He breaks from kissing my lips and repeats the gesture over my collarbone, between my breasts, feathering them down my stomach. He draws my lower body into an embrace, gripping my ass as he lays a trail of kisses over my hips and bare thighs. My head drops back. Each time his mouth meets my skin, I become more intoxicated.
I run my fingers through his hair. His green eyes meet my gaze through the veil that I haven't bothered to remove. I feel like the golden idol of a goddess being worshiped in a dark, heathen ritual. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and tugs them over my knees. His execution is flawed, but at least when he lets them go, they fall to the floor on their own.
Again, I'm self-conscious of the fact that I haven't had a wax in a while. Again, it doesn't appear to be an impediment. He presses more kisses the swollen bud, a tender action, but then unceremoniously slides a digit into the narrow channel. I adjust and grip onto him, struck with the shock of being filled for the first time in a while. It's been over a year since I've had sex. Everything since the last time, everything has been auto-erotic. It never takes me long to get myself off, but now I feel like I've been cheating myself. It feels amazing to have another person touching me.
He begins to stroke with the single finger, kissing, sucking and even taking my clit in his teeth occasionally. I've never been nibbled there before, but I'm pretty sure it will become a new favorite experience of mine. It's sharp, slightly painful, but the flood of pleasure afterward overshadows any sting his teeth inflict. He inserts another finger, working until I feel the familiar muscular ripple of orgasm. It's weaker than ones I can achieve on my own, but for some reason this one is much more satisfying. My knees almost buckle entirely, my moans rising to a fever pitch. My heavy breathing breaks as he eases his fingers gently out.
He's breathing hard himself. Chemistry puts the ball in my court. Before this ends, I want to please him, too, as much as I can with my limited experience.
I drop to my knees with him. He settles back on his haunches.
“You're so amazing,” he whispers, swaying a bit. It occurs to me that he's probably very drunk. Oh well, if that's how he finds his courage...
I ease him onto his back with a finger. He chuckles and hiccups. It's dusty, cold and uninviting down here, but it will have to do. I forget my discomfort when I finally home in on my goal. I slide his boxers down his legs to his ankles.
Though his cock is average in length, its girth is impressive. Measurements aside, it's a sight for sore eyes. I've imagined it several times before, but nothing beats seeing it in person. He's definitely all man. I can't wait anymore to touch every inch of him.
I splay my hands over his shoulders, chest, kiss his torso and the sensitive patch of skin between his bellybutton and the base of his erection. I don't stop there. I run my hands over his legs to his ankles and back up to his hips. I finally give in to my desire to taste something other than his mouth and I dip my head to take the glistening head of his dick in my mouth. I enjoy the taste. I've always been ashamed to admit I love the taste.
I've forgotten just how much I enjoy the feel of a man's twitching cock as it fills my mouth. I love licking every ridge, every vein. I love the feel of the flexing muscle as its tip pushes against the back of my throat. I love running my fingers through the curly hair at the base as I slide up and down the entire length. I love the sucking sounds layered with his moans of pleasure.
I experience these again as I work him to his full hardness. I want him to challenge every fold, every nerve inside of me. I want to remember what it's like to be really loved by a man. I lift away slowly. He's the picture of arousal, one in which I long to be included.
I straddle his thighs and he busies his hands with the same tactics as before, turning my nipples in the vices of his fingers. In turn I grip him and draw my fingers around the strained hard length waiting to enter me. When I can't take anymore teasing, I lift my hips and engage the tip of dick just inside the entrance to my pleasure center. Even that much is difficult to handle. He sucks in a breath. His hands descend to my hips where he holds tightly.
I think he expects a rapid thrust, but I have to gently ease down onto him until we're completely joined. Our breathing is labored. This act joins us with the first man and woman, the same ritual men and women have been performing since mankind began, one performed under a tent of stars. Each time our hips meet, the heat builds higher in us both.
