u/EmiliaStarling

The first thing I noticed when I got out of the car was that he had gotten hotter.

Goddammit. 

It was the summer after freshman year of college, and I was meeting up with my high school friends to camp on the beach—a yearly tradition since we could drive.

The sun was already low in the sky when I arrived, pulling into the sparsely-occupied lot around 8pm. We would make a bonfire and sit around drinking and talking and making s’mores until the sun came up.

“Hey Frankie!” Sam called, walking briskly up the beach toward me. My name’s Francesca and I’ve always hated the nickname Frankie—except when he used it. He had been a friend since our awkward middle school days, but I’d been nursing a reluctant crush on him since about junior year of high school. Our timing had never been quite right, and the fact that he had gone away to college and come back even hotter didn’t make it any easier.

“Hey, Sam,” I called back. I reached into my trunk, grabbed my backpack, and slung it over my shoulder. I slammed the trunk closed and there he was, his eyes shining.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, pulling me into a bear hug. “You look great.”

“You do too!” I responded, trying to be casual, feeling anything but casual. “You’ve already got a great summer tan going.”

“Yeah, lifeguarding will do that,” he said. “Well, come on, come on, let’s get back over to everyone.”

As it turned out, I was the last to arrive. Everyone else was there—we were about a dozen people altogether—and the bonfire was already burning merrily. I tossed my backpack into the pile of stuff the others had brought and laid out my towel by the fire. 

We spent the next several hours catching up as the sun went down, laughing and joking like no time had passed. Amy’s older brother had gotten us a couple of cases of beer, and we drank enthusiastically. 

The fire began to die down, and Sam popped to his feet and volunteered to get more driftwood. “Hey, Frankie—want to come with me?”

A chorus of “ooooooo” went around the bonfire and I blushed, but stood up to follow Sam down the beach.

“Don’t be too long, guys!” a voice called after us. I wasn’t sure who it was, but I made a mental note to strangle them when I got back.

Sam and I trundled along the beach in silence for a few moments, looking for logs of driftwood to bring back to the fire. The whitewashed lifeguard tower swam gradually out of the darkness, and the words spilled out of my mouth before my brain could stop them:

“Hey—race you to the lifeguard tower!”

Without waiting for him to acknowledge me, I began running, the sand shifting under my bare feet. I ran, laughing and gasping, and just as I was about to reach the tower I felt him grab me around the waist. I shrieked as we went tumbling to the sand and he landed on top of me, his face inches from mine.

“You’ve been making me chase you for a long time,” he said. “But I’ve caught you now.”

I didn’t understand what he meant until his lips were on mine.

My head spun from our fall, from the beer, from the feel of his tongue in my mouth. Was he really kissing me?

He answered the question before I could ask it. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Me too,” I whispered.

He smiled in the dark and grabbed my hand. “Come on.”

He pulled me up from the sand and up the short set of stairs to the deck that overlooked the water. He pushed me up against the wall of the tiny building, my back against the rough wood, and kissed me again. 

“We’ll have to be quick,” he said, and I nodded.

His hands slid up my front to cup my breasts, gently pushing aside my bikini top to expose my nipples to the warm night air. He caressed them gently as he kissed me, sending tingles through my body as I felt his hardness growing against me. His bare chest was warm against mine, his skin a welcome heat even in the midsummer humidity. 

Sweat broke out on my forehead as we kissed urgently, as if we’d never have the opportunity again.

For all we knew, we wouldn’t.

I had on a pair of denim shorts over my bikini bottoms, and he unbuttoned them and pushed them down my hips. They puddled at my feet and I stepped out of them. His hands stayed at my hip level, one cupping my ass as the other slipped between my legs to pull my bathing suit aside.

The moment he touched me there I was putty in his hands, dripping wet as a thousand different fantasies came true at once. I shuddered at his touch and threw my arms around his neck, holding him closer as he probed into me. 

“You’re so wet for me already,” he breathed. “Are you ready for me?”

I nodded, panting. He pulled me away from the wall and positioned me against the railing. I leaned on it, propped on my elbows, and he pulled my bathing suit aside again. He ran his fingers through the wetness between my legs one more time, and then he was pushing into me. 

