by Ana Sparks
“It was the meeting for my first app, Reviewly. I was pushing to get it out as soon as possible, my family was having money troubles and I wanted to help. I was sure I was going to make it on time, I almost did. I didn’t stand you up, Kristin, I went to prom.”
Now, Kristin’s face was curved with anger. Shaking her head furiously, she declared “No you didn’t. I was there, Clark, I was there. I was standing there in the hall when they called out our names and you were nowhere to be seen, all right? And you never came.”
I nodded, still avoiding her eye. “I know, but it I did come—seconds too late. When I got to the door, the teachers at the door told me that you had just left. I tried calling but you didn’t pick up. I was so furious with myself that I just went home without going inside at all.”
I chanced a look at Kristin to see that her eyes were full of tears.
“You did come,” she said softly and, taking her hand, I nodded.
“But I still failed you that night. And for that, I’m sorry.”
Kristin sat there in silence. When I opened my mouth to speak, she only shook her head, stood up and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom.
Several minutes passed. Kristin hadn’t finished her meal, but I didn’t let the waiter take her half-filled plate away. No, I sat there and waited, and wondered when she’d be back. And what I’d do if she never returned.
Finally, when I was about to get up and go check the bathroom myself, she returned, with strange, distant eyes and a slight smile. When she sat down, I took her hand and she spoke.
“All this time, I was holding a grudge against you for what happened at prom, for ruining my life. I thought you just couldn’t be bothered to come; I blamed you for everything, the humiliation I endured, the pain I’d experienced since. That night…that was supposed to be the best night of my life and it turned out to be the worst. The night…” She looked up, our eyes meeting. “That was the night I was going to lose my virginity to you.”
I nodded, looking away once again; unable to bear the suffering I saw there, the suffering I had caused.
“And all this time,” her soft voice continued, “I’ve blamed you for everything that followed. My grudge held me back in all my relationships afterwards.”
Her pale trembling hand took mine, but her teary eyes were staring over my shoulder, not at something in the restaurant, but at something else entirely.
“But now… I don’t know. Maybe it’s the wine or me being silly but I think, Clark, I think all along this grudge, this perceived hang-up was something that resided in me this whole time. I carried this bitterness, this fear within me since that night. Men failed me because I expected them to, boyfriends couldn’t take the responsibility of being my first and let me down time and time again because that was what I expected for them.”
Our fingers were laced together; I couldn’t tell you what strange feeling my heart had right now.
“And so, Clark, thank you for tonight, for telling me the truth. For everything.” Her eyes were still full of tears, but now, her lips were smiling.
“What does this mean?” I asked. “Do you not want to go through with tonight?”
She squeezed my hand.
“Only if you want to. As far as I’m concerned, with these past two nights we’ve spent together and the insight you’ve given me, you’ve more than made up for what you did that night.”
I squeezed her hand.
“I want to if you do.”
Smiling slightly again, Kristin took another drink of her wine.
“How about we see how the night progresses?”
I nodded and took a drink from my own wine glass, to obscure the smile working its way onto my face. Not long after, the waiter reappeared with the same offer for dessert as before. This time, I gladly accepted.
“What would we like?” I asked Kristin and, her smile was glowing.
“Chocolate mousse cake please!”
It seemed only seconds of our easy, eager conversation and enjoyable wine sips had passed before the man’s chubby fingers were setting on our table a plate with a hulking slice of cake.
And then we dug in, feeding each other little bites of the decadent dessert. All too fast did we devour the chocolate thing and ask for the bill. After paying, I held out an arm to Kristin, which she accepted, and then we were off. A few feet out the door, I realized just how much wine I had had.
“Do you mind if we take a taxi or a limo?” I asked Kristin and she shrugged.
“I’m fine with anything.”
I paused, peering down the road.
“What do you say about a walk? We’re only about twenty minutes from my place.”
Kristin nodded and off we went.
As we walked, she asked, “Isn’t this towards the woods?”
With a smirk and another tap on her nose, I nodded.
“Exactly.”
Chapter Eight
Kristin
As we walked along the tree-lined road, it was funny, everything was fuzzy yet clear. The woods and the evergreen air were clear, but my thoughts, my feelings, Clark’s handsome face, were all fuzzy. Whether this was a good idea, whether I would actually go through with what we had planned, I couldn’t be sure.
All I knew at that moment, as Clark held my hand and led me to his house, was that I was happy. We didn’t speak, only played with each other’s fingers. We didn’t need to say anything, the forest was saying it all for us with its the quiet calm, broken only by the odd hoot of an owl. No, we didn’t need to say anything because it was all perfect already.
When we finally reached the tall wooden structure of Clark’s home, I was out of breath, though not quite so much that I couldn’t gasp when we saw it. It was the most beautiful house I’d ever seen.
“Don’t expect to see Nala anywhere,” Clark joked. Seeing my awed expression, he took my hand and led me through the door, saying, “you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Inside he led me up a stunning flight of marble stairs, then another flight of stairs, then down a long hallway. At the end, was an empty room. Well, a room that was not quite empty. It did have a broad window, a window Clark brought me to. Grabbing the handle and twisting it, he opened the broad glass pane. There was no screen in it, just like mine. Then, in one fluid motion, he got up and sat on it, balanced on the thick windowsill with his legs dangling down into thin air. Patting the space beside him, he asked, “Will you join me?”
