by Emily Snow
And then I knew.
I looked into his eyes- those searching, hopeful, beautiful blue eyes- and I knew that at least for that one night... he was mine. Even if he didn’t admit it out loud, even if it wasn’t forever, even if it was just for that one moment- that one glorious, blessed moment- Trip Wilmington had actually fallen in love with me.
The sweetness of his words, combined with the gentleness of his lips should have broken me, sent me into a full-on bawling fit. But instead, the endearments served to melt me in a way his hands and mouth had tried to just moments before. I felt myself heating up again, back on the Trip Wilmington roller coaster ride all over again.
I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him back, loving the feel of his bare skin against mine. He tangled his hands in my hair as I lightly raked my nails over his back and I could feel him harden again. It didn’t freak me out this time. It felt empowering, the way I could turn him on so easily just by kissing him, touching him, drive him crazy. His tongue plunged into my mouth, his hands touching every part of me within reach and I met his hunger, grasping his shoulders and arching my back toward his body, writhing against him with that familiar, aching need.
He buried his head in my neck before I heard him whisper, “Ah. There’s my girl,” the sound of his throaty laugh sending shivers down my spine, this time in a good way. I kissed him then, hot and searching, my mind and body giving over to him completely, my fears crumbling against the assault of his sweet mouth against mine.
His palm cupped my breast before replacing his roving hand with his lips, his expert mouth drawing its tip between his teeth lightly, teasing me, slaying me with his gifted tongue. Just when I thought I was going to die, he moved on to the other one, giving it the same treatment. The feel of his mouth on my bare skin was phenomenal, turning every inch of my body into a quivering mass of pure sensation, my nerve endings on the verge of exploding.
I almost passed out when his fingers slid between my thighs, gently easing one into me, sending a hot current through my body, every molecule threatening to detonate. I pressed myself against his hand, which sent us both completely over the edge, Trip’s body doubling over, his raspy voice breaking when he laughed and begged, “Jesus, stop moving or I’m not gonna make it! You’re killing me.”
Ha! I was killing him? How enthralling, knowing I was able to do that!
There I was, Layla Warren: Sex Goddess.
I’d managed the unthinkable task of turning Trip Wilmington into a defenseless, panting piece of mortal flesh. I guessed he was human after all and it made me love him all the more. And being wrapped up in the arms of someone you love is just about the greatest feeling in the whole wide world. I finally understood why sex was such a big deal. Because at that moment, all I could think about was how I wanted to be as close to him as possible, to feel him inside me- wanting me, making love with me.
There was no room for nervousness this time as he positioned his body over me again and aligned his hips over mine, his hardened length straining toward my body, waiting this time, excruciating, unyielding, holding out with a torture that consumed us both.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, crushing us closer together, surprising him with the effect my movement had on him. He lifted his face just long enough to shoot an impressed look my way, which had the intended result of cracking me up.
“Oh, just do it already!” I laughed out, and Trip didn’t wait for me to change my mind. He slid into me slowly, checking my reaction every centimeter along the way. Huh. It didn’t hurt so much this time. It still felt weird, but once he was all the way in there and started to move inside me, it actually started to feel... pretty good.
Then, it started to feel really good.
And then, it started to feel amazing!
He started driving into me at a steady pace and I was able to match his movements with my own, raising my hips toward his demanding cadence. I could hear him breathing hard against my ear, aching, dying for me, causing me to lose my mind. I decided to return the favor, offering some noises of my own. When I did, Trip started trembling all over, wrapping his arms around me like a vise and ramming into me rhythmically; faster, harder. I probably should have been in some state of orgasmic euphoria or something, but what I was really consumed with at that moment was how fascinating it really was. Like, you hear about sex all the time, but there we were, actually doing it! We were having sex!
His voice brought me back to him, seductive and rough in my ear when he whispered, “God. You feel so good,” which caught me by such surprise that I almost died.
I completely lost whatever hold I’d maintained over my own control as I groaned louder, arching my entire body up to his, smashing myself against his smooth, sweat-slicked chest, watching the muscles of his jaw clench as he dropped his head and cursed under his breath.
I knew I had driven him over the edge because he started slamming into me harder, his hand at the small of my back lifting me to him, rigid and insistent and deep inside of me, his string of half-words and animal noises rocking me to my very core. His hips crashing against mine, his body pounding away at me, his breathing ragged, losing control, sinking, soaring, dying, his voice finally rasping out, “Oh God... I can’t...” before letting out with a final, tortured groan, his shaft quaking fiercely inside of me again and again and again, his arms ultimately giving out from the effort of coming so violently. He collapsed on top of me, the full weight of his spent body on top of mine; panting, laughing, growling.
I could barely breathe, but I figured there were worse ways to go. Had my life been smothered out at that moment, I would have died a happy girl. I shifted to try and find some breathing room, and Trip must have taken the hint. He let out a heavy breath then rolled over onto his back, grinning ear to ear, dropping an arm over his face and exclaiming, “Holy shit!”
I was still flying high at that moment, registering the delicious afterglow of what had just transpired between us. I finally saw what all the fuss was about. I pulled the blanket up to my neck and said, “Nice, Chester. I always dreamed my first time would end with a sweaty guy yelling obscenities.”
