"I'll go to Planned Parenthood," I said. With that, the passion took on a whole new level, and this was going to happen. He stood and removed his pants, along with his briefs. His penis was much bigger than I imagined—or any penis for that. Because I had never seen one in real life. I knew they grew with arousal; I just didn't know how much.
My eyes widened, and he became concerned. "Jill…is this your first time?"
"Yes."
"Fuck," he said. But not in anger, with arousal. I was as much as a fantasy to him as he was to me. He reached for my jeans, and I helped with the removal. As with his, my panties came off inside the jeans. I hoped they weren't my period-stained ones. I always used the same ones during that time of the month. But somehow, Aunt Flow would show up uninvited when I was wearing new panties.
He climbed back on me, and his penis was hot to the touch. He was out of control—I was out of control. If this was going to be my first time, somebody needed to take the lead and some control. "Michael…I'm scared. Will it hurt?"
"Yes, just for a bit. You want to stop?"
Part of me wanted to. But I feared he would never want to see me again. "No, but will you go easy?"
"Of course, Baby." I was his baby now. No longer the kid. I loved the sound of it. I felt his penis push against my opening, and I tensed. "Shh, it's okay. I'll take it slow." Would he push in all the way? I didn't know how this worked. Would it go in? Would it fit?
He moved side to side, his penis entering me a little at a time. I felt the stretch inside me. He pushed in a little farther and look at me. "This okay?"
"Yes. It burns a little." He kissed me tenderly this time and circled his penis inside me without going deeper. Was it all the way in? I felt I didn't know my own vagina that the time and that he would know it better. He was in control, and I felt better about what we were about to do.
Through the kissing and touching, he inched in a little each time. He was gentle. I trusted him. Eventually, he began to move faster, and his breathing became rapid. I felt like I was splitting inside. It hurt. It felt good. I was a jumble of nerves and emotions. My heart was bursting, and my vagina was beginning to feel something I've never felt. I was having an orgasm from way up inside. This was not a place I have ever orgasmed when doing myself. It was intense and amazing. Even through the pain, I felt a euphoria beyond what I thought possible. This is what a real orgasm feels like. Had I been having fake orgasms with fake sex? There was a difference. Or was it because it was Michael? Was it different for him—being with me?
He began pushing harder and faster, and for some reason, we both started to scream. Then I felt his penis throbbing, pulsating inside me. His body went limp and all his weight laid over me. He was out of breath. I was out of breath and struggled to breathe with his weight on me.
Finally, he rolled off me, and I took a deep breath. It was real. It had happened. He covered his face and said, "Ah shit. What the hell did I just do?" Was he already regretting it? Why? He turned his head and look sincerely at me. "I'm sorry, Jill. Are you okay?"
Why was he calling me Jill? I thought I was now his…baby. "Yes. Are you mad at me, Michael?"
His hand moved to my face and smoothed my hair away. He smiled and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "No. I'm mad at myself. That never should have happened."
It hurt when he said that. I didn't want him to have regrets. Bad regrets about me. "Why? I wanted it to happen. And…I wanted it to happen with you. I thought about making love to you for a long time." Even though I've only known him for a matter of weeks.
"Really?" He traced my face with his finger. I could smell his cologne. "Why?"
"Why? Because." This was it. I was going to confess my love to him. "Because, I love you, Michael."
"Oh, Jill. Don't say that. You're going to go onto college, meet many new people and forget all about this old guy." He gave a small laugh.
"No, I won't. It will always be you, Michael." It hurt that he couldn't see us together forever at that moment. I couldn't see anything else.
"I'll remind you of that when I see your beautiful face and gorgeous body flaunting me when I'm an old man, begging to have all your attention because all the young guys now hold your interest."
I rolled over anchored my head on my hand. I considered his eyes and saw them more beautiful than I remembered. "That will never happen."
He pulled me onto him and hugged me tightly, and my head rested on his chest. "Oh, Jill. You don't know how much you turn me on."
And at seventeen, I thought that was love.