This unearthly binding, this is what we've both been waiting for, almost like it was destined to happen. He keeps me steady, I keep him pinned as he continues. Our bodies are singing an old song, dancing the very first dance, completing the most transcendent experience ever shared between fellow creatures.
We are moving together toward the same end. He bucks and I ride, push and pull working in tandem. He holds me steady, drives himself into me for the home stretch. When my muscles begin to clench, I drop my head back, my mouth opens and his name comes rushing out, “Jacob!”
It feels like being born, like my soul is being turned inside out. Every syllable rocks me. It's the first word I've spoken to a living person in over a year and, of all things, it's his name. It's being with him that's opened me up. He seats himself inside me and spends himself utterly.
Tears are in my eyes. I'm overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness, by the feeling of emptiness, of opportunity, of loss, of gain. We remain locked at the hip. He reaches up to touch my face.
“You're crying,” he says, worried. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I whisper. I never thought speaking could feel good again, but it does. Now that the dam has been breached, I want to tell him everything.
“Roxanne,” he whispers. “I'm sorry. I never wanted to make you cry.” The stage name is like poison in my ears, but I don't move away. He disengages from me and squeezes me firmly against him.
On the cold dressing room floor, wrapped in his arms, I can't fathom what I'll do next. I'm faced with the irrevocable, possibly sad truth that I've fallen in love with him, though I acknowledge it's a foolish, young, sort of half-love. I don't know what his favorite color is or his favorite food. I've never met his parents or been to his house. We've never been on a date. I have no idea what this even meant to him, if it meant anything at all.
He holds me possessively. I don't mind so much, this feeling that I belong to him, that we belong to each other. I want it to last, but I know it won't.
Before too long, he's snoring, but I'm too afraid to move. I'm too frustrated to sleep myself. What's more, soon the theater will be closing. If I wake him up, he'll want to turn on the lights to get his clothes back on, then where would we be?
No, it's best that who I am remains a secret until I can explain the whole truth to him.
My closest garment is my dress. I pry myself out of his arms. In the dark, I manage to drape his boxers over his side. I shove the rest of his clothes against his legs. He doesn't even stir. I pull my dress on, yanking the zipper up as quietly as I can. I manage to find my keys and slide on my running shoes. It's not the best ensemble, but I need to make a quick getaway.
I slip out the door without waking him. I lean against the wall and heave a sigh of relief.
“There you are,” Kyle says from the lower level. “I was wondering where you were. I heard some... noise.” He lifts a brow. “Is there somebody in your dressing room?”
I lean over the rails. “Sshh! Yes.”
“Okay,” he says looking at his clipboard. His head snaps back. “Did you just—?”
I nod, putting my finger up to my lips.
“When did you start talking!?” he exclaims. “What triggered it? Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes, I'm okay. There's... a guy in there,” I say slowly, pointing to the door. “He's... naked.”
“Naked! I don't understand. Did you two...?”
I step down to the lower level. “Yes. Can you take care of it?”
“Oh my God, I just can't believe you're tal
king! I never thought I would hear the sound of your speaking voice. It's... it's amazing, Carmen.”
“Oh. He... doesn't know who I really am,” I say, my cheeks turning red. “He only knows me as Roxanne,” I lie. I've been speaking for ten minutes and I'm already lying!
“Okay, well get out of here. I'll get him up and out before we close.”
I nod and smile. “Thanks.” It's the first time I've really thanked him. “Really. I'm so grateful to you, Kyle, for everything.” It feels good to vocalize my feelings. Talk about the floodgates being opened.
He grins and pats me on the shoulder, “I've always known you were.”
I take him into a deep hug. I know I smell like sex and booze, but I can't help it.
“I'm going. Goodnight,” I say, before heading for the stage-door. I let myself out, making sure the door is shut all the way behind me.
