Dear Delilah (Hudson U)

by T. Bester

  “Because he was smiling like an idiot this morning.”

  That makes two of us.

  I open the letter. His messy scribble is there.

  I’ll be outside your last class at 5:30. I’ve packed dinner.

  - Nathan

  Erin’s response is a “Halle-fucking-lujah”.

  Admittedly, so is mine.

  15

  SAVANNAH

  HE’S LEANING against his truck when I walk out of my last class. The late winter sun shines across the lot, creating a kind of halo effect around him. He’s wearing a pair of dark green Urban combat pants, a plain white v-neck thermal henley, a black hooded parka, and white High-Top sneakers. Straight from a catalogue.

  He smiles when he catches me staring a few feet away.

  “Hi.”

  One word, but it’s enough to make my belly flip.

  He closes the space between us, placing his hands on my hips, and leans down. There’s no hesitation in the way he kisses me, the way he reaches for me.

  “Missed you today,” he tells me.

  “You could have stayed this morning,” I remind him. “I wouldn’t have complained.”

  His mouth twists at the side, and he gives me another chaste kiss before linking our hands together.

  “Where are we going?” I ask. He gives me a boost into the passenger side of his truck, and then jogs around the front. He climbs in, keys the ignition, and turns the heat on. For my benefit, of course, because the guy is a furnace.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  I want to protest, demand that he tell me, but he seems genuinely excited, and if having him surprise me will make him happy then I’m not about to argue. It doesn’t take us long, a twenty minute drive from campus. We stop outside a beautiful single story home.

  “Where are we?”

  “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

  For the time being, I shove my confusion aside, and follow him. He takes a picnic basket from the back, and leads me down the gravel driveway to the front door. The front of the house is exquisite, the exterior made of stone, and two columns made of stone and cedar that frame the porch. Big windows take up a great deal of the wall, with cedar shutters, and from the inside, the house is lit up.

  Nathan pulls the keys from his pocket, and unlocks the door, holding it open for me to walk in. “We just finished this place,” he says behind me. “We sign the sale papers on Tuesday.”

  “It’s…” I look around, a little awestruck. The interior of the house is just as exquisite with plush leather furniture, high beams, rich warm colors, a massive kitchen with all the latest appliances, windows that give a panoramic view of a beautiful garden, and a back terrace with a fireplace that’s closed off with rolling doors made of glass and steel. I knew Nathan was good at this kind of thing, he loves working with his hands and has a natural talent when it comes to architecture and building, but this is a whole new level.

  “The people interested in buying it wanted us to furnish it,” he says. I face him, and he’s watching me, somewhat anxious.

  “I love it. It’s probably the best you guys have done so far.”

  “Took us longer.” He steps up to my side, and takes in his own work. “But, it was worth it.”

  “And you wanted to show me this?”

  “Yeah, but I also wanted us to have some privacy. This place is technically still mine until Tuesday, and I figured…” He shrugs.

  The fact that he looks so nervous only increases the cadence of my own nerves, the fluttering in my belly increasing.

  “Anyway,” Nathan bends down and grabs the picnic basket. “We are on the terrace.” I follow him out, and once again marvel at the workmanship. The wooden floors glisten in the firelight from the stone and cedar fireplace, the doors giving a breathtaking view of the sunset. Nathan dims the lights, and takes off his jacket before unpacking the picnic basket. Everything is homemade, by the looks of it.

  “Zoey?” I ask. She stopped by the office earlier to take my car home, but gave no indication about this. She’s terribly good at keeping things to herself.

  “I told her you wouldn’t mind pizza, but she said our first date needs to be different.”

  My heart kicks. “It’s a date?”

  “The first of many.” He says it with confidence.

  Just breath, I remind myself.

  I make myself comfortable on the sofa opposite the fireplace, which is big enough for five people, let alone two. It could easily double as a bed.