Now
Stepping out of the bathroom, I know Michael is still waiting for me, so I pull on a tank top and flannel shorts. During my bath, I thought about what Tammy said. Michael maybe has changed. How I knew what it felt like to what someone's love. Had Michael and I switched roles? And now, I was in the driver's seat? I thought of his comment the night we first made love—well, had sex and took my virginity. "I'll remind you of that when I see your beautiful face and gorgeous body flaunting around me when I'm an old man and grey, begging to have all your attention because all the young guys now hold your interest." Were there younger men who wanted my attention?
Food is on the table. Michael stands from his chair and holds out his hand when he sees me walk out. "Just took it out of the oven." I don't take his hand and take the chair across. He walks back and pours the wine. "How was your bath?" he asks, pouring wine now into his glass.
"It was nice. Thank you."
He looks up, his brow quirks. "You're welcome."
"What have you've made…in my kitchen?" I add.
He pulls off the cover to a silver platter centering the table. "Fruited pot roast." The aroma wafts from the steam, and I smell of hint of plum. A savory hunk of roast is covered with carrots and potatoes. I'm impressed, and I should probably say so.
"This…looks amazing."
"A recipe I learned from an old friend." I'm curious as to who, but don't ask. I've known nothing about Michael's life since he left for Seattle. I had to make it that way—stop the consuming. Yet, here he is. In my dining room.
I take a bite, and it's to die for. "Tell your friend it's delicious."
He smiles. "I would, except…they're dead."
My mouth stops mid-chewing. "Oh, I'm sorry," I say with a mouthful.
"It's okay. I'm glad you like it. The plums give it a hint of sweetness without overpowering."
"Yes, I thought I smelled plums."
We continue to eat in silence. The light music plays in the background, and every so often, he smiles at me. I smile back only out of politeness. I will have to make him leave after dinner. "This was nice of you, Michael. I'll get the dishes so you can get going."
"I'll do the dishes. You just relax." How can I relax with him in my house?
I change the subject. "Have you heard from Monica?"
"Yes. She called while you were taking a bath." He must notice the look of panic on my face. "She called your phone first. Then mine."
"Oh. You didn't tell her you were here, did you?"
"I think she figured it out when I told her you were in the tub."
I drop my fork. "Dammit, Michael. What is she going to think?"
"Jill, she's an adult. She can think what she wants."
I pick up my wine and eye him coldly across the table. I watch the candles reflect and flicker in the glassiness of his eyes. I'm trying to read him. What's he thinking?
He continues to watch me as I sip more of my wine. I set it down but hold the glass against my chest. "Why aren't you going back to Seattle?"
"Because I'm in love with you, Jill."
The thumping of my heart vibrates the wine in my glass, still held to my chest. I can't look away from his haunting stare. How now? After all these years? I ignore his response and say, "Tammy said you went and saw her."
"I did."
"Why?"
"To apologize…for the cancer and everything else."
"Well, everythi
ng else I can see. But you didn't give her cancer."
"No. I didn't. But I know how it can be," he says sadly and takes his wine, breaking the stare. I think of his earlier comment—his friend who is dead. Cancer? "Did you read the card in the bathroom?"
I inhale and answer. "Yes." But that's all I say.
"And?"
I give him an emphatic look of disbelief. "Michael, I'm all out of chances. I've used them all up on you."
"I understand. But I'm not giving up." He's serious. What the hell is going on? Has he forgotten the last twenty years and what he put me through? Not giving up? He couldn't give an ounce of trying back then. I must know.
"What have you been doing all these years in Seattle?"
"Trying to forget about you." Trying? Is he kidding me?
"Well, try became one of your signature words. ‘I'm going to try, Jill. I'll try to be a father. I'm trying, Jill.' Like it was such an effort to love us." I get up and pour more wine. He slumps in his chair and watches me as I parade around the dining room, glass in hand. "How'd you think it was for me? I was a young wife and mother, and you were impossible to live with. Yet, it was you who had to try. I wasn't even grown up yet. How do you think it was for me?"
"Awful."
"Yes, Michael. It was awful. Why would I want that again?"
"It wouldn't be like that. I want to love you the way I should have back then. I want to do all the things I took for granted when you asked. Because you wanted to do them with me. I'd do anything to have that time back."
