Code Blues

by Melissa Yi

  A pleated skirt falls into place and looks quite maidenly on a bike. It's not like a tight skirt that flips up to show the world your panties. But I just smiled and shrugged. He squeezed me against him, his fingers splaying against my hip bones. His chest rose and fell against my back with his breath. I felt sexy and excited and scared. Like Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, "Do what you're afraid to do."

  Ralph had never met Alex. But right now, the anticipation alone seemed worth the price of admission. I was both sorry and relieved when I spotted the oncoming train's headlights. Most of me wanted to ride the wave and relish every second as he tried to win me. The other part of me was ringing alarm bells and calling 911. But I was tired of sensible Hope. I wanted to get crazy. I wanted to taste danger and lust.

  When the train's doors whooshed open, commuters poured out while the rest of us tried to jostle on. Alex snagged a chair for me and stood at my side, his hand resting on my shoulder near where it joined my neck. A few times, he ran a finger under my hair to trace a circle on my nape. I shivered.

  We switched to the orange line at Snowdon. This train was even more crowded. We ended up squeezed just inside the door. Alex kept one arm around me and grabbed a pole with the other hand. Two more people squeezed in and Alex drew me closer, his hand sliding down so his thumb rested in my belly button. Illicit but not crossing the line. I slid him a look. He grinned down at me.

  As the train hurtled from stop to stop, he nudged the edge of my shirt up. I stiffened. He ran the pad of his thumb along my waist, lightly sketching my skin. I had to consciously school my breathing and press my thighs together. I waited for him to wander up or down, but he didn't. He did run his thumbnail in a quick diagonal stroke under my ribs. I stifled a gasp. He settled his hand back on my waist.

  I waited for his next move. He gave me a smile with a wolfish flash of teeth. I swallowed hard.

  The recorded voice announced, "Prôchaine arrêt, Bonaventure."

  Alex squeezed my hip. "That's us."

  I felt almost sick with longing and the smallest dash of trepidation. It made me walk slower than usual. He led me up the metro escalator and pushed open the awkward plate glass door hinged in the middle. We walked up University Avenue, past the train station and the office buildings and the Eaton Centre. I barely registered the teenagers in tight T-shirts and the stop-and-go traffic, but I did notice a few businesswomen were wearing shorter skirts than me. Alex dipped his head to murmur in my ear, "You look better."

  I smiled. I knew why I found him irresistible. When he did it right, he made me feel like a goddess.

  I paused at the de Maisonneuve intersection for a turquoise Geo, but Alex grabbed my hand and yanked me across the street. The Geo zoomed around us, squeezing back into its lane before an oncoming city bus flattened it. "Now, I know you're from Ontario," he yelled in my ear, once we hit the sidewalk, "but here we walk fast and ignore the cars."

  I laughed and shook my head. "If you have a death wish."

  He squeezed my hand. "No, the death wish is waiting on the sidewalk for them to stop. You'll die of old age before you get to cross."

  I laughed some more. As long as we were talking, I wasn't thinking.

  He kissed my knuckles and waved at the blue-and-white bus over his shoulder. "We could have taken the bus, but it wouldn't have been as much fun."

  I frowned at him, unsure what he meant.

  He said, face serious, "The Côte-des-Neiges bus would have gotten us here a lot faster. But I wanted to give you a chance to think about it."

  When I least expected it, he turned into a gentleman.

  He grinned at me. "And also time for me to feel you up."

  I punched him lightly on the shoulder.

  He laughed and ran along the inside of my wrist. "We're almost there."

  North of Sherbrooke, the streets narrowed and turned residential. Both sides of the roads were lined with cars. Duplexes, mostly gray or yellow stone, were arrayed behind Lilliputian lawns. Nearly every street lamp had been attacked by posters and packing tape. RAVE, DJ MASTER MIX. À VENDRE. WEIGHT LOSS—FAST! On the next post, WANTED: ROOMATE, LARGE 4 1/2. Above that, LOST: FAT CAT. One apartment's window carried a hot pink sticker proclaiming, VAGINAS RULE.

  I swiveled my head away. Not that I didn't agree, but Alex would probably say something embarrassing. Still, I felt at home. I hadn't realized it, but I'd missed living in a university neighborhood. Even though my apartment was only minutes away from U of M, my area felt more sober.