He laughed his ass off, snuggling into me, a heavy arm around my shoulders, pulling me to face him, both of us trying to get our breathing back to normal. “Sorry. But christ! I don’t know what else to say.”
I nestled in against his arm, unable to stop myself from smiling. “Hmm. Well, let’s see. I let you get me drunk and deflower me out here in the wilderness... How ‘bout thank you, you ingrate?”
He was still grinning that gorgeous, white, elated grin as he said appreciatively, “You’re right. Thank you.”
I started to say, “You’re welcome,” but Trip had reached down to remove a little something from under the blanket, a little something that currently, was sheathing my new favorite thing about him. Before he even pulled his hand out from under the covers, he said, “Uh, Babe? Don’t know how to break this to you, but...”
My first thought was, Ohmygod! The condom broke! For one horrifying second I was sure that I was pregnant, that I’d never go to NYU and that I’d have to tell my father, who would immediately drop dead of a heart attack upon hearing the news.
So, it was almost an odd relief that all Trip was trying to tell me was that there was “a little bit of blood” down there.
Oh, God, how embarrassing! I was pretty mortified, but immediately grabbed my purse and dug out some Wet-Naps and tissues, thanking the good Lord up above that I at least had something we could use to clean ourselves up.
Trip grabbed a few of the towelette packets, slipped into his boxers and exited the tent, affording me some privacy.
I lifted the covers and peeked with one eye closed... and saw the small stain that was spotting the blanket under me, along with the mess of my inner thighs. Gross! Why does loss of virginity have to be so undignified?
I did a quick cleanup, found a pad in my purse and put my clothes back on, then rolled the stained blanket into a ba
ll, which I shoved in the corner of the tent before going outside.
Trip was just inside the edge of the trees, naked except for his undies. Seeing him hanging out in the woods in just a pair of boxers was so out-of-place that it was comical. It broke the tension enough for me to laugh out, “Well, that was pretty horrifying,” trying to make light of the disgusting situation. I mean, what was I supposed to say? I was humiliated. And Trip was probably completely grossed out.
“Oh, so sex with me is horrifying? Nice, Lay.”
I took the opportunity he offered to dismiss the Texas Chainsaw Massacre back there in the tent and asked, “Did you just call me a nice lay, you perv?”
Trip did a double-take, realizing how I’d twisted his words around and started laughing. He leapt toward me and threw me over his shoulder, smacking my butt, telling me to cry uncle. I couldn’t twist out of his iron grip and I was not letting him win, so I reached down and grabbed the waistband of his boxers and gave a good tug.
“Wedgie defense!” I yelled as he put me down post haste.
“A wedgie? Really?” which cracked us both up as he adjusted himself in his shorts.
It was a downright shame that Trip had to eventually put his clothes back on. I thought he should forget about travelling or hockey or college and just set up a booth on some beach somewhere, selling tickets to random girls who’d gladly pay good money to see him shirtless. His chest should rank right up alongside the Grand Canyon as one of the Lord’s most miraculous creations.
We packed everything up and trekked back to my car. Neither one of us said much, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. My impending departure loomed over us, that actuality suddenly very real and very imminent. In just a few hours, I’d be in New York; no more Norman, no more Trip. I knew he was waiting for me to skip town before getting on with his travels, and since we never discussed either of those things at length, I wondered where he’d be heading first.
We loaded up my car, and as I slammed the trunk, I saw that Trip was just standing there looking at me. I met his eyes, trying to commit every detail of his beautiful face to memory, not so easy to do considering my vision was starting to blur from unshed tears.
Without hesitation, he put his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest. “We’re not doing this now, okay? I’ll come over in the morning, but I. Can’t. Do. This. Now.” I could hear his teeth clenched together as he said that last part, which gave me the strength to clamp down on the waterworks as well. Tears had been threatening for weeks, never more so than in the past few minutes, but I was determined not to ruin our last night by bawling.
I pulled back to let him know it was okay, I understood, that we could postpone our big theatrical scene for a few more hours.
And then I saw the look on his face.
I almost fainted dead away. There was Trip, his expression telling me everything I ever needed to know. Back in the tent, I was fairly certain that he’d fallen in love with me. Looking into his eyes, that thought was confirmed, right there on his face. He was looking at me with such adoration; those broken, blue eyes offering a window into his heartache, dying inside as he watched me slipping through his grasp.
He may as well have been screaming “I love you”.
I’d won our school science fair in the fourth grade, my “Phases of an Egg” presentation eclipsing the dozen or so baking-soda-and-vinegar volcanoes presented by the rest of our class. I’d taken gold in our town’s Junior Olympics when I was ten, and got to stand up on the top of a three-tiered pedestal after placing first in the Fifty Yard Dash. One time, when I was fourteen, I’d received a Presidential Physical Fitness certificate from Ronald Reagan, when I logged a record-breaking eighty-two situps in the span of a minute.
But nothing compared to the sense of accomplishment I felt- no award, no ribbon, no trophy- no achievement lived up to the unfathomable triumph of having won the heart of Terrence C. Wilmington III.