Not a single one of the fantasies I’d envisioned over the duration of my crush could hold a candle to the real thing. He was inside me, actually inside me, his hand on my breast and his mouth on my neck. I pushed back into him, needing him deeper, needing him to fill me up.

He chuckled in my ear. “If I’d known you wanted me so bad, I would’ve made my move sooner,” he whispered. I groaned and pushed back harder. His other hand slipped down to my clit and began to rub light circles over it, and my knees nearly buckled under me. Another moan escaped from me, louder this time.

“Shhhhh.” His breath in my ear. “You don’t want them to hear us, do you?”

I shook my head, unable to speak.

“Good girl.”

His words sent shivers through me, and I bit back a whimper.

He moved slowly, silently, in and out of me, the only sound his heavy breathing in my ear. I twisted toward him and we kissed again, his tongue seeking mine, my breathing coming faster as he pushed me toward the edge. Sweat was running down my face now, his body a furnace pressed against mine, the air wet and close on our skin. 

His thrusts came hardier, jerkier. My legs began to tremble and he held me firmly against him, one finger still teasing my clit, and then I was spasming uncontrollably, my muscles clenching down on the hard shaft inside me. He lasted for two more thrusts and then I felt him begin to pulse, holding me against him as he came. We quivered together, lips touching, as the pleasure washed over us.

We rested together for a moment, his sweaty forehead resting on my shoulder, his hands still on my breast and between my legs. He pulled out slowly and slipped my bathing suit back into place, then tucked himself back into his shorts. I stepped back into my discarded denim shorts and buttoned them up again. I could feel his come dripping slowly out of me to soak my bathing suit.

“Come on, let’s actually go find some driftwood.” He reached for my hand and laced his fingers with mine.

***

We returned to the bonfire about ten minutes later, our arms full of driftwood logs. We’d been gone only twenty minutes, but the group teased us anyway. We just shrugged and dropped the logs in a pile so some of the guys could start building the fire back up, then sat down on opposite sides of the pit. As conversation resumed, we glanced at each other across the fire from time to time, sharing secret smiles that we hoped no one noticed.

The sun began to come up as the fire died down again, and people began to drift away. Sam and I were among the last two people left, and I could tell we were both lingering, waiting to be alone. He approached as I shook the sand from my towel, then began to fold it up.

“Sam, I—” He cut me off with a kiss, and I stared at him, nonplussed.

“What were you going to say?” he asked, his face still close to mine.

“I…don’t remember,” I said, and he kissed me again. “This is a surprise,” I murmured. My towel had fallen to the sand, forgotten; his hands were on my hips again and I couldn’t form rational thoughts.

“Why?” he said, smiling, pulling me closer.

“I just—I didn’t—I thought maybe—I thought it was just, like, that you probably wanted a one time thing.” I had to drag the words out; the gold flecks in his brown eyes were all I could think about.

“Frankie,” he said, his hand cupping my face now as he looked into my eyes, “if you think I’m going to give this up, and by this I mean both our friendship and what we did a few hours ago—” His eyes flick toward the lifeguard tower, then back to me. “—you’re crazy.”

“But I thought—” Why am I fighting this, isn’t this what I’ve wanted—even though I didn’t want to want it—for years? “I thought, you know, going back to school—we’re both working during the summer—”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, and kissed me again, lightly. 

“Oh…okay,” I said, a smile spreading across my face.

“Now,” he said, picking up my towel and brushing the sand from it again. “Can I take you out to breakfast?”

I smiled and laced my fingers through his, and together we walked to the parking lot.

The first thing I noticed when I got out of the car was that he had gotten hotter.

Goddammit. 

It was the summer after freshman year of college, and I was meeting up with my high school friends to camp on the beach—a yearly tradition since we could drive.

The sun was already low in the sky when I arrived, pulling into the sparsely-occupied lot around 8pm. We would make a bonfire and sit around drinking and talking and making s’mores until the sun came up.

“Hey Frankie!” Sam called, walking briskly up the beach toward me. My name’s Francesca and I’ve always hated the nickname Frankie—except when he used it. He had been a friend since our awkward middle school days, but I’d been nursing a reluctant crush on him since about junior year of high school. Our timing had never been quite right, and the fact that he had gone away to college and come back even hotter didn’t make it any easier.

