by SJ Cavaletti
She slowed down and finally put the brakes on our mouths. Her eyes still closed, with a smile on her face, she asked, “Need a roadmap?”
“A hint.”
She sat up and looked at me. Tempting. Seductive. She drew her fingers along her skin from her throat, down the center of her breastplate and finally to right between her tits where she, in one swift movement, unclipped one singular clip that collapsed the entire show. One side of her winged top fell off her breast, and I eased the other side up and over the gorgeous, snow white mound of flesh.
With both hands, I swept the feathers from her shoulders, her torso was now bare in front of me. Her nipples, hard, small and pink, called me. Putting half her breast in my mouth, I pulled in the softness, flicking her nipple with my tongue before letting her go again.
I nudged my vest off my sides and chest to chest, we laid down on the bed. I put myself on top of her and laced my fingers through one of her hands. With the other, she grabbed a handful of my hair and made a fist, tugging and pulling gently as I lower myself down again for a kiss.
Her hips rose up for me, her body moving quicker and more needy. But even though her body said yes, only a short time ago she was completely passed out.
I pulled back and whispered, “Do you want this?”
A flash of a smile behind her eyes.
A definite yes.
“Drake, I want it even more now that you asked.”
She reached both hands down to undo my button and zipper, and I held myself above her as she pulled my pants down as far as they would go, my dick slapping out. I eased them down the length of my legs while she, not wanting to wait any longer, wiggled her hot pants down at the same time.
Maeve grabbed at my flanks, pulling me back down to her, our naked bodies now touching each other. Fuck. The warmth of her body sent blood to the surface of every inch of my skin.
I melted. It was like the flicker of a candle. Sexy. Hot.
I slid up and down her slowly, feeling her skin flush, too. Dancing with mine.
My cock slid up the inside of her thigh, reaching, yearning for me to leave it at her entrance. Reaching down, she grabbed my cock in her hand and rubbed it along the crease between the top of her thigh and her pussy, pre-cum making it slippery.
I kissed her frantically as my dick hardened more than I thought possible with sensory overload. Stopping the kiss, I leaned into her ear. “Stay right where you are.”
Sitting up, I swiftly grabbed a condom from my nightstand, ripped it open with my teeth and rolled the sheath on my dick. In the millisecond it took for this to happen, she reversed the role.
Sitting up, she pushed on me to lie down, and climbing on top of me, she lifted her sweet little ass up in order to ease my cock inside her.
She couldn’t sit down all the way on me at first. Her mouth open, she took some sharp breaths as her pussy relaxed. Her wetness trickled onto my balls as I watched this small but powerful woman own me. She rode me, grinding her hips in circles, lifting herself onto her knees only to slam herself back down, my cock feeling like it would explode each time she took me inside of her.
Her breasts bounced up and down each time, jostling around delicately. I sat up, pressing her ass on me with one hand so her pussy couldn’t let go of my dick. Face to face, now I could kiss her. I pinched her nipple, and she shot up, a combination of shock and delight.
Her pussy tightened, and I pumped in and out, growing harder, feeling her wetness, the heat of her insides… wishing I could push ever deeper until finally my restraint gave way and I exploded.
She rode me harder and faster as I came, her pussy taking in the last of me.
Finally, her body collapsed onto mine, still straddling me, bent over, she kissed my lips and dragged herself back, my dick fell out, satisfied and juicy.
Rolling her on to her side, I wanted to make sure she felt as good as I did. Reaching down, I found her clit, and when I touched it, she sucked in air like it hurt.
“I think that baby is done for the night,” she whispered.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. I feel like I’ve been turned inside out,” she put her hand to my cheek, “In every sense of the word.”
“You’re tiny.”
“You’re not.”
I blew a quick laugh out of my nose. I slid the condom off my dick before it got uncomfortable. Maeve pulled some covers around her middle and snuggled into them. She looked like she was staying. I wanted her to stay.
