by Lulu Pratt
I hefted her up carefully from the ground, wiping off the dirt that had marred her beautiful chest.
“Sorry about the mess,” I said apologetically.
“Don’t be sorry,” she returned. “I like to get dirty.” She paused, and added, “I’ve never squirted with anyone before. I didn’t even know I could do that.”
“Well, get ready to learn about every way you can feel good, because I won’t be done with you until we’ve found every switch inside your bones. Okay?”
She giggled, and replied, “I like that plan. And consider it a two-way street.”
I grinned, laid down on my back and tugged Catya in close to me, until her thigh was thrown over my torso, her arm over my chest. We snuggled tightly for warmth and for pleasure, encircling one another like yin and yang, our bodies in harmony.
And I knew, in my heart, that this couldn’t be the last time this happened. I’d experienced the purest of happiness, and would not let go. We had indeed past the point of no return.
Chapter 18
Catya
The sex.
How to describe it?
It was… it was…
Well, I’ll have to settle for a list of words, because full sentences couldn’t encapsulate the experience that was screwing Simon. So, herewith, some terms that don’t even begin to approach how incredible the whole thing was, but were the best I have at my disposal.
Mind-blowing
Wildly erotic
Spectacular
Unreal
Super-human
Breathtaking
Unimaginably life-changing
And, of course, that old standby:
Fucking awesome
Does that about sum it up? Those aren’t perfect, but they’ll have to suffice.
Simon had been both gentle and rough, loving and sexual. He’d somehow managed to make dirt and old, crinkly leaves romantic. I suspected anywhere with him could be a romantic place, actually. He’d looked so in awe when I’d taken off my clothes, as though he was blinded by sunlight, or like it was his first time looking at a woman’s naked form. Based on his own appearance and general insouciance, I seriously doubted the latter.
I’d never been fucked before. Or, that was to say, I’d never been properly fucked before.
Prior to this, to the moment with Simon, it had been a series of shitty college guys who could barely keep it hard because of intense whiskey dick, or more accurately, three-dollar beer dick. They were guys who added me on Snapchat but forgot my name, who said they’d love to take me on a date, only for it to turn out that, in their minds, a date was a tailgate before the next big football game. They were guys who, fundamentally, didn’t give a shit about me or my pleasure.
And then there was Simon.
He’d cared about nothing but me, that much was obvious. Yes, he’d come, but he’d taken great pains to ensure that I did too, and first, if possible. And I squirted! I didn’t even know I could do that. It was an exciting discovery. Simon’s focus had been singular, intense, unlike anything I’d experienced before. I felt powerfully, profoundly seen. And it turns out that that’s an unnerving emotion.
My parents had ‘seen’ me, but only as their little Catya, their baby girl. My friends had seen me, but as their leader, or their mom figure. But Simon had seen both the me who I was, and the one I’d wanted it to be. Who knew sex could be that intimate? I felt like I was waxing poetic à la Junie B. Jones, going on and on about sex like it was more than just a physical act.
But it was. I couldn’t help the truth.
He wrapped his arms around me, his tattooed flesh pressing closer to my own unmarked skin. His biceps flexed as they attempted to hold me tighter, tighter, as though he might force our bodies into one through sheer will.
“That was—” I began, then broke off.
Simon replied, “Yeah,” which pretty much summed the whole thing up.
We lay there silently for some time, enough that I was able to see the sun move a few degrees in the sky, watch the shadows change around us. Was it a warm day, or was I just warm in his embrace? The greenery seemed to forget that it was fall, small wildflowers bloomed near our feet, amidst patches of grass.
“Catya,” he said suddenly.
I shifted so that I could look up at his gaze, beyond the jut of his chin, past the straight nose, up to the eyes.
“Yes?” I returned, my voice barely a whisper, yet filling the forest.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and I started to worry that something was wrong. I knew it, I knew it couldn’t be this good, there had to be a catch—
“I have feelings,” he blurted out. “For you, that is. I have feelings for you.”