“Hey, Sam,” I called back. I reached into my trunk, grabbed my backpack, and slung it over my shoulder. I slammed the trunk closed and there he was, his eyes shining.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, pulling me into a bear hug. “You look great.”

“You do too!” I responded, trying to be casual, feeling anything but casual. “You’ve already got a great summer tan going.”

“Yeah, lifeguarding will do that,” he said. “Well, come on, come on, let’s get back over to everyone.”

As it turned out, I was the last to arrive. Everyone else was there—we were about a dozen people altogether—and the bonfire was already burning merrily. I tossed my backpack into the pile of stuff the others had brought and laid out my towel by the fire. 

We spent the next several hours catching up as the sun went down, laughing and joking like no time had passed. Amy’s older brother had gotten us a couple of cases of beer, and we drank enthusiastically. 

The fire began to die down, and Sam popped to his feet and volunteered to get more driftwood. “Hey, Frankie—want to come with me?”

A chorus of “ooooooo” went around the bonfire and I blushed, but stood up to follow Sam down the beach.

“Don’t be too long, guys!” a voice called after us. I wasn’t sure who it was, but I made a mental note to strangle them when I got back.

Sam and I trundled along the beach in silence for a few moments, looking for logs of driftwood to bring back to the fire. The whitewashed lifeguard tower swam gradually out of the darkness, and the words spilled out of my mouth before my brain could stop them:

“Hey—race you to the lifeguard tower!”

Without waiting for him to acknowledge me, I began running, the sand shifting under my bare feet. I ran, laughing and gasping, and just as I was about to reach the tower I felt him grab me around the waist. I shrieked as we went tumbling to the sand and he landed on top of me, his face inches from mine.

“You’ve been making me chase you for a long time,” he said. “But I’ve caught you now.”

I didn’t understand what he meant until his lips were on mine.

My head spun from our fall, from the beer, from the feel of his tongue in my mouth. Was he really kissing me?

He answered the question before I could ask it. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Me too,” I whispered.

He smiled in the dark and grabbed my hand. “Come on.”

He pulled me up from the sand and up the short set of stairs to the deck that overlooked the water. He pushed me up against the wall of the tiny building, my back against the rough wood, and kissed me again. 

“We’ll have to be quick,” he said, and I nodded.

His hands slid up my front to cup my breasts, gently pushing aside my bikini top to expose my nipples to the warm night air. He caressed them gently as he kissed me, sending tingles through my body as I felt his hardness growing against me. His bare chest was warm against mine, his skin a welcome heat even in the midsummer humidity. 

Sweat broke out on my forehead as we kissed urgently, as if we’d never have the opportunity again.

For all we knew, we wouldn’t.

I had on a pair of denim shorts over my bikini bottoms, and he unbuttoned them and pushed them down my hips. They puddled at my feet and I stepped out of them. His hands stayed at my hip level, one cupping my ass as the other slipped between my legs to pull my bathing suit aside.

The moment he touched me there I was putty in his hands, dripping wet as a thousand different fantasies came true at once. I shuddered at his touch and threw my arms around his neck, holding him closer as he probed into me. 

“You’re so wet for me already,” he breathed. “Are you ready for me?”

I nodded, panting. He pulled me away from the wall and positioned me against the railing. I leaned on it, propped on my elbows, and he pulled my bathing suit aside again. He ran his fingers through the wetness between my legs one more time, and then he was pushing into me. 

Not a single one of the fantasies I’d envisioned over the duration of my crush could hold a candle to the real thing. He was inside me, actually inside me, his hand on my breast and his mouth on my neck. I pushed back into him, needing him deeper, needing him to fill me up.

He chuckled in my ear. “If I’d known you wanted me so bad, I would’ve made my move sooner,” he whispered. I groaned and pushed back harder. His other hand slipped down to my clit and began to rub light circles over it, and my knees nearly buckled under me. Another moan escaped from me, louder this time.

“Shhhhh.” His breath in my ear. “You don’t want them to hear us, do you?”

I shook my head, unable to speak.

“Good girl.”

His words sent shivers through me, and I bit back a whimper.

He moved slowly, silently, in and out of me, the only sound his heavy breathing in my ear. I twisted toward him and we kissed again, his tongue seeking mine, my breathing coming faster as he pushed me toward the edge. Sweat was running down my face now, his body a furnace pressed against mine, the air wet and close on our skin. 

