If Only (Captured)

by Louise J

  This is worse than finding out that Emily was having his baby. At least then I had options, it wasn’t so final. I regret the decision I made, I regret it with every fiber of me. I know I made a mistake leaving for so long – I practically gave Joe away. Given the choice, I’d have stayed his friend and remained ignorant to his feelings. At least then I had a part of him, now I don’t even have that. Even if I were to go back right now we’d never be the same, too much has happened and too much has changed. I couldn’t be friends with him like I was before.

  Now I have nothing of Joe.

  Does it make me weak and pathetic if everything – life – now feels pointless? The only good thing I can take from this is that his boy deserves the chance of being part of a family. That’s exactly what I would’ve wanted for my own kid, and that’s probably how Joe felt. I can also imagine that with the bond he and Emily developed it was the most natural progression into something more.

  And I let it happen.

  My cell phone vibrates against the wooden surface of the nightstand. I glance at the caller displayed and grab it. “Su.”

  “Hey,” she says, and the softness of her tone feels almost like a hug. “Dane just called me. He wanted me to make sure you’re okay … I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you about Joe and Emily, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to tell you about Saff, too.”

  “We both know I wouldn’t have let you. I know you tried to tell me about Saff. It’s okay, there’s nothing you need to be sorry for.”

  I close my eyes. I don’t want to cry again. I don’t want to care anymore.

  Joe’s moved on. Now, somehow, I need to do the same.

  I guess we failed our test. Clearly we were never meant to be.

  Fifty One

  I’ve wallowed for the past couple of weeks, now it’s time to pull my shit together and move on with my life. I love it here and work is amazing, so, though I know I’ll return home at some point over the next year or two, I’m staying for now.

  I feel like perhaps it’s time to meet someone. Joe has always been there in the background, which made it harder for me to succeed in a relationship. In his absence, I’ll most likely stand a better chance of getting it right. It’s time to try, at least.

  After countless invites on his part, I’ve decided to go on a date with Roman. He won’t know I’ve changed my mind, and I’m not sure if, or when, he’ll ask again. So, I’m going to take the initiative. It’s Sunday afternoon, I’ve just attended his meditation class. Everyone else has left – I’m taking the plunge right now.

  “Hey,” I say, as I approach him.

  “Callie, you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for class.”

  “Pleasure as always.”

  Just ask him. Ask him. “Um, I don’t know if you’re busy, but would you like to go for fruit and herbal tea?”

  He looks at me, pauses, and then a slow smile tugs at his lips. “Sure, why not?” Okay, so it isn’t exactly a date, but it’s a start. It’s the best I can do at this point, I’m so damn nervous.

  As we walk into the café, stupid, unnecessary thoughts are running through my head. It’s at the forefront of my mind that I haven’t been close to a man, in any way, in over a year – almost fourteen months to be precise. I know that’s hardly forever, and I’m jumping to silly conclusions, it’s only tea for crying out loud, but I can’t stop the thoughts.

  We sit at a corner table, and though I could so easily do it now, I’ve decided to hold off on the date talk. Yes, I’ve lost my nerve. I never used to be so self-conscious, or this lame, but there you have it – it is what it is.

  As always, we laugh and talk about things ranging from irrelevant to important. Mid conversation, Roman leans toward me, from across the table, and whispers, “So is this like a date?” I can tell he’s joking, so I giggle. He always makes me laugh. Still at a murmur he says, “Seriously, though, does this mean you’re ready to let me take you out?” He’s looking me in my eyes, his ocean-blue gaze the most intense I’ve seen from him so far, but with a hint of his usual friendly affection.

  I shift forward and whisper. “I think so, yes.”

  “In that case, how about coming to a music festival with me on Saturday? Some of my pals will be there, including Jerry and Veronica – the two you met a few months back. It’ll be kind of a group thing, but we’ll get to hang out together, also.” I know he’s trying to make my first date with him easy, this is typical Roman.

  Now I’m really glad I’ve taken a couple of weekends off from work; I started to feel burned out and being so over-emotional had me close to the edge. I feel great today, though.