I head for my car, my brain still addled, and my knees still weak. Half-way across the parking lot, I swear I hear something. I stop and turn. The parking lot is deserted except for Kyle's clunker, an unfamiliar sedan (one I guess to be Jacob's) and the bar manager's sports car.
It's probably just me imagining things again.
I slide my key into the lock, and suddenly an arm hooks me back, yanking me almost clear off my feet. I struggle, kick and scream, but he's covered my nose and mouth with a rag. It smells awful, but in my panic I keep breathing it in, trying to wrench myself free. The fumes are too strong and, before I know it, I fall to the ground.
My vision blurs...and everything goes dark.
(Jacob)
A knock startles me to life. I wince, groggy and exhausted. My head is already killing me.
“Someone's knocking,” I say to Roxanne. I reach out for her, but all I get is the leg of the vanity chair. My voice echoes back unanswered in the dark empty room. The knock comes again.
“I'm coming. Hold on.” I say, groping for my clothes. At least before she bolted, she had the decency to pile my clothes up next to me. My underwear is draped over my legs. I stand and step into them and quickly pull my pants on. I zip them, but don't have time to close the button. I stub my toe on the way to the door. When I open it, light floods in.
“Come on bro, the club is closed,” says a broad-chested, olive-skinned man. I think I've caught sight of him tending the bar once before.
“Do you happen to know where the lady is?” I ask, pulling on my shirt. I fumble for the light switch and squint at the overhead that blinks on.
“She left over an hour ago,” he says. He leans against the metal railing with his arms crossed.
“Oh.” For some reason, I immediately feel sad. A part of me wanted her to be there when I woke up. I button my shirt and step into my shoes. I drape my coat over my arm. Keys, wallet, watch, phone. Wait, where's my phone? I must have left it in the car. I've got everything else. I close the dressing room behind me.
Something about being with Roxanne has helped put things in perspective. Her abrupt leaving has, too. After sleeping with her, I gained nothing except a few hours of pleasure. I'm right back where I was before, with no acquaintances or permanent relationships. When the words, “permanent relationship” come to mind, the only face I see is Ms. Andrews'. This strikes me as odd, but when I think about it, she's the person I care most about in the world, besides my mom. Lisa and Janelle were high on the list, but they are gone now.
That's sad. I barely know anything about her personally. On the other hand, it's hard to get to know someone who doesn't speak. Still, I think about her and her well-being more often than anyone else's. When we're not together, I'm thinking of her rehabilitation and her quality of life. I respect her for what she's gone through. Besides caring about her as a person, I do find her beautiful. She's incredibly gifted and disciplined. Isn't respect and admiration part of love?
It's so different from how I feel about Roxanne. I only desire her body, to feel the warmth that radiates from her sensual personality. What's more, Roxanne talks and communication is key. She's accessible and ostentatious. She doesn't appear to be afraid of anything. That's a strength I could definitely enjoy spending time around, but I don't care about her, I care about one of my patients, of all people. To violate the trust she's placed in me as her therapist would be wrong of me to do.
Any step I take choosing between them would be risky and would have to be done with surgical precision. I'll have to think more on it later, when I don't have to spend forty-five minutes in a taxi. I'm way too drunk to drive home.
First, I have to get my phone, though.
The bartender locks the stage entrance behind me, splitting off afterward to his own car. I make my way over to mine and notice something odd. The seatbelt is stuck between the rear-driver's-side door and the jamb. When I try the door it's unlocked. I fix the door and shut it.
Weird. I could swear all the doors were shut properly and the car had been locked. Did someone break in? I slide into the driver's seat. My phone is still there. I check the back. My leather messenger bag containing my laptop is still tucked behind the passenger seat. Everything's here. I must have just forgotten to lock the car. I pick up my bag and tuck my phone in my pocket. I relock the car, this time double-checking to make sure it's locked.
Really strange.
Sleep comes fast when I get home, probably because I haven't slept well in days.