  Nathan hands me a bowl. “Zoey made your favorite the minute I told her what I had planned.”

  I take a whiff, and my stomach growls in response.

  “Someone’s hungry,” laughs Nathan. He sits back, slips his sneakers from his feet and stretches his legs out.

  I try to think of something to say between bites, but I’m still too nervous. And it’s not as if I’m on a date with a stranger. It’s Nathan. I know him.

  There doesn’t have to be any forced conversation, or the prerequisite questions like ‘so, what are you studying?’, but that doesn’t mean I know how this is supposed to happen. God, no wonder first dates are so awkward. It’s like fumbling around in the dark with a flashlight, but your eyes are closed. Counter-productive. Silly.

  Nathan takes my empty bowl from my hand, and places it on the side table, and when he moves back to my side, he looks at me intently.

  “I’m starting to think I’m fucking this up,” he says. “You’ve barely said a word since we got here.”

  “I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m nervous, and I don’t know why. It’s you, Nate. We’ve had dinner a thousand times before, shared a bed, and yet, this feels…”

  “Different?” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and the moment I feel his warmth, I start to relax. “I feel it too.”

  “You’re nervous?” I didn’t know he could feel such a thing. If you looked up ‘confident’ and ‘self-assured’ in the dictionary, you’d find Nathan’s picture. Because he has both of those things, in spades.

  “It’s you, Sav. Of course I’m nervous.”

  His admission takes me by surprise. I didn’t expect him to admit it so easily, so openly.

  “So,” he scoots down, taking me with him. I nestle into his side. “Let’s get the awkward stuff out the way.” My head moves with his chest when he inhales. “What’s your major?”

  I laugh, but answer with, “Undecided. You?”

  He pretends to think about it, and then turns his head to look down at me. “Photojournalism. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “No idea.” Which is true. “You?”

  He purses his lips. “I want to travel, keep building houses, settle down, start a family…”

  “I think I’d like a family,” I reply. “Someday.”

  “I want a football team,” he states. “A house full of kids.”

  My brows rise. “I didn’t know that.”

  We never spoke about kids before. It never even crossed my mind to ask because we were just friends, and we were always talking about other things.

  “I love kids. Always have.”

  I’m about to respond, when I look up and gasp.

  I didn’t notice the skylight until now. It stretches across the roof, showcasing the open sky, now littered with millions of stars and a full moon. When I look back at Nathan, he’s not looking at the sky though, he’s looking at me.

  “What?”

  “I wanted to see your face when you looked at the stars,” he whispers. “Like that day in the treehouse.”

  I remember that day. I told him he was my favorite person, and at the time I meant it. We’d become so attached that we hardly went anywhere without each other, and until that weekend at my parents’ house, when I showed him my favorite place growing up, I didn’t think much of it. But then things changed, and how I felt about him changed.

  “Sav?”

  I blink. “Hmmm?”

  “I really want to kiss you, l
ike I should have done in the treehouse.”

  I reach up, wrap my hand around his nape, and tilt my head. “Then kiss me.”

  It’s slow at first, the way his lips take mine. I tangle my legs with his, and he moves onto his side, his hand delving beneath my shirt. He doesn’t go past my ribs, but it’s enough to make my pulse climb.

  He pulls away. “Spend the night with me. We don’t have to-"

  “Yes,” I cut him off. “I want to.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nod. We both know we’re no longer talking about just sharing a bed.

  WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING else, Nathan lifts me from the lounger, and walks through the house to the bedroom. The lights come on as soon we walk through the door, and they dim, casting a warm glow over the spacious master suite. A California King takes up the entire wall, another set of rolling steel and glass doors overlooking the backyard. Like the rest of the house, the beams are high, and another stone and cedar fireplace dons the far wall opposite the bed. It’s so lush, and warm, and romantic.

  I spot two bags beside the bed, and when Nathan spots them too, he says, “I had Brian drop them off for me. I wasn’t sure if we’d be staying but-" I kiss him. I love how thoughtful he was, how he took the time to plan it without assuming anything.