So nothing was wrong. In fact, something was right. No — perfect.
“I like you too,” I responded, a smile taking over my face.
He shot me a big grin, his white teeth glinting in the sun. I liked the way the rays caught his unkempt hair and illuminated it like a lion’s mane, making him king of the jungle and king of my pussy.
And then I sighed and asked the question we’d been masterfully avoiding for days.
“What are we gonna do about it?”
His fingers played in my heart and wandered over my nipple as I watched him think this through, weighing pros and cons, doing mental math.
At last, he replied, “I have no clue.”
I’d wanted a firmer answer or any answer, but I couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t come up with a solution to an impossible problem. I’d tried to tackle the question and had fared no better.
He continued, “I like you, Catya, quite a lot, and I want to be with you but I’d also never forgive myself if you lost your scholarship. I just — I’m not sure I could personally recover from the pain of inflicting that blow.”
I hastened to add, “And I would be heartbroken if you lost your job, not least of all because I couldn’t see you anymore.”
A smile flickered across his face, and then the storm clouds drew in once more between his brows.
“So we’re agreed,” he declared. “There’s nothing to be done about it right now. Perhaps we just need to sleep on it?”
I didn’t think that was going to do the trick, but at a loss, I nodded. “Sure,” I said, hoping that the sadness didn’t translate to my tone. “Yeah, we’ll sleep on it.”
But Simon saw through me, like he always seemed to do.
“Hey,” he murmured. “We’re going to figure this out, Catya, we will.”
“I really want to believe that’s true.”
A long beat stretched between us as my words hung like a neon light over our bodies, flashing horrid shades of red where the sunlight had been minutes before.
“Well, we better get out of here,” he said with amusement. “Before some poor runner gets the shock of their life.”
I giggled. How had he managed to pull me out of my dourness so quickly?
“Imagine that,” he continued. “A guy’s just peacefully jogging through the woods, thinking about getting a new cell phone off eBay, maybe wondering if he looks good in his shorts or if he should get a tighter fit and then all of a sudden, he trips over two naked people.”
“I think he’d be thrilled,” I decided. “It would give him something to tell the men at work he’s always trying to impress.”
“What should his name be?”
“Hmm… Fred. Total Fred.”
Simon grinned. “Yes, Fred, perfect.”
We sighed, happy once more, and laid back in one another’s arms.
I was forced to disturb the peace. I asked, “What time do you think it is?”
Simon raised and lowered his shoulders. “No idea. I’m sure they teach you that in Boy Scouts, but there wasn’t much need for the Scouts in the wilds of London, unless I suppose you get lost in the mile or two of Hyde Park.”
With a groan, I broke away from his hold and scampered over to my pants, pulling my phone out of the pocket.<
br />
“Shit!” I exclaimed.
“What’s up?”
“Class.” Damnit. Somehow, I’d completely forgotten all my real-world responsibilities. I guess that was what happens when you get such good dick that you’re transported to another planet.
He sighed, “Do you have to go? I was thinking maybe you could just, I dunno, stay here with me, and I could properly eat your pussy this time.”
Between my legs, I felt a renewed dampening. Stupid body — such a traitor.
Aloud, I managed to reply, “Sorry, gotta go,” and shot him an apologetic look.
“Oh fiiiine,” he returned, but it was clear that he wasn’t actually annoyed. “Some other time?”
“You bet your pasty ass some other time,” I chuckled.
“When can I see you again?”
“Uh, practice?”
He sounded genuinely surprised when he said, “Y’know, I’d actually forgotten all about practice. Funny, right?”
I shook my head, amused at his daffiness.
“So, tomorrow then,” he clarified — we didn’t have practice today.
“Tomorrow,” I agreed.
“I’ll be thinking of you,” he said. He rolled off the ground and sprung to his feet, in a move even more lion-like than his hair. Once upright, he added, “When I’m in bed tonight, that is.”