Without a word, I hopped up too, and sat beside him in the same position, my legs dangling down.
I was silent for a minute before, finally, saying “You too?”
Turning to me, Clark smiled. “You too?”
I nodded, glancing away from his intent gaze although I couldn’t as easily escape his sincere voice, sounding into the night.
“Sometimes, I don’t know why, it all seems…too much I guess. So, I sit up here and I don’t really think of much, I just breathe in the air.”
He had taken my hand, but I couldn’t tell if it was because he really felt the strange poignancy of our shared habit or if it was just because that was what you did next when you were trying to sleep with a woman.
“Doesn’t it ever make you feel—sitting up here, I mean,” I started to say, “I don’t know…lonely and hopeful and sad all at once?”
Clark’s answer was bullet-fast and sharp. “No.”
Silence, and then, haltingly, he said, “Maybe. I don’t know what it makes me feel.”
Another silence, and then he said, “But tonight—will you look at that—the view, it’s gorgeous.”
And then, all the way up there, our hands clasping once more, we took in the Sacramento cityscape miles below.
“Gorgeous” was too weak a word for what we saw, for the symphony of little lights laid out before us. Hauntingly, heartbreakingly beautiful might have been more accurate. Maybe. Because the sight before us, the cool wisp of wind, the forest-fresh air, the warm hand of the man beside me—all of
it was enough to bring tears to my eyes.
Sitting there, the view somehow reminded me of the past few days, and all the crazy things that had happened. Me, making a website to change my fate. Me, humiliating myself. Me, getting up after the latest disappointment and trying again. And, the craziest thing of all, the man beside me, the man I had once thought ruined my life—Clark Denton, the conceited jerk, the uncaring bastard—proving himself to be a sensitive, considerate man who maybe, just maybe, I could sleep with after all.
“You’re crying,” Clark whispered, his lips at my ear. “Are you sad?” he asked, pausing, his dark eyes scanning my face, looking downcast himself.
I only shook my head, and whispered, “Right now, I’m happy.”
And then his lips touched mine, and I forgot what I felt, I forgot who I was, I forgot everything. Everything except those soft lips pressing against mine, and that equally soft tongue, licking and flicking and sliding around mine, into my mouth, ever so gently.
Mouths locked, we hopped off the windowsill onto the floor, made our way down another hallway. The next thing I knew we were in a bedroom with a bed with white silk sheets and we were on it, in it, in those white silk sheets. Clark’s hands were sliding all over my body, my arms, my legs, and my face. My body was giving in to him entirely; everything was a relaxed following of what came before, was only natural. My white dress joined the white sheets, and now Clark was covering me with kisses, soft sucking kisses. My whole body was trembling, but he had only just begun.
Yes, now he was running his fingers through my hair, undoing my bra, slipping his hands where the cups had been. His fingers were so gentle on my breasts. Massaging them in long confident strokes, it seemed like he could feel them forever. Then, his hands were sliding down, were around my panties and I knew it was time.
This was it. This was when I made the choice, whether to do what everything had been building towards, what would decide it all.
And yet, as his hands slid over and under my panties, as they slipped them off ever so gently, only then did I understand. That this was a natural following of what came before. That the choice had already been made the moment I agreed to a date with Clark, the moment his lips had met mine. That this had been inevitable from the first moment we had laid eyes on each other.
Because, with his light, sweet touches, it was clear. For all his bravado, this was a man with a kind, caring heart. A kind heart that cared for me, too.
And so, now that my white lace panties had merged with the flow of white sheets and dress, the next thing was for Clark to slip in a finger between my legs, then another. He smiled at the wetness between my legs, pressed his mouth to mine and we swirled our tongues together.
His finger was just as gentle, just as gradual as his other touches. The slowest of slow ins then outs, ins then outs. And it felt wonderful, warm, fuzzy, but my moans were probably telling Clark that already. And when his pace accelerated, when his finger inside of me transitioned from a stroking to a pumping, when warm hot pleasure started spreading through me, what followed it was what had to follow.
Gently, Clark slipped out his finger and, his whole face flushed with arousal, his eyes under heavy lids, he asked me “Kristin, are you sure?”
But this question wasn’t for my mind, not even for my mouth. It was for my body, my more-than-ready body, which pressed itself to him for its answer.
Next he was pressing himself to me, inside of me, and we had done it. We were one. We were one pulsing, sliding, moaning, wonderfully perfect body. We were the in and out, we were the lovers, the feeling. We were free.
He built his pace gently, kissing and kissing me, until he was sliding into me with force, ramming the pleasure deep within me, and I was moaning, and my whole body was screaming, shaking with a scream of pleasure of its own. Clark’s pleasure flowed into me and then we both collapsed back, into the silky white sheets, spent, whole, and free.
We lay there, in the dark, cool, beautiful room, still joined, still free. He wrapped me in his arms and my last thought before drifting off, was how perfectly this had all gone, how very lucky I was.