The minute I close my eyes, I'm standing in a yard covered in daisies and green grass. I turn around, and the back of Colcott House stands before me in all its former glory. Birds sing. Bees buzz.
“Jake, we thought we could play some Hide and Seek,” I hear behind me. I spin on my heels and am surprised to see a younger version of myself standing with a young Janelle and Lisa. Surreal. Janelle's hair is in two braids. Lisa's is going in all directions. There are leaves stuck to my t-shirt.
“That's a baby's game,” says young Jake. “Let's play something else.”
“It's not a baby's game,” Lisa says, stomping her foot. We can't be older than fourteen or fifteen years old; at that difficult stage when one is trying to grow up, yet still enjoy life in the same way you did when you were little.
“Jake's right. Let's just go for a walk,” Janelle says, holding out the crook of her arm.
I vaguely remember this summer. It seems like so long ago, but my dreams bring it back to me in vivid detail.
The kids walk toward the woods and I follow. No harm in it, right? They pass between the trees with me following close behind.
“Be careful!” I call out to Jake. A low-hanging branch grazes the top of his head. I remember that. That sucked.
“Ow!” he cries out, rubbing his crown.
“Told you...” I say.
None of them turn. Apparently, they're unaware of my presence. Oh, well.
I've gotten used to these trippy dreams, the ones that take me back in time or into books. I've stopped running away from them and started running with them. I've begun thinking that maybe they're meant to teach me things, so I should be open to their messages.
The kids come to a path that splits in two.
“Which way do we go?” asks Lisa.
“Why don't you go that way,” Janelle says, pointing to the right. “Jake and I will go the other way.”
“Why do you two want to go that way?” Lisa whines, her hands on her hips.
Janelle shrugs. “No reason.”
“You just want to make out,” Lisa says with a grin.
“No!” Janelle exclaims. “That's not why!”
“Yes it is!” Lisa laughs. “You guys are gross.”
“Shut up, Lisa! You're gross!”
“What's all the yelling about?” asks another voice.
Lisa, Jake and I all turn our heads.
“Hey Robbie.” Lisa's face lights up.
Wow. It's been ten years since I last saw Robbie Graham. I also remember why Lisa was so happy to see him. They dated for two years before breaking up for some reason. She never gave m
e any details and I don't remember prying.
“We don't need you, anyway,” Lisa declares, meeting Robbie and taking his arm. “We'll go this way.” She leads him down the path.
“Oh, okay... sure,” Robbie says, sounding confused.
Jake and Janelle go off down the left fork. Lisa and Robbie go right. Crap! Which way should I go? I see Jake and Janelle hold hands. I know what happens down that path. I look off after Robbie and Lisa. I don't know what happens that way.
“Go on,” says a woman's voice beside me. I turn and see Lisa standing there.
I jump when I see her face. “Jesus, Lisa! You scared me!”
“Sorry... Don't you want to know what happens?”
“Sure, let's go.”
Adult Lisa and I walk behind young Lisa and Robbie.
“This is a first,” I say to her. “I've never dreamt of you before.”
“I'm sure it won't be the last time,” she says with a grin, threading her arm in mine. “Do you remember I told you about this day?” she asks.
“Not really.”
“Come on, I told you about this.” We're coming to a clearing where there's a rundown wooden shack. “Don't you remember the shack?”
“Oh yeah, I remember this, now.” I nod. “Janelle and I used this shack a few times.”
“That's gross, Jake, seriously gross.” Adult Lisa says, her nose scrunching up. She turns her attention to the young couple. “Look, we're going in...” She laughs and lays her head on my shoulder.
“Now, that's gross,” I say, shaking my head.
“I was so jealous of you and Janelle that I took Robbie down there.”
My brain tingles with something, and I narrow my eyes at the shack.
“Wait, I remember something.”
“What?” she asks.
Over the course of thirty seconds, the leaves wither, and dry, turning bright shades of orange, red and yellow. The air gets substantially chilly.
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