  “It’s perfect,” I tell him, staring into his eyes, feeling the surge in my chest. We change position, and I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging to his frame as he lowers us unto the bed. He deftly removes my glasses, placing them on the bedside table without letting me go, and stops to look at me, brushing the tip of his forefinger along my jaw, the shell of my ear, over my pulse.

  I drop my legs, and with shaking hands, reach for the hem of Nathan’s shirt, lifting it over his head. He unbuttons mine, and my breath halts. I’m suddenly shy. Nathan frowns, and I realize I’ve stopped moving, my arms across my chest.

  “Hey,” he exhales. “We can stop…”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I’m just…” I breath out. “I just have so many thoughts in my head right now, and I don’t know how to stop thinking.”

  It wasn’t like this the first time we had sex. We fumbled, sure, but I don’t remember being too caught up in my head to focus on what was happening. Nathan wasn’t forcing me into anything, I wanted this, more so now that we are alone, but for some reason I’m self-conscious.

  What if it’s not good for him? What if he sees me naked and doesn’t get turned on? What if I do something wrong, and mess it up?

  Nathan tries to lift himself off me, ever so patient with my rambling, but I lock my legs around his waist.

  “Don’t go. I want to…”

  His smile is tender, and he lifts me with him, sitting on the edge of the bed, me in his lap.

  “You need to stop thinking so much, Sav.”

  He slips my shirt from my shoulders. It drops to the floor.

  He kisses my neck, my pulse skittering beneath the surface of my skin. “Focus on what you feel.”

  I close my eyes, and do as he says, focusing on the feel of his mouth on my skin, his hands moving up my back to undo my bra. He licks the valley between my breasts, and sucks a nipple into his mouth. He tugs the barbel, and I suck in a harsh breath, squeezing my eyes closed.

  He plays with my piercings until my hips are rotating, and if I had any worry about him not being turned on, it’s quashed by the feel him between my legs.

  “Better?”

  I nod, and open my eyes, seeking his mouth. The thoughts raging inside my head dissipate like smoke, and all I can feel is Nathan’s skin, his breath, his pulse beneath my palm. He’s moving us again, settling between my legs. He unzips my jeans, stripping me of my panties, leaving me exposed. Nothing about his gaze is unsure. It blazes, taking me in from head to toe. I don’t feel self-conscious anymore. He takes his pants off, and when his erection tents his boxer briefs, a different kind of need pools at the apex of my thighs. It’s delicious. Primal.

  I watch with open curiosity as he reaches into his bag for a condom, my eyes following his movements — the way he stands so tall, his body strong and wide, the way he strokes himself, rolling the condom on with deft fingers. His self-possession in this moment lends itself to mine, allowing me to take it all in without fear. Without trepidation. I scoot higher on the bed, and he follows, settling between my legs, bracing himself above me. My body is alight with desire, my skin tingling with need and the sudden consciousness of what to do. He reaches between us, and I bite my lip when the head of his cock nudges my entrance. I spread my legs wider, and slowly, he enters me, his thrusts gradual. Our eyes connect, the same way our bodies do, and I whimper, so very aware of how he feels inside me.

  “Okay?” he rasps.

  I nod frantically. “Y-yes.”

  His hips move in earnest, his pace faster, his strokes harder. I hitch my knees higher, and wince. “Oh fudge, that’s deep.”

  Nathan slants his mouth over mine, sucking my tongue into his mouth as he thrusts. His breathing becomes labored, our breaths colliding between us, and I feel the first rush of heat, the way my belly dips and curls, the way my body tightens around his shaft until I throw my head back.

