Ex

by Maya Chase

  EX

  A story of lust, reconnection, and homecoming after freshman year of college

  Maya Katherine Chase

  Ex by Maya Katherine Chase © 2020

  www.mayakchase.com

  Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or alteration of this work is prohibited. Neither the entirety of this work nor any part therein be replicated without express consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real events or persons is purely coincidental. Stock images have been used in cover material, and the story is unrelated to models who may appear therein. This story is intended for adults.

  For permissions contact the author at mayakchase@gmail.com

  Art is sacred. Don’t steal it.

  ONE

  Jalen adjusted the back of his seat, returning it to the upright position as his flight cruised low over the Hudson. He’d boarded that morning following a flurry of hugs and goodbyes at the end of an all-too-rapid freshman year at UCLA. Everything had gone by so quickly: he’d joined a music group where he learned the keyboard, and he switched his major from politics to Spanish. He’d made friends with dozens of interesting people, including a computer genius from Nevada and a girl who’d grown up with her own horses in Kentucky. He’d changed his style, going from the stonewashed jeans and unbuttoned flannels of high school to a more classy corduroy and black t-shirt vibe. He’d spent late night learning Mario Kart in his dorm; he’d been forbidden video games at home all his life and told to focus on grades. The freedom was intoxicating. The memory of a midnight run to IHOP after a late physics exam flashed through his mind. Going home felt like a relief, though, after the endless run of parties and homework and clubs and exams and new friends. His phone buzzed to life as they plane came into range.

  —Hey hon I hope your flight went well. See you on the ground. Dad and I are in the parking lot text us when you land, his mom texted.

  —Just landing, he shot back.

  —See you soon. Will meet you inside.

  The baggage carousel wound its way around the mottled steel column. Jalen didn’t yet see his bag, a large black suitcase with a far-too-obvious UCLA tag. He’d gotten into the college merch trend, wearing a university track jacket over his dark tee. It worked, though, his updated wardrobe accenting his athletic build, and jacket giving him the comfortable approachable demeanor every college student requires. Eventually the bag appeared, and Jalen seized it, wheeling it through the swinging double doors to the arrivals area where his parents stood ready to welcome him.

  “Well done, son,” his father said. “One down, three to go.” He was a powerfully built man, still several inches taller than Jalen. He gave him a strong pat on the back and a hug before allowing Jalen’s mother to effuse her joy at seeing her boy.

  “Oh Jalen, you look so handsome! I wonder if your friends will even recognize you! Look at this,” she said, tugging at his jacket. “My college boy all dressed up and ready to meet the world.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and a long hug. “It’s good to have you home, hon.”

  “Thanks, Mom, Dad,” Jalen said. “Yeah it’s good to be home. I mean, it’ll be good to take a break, too before jumping into the summer, you know.”

  “Of course, baby why don’t we get you to the car and we can grab some lunch or something on the way back.”

  “We can go to the Liberty Diner,” his father chimed in with a grin. “I used to go there all the time as a kid. I must have taken you before, Jalen.”

  “I don’t think you have, Dad,” Jalen said. But a New York diner? Who could resist after months in the Golden State.

  The Liberty Diner in Queens had Formica tables wrapped in chrome straight out of the 1960s. Red pleather booths, red pleather bar stools, chrome clocks, neon. Flavored syrups, a dessert card, and coffee sugars stood at the end of the table by the wall.

  “Ah, nothing’s changed,” Jalen’s dad said, chuckling and opening his menu.

  “Ross you always were one for nostalgia,” Jalen’s mom teased. “Now what will my boys be having today?”

  “Man I haven’t had a legit New York bagel in forever,” Jalen said.

  “The things you miss,” his mom said wistfully. “I remember coming back after my freshman year. Back then bagels hadn’t even migrated to DC.”

  “I think you’re lying, Mom.”

  “I am not!”

  “She’s not, son,” his dad cut in, jesting. “I don’t think you should question your mother’s memory. She must have a lot stored up in there after all these years of gossip.”

