The Girl He Used to Know

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  He’d given me white, so I made the first move. It wasn’t until years later that I figured it out, but chess had become our foreplay, and we’d started that enticing dance the first time we played together in the student union. Watching him concentrate thrilled me, because he wanted to win every bit as badly as I did. There was a ruthlessness about both of us when we played, and it translated into something that put us on an equal playing field. I never had to worry about saying the wrong thing when we played. Chess, I knew.

  I made a careless error, one I’d still be beating myself up over days later, and Jonathan picked up my rook and set it down next to his side of the board.

  Jonathan had started leaning over and kissing me every time he captured one of my pieces, and this time, he pulled the collar of my sweater aside and kissed his way from my mouth, down the side of my neck, and finally to my collarbone.

  “Is that okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Every time you lose a turn, I’m going to do it again.”

  “I won’t lose,” I said, because I believed it. But then I realized I wanted Jonathan to keep doing it. Not enough to lose on purpose, because the concept of intentional deception wasn’t something that would have occurred to me. It was only the next day when I recounted the whole thing for Janice and she asked me if I was tempted to lose on purpose that I realized I could have pretended.

  He made a careless mistake that was uncharacteristic of him, and when I placed his bishop next to my board, he said, “Now you kiss me.”

  I leaned toward him, placing my lips softly on his. It felt so good that, emboldened by the sensations, I kissed him harder. His hair felt damp and cold under my fingers as I ran them through his hair, but his mouth felt warm.

  The next time he captured one of my pieces, he kissed his way down my neck again. Then he sucked on it. It felt electric and I gasped. I wanted more but didn’t know how to tell him. Somehow he knew because he sucked harder and pulled my oversized sweater over my head. I was wearing a baggy long-sleeved T-shirt underneath it, and he took that off, too. Janice had helped me pick out the bra. It was made of cotton, with no underwire or uncomfortable pattern, but it was light pink with demi cups, and Janice said Jonathan would probably like it a lot. I couldn’t read Jonathan’s expression, because he appeared to be in some kind of trance.

  “Will you … Can you stand up next to the bed?”

  I did as he asked. I was wearing my favorite item of Janice-approved clothing that wasn’t a skirt, a pair of thin baggy cotton pants with a drawstring I could cinch to exactly the right tightness, which for me wasn’t very tight at all. I’d tied the drawstring in a bow, and he grabbed the end and pulled gently. Immediately, the pants slid down my hips a few inches, and when he untied them the rest of the way, they fell down and pooled at my feet. My pink underwear matched the bra. Jonathan stared. “I had no idea this was what your body looked like. I really want to take off the rest of your clothes.”

  “Are we going to finish our game?”

  “We will if you want to finish it. Absolutely. Do you?”

  I did want to finish, because I found it difficult to abandon any match that hadn’t been played to the end, but the sensations coursing through my body were slightly stronger than my desire to return to the board. “We can finish the game tomorrow.”

  He put his hands on my hips and looked into my eyes, and for the first time I looked into his for a few moments before shifting my gaze to his nose. “So it’s okay if I take them off?”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  Modesty was a completely foreign concept to me. When I was younger my mom would often find me outdoors without a stitch on. Being naked meant there were no scratchy fabrics touching my skin, no zipper pressing down on me, and nothing could compare to the feeling of only air on my skin. Once, during our freshman year of college, I’d gotten out of bed in the middle of the night to get a drink of water. Janice’s boyfriend had been spending the night, and we’d both awakened at the same time and found ourselves standing in front of the sink in our room to fill a cup. I had turned on the small light next to my bed so I wouldn’t trip and it cast a yellow glow on us. I was naked, but he was wearing underwear. He did not say a single word as I filled my cup, drank it down, and walked back to my bed and slipped beneath the covers.

  Janice, however, had plenty to say about it the next morning and told me I had to buy a robe. “You can’t walk around our dorm room like that.”

  “But I live here. He doesn’t.”

  “You still have to cover up,” she said.

  I held still as Jonathan reached around and unfastened my bra, slipping the straps off my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. He slid my underwear down over my hips until it dropped to the floor. The same fingers that moved chess pieces so decisively were tentative as they reached out and skimmed along the indentation of my waist. Janice had told me that once I was in this position I should tell Jonathan I was a virgin. “You can’t just spring something like that on him.” She hadn’t specified the exact timing of this revelation, but since I was standing in front of Jonathan without any clothes on, I figured it was probably an okay time. “I’ve never had sex before.”

  That snapped him out of his trance.

  “No one has ever wanted to,” I said. “You don’t have to either.”

  “Annika, I want to. More than anything.”

  His tone confused me. Was he mad? Frustrated? I detected frustration, but I didn’t know what it meant. Why couldn’t Janice be here with me? “Did I wait too long to tell you?”

  “No. I’m just … Do you really not know how I feel about you?”

  I shook my head. “Not really.”

  “I think you’re beautiful, and smart. There’s something about you that makes me feel good when I’m with you.”

  “Do you think it will hurt?”