Chapter Nine
Kristin
Waking was a rude stream of light into my eyes. I blinked, rolled to the other side of the pillow, but the stream of light followed me. No, there would be no sleeping now.
Grudgingly rising, I opened my eyes to see that the curtains were open. Clark must have opened them when he got up, which seemed pretty inconsiderate when I had clearly been trying to sleep. Where was Clark, anyway? I scanned the room, then walked out of the room into the hallway, but there was no sign of him.
Hearing a far-off voice, I went back to the room to pull on my dress, and then went down the marble stairs in the direction it was coming from. I found Clark in a dark office room, his tense face lit up by the laptop he was furiously typing on. Catching sight of me, he smiled and nodded, before returning to his typing frenzy.
I stood there for a moment, the heat rushing to my cheeks, wondering what to do.
“I guess I’ll be going, Clark,” I finally said, turning on my heel to go.
“Kristin, wait!” Clark said, and I paused.
“You never gave me your bank account number,” he said.
I gaped at him, at his crass easy smile, then came to the desk and scrawled it on a piece of paper.
Putting the pen down, I looked up, only to find him focused on his laptop, typing away.
“It was great to catch up with you,” he said to his computer.
I said nothing. I padded upstairs, grabbed my purse, put on my bra and panties, pulled my dress over my head and left.
As I walked away from the massive wooden house, the light streaming on my dress revealed that it was still pure white and clean. Which was funny, since I felt as dirty as ever. I felt dirty and disgusting and stupid. I felt tricked.
The sun was beating down on me, burning in the realization that this morning made obvious, shoved in my face in all its undeniable form. Clark didn’t care for me in the slightest. I was just another distraction to keep him occupied when he wasn’t working. I was just a hit of nostalgia to beef up his already considerable ego. That was all.
As I walked along the road, my phone rang but I didn’t answer it, didn’t even look to see who was calling. Did it matter?
And here I had thought my humiliation couldn’t get any worse. This, here, now, having slept with a man who didn’t care for me, this was worse.
By the time I got to the end of the forest road, I called a taxi and waited. I was in no mood for searching out a bus. I just needed to go home now.
When the taxi pulled up, I threw myself in the passenger side. Avoiding the friendly blue-eyed gaze of the driver, I told the window my address, and then we were off. I held back my tears for the entirety of the ride, imagining the ruckus of paparazzi who would be waiting for me, who would somehow know what had happened already, who would twist the knife in my heart even more.
It seemed like hours had passed before we finally pulled up to the curb a block down from my building and I paid the driver. I approached the building cautiously, thankful that there was no press outside. I rushed up to my apartment and with a twist of the key I had done it. I was inside my apartment, safe.
Now that I was alone, the tears came. As I took off my shoes and sat on the floor, they rolled down my face and dribbled onto my stupid white dress.
Romeo and Juliet, roused from their sleep, trotted up to me to demand food, which, in an unthinking autopilot, I poured out for them. Then, the only thing to do was hurry to my room and throw myself in bed.
When I woke up it was dark out, and I had three voicemail messages on my phone. The first was from Clark: “Hey, you left without saying goodbye. Anyway, if you check your bank account, you’ll see that I transferred you the money. I had a great time with you Kristin, and I’d like to see you again. Would you be free to go away this weekend? Pack some clothes if you’re up for it!”
A
fter staring at my phone for a minute, I replayed the message several times, each time trying to see if I was just imagining the eagerness in his voice, the affection.
Could it be that I had overreacted, that Clark really did care about me after all?
I opened up my laptop and opened a browser window. In any case, first things first: I had to see if Clark had really kept his word, if that impossible sum—one million dollars—was really in my bank account.
As soon as the page loaded, my jaw dropped. There it was, the impossible sum. Now, my bank account statement read: $1,000,075, courtesy of the big fat $75 I had had in there before. Clark had kept his word and now, my troubles were over.
I glanced at my phone and the litany of texts I had yet to respond to, some from work friends and a ton from Veronica. Thanks to Clark’s payment, all my money problems were at least over.
I stood up and walked over to my window and opened it. The fresh air brought me some clearer thinking, made this whole thing seem more real. Now, however, came the question of if I would take Clark up on the other part of his message—whether I would agree to see him again. He had acted rudely the morning after we had had sex for the first time—the morning after I had had sex for the first time at all—and I was angry about that.
I replayed his message again and sighed.
Perhaps Clark had just been unsure what to say that morning, or had had some urgent one-time business to attend to. After all, I had never asked him about what he had been doing, or even given him a chance to explain himself. Yes, that’s what I would do. I would get an explanation on Friday, and then make my decision then.
So, I texted Clark: Friday we can meet. Where? and then set about taking a shower and getting myself some food. The shower’s hot water was another wake-up boost, the little beads of warmth relaxing me and reassuring me that, as far as Clark was concerned, I had made and was making the right choice. The food—raisin toast with ample margarine—improved my mood even more. By the time I went back to check my phone, I was in such high spirits, that Clark’s quick response, Great, I’ll pick you up. I’m really glad I get to see you again! had me skipping around my room.