Laying my face in front of hers, I couldn’t help but imagine her in my bed. Back home. And a whole perfect Saturday morning came flooding into my brain, like a vision.
“If we were in Seattle,” I whispered. She closed her eyes, “I’d bring you a coffee in bed from Tully’s. When you were feeling ready for it, I’d wash your back in the shower and watch you dry off… put on your clothes.”
Maeve liked my story. She drew her fingers through my hair, watching the story unfold on the back of her eyelids.
“I’d admire every inch of your skin before you put it away under your black jeans, and black t-shirt. Shoving your elf feet into your black boots.”
Her caress felt amazing across my scalp.
“Then, we’d walk in the city mist, in the cold that gets to your bones, and you’d say how cold it is. Because you’re a California girl.”
The apples of her cheeks, I swear they grew rosy.
“I’d take you to my local breakfast joint, where everyone knows me because I love waffles so much. And Al, who runs the place, he’d say, ‘Who’s the pretty lady, Drake?’ And I’d order you my favorite dishes, and you’d drink a… mimosa?”
She interrupted with a purr but didn’t look at me. “Mimosa?”
“Not a mimosa? A Bloody Mary?”
She nodded.
“You’d drink a Bloody Mary and when we were stuffed, with a morning buzz on, I’d walk you around my city, feeling proud that I finally found someone worth showing it to.”
21
This fantasy. I could have listened to it all day, all night, and all day again and again and again. Just so we didn’t have to move from this bed.
I kept my eyes closed the entire time and could imagine every money. My musician singing a song about a life I wanted to live. I wanted to be there. To eat his waffles and drink his coffee. I wanted to be cold in Seattle with him just so he would wrap his arms around me.
And even though what he described was real life, far more real than anything we’d experienced here at Uyu, it felt more of a reverie than all the flights of fancy Uyu offered put together. I didn’t know why.
Why?
Why?
Why Maeve does it sound so crazy to get on a frickin’ airplane and visit someone in another city?
I tried so hard to quiet my mind. It was late and his bedtime story slowly turned into a distant, gorgeous rumble. I thought it was him falling asleep, but it was me.
Waking up at Uyu was stranger for me than anything else that happened here. All my life, I had heard birds tweeting before anything else happened in my day. And there were no birds at Uyu. I imagined there were vultures, but I never actually saw one.
Because my parents loved nature so much, ironically they drained reservoirs to water hedges, ornamental trees and countless feeders and baths that brought in songbirds. These birds aggravated my brother’s hangovers but seemed to cure mine. They coaxed endorphins into my system and no matter how rough I felt, their beautiful voices lightened my morning.
Previous years at Uyu, I really noticed their absence. Especially because I often woke up feeling rough. My Dad knew how to party and as a person who hadn’t grown after her twelfth birthday, pretty much every social occasion exceeded my body’s limits.
This morning, I woke up before Drake. I didn’t hear birds, but his eyes opening; they were as good as any dawn chorus. Giving me the same hopeful feeling for the day. The same feeling of being in some Disney movie. Like everything would surely end well.
First, his eyelashes fluttered gently, like the blackbird shakes its feathers in a bath. Then, his lids opened but his mind was still far behind his pupils and irises, so close in color it was like staring at a cartoon character coming alive for the first time. Then, a brightness, a spark of some thought within motioned around in his manly stare and I got goosebumps. I wondered if when he looked at me; he got half as high as I did, inhaling his face.
“Morning,” he said, voice rocky like gravel, cracking from the desert dust and dry air.
“Hi.”
He cleared his throat. “Better get these bitchy vocal chords of mine in order. It’s a big day.”
“Mmmm.”
I half wished he hadn’t mentioned it and half adored him for not letting an elephant come in the room. It would only become awkward to avoid it. Not only was this the last official day at Uyu, it was THE day of my Dad’s ceremony.