  Alex slowed in front of a gray duplex with a cobalt metal roof and a weedy, ratty lawn. An old bicycle was chained to a knee-high, black, chain link fence. A blue recycling bin jammed with pizza boxes marked the curb. I stared at it.

  Alex smiled. "I missed recycling day. But at least I tried."

  I did not miss, or yearn for, disgusting university boys' pads. Ryan was neater than I was.

  Alex draped his arm around me. "Really. It's not that bad. I have air conditioning." He pointed at the little unit hanging in the front window, like a little butt sitting on the windowsill.

  Well. That was a plus. It wasn't sweltering today, but a little apartment could get stuffy fast.

  He smiled at me. "Unless you'd rather I take you in the subway station?"

  It jerked a laugh out of me. He tugged my semi-willing feet past the gate and on to the little concrete doorstep. An white plastic "Ad-Sac" was hung around the doorknob. After a quick glance around, he pressed my back against the door and planted his hands on either side of my head. When I opened my mouth to object, he kissed me. Deeply and urgently, until I felt light-headed and hypnotized by his tongue, trapped between his body and the warm black door.

  While one hand cupped my cheek, his other reached into his pocket. Keys jingled. I both heard and felt the vibration of the lock turning. With a final kiss, he twisted the doorknob and slipped his arm around me for support.

  Without the pressure of the door, I took a half step back and was startled when the floor suddenly dropped out from under my foot. Alex held me up until I found my footing again. "Sorry," he said against my lips.

  Still in his arms, I twisted my head to check out the dim, cramped hallway and took a cautious sniff. It smelled tolerable, like orange peels and pine disinfectant, which partly covered the deeper reek of cigarettes.

  Alex kissed me on the lips, and released me enough to flick the on the light switch. A bare bulb snapped on over our heads. The yellow light warmed his skin. I touched his hand shyly. He smiled and took my hand, turning it over to kiss the palm.

  I slid off my sandals on to a bristly welcome mat.

  "You don't have to," he said.

  I shrugged. It was just my upbringing. The hardwood floor didn't feel too gritty under my soles, which was a relief. Alex kicked off his Tevas, released both our bags, and scooped me up in his arms.

  "Alex!" I protested as my skirt fanned open. I grabbed it.

  "Stop wiggling and put your arms around me."

  His eyes were smoky with promise. I closed my own and wrapped my arms around his neck.

  He carried me down the hall and nudged a door on the right open with his toes.

  I clung tighter to his neck as I scoped out his bedroom. The shades were drawn and the window closed, so it smelled a little sour, but the smoke smell lessened compared to the hallway. The double bed was neatly made, with an orange, plaid blanket and white sheets. There was just enough room for a desk at the foot of the bed, buried in clothes and paper, and a small bedside table with a lamp, an alarm clock, and some spare change. Alex walked up to the white braided rug at the side of the bed and slowly rotated 360 degrees. "Does it meet with your approval?"

  I nodded up at him.

  "Good." He lowered me onto the bed. The mattress sagged under my weight, but he stepped back.

  I sat up, feeling self-conscious and slightly abandoned. Alex walked to the window at the head of the bed and flicked his fingers though the slats of the blind. The air conditioner ru
mbled to life.

  He adjusted the blinds at an angle so we'd get a little more light without losing the privacy. "It'll cool down in a second," he said, sitting next to me.

  Still, he'd damaged the mood. I studied the orange plaid sheets and their pattern of red, yellow, and green stripes. It was cheerful, and nothing like my own sober colors, but I had to wonder if he and Mireille had used these sheets.

  Ugh. Maybe we should have gone to my place.

  "Hey." He cupped my cheek with his hand. "Stop thinking about it."

  "What?" I asked automatically.

  "Whatever it is. Probably Mireille." There. He said her name. I tried to detect any suppressed emotion, hints of love gone wrong, but his voice was flat. "That's history. I told you."

  I said nothing.

  He used his index finger to reach under my bangs and trace my forehead, along the hairline. "I should never have violated the eleventh commandment."

  His words rang a faint bell. "What's that?"

  "Do not bullshit Hope Sze." He kissed my left eyebrow. His lips were soft against my skin.

