Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition

by Alessia Brio

  No. That wouldn't work.

  She looked right into my eyes again, and I thought for moment she might say something, but then just smiled again. I was feeling awkward now, and yet again I smiled back before looking away.

  Have you ever been in a moment that built itself up so much, the expectations so high, that everyone and everything freezes? Like rigor mortis. That anything said or done would only be a letdown, so no one says or does anything and the moment passes and all that's left is empty sense of unfulfilled opportunity?

  Suddenly, I realized the bus had stopped. Had we arrived already? We couldn't have! I glanced at my watch. 15 minutes had passed. I had had 15 minutes but hadn't done anything. I didn't even know her name. She rose and smiled at me again, and repetitively, I smiled back and followed her off the bus. We walked together - but not 'together' - up the main entrance of the school. She turned and looked at me again. She was waiting for me to say something, but I had beaten myself up and down from the bus to the university and, aside from regret, I had nothing to offer. We parted ways. As I left her, I made myself a promise, that if I ever ran into her again there'd be no excuses. I'd walk right up to her and ask her out. If I ever ran into her again.

  Of course, fate being what it is, even though it seemed I had seen her almost daily prior to the bus, I didn't run into her again the rest of the school year. By conincidence, I received an invitation to attend a party with a friend who was desperately trying to meet a girl from his art class. He wasn't really an artist, but he had needed to finish up some general credits before graduating and this seemed to be an easy win for him (it actually wasn't), and in the process he fell head over heels for one of the girls in his class. Turns out she just happened to be friends with the girl from the bus. As soon as I saw her, not ten minutes after I'd gotten to the party, I ran over to meet her.

  "Hi, I'm Peter. We rode a bus together once, back in winter? Would you like to go out with me?"

  She said yes!

  MICHELLE

  Bang! Bang! Bang! "Stop jerking off, Kevin, and get the fuck outta there!" I heard one of my roommates yelling over the Cure's 'Fascination Street' as she practically broke down the bathroom door.

  Living in a house with four other people was not easy, particularly when you had one bathroom. Somehow, we had all managed over the year, but I'm not sure if any of us wanted to continue the arrangement for the next semester.

  "So, where are you going with Peter?" Lisa plopped down on my bed, grabbed my copy of Marguerite Duras' 'The Man in the Corridor' off my side table, and started flipping through it.

  "He just said out," I laughed, holding up a black tapered blouse in one hand, and a white, Marilyn-Monroe-type halter in the other.

  "Black," she said glancing up and then looked back at the book.

  "I really need more color in my wardrobe," I sighed as I turned to put the halter in the closet.

  "Oh my God. Nice," Lisa giggled and dramatically read a sentence from the book. "'When it reaches her sex, it gets stronger again and crashes into her heat, mixes with her juice, foams and then dries up.' If this is any indication, then you'd better wear the halter."

  "You think?" I was only half-listening, but nervously changed my mind, and hung the black blouse up.

  "If this is what you study in English, I'd better start taking some courses," she bolted up and sat on the edge of the bed.

  "We read 'The Lover' but I wanted to read more of Duras," I smiled, removed my bra, put on the halter, and looked in the mirror.

  The halter was classy, low cut and backless; perhaps a bit too much for a first date. "I need to dress it down," I muttered, grabbed a pair of worn Levi's and slipped them over my silky black panties. They were low cut, just enough to expose my navel underneath the halter. I grabbed a black belt and looped it around my waist.

  "Sexy," Lisa said, placing the book back on the side table. "I wanna be your date. In fact," she stood behind me, her body snug against my ass, her hands on my hips as she thrust forward, "you're very fuckable."

  We both started laughing as I pushed her away with my ass.

  "Really. Is it too much?"

  "No, it's great, Shell." She picked up some of my perfumes from the dresser. "Just don't wear Eternity. Everyone is swimming in it. It's too strong," she cringed and put the bottle down, as I painted my lips with a light gloss.

  "Well," I stood in front of Lisa and took a deep breath, "I'm ready."

  Peter arrived on time, and we caught a taxi to a place downtown. I was a bit confused at first. It looked like a fifties diner, which is cool if you are drunk and needing something to eat at two in the morning, but not on a first date.