  “Right there,” I tell him. “God, that’s…” My orgasm builds, until I’m eclipsed by the violent crash of the first wave. My body shakes, and Nathan watches me, his eyes wild and frantic. My mouth falls open, and when my limbs no longer quiver, he snakes his arm around my waist. I cling to his neck, and listen to the sound of us, our breathing, my whimpers, his grunts. The way his skin makes contact with mine.

  “I need…” I don’t know what I need, but Nathan does. His grasp on me tightens, and his hips start a frenetic pace that matches the tempo of our heartbeats.

  “Shit,” he exhales. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His brows are lined with sweat, and I can tell he’s holding himself back.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, breathless. “I want it harder.”

  With that, he threads our fingers together and holds my arms above my head. He thrusts harder and harder, and when he comes, I’m falling, falling, falling.

  He rests his forehead on mine, our eyes open, searching, and the sight of him losing himself in me, the way I am in him, is a beautiful thing to see. His body shakes, and I savor the weight of him.

  Tears sting my eyes, the feeling of fullness in every way overwhelming and beautiful and loud.

  Nathan lets go of my hands, and his expression shifts from ecstasy to worry. “Fuck, did I hurt you?”

  “No. I just feel…” I shake my head, unable to describe exactly what’s happening. My emotions are all over the place.

  He kisses my temple, and I wrap my arms around him. He tucks his face into my neck, his voice a soft murmur as he says, “I know.”

  16

  SAVANNAH

  _____________________________________

  Dear Jane*

  Nobody likes first dates, they’re as terrifying as a Brazilian wax in winter and usually entail sharing a meal with a stranger. If you’re lucky enough, you will already know him (like in your case) but you’re still left wondering whether or not you’re going to have sex afterwards. Because girls don’t have enough to worry about when going on a first date — thong vs panties, bras vs no bra, do you pack condoms or leave the onus on the guy? Do you wear a dress for easy access, or do you wear pants and fear that you’re saying you’re not into it because your legs are shut, for all intents and purposes with PANTS.

  Thanks to the new and improved world of dating with antiquated rules meant to be broken, first-date sex has become a topic of controversy, with many a poor unsuspecting soul (like yourself) believing that there is a negative stigma attached to having sex on a first date (among other things, but we’ll not go there today!). There a many individuals who still see first-date sex as a hit-or-miss moment, leaving us to worry about the “right” thing is to do.

  We are inundated with society’s sexist views and expectations that we fo
rget a crucial key fact: WOMAN LIKE SEX TOO. Yeah, I said it. We forget about our own desires because being sexually attracted is something you NEVER discuss (oh for shame!). And let’s add some gasoline to this fire, shall we? We become so obsessed with deciphering HIS behavior, that we completely disregard our own wants and needs. Sister, you should trade your “oh my god, he touched my hand, what does that mean” for a “Oh my God, look at the size of those hands, I bet he’s really good at grabbing boob and playing with nipples”.

  We're so caught up in society's expectation of us that we disregard our own personal desires. We're too busy trying to decipher what the other person is thinking that we don't listen to what we actually want. Take away his power and OWN IT. At the end of the day, it’s just sex — no one will damn you to the depths of the bottom of the social ladder (this is not fucking high school, Regina George), no one will curse you with an untamable bush of hair done there, and no one will curse you with chin hairs and an itchy va-jay-jay. This is Maryland, not the fucking bijou.

  If you are going to invest in this relationship, having sex on the first date is like a “down payment” on your end, and he gets a “thank you” for taking you to a rank diner after making you split the bill and driving you home in his grandmothers car. Win-win. It’s called an exchange. And you shouldn't feel apologetic or guilty.

  It doesn't really matter if you hook up on date one or date ten and sex on the first date does not have to be some big, life-altering moment. If you’re hot for it, and he’s hot for it, then get your carpet burn on. Remember, the decision to have sex is yours, and it has nothing to do with him. Having sex on the first date has very little effect on the success of your relationship — it will sizzle or fizzle either way.

  Verdict: If the peen comes a knockin’, and you want to answer, GET IT ON.