"You hated that time. You told me I was crazy. Me and all my crazy thoughts of us doing romantic things. Fighting for a chance to have your attention. How I wanted to live in a storybook. What was so horrible about that? I wasn't asking for the moon. I was asking for your love. And all I ever got back was…I'm crazy."
"Yes. It drove me nuts the times you harped me to do things with you and Monica. I did make fun of your crazy, little storybook life you saw in your head for us. Yes, I did call you crazy." He stands and walks near me. "And you know what?" He softens his voice and says, "I'd give anything to have crazy back."
It's what I've been waiting to hear all these years, yet I'm still so angry. And just giving into him on his first attempt doesn't set right with my bitter heart. Michael has always been that confusion in my life that I could never wrap my head around. That one person that no matter how much he hurts me; I fight more to has his love. I struggled for years—he doesn't get one day.
"You're the crazy one now, Michael. That ship sailed a long time ago. You taught me that. That life isn't a book with special moments filled with love and happy-ever-after’s. And it took me a long time to figure it out. But I did figure it out. Once you were gone, I learned not to define myself as something you didn't want. But as something you could have had. And once I didn't have to compete with the entire universe, my world came into view. And I no longer saw you like something I was reaching for. Life is a balance between holding on and letting go. My heart finally let go of you, and I was able to hold onto myself."
He nods and presses his lips, and I watch his eyes blink with sadness. He knows I'm right. He knows I was crazy for him. But he turned my crazy love into a mockery of a delusional world I created for myself. "You're the delusional one now, Michael. Do you really expect me to let you jump into my arms when you spent every minute of our life together, throwing me out of yours?"
"No. But like I said—as long as I have breath in me, I will not give up on us. Yes, I'm crazy; crazy for you. But I'm not delusional. For once in my life, everything is so clear. I love you, Jill. As far as the universe—you're mine."
I can't take the look in his eyes. Guilt burns in my belly, eating its way up like a monster with sharp teeth. I'm right, dammit. I am.
"I know what you're thinking. And you're right. I don't deserve the life you wanted for us. But, I will die try…not giving up. I know you're callous to the word."
"Michael, thanks for dinner. But, you need to leave. Leave this town and go back to Seattle…or wherever you came from. It will be a useless cause to stay here. If you're never giving up, then I will have no choice then to build higher boundaries."
He steps away. "Let me do the dishes before I leave."
"No, Michael—now."
He steps forward and kisses me on the cheek. "I'll leave tonight. But, I won't be leaving town. Never, Jill. Tell Tammy I'll be thinking of her."
"I will. Thank you."
He walks to the front door and looks at me once more before opening. "So sorry for everything. Get some rest. Bye." He walks out, and when the door clicks shut, I press my eyes. I had to do it. I must protect myself. I've worked too hard.
Walking over to the door, I hear his Toyota leave and turn the lock. Shit! I forgot to ask for the key.
Despite everything last night, I slept like a baby. I think it was the therapeutic, emotional baggage I dumped on Michael—closure. There's a pep in my step this morning as I walk into the hospital with new resolve. Tammy is going to be okay. Michael will get the drift and leave. And Monica called early this morning. She and Jordan are back from Paris, and I can breathe. Tonight, they will be celebrating dinner in their new home. She'd ask me to come by and join them. I couldn't be happier.
As I walk to my station, I find a vase full of pink and white carnations setting on the desk. Curious, I read the name: Jill. Of course, Michael. Well, I'm not going to keep them, but it will brighten up a patient's room. I might as well read the card before throwing it away.
Pulling out the card, I find I was wrong. They weren't from Michael. They are from Tammy and Ryan.
Jill,
We love you,
Tammy & Ryan
Feeling stupid….and angry with myself thinking they were from Michael; I place the card back into the slot and shoot Tammy a text. Love you too. How you feeling today?
Tammy: Not bad. A little tired. How's Michael?
Me: You are in trouble.
I send the text and feel the smile pressing at the corners of my lips. Her only response is the ‘what' emoji.
Before sliding my phone back into the pocket of my scrubs, I send a quick text to Monica.
Me: What should I bring tonight?
Monica: Your seven-layer salad. Jordan's making spaghetti.
Me:
Love, Michael: A second chance romance Page 12