His thrusts came hardier, jerkier. My legs began to tremble and he held me firmly against him, one finger still teasing my clit, and then I was spasming uncontrollably, my muscles clenching down on the hard shaft inside me. He lasted for two more thrusts and then I felt him begin to pulse, holding me against him as he came. We quivered together, lips touching, as the pleasure washed over us.

We rested together for a moment, his sweaty forehead resting on my shoulder, his hands still on my breast and between my legs. He pulled out slowly and slipped my bathing suit back into place, then tucked himself back into his shorts. I stepped back into my discarded denim shorts and buttoned them up again. I could feel his come dripping slowly out of me to soak my bathing suit.

“Come on, let’s actually go find some driftwood.” He reached for my hand and laced his fingers with mine.

***

We returned to the bonfire about ten minutes later, our arms full of driftwood logs. We’d been gone only twenty minutes, but the group teased us anyway. We just shrugged and dropped the logs in a pile so some of the guys could start building the fire back up, then sat down on opposite sides of the pit. As conversation resumed, we glanced at each other across the fire from time to time, sharing secret smiles that we hoped no one noticed.

The sun began to come up as the fire died down again, and people began to drift away. Sam and I were among the last two people left, and I could tell we were both lingering, waiting to be alone. He approached as I shook the sand from my towel, then began to fold it up.

“Sam, I—” He cut me off with a kiss, and I stared at him, nonplussed.

“What were you going to say?” he asked, his face still close to mine.

“I…don’t remember,” I said, and he kissed me again. “This is a surprise,” I murmured. My towel had fallen to the sand, forgotten; his hands were on my hips again and I couldn’t form rational thoughts.

“Why?” he said, smiling, pulling me closer.

“I just—I didn’t—I thought maybe—I thought it was just, like, that you probably wanted a one time thing.” I had to drag the words out; the gold flecks in his brown eyes were all I could think about.

“Frankie,” he said, his hand cupping my face now as he looked into my eyes, “if you think I’m going to give this up, and by this I mean both our friendship and what we did a few hours ago—” His eyes flick toward the lifeguard tower, then back to me. “—you’re crazy.”

“But I thought—” Why am I fighting this, isn’t this what I’ve wanted—even though I didn’t want to want it—for years? “I thought, you know, going back to school—we’re both working during the summer—”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, and kissed me again, lightly. 

“Oh…okay,” I said, a smile spreading across my face.

“Now,” he said, picking up my towel and brushing the sand from it again. “Can I take you out to breakfast?”

I smiled and laced my fingers through his, and together we walked to the parking lot.

The first thing I noticed when I got out of the car was that he had gotten hotter.

Goddammit. 

It was the summer after freshman year of college, and I was meeting up with my high school friends to camp on the beach—a yearly tradition since we could drive.

The sun was already low in the sky when I arrived, pulling into the sparsely-occupied lot around 8pm. We would make a bonfire and sit around drinking and talking and making s’mores until the sun came up.

“Hey Frankie!” Sam called, walking briskly up the beach toward me. My name’s Francesca and I’ve always hated the nickname Frankie—except when he used it. He had been a friend since our awkward middle school days, but I’d been nursing a reluctant crush on him since about junior year of high school. Our timing had never been quite right, and the fact that he had gone away to college and come back even hotter didn’t make it any easier.

“Hey, Sam,” I called back. I reached into my trunk, grabbed my backpack, and slung it over my shoulder. I slammed the trunk closed and there he was, his eyes shining.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, pulling me into a bear hug. “You look great.”

“You do too!” I responded, trying to be casual, feeling anything but casual. “You’ve already got a great summer tan going.”

“Yeah, lifeguarding will do that,” he said. “Well, come on, come on, let’s get back over to everyone.”

As it turned out, I was the last to arrive. Everyone else was there—we were about a dozen people altogether—and the bonfire was already burning merrily. I tossed my backpack into the pile of stuff the others had brought and laid out my towel by the fire. 

We spent the next several hours catching up as the sun went down, laughing and joking like no time had passed. Amy’s older brother had gotten us a couple of cases of beer, and we drank enthusiastically. 

The fire began to die down, and Sam popped to his feet and volunteered to get more driftwood. “Hey, Frankie—want to come with me?”