Chapter 39
THE HARD WAY
I took a last look around my room, knowing it would never be the same again. Sure, my Water Lilies comforter would still be where I left it on my mattress, my furniture would remain in its rightful place. But the next time I would walk through that door, I’d just be a visitor.
I ran my fingers over the pictures around my mirror, taking in the images of my life from over the years. Yesterday, I was a little girl riding a bike; in a few short hours I’d be riding out the rest of my life.
Doesn’t it just go by in a blink.
Dad had packed all my stuff into the car hours before: The movie posters I’d bought on my last day at Totally Videos, the bedding set I’d picked out with Lisa. The mini-fridge Bruce had gotten me at graduation, the computer from Dad, the bags upon bags of clothes, a box of my favorite books. I stood out in the driveway looking at all of it: My New Life, crammed into every spare inch of our family car.
Trip’s truck pulled in just then, and he looked almost beaten as he got out and made his way toward me. No kiss hello, no hug. Just his hands jammed in his pockets as he offered a nod of his head and a formal “’Morning” at me.
In the old days, I would have freaked out by his lack of emotion, especially considering how we’d spent the previous night. But I knew that he was being standoffish purely out of self-preservation. What else could he be expected to do?
“Hey, uh,” he started in, not quite sure what to say. “You, uh, you okay?” referring to my near-fatal hemorrhaging the night before.
Some of my embarrassment had left me by then. I mean, I’d come to the conclusion that if something like that was going to have to happen someday regardless, I’m glad it had happened with him instead of some random guy. “I’m fine. A little mortified, but I’ll live.”
“You know, that was a first for me, too.”
I looked at him, ready to call him out for being a rotten liar when he clarified, “I’ve never been anyone’s First before.”
I forced a laugh and said, “Well, I can only imagine you never will be again after that horror show.”
His eyes met mine then, the broken look on his face almost tearing my heart out, the sad, sad realization that our minutes together were numbered. After all the months of postponing the inevitable, there we were, left with mere seconds to spend with one another.
He came over to me, grabbed my hands in his and planted a sweet kiss on my lips. “No, probably not. But only because I can’t imagine ever wanting to be with anyone else ever again.”
My stomach wrenched, actually causing me physical pain. How could he say something like that to me? My heart was already shattering into a million pieces and I was already doing all I could not to break down in tears.
“Trip... don’t.”
Oh God, please don’t say it. Please, please-
“I’m in love with you, Layla.”
I dropped my head as the tears came rolling down my cheeks; despite my resolve, I was completely incapable of stopping them. You’d think that I would have been bursting at the seams with joy, finally hearing him say the words I could only dream about for the better part of an entire year. But I was too crushed to feel any sort of elation at his admission. And the truth was, I already knew how he felt.
“Trip. Stop!”
“No, Layla. I won’t stop.” He moved closer, cradling my head to his chest before continuing. “I know you’re leaving and I would never try to keep you from going, and I guess I have my own path to follow as well. But don’t ever ask me to stop loving you, because I can’t. Don’t ever think I’ll be able to forget you, because I won’t.”
I was actually sobbing against him then, my shoulders heaving, my tears dampening the front of his T-shirt, causing tiny, dark blue spots to appear across his chest.
I wanted to freeze us in time, like one of those museum displays that Holden Caulfield was so fixated on, or seal the two of us off from the world with plexiglass like Thomas Edison’s desk.
I was about to tell him I loved
him, too, that I didn’t need to go, that we could both stay right there at home forever and ever, amen. It could be so easy for us to just decide to stay right where we were, loving each other for the rest of our lives.
We don’t have to say goodbye.
But the words caught in my throat and I didn’t say anything.
He kissed the top of my head and asked, “But I want you to promise me something, okay?”
My eyes were spilling over and I could barely breathe, but I managed to ask, “What’s that?”
He put his hands on either side of my face, looked right into my eyes and said, “Be happy. Wherever you wind up. And know that I’ll be thinking of you, wherever I am.” At that, he bent his face to mine and I let him kiss me for the last time.
Oh, the drama! Is there anything so powerful as the love of two teenagers being ripped apart?
He tore his mouth from mine and shook his head, defeated. “I can’t do this. It’s too hard.”
He reached into his truck through the open window and pulled out a pale blue envelope. He placed it in my hands before swiping his thumb across my dampened cheek, his knuckles grazing my neck. I was trying to think of something to say, some memorable, monumental, perfect parting words.
But for some reason, I found a smile cracking through my tears, and the words that left my lips were, “Stay gold, Ponyboy.”
At first, Trip looked at me stunned, like he couldn’t believe I was being so blasphemous as to make light of such a serious situation. But then, he started to smile too; a beautiful, final, charming grin, just for me.
After he’d gone, I watched, too depleted to be emotional as his truck drove down my street for the final time. I looked down at the envelope in my hand and decided to go have a seat in the backyard to open it.
When I did, the first thing I saw was a picture of Trip and me from graduation, the one his father had taken when Trip had scooped me into his arms. I looked at the smiling faces in the image, smirking to myself when I remembered how later in that evening, we’d shared our first kiss.