  I was still trying to work out the reference. "Did you read Love Story?"

  "Yeah. When I was ten. My sister had a copy." He kissed the bridge of my nose.

  I'd picked up Erich Segal's book at a used book sale a few years ago. The final scene never failed to jerk tears from my eyes, but I'd never told anyone that. Certainly not Alex. I tried to push the sentiment away. "Good. 'Cause basically, that's what I want. No more B.S. No more abandonment." My lips trembled a little. "Can you do that?"

  He looked deep into my eyes. "Yeah. I know you're having trouble trusting me, but I can do that."

  I took a deep breath. I so wanted to believe him.

  He kissed my cheek. "Mireille was a mistake." He kissed my other cheek. "I wanted to forget about it." He rained kisses down my neck.

  I shivered. My neck is extremely sensitive. But I clung to the matter at hand. "You were the one who said we should drink to truth, Alex. Why did you cover it up?"

  "Because when I'm around you, Hope—" He ran his lips down the V of my shirt collar, down one side and up the other, with a hint of tongue that made my stomach plummet—"I'd rather—" A firm kiss at the base of my neck—"just—" Light, butterfly kisses a little higher—"fuck your brains out."

  I gasped. He covered my breasts with his hands, over my shirt and bra, but his fingers were everywhere, pinching, kneading, squeezing.

  "Alex." But my protest died down to a whisper. The air conditioning seemed to have kicked in, all of a sudden. Goose bumps rose on my arms, and I felt hot and cold at the same time. I arched, pressing myself against his hands.

  He grabbed the opening my shirt. The first button resisted, so he yanked the fabric with his fists and tore it open. Buttons pinged and skittered across his floor.

  "Alex!" I yelled, leaning across the bed and half-raising myself on my elbows to look for buttons. "I like this shirt."

  He pushed me down and opened my front-clasp bra. In less than a minute, he'd rendered me half-naked. I moved to cover myself, but he took both my wrists in one hand and held them above my head.

  I froze. I'd had fantasies like this, but I didn't know Alex. What if he hurt me?

  Alex laid his other hand on my cheek. "It's okay, Hope." His touch was tender and his grey eyes were clear. "I'd never hurt you."

  I sighed and relaxed a smidge.

  "Unless you want me to." He dropped my wrists and cupped my breasts in both hands. His thumbs began circling my nipples.

  I closed my eyes and gave myself to his fingers, his lips, his nimble tongue. His stubble scratched against my skin, lifting a breathless giggle out of me. And then he flipped my skirt up. My flirty white pleated skirt. I lifted my hips, expecting him to undo the button and zipper at the back, but instead he reached under the skirt and slipped off my panties.

  "Alex!" My knees clamped together, trapping the fabric. This was too much.

  He kissed me deeply, almost hurting me with his lips. He surged forward, his teeth banging against mine, devouring me with his tongue, until my whole world was us, his hungry mouth, his cedar smell, his stubble marking the skin around my mouth.

  He broke off the kiss. We were both gasping. He looked at me and said, very low, "Hope."

  I looked back at him. My chest was heaving. I couldn't speak.

  He said, "Don't think."

  It's my nature to think, to analyze, to extract. But I knew he was right. A sigh escaped my lips. My legs parted. He slipped my panties off the rest of the way and tossed them on the floor.

  Then he flipped my skirt up and looked at me. A long, slow look that made me raise myself on my elbows again and clamp my legs closed. He stopped me, with a hand on each knee. And then he touched me gently. And not so gently. And bent his head and drank me in.

  It felt so good that I swooned. My eyes strayed up to the ceiling and I felt disembodied with pleasure.

  But then my brain started working again. This was my first time with a guy in a very long time. Also the first time I'd been with a doctor. Shouldn't we be using dental dams, those unsexy squares of latex that you, uh, stretch over a woman's privates? Did he have a box in his bedside table? Or if we had to, we could use a condom. Cut one open and spread it over me.

  Of course, he wasn't likely to catch anything from me. And I wouldn't catch too much from his mouth except—I stiffened. I couldn't enjoy myself unless I knew. "Alex. Do you have cold sores?"