  He took my hand and kissed the back of it. “I don’t know. If it does just tell me to stop and I will, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Has anyone ever touched you before?”

  “No.”

  “Have you … do you know what any of this feels like?”

  “Yes.” I’d been amazed to discover—quite accidently one day—what happened when I touched myself. I’d felt the beginning flutter of those same sensations when Jonathan and I kissed and pressed up against each other.

  Jonathan nodded, exhaling. “Okay, good.”

  He pulled me down beside him on the bed, trembling slightly. “Have you done this before?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you nervous?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, placing his fingers over my mouth. And whether to calm me or to begin, he replaced his fingers with his lips. I loved kissing Jonathan, and I loved his touch, which was probably the biggest reason we’d made it this far.

  He sat up and stripped off his shirt. He glanced over at me like he was waiting for me to say something. I looked at his chest, broad and smooth. His shoulders looked strong and well-defined. Am I supposed to tell him that? “You have a nice chest and strong-looking shoulders,” I said. He smiled, so I knew I had said the right thing.

  He brought us down onto the bed, and I landed on the chess pieces with a yelp. Jonathan lifted me up and swept the board and all the pieces onto the floor, so there was no way we were ever going to be able to finish that game.

  When he pulled me toward him the sensation of being skin-to-skin felt so utterly foreign that I tensed. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Already I was becoming accustomed to the feel of my breasts rubbing up against his chest. Then Jonathan pulled back a little and skimmed my nipple with his thumb. I felt a tingle between my legs, as if there was some sort of direct current that ran back and forth between the two body parts. Just about the time I got used to that, and was really starting to enjoy it, Jonathan bent his head and drew my nipple firmly into his mouth, which added a twinge of something I struggled to define. W
as it pain? Pleasure?

  “Am I going too fast?” he asked. His breathing sounded odd and ragged, like he couldn’t catch his breath.

  “Yes!” I must have said it very loudly because Jonathan jerked suddenly, as if I had startled him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me to slow down?” he asked.

  “I don’t know how to tell you,” I said, my body now completely rigid.

  “Yes you do,” Jonathan said. “If I’m going too fast, just say the word ‘slow’ and I’ll know what you mean. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Jonathan repeated everything he’d done so far—the kissing of my lips, the touching and sucking of my nipples—and I felt my body relaxing. He kissed me again, and put his hand on the inside of my thigh, stroking it. I broke the kiss but only because I suddenly needed more air than I was currently getting. Jonathan’s fingers moved slowly toward my center, and when he reached it, I concentrated as hard as I could on blocking everything else out. I felt the first stirring of arousal, and I knew from touching myself that it would grow stronger if Jonathan’s fingers kept circling me in the same pattern. But then he began moving his body lower on the bed, which confused me. When I felt his tongue on me, I raised my head and looked between my legs. “What are you doing!”

  He looked up, brows knitted together. “I’m going down on you,” he said.

  “Why would you do that?”

  He grinned. “Because I think you’re really gonna like it.”

  I pushed his face away. “No, I won’t.”

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said.

  Why would I be embarrassed? “I’m not. It’s just too much for me.” There was no way I could handle that much stimulation.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “So you don’t want me to do that?”

  “No.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just do what you were doing before.”

  “You mean with my fingers?”

  “Yes. That felt good.”

  He started over for the third time, and he did everything exactly the way I needed him to. As he touched me, lightly and then more firmly, I felt my arousal building again. I didn’t think it would, but Jonathan touching me felt ten times better than when I touched myself. My orgasm was imminent, but I didn’t know what to do. Was I supposed to announce its impending arrival or just let it happen? Janice had forgotten to mention this part. But in the ten seconds or so before I came I stopped worrying if the way I felt or acted was right or wrong, because the sensations Jonathan’s touch elicited were not only manageable, they were incredible. I stopped thinking entirely, and I put my hand over Jonathan’s, holding it tighter against me. When my orgasm arrived I cried out, not caring if it was loud. The sheer pleasure of it washed over me in waves, leaving me boneless and feeling like I was sinking into the mattress.

  Jonathan leaned over and kissed me. “I need to be inside you right now, Annika.” He got out of the bed and I heard the sound of a drawer opening.

  “What are you doing?’ I asked.

  “I’m getting a condom.” I watched with clinical interest as Jonathan took off his jeans and underwear and rolled the condom on. When he got back in bed he settled his body between my legs. Holding himself up on his arms, he started to push into me in infinitesimal increments. He was careful, and gentle, but there was an urgency I could hear in his breathing. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Am I hurting you?”

  It wasn’t unpleasant, but I felt stretched in a way I never had before. “It stings a little. It’s okay. Keep going.”

  A minute or so later he began to thrust into me faster, going deeper, and then his body began to shudder and shake. He groaned loudly and then collapsed on top of me, his cheek resting on my chest. I could feel the pounding of his heart, his warm skin. He was still inside me, and I wondered how long he planned on staying there. “That was incredible,” he said.

  “Did I do it right?” I asked.

  Jonathan made a sound. Sort of like another groan, but softer this time. “You did it exactly right.”