  “Ross!”

  “Oh it’s true Betty! And you know it!”

  “Well, if you must. My first summer back was too much fun Jalen. All of us got back together, the friends and all. We must have spent half the time at Coney Island. It was nicer back then, you know.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Do you have plans with anyone yet, Jalen?” His father asked. A cute brunette waitress arrived at the table, notepad in hand. Her skin was sunny and clear, and on her round breast a nameplate read Annie. “Hi, I think I’ll have these pancakes right here. Make sure they put some extra butter on top, I like it that way.”

  “Of course, and you, ma’am?”

  “Not yet, Dad. I haven’t really had time to make plans,” Jalen said as Annie took his mother’s order. She came to him. “I’ll get a coffee and a bagel with lox, please.”

  “Of course, I’ll be right back with those drinks.” And she was off.

  “So no plans yet, huh Jalen?”

  “No, Mom. I’m sure something’ll come up. I’ll text Dev after this.”

  “What about Amy? You going to see her?” He mom narrowed her dark eyes at him across the table. “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

  Jalen’s ears went hot.

  “No, I bet she would not. We’ve been over this, Mom. It wasn’t a great breakup and I’m not about to go meddling with things right when I’m back.”

  “Alright, well then you’d better start looking elsewhere, a young man’s not going to stay fresh forever.”

  “Mom!”

  “Betty just let him be.”

  “I mean if you’re not talking to Amy then you might as well get Annie’s number…” she mumbled off, playing with a packet of sugar like a child.

  “Who?”

  “Just the waitress.” She cast her eyes out the window the way mothers do when they embarrass their children by choice.

  “Oh my God, Mom.”

  “Betty give him some time to breath for God’s sake.” But his dad was smiling, too.

  The food arrived swiftly and Jalen found himself eyeing Annie, the waitress as she set down his plate. She was attractive. She looked sort of Colombian, bit also white. Nice, tanned legs that ran up into a pair of black working shorts. She had a nice nose, too: cute and not too sharp, complimented by mellow teal eyes. Hair kept up nicely in a ponytail. Jalen was sure his mother caught him looking. And he caught himself thinking that this girl was nothing compared to Amy. But Amy wasn’t thinking about him, he told himself, so he shouldn’t think about her. It was over. He forced his mind elsewhere.

  Biting into a bagel again was a luxury of New York he’d missed. For all its sunshine and palm trees, LA couldn’t really compete with this city’s signature. Jalen’s parents finished off their pancakes and eggs, and his mother insisted Ross leave a generous tip.

  “Let’s get you home now why don’t we,” he father said, standing up and stretching.

  “It’s about time! This boy looks like he’s had enough parenting for the summer already,” his mother joked, leading the troupe out to the luggage-laden car.

  TWO

  Amy Morgan was on the last chapter of Little Women as her train chugged into Penn Station. Sh
e was a bright student, her first year at Yale not failing her in the least as she took on both philosophy and economics. The moral of the novel didn’t escape her. Still, she couldn’t help long for a Laurie of her own, someone she could love, care for, devour. What’s independence without a little spice? Even a little security? How about love? It had been months since Jalen had broken it off. She missed him. Pulling into the vast city which brought them together reignited the memories she’d put to rest and the passions she’d stored away.

  It hadn’t been her choice to end things. She’d tried her best.

  —Why can’t you just fly out for a weekend? I want to see you, it’s not the same long distance. Jalen’s texts had gotten desperate, heated even.

  —I just can’t babe, I can’t afford it. Her replies didn’t satisfy him. Things had gotten worse. He texted, he called. They traded pictures. Phone sex? She’d tried.

  He was jealous when she posted photos with her new friends: —Who are those guys?

  —New friends! I want you to meet them, they’re nice. But inside she worried. He hadn’t been like this in person. This possessive. Had he become insecure?