  “I’d like that, it sounds fun. Where is it?”

  I haven’t been to any kind of music event since the Electric Daisy Carnival, in L.A., over a year ago. I love festivals and street fairs, so Roman’s invite is perfect.

  ****

  Last night I got my hair done, it’s now white-blonde with a mix of pale pink and baby blue highlights. I decided a while back that I wouldn’t cut it at all for the time I’m in Arizona, my own little hair project. It’s since grown past my shoulders and the blunt brow-skimming bangs are gone and instead frame my face, reaching my cheekbones.

  Once I’m ready and dressed in a short, white tube dress and flip-flops, I pack some boots, jeans and a jacket, just in case I need them. If we’re out late the temperature will drop.

  I’m waiting for Roman to arrive and the fluttering in my stomach has started. Even though I’ve known him for about a year, have seen him many nights of the week and consumed hundreds of café mocha’s with him, the date scenario is making me nervous.

  I realized when I was getting ready that I’ve never been on a date with Joe. As the thought came, I pushed it to the back of my mind. I’ve spent the entire morning rejecting thoughts of him. My plans with Roman seem to be stirring things up, and it makes me wonder if Joe found it easy to move on from me. I hope not.

  When I hear the Kombi pull up outside, I go out to meet Roman. Hah! He only goes and lets me drive the damn thing. Man, I’d have been happy to have this journey alone as our first date. We travel with the windows down, enjoying the breeze as it passes through, and Kid Rock plays in the background.

  “Didn’t I tell you we’d look good in here, side by side, your pretty hair blowing in the wind?” He laughs, snapping away at me with my camera. When he made that comment I never foresaw it coming into reality. Life is funny like that, but I’m happy to be here with Roman, and he’s gorgeous in his long, loose-fitting beige shorts, white v neck T-shirt and flip-flops. As nervous as I was earlier, it’s impossible not to feel comfortable with him.

  “You so did,” I agree, easily. “You continue your reign as the King of Awesome. Keep up the good work, Roman.”

  We arrive at the park at the intended time. Numerous music stages and food and beverage tents are spread across the large open area. It’s busy, but Roman and I sit with his friends not too close to the entertainment, so we have a nice amount of space. It’s not so loud here, either, allowing us to talk. We’re sitting on blankets, drinking and eating food we all brought as a contribution to lunch. Well, they all brought, Roman insisted that I didn’t need to. I did bring some beer and lemonade, though, I wanted to offer something.

  It’s a great atmosphere and the sun feels good, with a thin spread of cloud across the sky. At this time of year, in southern Arizona, it’s a nicer kind of hot and not blazing like it was as recent as a month ago. I can hear a man’s voice talking through a microphone, on the stage closest to us. The music starts, I don’t recognize it, but I don’t mind, we’re in conversation anyway. Roman’s friends are cool, I’ve met two of them before, but there are four others. Thankfully, the only couple is Jerry and Veronica, so it isn’t awkward.

  “You okay?” Roman checks on me.

  “Yeah, I’m good.” I smile back, surprised by how comfortable I am with this.

  “Let’s go dance, sugar.” He takes hold of m
y hand and leads the way.

  The stage closest to us has a band performing cover versions of old Rock and Roll songs; The Beatles’ Love Me Do just started. We’re dancing together and it feels great to let loose as we laugh and sing along. Rather than being serious, we’re bouncing around like total idiots and holding hands. We chime all the way through, well, Roman does. I hit the parts that I know, mainly the chorus. It’s not that I’m unfamiliar with the golden oldies; I just don’t know all the words to this particular song. Up next is The Rolling Stones’ (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.

  By the end of the night, Roman and I have danced nonstop for hours. It’s the best day I’ve had since arriving in Arizona and it’s been a perfect first date.