  "I think you'll like this place," he said as we approached the glass door.

  "I'm sure," I forced a polite smile looking at the grey brick, and the big, bright white sign reading 'Oyster Boy,' which reminded me of a Chef Boyardee label. Suddenly, my mother's words rang through my head: 'if a guy can't take you to a half-decent place on a first date, then you can bet it will be MacDonald's from then on'.

  Relief washed over me when we walked inside. Light jazz played, the lighting was almost sepia in tone, classy, romantic. We walked to the back, my heels clicking on the wood floor, and I sat on the booth side of the table.

  "They specialize in oysters and martinis, but there's a lot to choose from on the menu." Peter seemed hesitant, touched his hand on the back of the stool, but changed his mind and sat on the booth side, his leg practically brushing mine.

  "I've only had Oysters Rockefeller, but I'm willing to adventure," I told him, trying not to appear nervous, but my heart was pounding across my nipples, and pulsing between my thighs.

  The waiter, dressed all in black, set down the white, laminated menus, "Can I get you something to drink?"

  I wasn't sure if I needed a pitcher of water to cool me down, or a drink to calm me. I did know that if I was going to have a drink, it had better not be one of those fruity martinis that slip down like pop.

  "Is it vodka that slides the oysters down your throat?" I searched Peter's eyes, knowing that what I had just said may have been a bit on the side of slut. Too much Duras.

  "Better to taste them," he smiled. "How about a couple of Dirty Martinis?"

  "Lots of olives," I smiled and winked.

  PETER

  Lots of olives? God, this was a girl after my own heart. And again, she hits me with her smile, complemented with a wink. Our date was only just beginning and already she had me swooning.

  "Lots of olives it is. Have you ever had them stuffed with bleu cheese? It gives them a nice bite." I needed to relax, to slow down, as it seemed most every comment made could be construed as a sexual innuendo.

  "I haven't. But I do like bleu cheese. And this seems to be turning into a night for adventure."

  There she goes again. My mind raced with possibilities. Down, boy.

  I ordered two Dirty Martinis for us, with the promised extra olives bursting with bleu cheese, along with a sample platter of select oysters. The drinks arrived quickly, and I watched Michelle as she sipped her martini and gingerly tried one of the olives.

  "You like?" I hoped.

  "Mmm. Tasty. Any other surprises up your sleeve?"

  "Maybe. You'll have to see how the oysters go down first."

  I downed my drink much sooner than I should have, which was a nervous habit of mine. Not a problem if we were just drinking water, but I'd have to watch myself with these martinis. They were both strong and smooth. I ordered another round as the oysters arrived. There were four different varieties in the sampler, with several accompaniments, including the traditional Tabasco, a horseradish mix, and the house specialty—a champagne and salt based sorbet. Michelle watched me as I picked up a half-shell and added a little bit of the sorbet to it. I stabbed it with my oyster fork, scooping it up and out of the shell. It dangled in midair off the fork.

  "It's best not to try to bite right into it, it could explode..." I explained. Mi
chelle's eyes grew big. "I'm just kidding, but they are pretty slippery, so it's better to try to keep it all in your mouth." I demonstrated by opening my mouth wide and taking the entire oyster in. This one was from the Bay, and the natural sweetness of this variety mingled with the saltiness of the sorbet. My eyes closed as I savored the flavors, gently swirling the oyster around in my mouth until the sorbet was melted, and I swallowed. Delicious. When I reopened my eyes, I found Michelle watching me intently, and she was smiling again.

  "You really like your oysters, don't you?" she teased. "You look like you're in heaven."

  I blushed, which rarely happened but the alcohol must have been taking effect.

  "Uh huh. You try one. And this time I get to study your reaction." Two could play at that game.

  She picked out an oyster, one of the largest ones, and added a bit of the sorbet just as I had. She tried scooping it out with her fork, but it kept sliding off. I couldn't help but laugh.

  "Stop it! It's not as easy as you make it look!" She was laughing at herself as well.