  And then it broke. They saw each other at Thanksgiving. They’d slept together, briefly. It had been hurried. He’d caressed her body like he always did, stroking her legs and tickling her tummy before fucking her senseless to the sound of her moans, his cock almost too large for her tight slit and the rhythm of his thrusts driving her wild.

  But then the next week he texted, out of the blue.

  —I don’t think we’re going to work out. I’m so sorry, Amy. I don’t want to hurt you by dragging this out but I’ve been feeling this way for a while. I’m really sorry for the way I’ve acted the past couple months. I know I seemed jealous. I just couldn’t take the distance... His text went on, a long rambling hodgepodge of sentences strung together loosely with emotion. She was devastated.

  The train ground to a halt at the same platform from which she departed that November after Thanksgiving. He’d seen her off, giving her a tight hug, an “I love you,” and a long kiss on the lips before she climbed into coach and was on her way. That was then. This was now. There was no Jalen on the platform waiting for her. At that moment he was enjoying a cream cheese covered bagel in Queens.

  The uptown E was virtually empty as it plunged onward through the tunnel beneath the park. Amy sat on the blue plastic seat, contemplating. She wasn’t even sure if her parents would be home to greet her; they were both so busy, spending long hours at the office. James Morgan, her father, worked at a small investment house on Wall Street trading options. He liked his work. Her mother, Clare Morgan, was something of a legend in the media circuit, the former editor of the New Yorker and now CEO of a medium-sized online media company with dozens of websites. Amy didn’t see much of either of them.

  —Almost home, she texted in her family chat, lugging her big suitcase up the stairs at the 103rd St. station. No immediate response; both were too busy, it seemed, to take note of their daughter’s arrival. Her father finally responded as she rounded the corner to her building, the briny smoky scent of the familiar city refreshing her, making her feel at home.

  —Changed the code. 1929 now. Good to have you home sweetie.

  —Thanks Dad see you soon, she typed back.

  The apartment was smaller than she remembered. It always was. The spring semester had gone by quickly, but she’d grown accustomed to the open sweep of Yale’s green campus, the large halls and wide common areas. Amy’s childhood home was by no means spare. It was comfortable, well-kept, and well-decorated. All her memories hid here, some in open defiance, the family photos hanging on the wall, and some waiting to be seen, the little trinkets and gifts Jalen had given her through their years together, forgotten in drawers and boxes and nooks and niches in her bedroom. Setting her suitcase gratefully on the floor Amy exhaled, surveying the little room she’d grown up in.

  She’d been home at Christmas, but this felt different. She’d changed in that year, and the old quilt, the One Direction posters, the dog eared copies of Dickens all felt smaller and a little bit distant, like the objects in a still life graced by the rays of a never-fading afternoon sun. She would acclimate, but she felt a little like a giantess in her own home, the muscle memory of light switches and which doors needed a little extra tug not quite coming back to her yet. Her phone buzzed: Mom.

  —Dad and I’ll be home early tonight. We’re taking you out to Sofia’s! Reservation at 8, love you xoxo see you soon. Sofia’s was for special occasions. It was fancy even by their standards: small plates, moderate portions. Delicately prepared vegetable and thinly sliced meats braised in who knows what delicious spices. And their lasagna wasn’t your average brick, either.

  —See you soon, just unpacking.

  Putting her clothes and books away in their places Amy stumbled upon a note Jalen had left sometime during their senior year. It was at the bottom of her underwear drawer, where she often little secret things hidden so her mother wouldn’t find them. The note had been taped to a set of marvelously soft lingerie she’d worn for their first time. She’d kept it, even when they broke up; it was a relic too precious to throw away even as he left her. “I think you’ll need these for after our date tonight,” it said.

  Amy had put them on carefully, letting the fabric tickle her soft skin, slide into place over the subtle mount of her pussy, and cup her full breasts like gentle black clouds. She’d been more than excited. Jalen had taken her to a little French restaurant on the other side of the park, and after giddily eating very little they’d rushed back here, to her bedroom, where her dark God had spirited a bottle of fine wine. It had been slow; he’d kissed her everywhere, fire dancing across her skin as the wine moved her stomach and her man moved her soul.