I’d pulled on most of my clothes and though class was calling, I paused a moment to traipse languidly to him and query, “What will you be doing in bed?”
Simon reached out and grabbed me by my exposed sports bra, using its stretchy fabric to tug me to him.
“Dreaming of fucking you,” he growled. With no warning, he reached around my side and landed his hand on my ass, where he pinched a piece of the flesh. My pussy throbbed.
“I’ll be dreaming of you,” he said. “And touching myself.”
“Then let me give you something to remember,” I replied.
There wasn’t much time left, just enough for me to slip my own hand down the front of his pants and wrap it around his cock which had stiffened once more.
“You can’t do that if you’re not gonna finish what you start,” Simon growled. “Play fair.”
My lips were a hair’s width away from his, enough that he could feel my breath on the surface of his skin as I replied, “I don’t play fair.”
With that, I whirled away from him, slipped on my sneakers, and took off running in the direction of the exit. His laugh echoed through the forest in the wake of my speedy retreat.
For all my effort — okay, it wasn’t a ton of effort, but cut me some slack — I was still five minutes late to class. The professor looked more surprised than anything. Like I said, I was the kind of girl who was ten minutes early. She gave me a head gesture as if to say, ‘is something wrong?’ How might I explain to her, a near stranger, that I couldn’t be with the man I wanted to, and everything was stacked against us?
Instead of trying to tackle that mess, I mouthed ‘sorry,’ and took my usual seat in the front row.
Class flew by. I paid attention, in part because of the adrenaline rush that had come with running late, and in part because Simon’s, er, skill, had left me feeling very blissed out, like a Beverly Hills housewife just returned from a yogacation, which is a vacation, but with more yoga and usually more booze. For the first time in a while, my notes were actually coherent, thank God.
After class — my only one of the day, another blessing — I hurried home. Much to my extreme dismay, I hadn’t had time to shower after the early morning practice and other stuff, and there was a good to definite chance I smelled like shit. My poor classmates. They didn’t deserve that assault on their nostrils but there was nothing to be done about it.
That being said, the shower I finally took was so much more rewarding for how long I’d been deprived of it. I scrubbed my skin clean, paying special attention to my knees and shoulder blades, which had tracked the brunt of the dirt. My workout clothes immediately went in the hamper. On second thought, I took them out of the basket, looked them over, and realized I’d have to handwash them. A washing machine alone couldn’t handle that amount of grime.
As I was rinsing out my shampoo I made the mortifying discovery that there were still a few errant leaves in my hair. Why hadn’t anyone told me?! Had my classmates noticed? If so, what must they have thought, how had they justified my appearance? ULA was a small school, and one based on Greek life. As a sorority girl, I and my leafy hair would be on the main gossip channels within the hour. Damnit.
But I was too tired to think about any possible social fallout. I needed sleep, and stat. More for Grace’s comfort than my own, I threw on PJs so that she wouldn’t be startled by the sight of my naked body passed out in the middle of the afternoon. With that taken care of, I slipped under the sheets, pulled my duvet all the way up to my chin, and wriggled into the indent of the mattress.
I awoke to, “Catya Catya Catya Catya!”
Still tired, I rolled away from the noise and said, “Mm-mmphh?” That translates roughly to ‘the fuck you want?’
Grace had been my roommate since first year. They usually put athletes together. Then we decided to join DOU, and had been given a double. All that to say, she was familiar with my sleep-speak.
“Upsy-daisy!” she instructed. “Time for a partay.”
“A… ‘part-ay’?”
“Yeah, silly goose. A party!”
Oh, right. Those things. I pulled the comforters up past my head, until I was clothed in darkness.
Suddenly light flooded the room, piercing my eyelids. Of course. Grace had yanked the covers back. How rude.
“Get up,” she insisted.
“I’m tired.”