  When we pull up outside my aunt and uncles,’ I’m tanned from all the sun exposure, my feet hurt from all the dancing, and I’m tired, but I’ve had way too much fun to care about any of those things. I’ll be asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

  Roman walks me to the door, and doesn’t linger. He kisses me on the cheek, his stubble tickling me lightly. “Sleep well, sugar. I’ll call and check in on you tomorrow.” He squeezes my hand before letting go and turns to walk back to the Kombi.

  I’m already looking forward to our next date on Wednesday. This time, I made the invite; we’re going to the Arizona State Fair.

  Fifty Two

  It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m on my fourth date with Roman. We’re having a picnic in a park by a lake. I’m taking a dazzling shot of the sun reflecting off the water, creating a gorgeous display of sparkly diamonds. Once I’m done, I join Roman.

  He’s made a lot of effort with the vegetarian and vegan picnic he brought. We sit on a blanket and eat and talk, and eat and talk, the hours enjoyably passing by. Roman’s always been good company for the time I’ve known him, but he seems to ramp it up further for our dates. It feels more personal, too. I like that his maturity beyond mine shows through at times, but he can also pull it back and relate to me as though no year’s existed between our arrivals into the world. He’s also a classic example of how a guy’s looks enhance with age, not that being forty-two makes him old. He’s a handsome, mature man.

  I lay back; eyes closed, one arm behind my head, and my legs stretched out and crossed over at the ankles. With hardly any people around, it’s calm. I feel so relaxed I could fall asleep right here.

  Roman whispers in my ear, “I wanna ask you something, but it’ll give me away.”

  I open my eyes and gaze up at him, lying on his side, facing me, propped up on his elbow. He’s close, but it doesn’t feel intrusive. “Give you away?”

  His eyes are smiling. “Yeah, you’ll know where I’ve been looking.”

  I grin with humored curiosity. “What would you like to ask me?”

  “Are they pierced?” His tone was secretive – even though no one would’ve heard – and his gaze shifted in the direction of my breasts. It’s impossible not to laugh at his mischievous expression. I hadn’t even noticed him checking them out. I’m not wearing a bra underneath my yellow halter top, so it doesn’t surprise me that he suspects, though, it does require observation to note my hidden treasures. I nod, chuckling. “Nice,” he says.

  I close my eyes, my smile remaining. That’s an example of one of the many things I like about Roman. He’s open and suggestive, but it never feels sleazy or inappropriate.

  After a moment, he moves the hand that I have resting on my lower tummy and places his there instead, but under my shirt. He strokes me slowly, his palms and fingers are tender and warm, his skin smooth. It feels great to be touched. Now I know it’s been a long time since I’ve shared intimacy with someone. Now I also know I can be intimate and close to Roman. So I don’t stop his caress.

  I also don’t stop him when I feel his lips press against mine. They’re soft, the gentle prickle of his stubble reinforcing his masculinity. He takes his time, lightly brushing the flesh of my mouth with his, before gently nudging his way in. The connection of our tongues feels right, and our kiss deepens, but remains slow and exploratory. It’s gratifying and I can taste the strawberries he ate a short while ago. The entire time, he continues to rub my lower tummy.

  When we’re in the Kombi, and ready to leave, just as I’m about to turn the key in the ignition, Roman says, “Would you like to come to my place, or would you rather go home?” His offer holds no expectations, or pressure. I know I have a choice here. And I’m not naïve, I’m aware of where this will probably lead.

  But I feel comfortable and ready.

  “I’d love to see your place.”

  Fifty Three

  I toe-off my tennis shoes at the front door, as I walk into Roman’s first floor apartment in downtown Scottsdale. I didn’t have him down as domesticated, but he is, there isn’t a single thing out of place and it’s one of the cleanest homes I’ve seen. As I expected, there are many cultural influences; Indian rugs on the floor, African statues, Asian and Egyptian paintings. The furniture consists of slouchy couches and lamps, all in burgundy and navy. There’s even a picture of Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry, which makes me think of home.

  We enjoy some cold beverages in the open kitchen, and I take the time to admire the view of the mountains from the window. Even after over a year of being here, I still appreciate the beauty of Arizona. We exchange words and kisses, and I’m so getting used to Roman’s sweet lips.