  “Do you think you’ll want to do it again?”

  “Definitely,” he said, pressing a kiss to my neck. “Do you want to do it again?”

  “Could we rest for a little while first?” In order to handle more touching, I would need a break.

  “Absolutely. Whatever you want.” He withdrew from my body, which was an incredibly odd sensation, and got out of bed. As he walked toward the bathroom he said, “I’m going to need a few minutes anyway.”

  When Jonathan returned he slid back under the covers and pulled me into his arms, tucking me into the space under his chin, with his arms wrapped around me. He sighed, stroked my cheek, and rubbed his foot along my leg.

  It felt like being trapped in a hot steel cage. I would have rather thrown off the covers and stretched out on the bed, moving my arms and legs as if I were making a snow angel, than be held.

  But I’d seen this in movies and read about it in books.

  This was cuddling.

  Cuddling occurred after sex.

  So I stayed put, letting him rub my shoulder and kiss my ear. He seemed drowsy, yawning like he might want to take a nap.

  After fifteen minutes of this I started to get out of bed. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “It feels sticky between my legs.”

  “But I used a con— Oh. Stay here. I’ll get a towel.”

  When he returned I pulled down the covers and spread my legs. Jonathan leaned down to examine me. “There’s a little blood,” he said. “That’s probably what you felt.” He must have run the towel under the faucet, because it was warm and damp. I lay back as he ran it lightly over my inner thighs and then between my legs.

  “Annika, I think I’m ready again.”

  19

  Annika

  CHICAGO

  AUGUST 2001

  I’m eager to meet with Tina today. I feel like there are so many things I can share that I’m proud of, and I want her to be proud of them, too. Plus Audrey was out sick today, so I had a great day at work.

  “Jonathan took me to a work function,” I say after Tina leads me into her office and we’ve sat down. “I didn’t say anything stupid, at least I don’t think I did. I met his boss and most of his coworkers. It was exhausting and I had a splitting headache afterward, but I did it.”

  Tina knows that one of my coping mechanisms is to mimic the behaviors of others. She said it’s a useful tool and that I should do whatever helps me the most.

  “How do you feel when you’re out with Jonathan?”

  “I feel good. He’s always been someone I’m comfortable being with. It feels like it did when we were in college.”

  “Have the two of you determined the kind of relationship you’re comfortable having now?”

  “Jonathan said he wanted to take it slow. So that’s what we’re doing. But we’re spending a lot of time together. That makes me happy.”

  “Have you talked about the past yet?”

  Truthfully, I hadn’t thought about our past lately because our present was so preferable by comparison. “No.”

  “Do you think you’re purposely avoiding things you find unpleasant because you prefer it when life is running smoothly?”

  “Yes. I mean, maybe not avoiding unpleasant things but enjoying our time together and the fact that we’ve reconnected. I’ve missed him.”

  Tina does this thing where she steeples her index fingers under her chin. It took me almost a year to figure out it means she’s thinking. Also that she’s waiting for me to come to some kind of conclusion on my own. “At some point, you may find your past influencing the progression of this relationship. I think you should consider having the conversation even if it’s not something you want to talk about.”

  “Everything is going so well.”

  “Which is why now might be a good time.”

  I don’t admit to Tina that
part of me hopes Jonathan has stopped thinking about it. Stopped wondering what happened on my end now that I’ve shown him I’m ready to pick up where we left off. But there’s another part of me that understands it’s the right thing to do. I owe him an explanation.

  “I really like being with him.”

  “Then you have even more of a reason to talk about it. Something tells me it will go better than you think.”

  * * *

  After my appointment with Tina, I eat dinner and read fifty pages of a book. Therapy always tires me out and I’m thinking about taking a bath to kill time until nine, which is the earliest I can go to bed if I don’t want to wake up at 4:00 A.M. The buzzer startles me, because I don’t have many visitors, but when I hear Jonathan’s voice I forget all about being tired. I buzz him in and when I throw open the door, I clap my hands because this is just the best surprise ever. Normally I don’t enjoy it when people drop by unannounced, but with Jonathan, I don’t mind at all.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call first. Have you eaten? I brought dinner,” he said, holding up a take-out bag. “I’ve got just enough time to eat it with you before I have to head back to the office.”

  “I did eat. But that’s okay. I’ll keep you company.” I beckon him inside before he can change his mind. “You’re going back to work?”

  He loosens his tie. “I have to. We’re not done. Brad’s planning to sleep on the couch in his office. I guess he’s the winner.”

  “What will he win?” I’m genuinely curious, as I have no idea what kind of contest they’re running down at Jonathan’s workplace.

  “Oh, no, nothing actually. I just meant he wants to make sure we all know how much harder he’s working.”

  Jonathan could spend hours explaining it to me, but I doubt I’ll ever understand the world of investment banking. And even if I did, it sounds awful.

  “Won’t you be tired tomorrow?”

  “Yes, but lately I’m always tired.”

  We sit down at my kitchen table and he unpacks the food. Jonathan has brought a burger and fries. He pops one of the fries in my mouth.