  Alex lifted his head from between my legs, a variety of emotions flicking across his face, settling somewhere between anger and amusement. "No, Hope. No HSV 1 or 2. No HIV, tested last month. No hepatitis, immunized against B, also tested last month." He paused, and with exaggerated politeness, added, "And you?"

  I swallowed hard. "Negative."

  He stayed there, studying my face. I felt very exposed, in more way than one. This was probably the first time a girl had stopped him in mid-act to give a medical history. He probably thought I was a total geek. Plus I was lying here with my breasts exposed, although my skirt had fallen back down a little. He was still fully dressed. I shifted my hips subtly, trying to get my skirt to fall down further.

  I'd shattered the mood. If only I could have let it go. But it was a valid point. Who gets off, thinking about herpes? I'd never had a cold sore in my life. I wasn't going to enjoy having them in my nether region. I shifted again.

  "Hope," Alex said, at last.

  I nodded, unlocked my throat. "Uh-huh."

  He didn't move. The air conditioning stirred his hair. His eyes were the darkest grey, almost black. "I told you not to think."

  "Sorry." I squeaked a little on the last syllable.

  "You will be." Swift as a snake, he grabbed my thighs and flipped me over on to my stomach. I screamed into his blanket, tried to roll back onto my back, but he lay on top of me, pinning me down and grabbing my wrists again.

  I raised my head to scream louder. He abandoned my wrists to clap a hand around my mouth. "It's all right, Hope." He kissed my neck.

  His lips were gentle. I calmed a little. My pulse still fluttered in my throat.

  Holding my wrists at my waist with a single hand, he ran his fingers down each arm, slowly, lightly. Under my sleeves, the hairs on my arms raised up and I trembled. Then he shifted, kneeling on my thighs and leaning his weight on me. "You are a beautiful woman, Hope."

  Ryan never told me I was beautiful. He said I was pretty. And my parents didn't believe in commenting on looks, because brains were more important. It felt very good to hear I was beautiful. I relaxed into Alex's touch. He slid down my legs so he could caress my upper thighs. I arched against his fingers.

  "But you think too much." Alex flipped up my skirt and slapped my bare ass.

  My entire body went rigid. "Stop—"

  He slapped me again, harder. "And you talk too much."

  "Alex—"

  "What did I just say?" And then he spanked me hard, even though I tri
ed to protest and wriggle away.

  When it felt like my bum must be glowing red, and I cried out, he stopped and caressed the skin he had just hit. I quivered.

  He turned me over on my back. He studied me once more. I stared back at him. I felt like he had seen me, all of me, the way no one ever had in my life.

  Then he bent his head, flipped my skirt up, and ate me until I came once, twice, and begged him not to a third time, because I was too sensitive.

  Alex came back up to face level. He was breathing hard. His forehead was beaded with sweat, and his hair clung to his temples. His shirt was ringed with sweat around the armpits. Good. It meant that he wasn't as in control as he pretended.

  He kissed me, using his tongue. I flinched. After what he'd been doing—but he tasted musky and sweet. It didn't feel wrong. He kissed me long and deep. Then he pushed the shirt off my shoulders and brushed the open bra aside. He toyed with the button at the waist of my skirt, but then left it alone. "I like it," he said, in response to my questioning look.

  I reached for his shirt hem. It was the first time I was initiating something with him, and I felt shy. But he didn't move away, so I lifted his T-shirt up and over his head.

  He was thin and pale, after Ryan's glowing brown skin. But Alex was more muscular than I'd expected, with defined arms and the more than a suggestion of abs. Not enough that he looked like a gym freak. Just right. I ran my hands over his shoulders. He had some wiry brown hair on his chest, and even a sprinkling on each shoulder, which made me laugh. He was a lot hairier than Ryan.

  Alex kissed me. "What's so funny?"

  I shook my head. Talking about exes was verboten. I sure didn't want to hear about Mireille or any of Alex's other conquests—ugh. Mireille.

  Alex took my face in his hands. "Don't. Think. Do I really have to spank you again?"

  I laughed and shook my head. Trying not to think, I loosened his belt and slid it out from the loops. This was so intimate, even though I'd thought about doing it a dozen times. Unbuttoning his pants and unzipping them was even more scarily intimate. I wanted to close my eyes, but I was curious, too. I'd never seen a white guy before, except for online or a peek in a friend's mother's Playgirl.