  After our drinks, I get a full tour of the house, the last stop – Roman’s bedroom. His bed is low like a futon with different colored, non-matching blankets that seem to work well together. The décor goes with the rest of his place.

  As he takes me by the hand, I can’t decide if I’m nervous. My heart has kicked up a little, so, yes, maybe I am. Once we go where we’re headed there’s no turning back. I’ve never taken sex with a guy lightly, and this is no different.

  Roman sits at the foot of the bed with me standing in front of him, between his legs. “I noticed your pretty tattoo in the park. When did you get that done?” Pushing my shirt up to just under my breasts, he holds it up with one hand while the finger tips of his other trace my pink and red rose vine.

  I see my body art all the time, but I don’t like to think about it. I can remember both days with perfect clarity, the way Joe’s touch felt, the conversations we had, his smell, his expressions. I’ve heard it said that you never forget the day you had your first tattoo. That’s true for both of mine, though in my case, I remember for different reasons. It hurts too much if I focus on them. For some reason, my piercings don’t affect me in the same way. Maybe it’s because it was during my tummy tat that I first knew my attraction to Joe was more than physical.

  I try to smile, but frown instead. “I was eighteen,” I mumble. Over eight years ago, it feels like a lifetime ago, but I remember it as though it was yesterday.

  “Why does it upset you? Do you regret it?” His soft gaze holds mine.

  “No. No, I love it.” I pause. “Joe did it.” I’m not sure why I answered in that way, like I expected Roman to know who Joe is. It’s the only way I could answer, but it’s the first time I’ve mentioned him to the man in front of me, or anyone else.

  He stops his finger traces and kisses me above my navel piercing. “I won’t rush you into anything, but I really hope this can be the start of something good between us.” His lips are still pressed against me, his eyes trained on mine.

  I offer a genuine smile. “Me, too.” And I do, I do want him.

  I’m ready to move on.

  Lifting my halter top up over my chest, I take it off and drop it on the bed. Taking hold of Roman’s hands, I place his palms over my breasts and let my head loll back and my shoulders relax. It feels so great to be touched. And even better when I feel light licks across my flesh, along with the tickle of warm breath. The delicate slide of tongue around my nipple hardens it and sends glorious sensations through me. A thumb strokes my other nipple and I absorb the sensation of it tightening under Roman’s teas
e. My body feels extra sensitive, for some reason. I’m throbbing so intensely, I feel like I could almost come from this alone.

  “Your skin is so soft,” he says, as serene kisses cover my tummy and he starts to unbutton my cut-offs. My fingers get lost in his sun-kissed curls and I bury my lips among their softness, kissing the top of his head, inhaling the sweet almond scent of his hair.

  After removing my denims and panties, Roman presses a slender finger into me, and a little moan escapes me and gets lost in his golden locks. I can hear my own wetness, as he strokes my inner walls.

  Bending my knees, I kneel on the edge of the low bed, between his thighs, and reach down to unbutton his shorts. With one hand, I slip in, taking hold of his hard … what the fuck? My eyelids fly open, in shock. I realize that I haven’t thought about what Roman’s cock would be like. Why haven’t I thought about it? I did with Nick, and Jackson – and I didn’t even go there with him. Countless times I wondered about Joe’s.

  Roman’s is fucking huge! Mammoth, behemoth, gigantic … any word that sounds bigger than big – apply it. Lots of foreplay, lots of foreplay, I tell myself, trying to relax. And pelvic floor exercises after, to stay tight. I know the female body is equipped to deal with much bigger things than a man’s dick, but shit!

  May I remind you that I’m only five-foot-one? I have guesstimated Roman to be at around Five-ten, but it’s not his height that’s of focus here. It’s that thing that’s thicker than my freaking wrist. Given my size, that’s probably not even a useful analogy.

  I grip him firmly and stroke him, up and down, and he lets out a deep throated moan. That sound sparks something in me. His stiff monster of a cock, yes it scares me, it scares the shit out of me, but it doesn’t stop me from dropping to the floor, on my knees.