Drake propped himself up on his elbow, leaned over me and kissed my neck. Then he stopped, but didn’t move. His breath warmed the surface of my skin.
“Do you want to be alone today? Or would you rather have company?” He asked.
My face clung to his pec, and he still smelled amazing. Even after drinking all night, carrying a drunk woman home and having sex, he still smelled edible. Not crème brûlée edible. Truffle edible. I took in a deep waft, almost tasting him, and let it out slowly.
His hand caressed my back, waiting. What a hard question to answer. Of course I wanted to think about my Dad, have time to myself, visit some art he would have liked. Reminisce.
Equally, I might never see Drake again after today and tomorrow morning. There were no guarantees. And being with him today would help fill up my mind with lots of garbage about love being attainable and lots of touching and kissing (which could make reality disappear until then).
I also, of course, didn’t want to disappoint him. Not that he made me feel I had to please him. But I wanted to.
The subtle hangover nagging me reminded me of my Mom. I swore she could see everything I did. I always felt she had a crystal ball she could look into and see if I was righting or wronging. It would be wrong to look like I partied on the day of my father’s illegitimate funeral.
Pulling back, I simply said, “I don’t know. Not that I don’t want to be with you but…”
His finger lifted to my lips and traced them. “I know. I get it.”
A kiss to put the melancholy behind us, he then said, “A little this. A little that. Everything in moderation. Why don’t you have a shower here, then when you’re feeling human, head back, make sure you feel like everything is ready for tonight and we’ll go see a bit of the art that you might have seen with your Dad? You can tell me more about him as we go around? Honor his memory that way?”
Before I answered, Drake suddenly shot up, excited. “I know! Why don’t we leave something at every art installation we go to? Like from your Dad kinda thing?”
“What do you mean?”
Drake got out of bed and walked to a cupboard on the other side of his room. His naked hard ass flexing as he shifted from foot to foot, reaching up onto a top shelf, rooting around for something.
I couldn’t help it. Pinch.
“Hey,” he turned around, curls falling over one eye.
I giggled.
He turned back to his work.
“What are you looking for?”
Turning around with a handful of strings, he gave me a money shot of last’s night’s show. The fuck if I wasn’t spending most of today with Drake. Was I a bad daughter and heartless jerk? Or an opportunist? Both? The jury’s out.
Climbing back in bed, he covered himself again and showed me his treasure.
“These. We could tie one of these on each art piece we visit?”
“Are those friendship bracelets?”
“Yeah. Bought ‘em off the neighbor’s daughter. She made a stand in front of my apartment one day, so I bought them from her. I was thinking, we could hang them like Tibetan’s hang prayer flags? You could say something nice about your Dad, or not, even just say it in your head, and we could tie one of these on the installation?”
I stared at him. Speechless.
“You don’t have to… just an idea,” Drake said.
I grabbed at the strings of one bracelet poking out from his fist.
“No. I… I love it. More importantly, my Dad would have loved that. It’s… yeah… thank you. Let’s do it.”
Just then.
Knock. Knock.
“Hey, you guys want breakfast?”
It was El.
“What’re you making?” Drake asked.
El cracked open the door and peeked inside. “We have to get rid of these eggs and bread.”
“I told you we brought too much food. Nobody eats like an actual normal person here,” Drake replied.
“Better safe than sorry. You want some eggs and toast, Maeve?”
“I’m running up quite the tab here,” I joked, “But yeah. If you have something going, I’ll never say no. I love eggs. Wish I could have chickens but my Mom wouldn’t let me.”
“Chickens, eh? Random,” El said.
“Not really. So many more people are keeping them as pets these days.”
“Who knew?” He shrugged. “How do you like ‘em?”
“Scrambled please.”
“Same for me, thanks, man,” Drake said.
El walked off, but I called him back. “El?”
He turned back to the door again.
“Thanks for last night. I heard you were part of the dream team that saved me from waking up on the crust of the Plain last night.”
