile imprinted on my forehead.

  We fall asleep like that. Entangled. Blissful.

  Chapter 6 – Let’s Fall in Love

  I awake at midday.

  Jo is sitting up, inspecting my tattoos.

  She has found the new one.

  The one that has been torturing me for the better part of ten months, every time I glance at my arm. When I had no reason to hope.

  The sketch of two daffodils on the inside of my wrist, stretching up my forearm. Inscribed, one part up each stem; 'And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils'.

  For her.

  For us.

  Our mirrored smiles.

  I'm about to ask what she wants to do now.

  I don't have to.

  It is apparent that she wants to do me. Her hand is resting on my hip, an intention. That she is very much interested in this.

  Fine with me.

  A smile curling the corner of my lips.

  She looks up at me, a beautiful ache, a hunger in her eyes, it's abundantly clear that she is enjoying my body too.

  More relief. I was a little, truthfully more than a little worried about that, but I see that I didn't need to be.

  Tracing lines with her fingers over this tattoo and then that one. The ancient Greek coin showing an Athenian Little Owl with an olive branch beneath my ribs. On the inside of my b
icep my old BMX bike in blue and red, the happiest relic of my childhood. An Altair 8800 computer, pure nerd across my ribs. She is reading the tattoo over my hip. A deliberately painful spot over bone and soft skin. The Khayyam poem;

  I sent my Soul through the Invisible,

  Some letter of that After-life to spell:

  And by and by my Soul return'd to me,

  And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell:"

  Caressing her thumb across it. Understanding in her eyes. No one else sees the importance. My code that I live by, that I get to choose my own morals, my own destiny.

  She smiles at the Da Vinci drawing, kisses the skin there, softly on the inside of my wrist. Runs her fingers across the Day of the Dead triptych, all skulls and owls that I had stupidly hidden from her, that she seems to enjoy looking at. Returns her gaze to the daffodils and kisses them firmly as if to add her mark there. Nudges me to turn me over to check out the remaining tattoos. Straddled across my thighs, both hands on my back.

  The fox in a mirror, leaping in the small of my back.

  Between my shoulders a flattened map of the earth, red dots in each of the places I have been.

  A line drawing of a bee darting around my ribs. She kisses me there and I shiver, feel her smile against my skin.

  The pin-up girl on my right bicep. A hard thumb running down across her.

  I'm not sure if she has thought about the fact that I have not, really truly, have not had any satisfaction yet.

  That her gentle glancing, dancing, hushing fingertips are killing me. That her naked body so close to mine is making my breathing ragged, that there is an untended throbbing between my legs that is begging for attention.

  If she doesn't do something soon I'll be tempted to take matters into my own hands.

  No, I won't.

  But there may be permanent damage done. To my sanity.

  Her fingers stop. The inspection is done. I can feel her balance shifting forward. Leaning.

  Breasts grazing my shoulder blades. A pained groan, my eyebrows drawing together.

  Her lips at my ear.

  "So," she says casually.

  "Yes?" Trying to keep the agony from my voice. Her unwitting torture inflicted on me.

  "I have some questions?"

  "Yes?"