“No you’re not, you’ve been sleeping since like three in the afternoon, and it’s almost nine.”
Shit, really? Okay, she was right — I had no business being tired. I had slept away an entire day. Reluctant but compliant, I sat upright, the sheets falling down to my waist.
“Come on, you can do it,” she coaxed. “All the way, come on, that’s a good girl.”
At her plying, I’d dismounted from my lofted bed and landed with ease on our vaguely tribal-printed rug. Oh, that classic dorm room staple. Grace, when she wasn’t nagging me, had been busy getting ready — her hair was curled, her contouring makeup applied. She’d even thrown on a pair of skin-tight jeans and a blush pink crop top, along with a gold choker that she thought made her look like an Instagram influencer. I thought it looked like a shoelace, but don’t mind me.
“It’s a mixer!” she crowed. “And with Omega Gamma!”
I sighed. Remember what I mentioned earlier, about mixers being events we were required to go to, or else incur a fine? Yeah, this would be one of them. Crap. Not that I wanted to spend my Friday night in — I wasn’t a homebody — but it’d been a long day full of kind of life-changing discoveries, and hanging with drunk frat boys just didn’t sound like a good time. But whatever. Maybe some booze would cure what ailed me — the confusion over how, exactly, I would keep Simon in my life.
Grace, meanwhile, was grabbing articles of clothing out of my closet and throwing them on my bed.
“What exactly are you doing?” I asked.
“Helping you. The pre-game starts, like, now, and then the mixer is at party o’clock.”
Sorority girls. So vague on time. I’d learned in freshman year that “party o’clock” meant anywhere between ten-thirty and twelve-thirty, and if you asked for a more definite time, you definitely wouldn’t receive one.
Grace had thrown some pretty revealing things on my bed, and I looked them over with a critical eye.
“Why these?” I questioned.
“So you look hot, duh.”
“Girl, I’m barely dragging myself out of bed, I doubt I’m gonna be turning heads tonight.”
She rolled her eyes, and replied, “Nice try. Put ‘em on.”
Too out of it to complain, I shimmied into the tw
o-piece crop top and skirt set she’d thrown me. It was a warm brown, the exact shade of my skin. In pictures, it looked like I was wearing nearly nothing. I wondered absentmindedly if Simon would approve of the get-up.
Grace was a thorough stylist, and had added a pair of strappy sandals as well as some gold hoop earrings, to my ‘mandated wear’ pile. In short time, I had the entire ensemble on, clasped and zipped and walked across the room to check myself out in the mirror.
“Shit,” I said under my breath. I looked… hot. Really hot. Was this the aftereffects of Simon on my skin, this newfound confidence?
Grace smiled with satisfaction, and affirmed, “You are like Gigi Hadid hot right now and I could kind of murder you if I didn’t love you so much.”
“Thanks. Wouldn’t have been possible without you almost literally dragging me out of bed,” I joked.
“Worth it.”
Though I was reluctant to admit as much, she was right. It felt good to do something simple, straightforward, something as normal as getting dolled up and going out with your sorority sisters. Unlike everything about Simon, it wasn’t complicated.
My hand darted up just in time to catch a lipstick Grace had chucked in my direction.
“On. Now,” she ordered.
I swiped it on, a deep cherry red that popped against my undertones. I was a little more prepared, seconds later, for the mascara that came flying my way. With that in hand, I applied it blindly, no mirror needed.
“Anything else?” I asked my roommate-cum-stylist.
“Nope,” she replied. “You’re like, not one of those girls who needs makeup.”
I smiled at her compliment. It was convenient that I apparently, didn’t ‘need’ makeup, as there was no time left to apply any.
“Come on, come on!” she cried. “You’re ready, let’s get downstairs.”
All dressed and looking fly, we raced to the door, grabbed the special cases for our phones that had leather straps attached which turned them into purses, complete with ID holders on the back and everything, and made our way down the stairs, carefully tottering in our heels.