  "Here, let me help." I leaned over and held the oyster shell in one hand, and her hand with the fork in my other. I guided her fork up and under the oyster, and slowly scooped it. She opened her mouth wide as I guided it in. Her lips closed around the fork and I slowly pulled it out clean. Her reaction was priceless. She had closed her eyes like I had, but she was rolling the oyster around in her mouth and looked as if she didn't know if she should be eating it or not. Then she smiled, and swallowed. A small bit of the juice drizzled from the corner of her mouth.

  "Mm. That was fab," she said. "Are you going to help me with another?"

  "Absolutely," I dabbed the corner of her mouth with my napkin as she licked her lips. I felt myself hardening. I quickly downed my martini again. "Do you like spicy?" I asked, reaching for the Tabasco. She nodded. I shook a bit of the hot sauce on a new oyster, and scooped it out for her. She opened her mouth, eyes wide, waiting for it. I think I actually stopped breathing for a moment. I gently slid it off the fork into her mouth. She closed her eyes again, then quickly opened them.

  "Mm!" By the way she was fanning her hands I guessed she wasn't expecting how hot the Tabasco was. "Mm, mm!" She swallowed quickly, then grabbed her martini and downed it. At least I wouldn't be the only one a little tipsy.

  "Whoa, that was hot! I wasn't expecting it." Her face was almost red.

  "Yes. I like to alternate them for the contrast."

  She took a bit of the sorbet and put it on her tongue.

  "Ooo. That's better. Ok, now it's my turn." She picked up the Tabasco and shook it onto an oyster. She shook a lot on the oyster. I quickly motioned to the waiter for two more martinis.

  "Are you sure you can handle one on your own?" I smiled mischievously at her.

  "Just close your eyes and open wide. You'll find out."

  I acquiesced and waited.

  "Any day now..."

  Suddenly I felt the oyster slide into my mouth. I closed my lips around it and immediately tasted the Tabasco, and... something else? I swirled the flavors around. Horseradish! I smiled and swallowed. Opening my eyes again, I was glad to see the waiter had been quick with the martinis. Michelle was sitting back, smiling again.

  "You like to experiment, huh?" I asked her, knowing full well the answer.

  "And adventure," she winked.

  MICHELLE

  Peter picked up another half-shell, stabbed the flesh with his pronged fork, and brought it to my mouth. "There are a hundred varieties of oysters," he told me as his hand moved closer and closer. "This one is from the Atlantic—Malpeque."

  We had already tried the Pacific Kumamoto and an Olympia from Washington Sound. This one was bigger than both, its flesh dangling off the edge of his fork - hovering just in front of me. I didn't know much about oysters except that they change their sex one or more times in their life, which is probably what led to the myth of their aphrodisiac qualities, and is certainly a feature I found intriguing.

  Then again, as Peter's hand inched forward and I parted my lips - drugged by either him, the oysters, or both - I wasn't quite sure how much of the aphrodisiac concept was myth. Leaning forward toward me, he slipped his free hand onto my knee for balance. His touch was gentle and warm, and I felt my leg tingling beneath his fingertips.

  The oyster slid easily into my mouth. I pressed my lips onto the fork as he drew it out slowly. It was saltier, but still, its flesh felt like a swath of butter as it slid the length of my tongue and slipped down my throat. He leaned back again, his hand slipping from my knee.

  "The thing about oysters," he said in a low and sexy tone, "is everyone experiences them differently. It is, in itself, more than an adventure."

  The night was one filled by teasing, laughing, and conversation on topics too diverse to recount. I didn't even feel the night slip by. One moment it was eight and the restaurant alive with patrons. The next it was one in the morning and we were the only couple left in the restaurant, our table full of empty half-shells and martini glasses. I'm not sure when the staff turned off the music and turned up the lights, but as they began placing the chairs seat down on top of the tables, it was obvious they were urging us to leave.

  A crack of lightning flashed in the sky as the glass door of the restaurant swung closed behind us. A roar of thunder rolled between the city buildings as we stood on the sidewalk. Warm for April, even at this time of the night, I draped my sweater across my forearm. I looked at him, not wanting the night to end, hoping he didn't either.