“Ah, no problem. Got your back. Anyway, I might have passed out myself if I’d stayed. It was like some smoke tent or something.”
He smiled and left with only the sound of clanging pans.
“You know what’s funny?” Drake asked.
“What?”
“He comes off all Mr. Preparation all organized and sensible but he’s the one who brought me to Uyu in the first place. Dude is experimental. Like trippy experimental.”
“Reeeeally? No.”
Drake shook his head. “Listen, lady, take a shower here… unless you want to go back to the Laundro-man?”
He took his finger and made a circle around my nipple. It betrayed my cool by getting hard.
“Tempting. But if we went in together this time, I’m not sure we’d come out clean. Plus, where would we tie the prayer bracelet? It would get wet.”
“The voice of reason. Well, take a shower here in that case.” He made a fake sad face.
Climbing over him to get up, he grabbed me by the wrist.
“Before you leave,” he said, pulling me down on top of him, “Let me get you dirty one last time.”
He devoured my lips and I, his. He tasted this time of man. Just man. No cover up mints or alcohol. Pheromones that I wanted to bottle up, take home and sip on special occasions when I wanted to feel this much lust and happiness.
Back in my tent, getting changed for the day, I eyed my Dad’s lunchbox again. This time, it made me smile.
My Dad.
He knew what was best for me. He had, whether indirectly or directly, orchestrated this whole week for me. Had he known I would be alone? Had he known I would have no choice but to connect with others or suffer a week in silence? Had he known? Or was he simply fearful of his ashes being stuck in an urn, like some undiscovered genie in a bottle?
It didn’t matter. I was here thanks to him. He told me he would always be there for me. Always watch over me. And he did.
I slipped on a new bikini and my bustle again. (I wished I could live in that bustle. Why weren’t they acceptable in everyday life? So much cuter than shorts.) I opened the lunchbox one last time, wondering if any of the slips of paper would do for El. Or for Drake.
The dynamic duo had saved me from the conditions of the tent and moreover, from vultures poking at my passed out carcass o
n the Plain. As I opened the lid, I really hoped there was something.
First, I grabbed a folded up piece of paper. It was no ordinary paper. Beautiful stationery, thick paper that felt old-fashioned and classic, stained a mint green color. Opening it, my Dad’s handwriting forced me to take a deep breath. His hand had been there. On that page, once upon a time.
I read:
Dear Stranger-
You and I have never met, but I hope this does not make my words any less powerful to you. I am writing this for you! It’s true. Breathe in slowly, really feeling the breath fill you up. Think of nothing else other than the fact that you are alive. Right here. Right now. I wrote this letter especially for you. So that you know and are reminded that you are loved and cared for and that you are so important to this world. The possibilities are endless if you let yourself realize how much potential there is inside. You are strong. You are beautiful. You are good enough just as you are, standing here today, and at the same time, everything you dream of is possible! There are a lot of friends in the world that are rooting for you, including me!
All my love,
M
In an instant, my face felt swollen with tears. I remembered my Dad planting letters in people’s bags and backpacks and leaving them where he knew they’d be found.
One time, he had done it and I had said, “Dad. You look like a flippin’ pickpocket. What are you doing?!”
He had turned to me with a sneaky, childish smile on his face and pulled two fingers across his mouth as if holding a zipper, telling me not to peep.
This must have been what he was doing. Giving letters like this one to total strangers. Filling them with love. Reading this note from my Dad, it was impossible not to feel like the universe had stolen the wrong person. Why would any God ever take such a beautiful, giving and kind person from a world that needs someone like him so very badly?
Wiping my cheeks, I pulled myself together and placed the note inside my satchel. El wasn’t a stranger, but that just made it easier for me to slip the note into his belongings. There were two others, with unique but similar messages, and I took those as well, promising to leave all in this lunchbox behind here, somewhere on the Plain. Dad would have wanted me to empty it.