  He’d smiled, he’d kissed her, he’d run his hands over every part of her waiting body before he’d asked, “Are you ready?” and she’d nodded.

  The soft length of his cock went on forever, pushing into her like nothing ever had before. She’d clutched the edge of the bed and closed her eyes and moaned in shock and ecstasy. He’d soothed her through the pain, pausing and letting her gasp for air, the muscles in her sopping pussy throbbing and wanting more. And when they finished her kissed her gently on the forehead, stroking her body in rhythm with the gentle waves lapping through her core. They’d looked into each other’s eyes and knew they’d lost track of time.

  The memory blended with the quick love they shared over Thanksgiving, their last. The two were nothing alike, the first magical and filling a whole year’s time in Amy’s mind, the last a flash of brightness which flickered out in a moment.

  Tears trickled from the corners of her soft blue eyes. Amy put the card back in the drawer, heaping her underwear on top of it, hiding it, pushing the memories away. It had taken her months to get over Jalen, but the pain seemed fresher at home, as if it were new again. It would pass, she told herself.

  At Sofia’s soft Italian music played. Dimmed sconces illuminated a long room with small black tables lining the right hand wall. It was a small restaurant, but classy all the same. Waiters in black jackets and neat little aprons tipped large bottles of dark wine into patrons’ waiting classes and delivered white plates on which sat legs and pastas and ornately cut vegetables treated with a variety of artistic drizzles. The Morgans sat at a table near the front of the restaurant, a bottle of wine between them and warm smiles on their faces.

  “I know you like this place, and I thought it would be a nice treat for you coming home,” Amy’s mother was saying. “I think they came under new ownership this spring but I don’t think the menu changed a bit. Ooh this ravioli sounds delicious. Prosciutto, truffles…”

  “So how’s this Henry guy treating you,” Amy’s dad asked as her mother drifted away on different pasta fantasies.

  “Oh, I broke up with him a while ago, Dad.”

  “I didn’t know that, sorry.”

  “No I didn’t te
ll you, it’s fine. He was pushy and honestly I just wanted to focus on my studies, and I joined this comedy group which took some time…”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself, honey. A lot of people have a brief relationship after a long one’s ended, but it’s not often that it works out. Your mother and I have both been there, haven’t we, dear?

  Amy’s mother was miles away in the soups. A Tuscan bisque, a fish stew from the south.

  “Oh yeah,” her mother said.

  “See,” Amy’s father continued. “We’ve all been there. Besides that, then. How’s this comedy thing?”

  “It’s going pretty great, actually. I got to do part of a set at a campus bar place at the end of the semester.”

  “That’s great! I’m really proud of you, Amy.”

  “Thanks Dad, that means a lot.”

  The family ordered food aplenty. More hard rolls with soft insides; the finest olive oil sprinkled with salt mined in the Italian Alps; imported bass; a cheese board; the truffle and prosciutto ravioli Amy’s mother had been eyeing. The wine flowed. The questions were endless: Amy, tell us about these new friends of yours; Amy, do tell us about these professors; Amy, have you thought about what you want to do this summer.

  “So, Amy,” her mother said, carefully dividing a ravioli with her fork. “Have you made plans with friends yet? I heard something from Ellie’s mother about a party going on, are you going to that?”

  “I haven’t heard of any party yet, but I’m sure I’ll see people soon. Like I said I’m just going to settle in, look for a job or something. I don’t really no. I haven’t really gotten in touch with anyone yet.”

  “You’re probably going to run into Jalen at one of these things, hon, have you thought about that? I don’t want you caught off guard,” her mother went on.

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” Amy lied. She had. She didn’t know what she’d say. He’d liked pictures she posted with Henry, the briefest of college boyfriends. Would he ask about him? Would he be jealous? Would the whole thing be awkward?