  "Let's forgo a taxi and walk through the park instead," he said as he grabbed my hand, boldly spinning me close to his chest.

  "Oh, and I'm supposed to say no to this charm of yours?"

  "I wouldn't hear of it," he smiled and bent down, smothering my lips with his mouth.

  Our first kiss was strong and sensual. My heart sped up and I almost collapsed with weakness into his arms as he held me up. I closed my eyes feeling his tongue swim across mine, tasting the ocean from the oysters on his lips.

  Another sheet of lightening flashed in the starless sky.

  "And if it rains?" I questioned, looking up into his eyes, not really caring whether it did or not.

  "It rains," he pulled my hand and we walked across the street, "and then we get wet."

  A wicked thought crossed my mind, but I bit my tongue.

  The park was dimly lit by lampposts. My hand felt warm against his grip, which was solid but flexing as we walked along the cement path. The grass had been freshly cut, and the smell overpowered the fresh spring scent of trees about to burst with life. Yet still, in the shadows, you could see the branches were bare.

  Another flash of lightning and a crack of thunder roared and dissipated.

  Smiling, I stepped in front of him and walked backward, each step in tune with his stride as if we were on a dance floor. I grabbed his other hand, feeling my sweater slide down to the bend of my elbow.

  "You know, Peter, you talk a lot about adventure, and yet here we are walking the straight and narrow path that thousands of others have," I teased him semi-sarcastically.

  Impulsively letting go of his hands, I jogged onto the grass. My heels sank slightly into the damp lawn, slowing my pace.

  He stopped, and then I heard him laugh before the sound of his feet moved from the cement to the grass. Suddenly, I felt myself lifted from the ground. My legs swung in the air and then my feet met the grass, and he turned my body, again folding his mouth across mine, before I broke our kiss.

  "You think I'm that easy?" I laughed and escaped his grip.

  "Easy, never. Now, difficult..." he pondered jokingly.

  I ran across the grass further into the blanket of darkness, farther away from the path.

  "No. Complex. That's a good word," he said, and then playfully chased me deeper into the park.

  He finally decided to catch me, and pinned me up against a tree. It was a rather bold move with lightning flashing around us. His firm body
pressed against mine, his hands clasped my wrists against the grooved tree bark. My sweater fell to the knots at the tree trunk.

  We stared at each other for no more than a second, our chests rising and falling from our little game, but it seemed like an eternity to me, as our breath swirled in the space between our mouths like the building storm around us.

  He kissed me, his lips powerful and as hungry as mine, more passionate - wanting more than the kiss we had only moments before. The bristles of his face swept across my chin as our tongues entwined. He pressed his body into me, bending his legs, and I felt his cock begin to harden against my pussy, as I moved my hips forward.

  PETER

  I was swimming in her presence. She had completely, totally, absolutely overwhelmed me. As I kissed her, she pulled me close into her, greedily wanting more. My cock was painfully erect, trapped beneath the layers of clothes, and I felt her grinding against me as I held her hands tight above her, pinned against the tree. I heard the rain begin to fall harder around us as we embraced, sheltered by the canopy of the tree whose leaves had just begun to form.

  I broke our kiss and drifted down into the nape of her neck, beneath her ear, and kissed her passionately as she wriggled beneath me. Her hair smelled incredible, sweet as citrus, as I inhaled deeply. She moaned as I took her earlobe into my mouth and suckled on it. I could feel her nipples pressed against my chest. Distracted in what I was doing to her, and she to me, she took the opportunity to pull her hands free and push me backwards. I tumbled down onto the soft, wet grass, unable to keep my balance. I lay back and felt the rain starting to splatter on my face, almost stunned by the situation.

  Michelle was more than I could have ever imagined.

  I raised my head and looked up at her through the raindrops, and she was leaning against the tree. I could see her chest moving as she breathed deeply in and out. She had an almost feral look in her eyes as she looked down on me, her eyes averting to the bulge in my jeans, and licking her lips she leapt down, straddling my waist, taking my head in her hands and resuming our kiss. My body sunk further into the soft ground, and my clothes were quickly becoming saturated from the increasing fall of rain.