A chorus of “ooooooo” went around the bonfire and I blushed, but stood up to follow Sam down the beach.

“Don’t be too long, guys!” a voice called after us. I wasn’t sure who it was, but I made a mental note to strangle them when I got back.

Sam and I trundled along the beach in silence for a few moments, looking for logs of driftwood to bring back to the fire. The whitewashed lifeguard tower swam gradually out of the darkness, and the words spilled out of my mouth before my brain could stop them:

“Hey—race you to the lifeguard tower!”

Without waiting for him to acknowledge me, I began running, the sand shifting under my bare feet. I ran, laughing and gasping, and just as I was about to reach the tower I felt him grab me around the waist. I shrieked as we went tumbling to the sand and he landed on top of me, his face inches from mine.

“You’ve been making me chase you for a long time,” he said. “But I’ve caught you now.”

I didn’t understand what he meant until his lips were on mine.

My head spun from our fall, from the beer, from the feel of his tongue in my mouth. Was he really kissing me?

He answered the question before I could ask it. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Me too,” I whispered.

He smiled in the dark and grabbed my hand. “Come on.”

He pulled me up from the sand and up the short set of stairs to the deck that overlooked the water. He pushed me up against the wall of the tiny building, my back against the rough wood, and kissed me again. 

“We’ll have to be quick,” he said, and I nodded.

His hands slid up my front to cup my breasts, gently pushing aside my bikini top to expose my nipples to the warm night air. He caressed them gently as he kissed me, sending tingles through my body as I felt his hardness growing against me. His bare chest was warm against mine, his skin a welcome heat even in the midsummer humidity. 

Sweat broke out on my forehead as we kissed urgently, as if we’d never have the opportunity again.

For all we knew, we wouldn’t.

I had on a pair of denim shorts over my bikini bottoms, and he unbuttoned them and pushed them down my hips. They puddled at my feet and I stepped out of them. His hands stayed at my hip level, one cupping my ass as the other slipped between my legs to pull my bathing suit aside.

The moment he touched me there I was putty in his hands, dripping wet as a thousand different fantasies came true at once. I shuddered at his touch and threw my arms around his neck, holding him closer as he probed into me. 

“You’re so wet for me already,” he breathed. “Are you ready for me?”

I nodded, panting. He pulled me away from the wall and positioned me against the railing. I leaned on it, propped on my elbows, and he pulled my bathing suit aside again. He ran his fingers through the wetness between my legs one more time, and then he was pushing into me. 

Not a single one of the fantasies I’d envisioned over the duration of my crush could hold a candle to the real thing. He was inside me, actually inside me, his hand on my breast and his mouth on my neck. I pushed back into him, needing him deeper, needing him to fill me up.

He chuckled in my ear. “If I’d known you wanted me so bad, I would’ve made my move sooner,” he whispered. I groaned and pushed back harder. His other hand slipped down to my clit and began to rub light circles over it, and my knees nearly buckled under me. Another moan escaped from me, louder this time.

“Shhhhh.” His breath in my ear. “You don’t want them to hear us, do you?”

I shook my head, unable to speak.

“Good girl.”

His words sent shivers through me, and I bit back a whimper.

He moved slowly, silently, in and out of me, the only sound his heavy breathing in my ear. I twisted toward him and we kissed again, his tongue seeking mine, my breathing coming faster as he pushed me toward the edge. Sweat was running down my face now, his body a furnace pressed against mine, the air wet and close on our skin. 

His thrusts came hardier, jerkier. My legs began to tremble and he held me firmly against him, one finger still teasing my clit, and then I was spasming uncontrollably, my muscles clenching down on the hard shaft inside me. He lasted for two more thrusts and then I felt him begin to pulse, holding me against him as he came. We quivered together, lips touching, as the pleasure washed over us.

We rested together for a moment, his sweaty forehead resting on my shoulder, his hands still on my breast and between my legs. He pulled out slowly and slipped my bathing suit back into place, then tucked himself back into his shorts. I stepped back into my discarded denim shorts and buttoned them up again. I could feel his come dripping slowly out of me to soak my bathing suit.

“Come on, let’s actually go find some driftwood.” He reached for my hand and laced his fingers with mine.

***

We returned to the bonfire about ten minutes later, our arms full of driftwood logs. We’d been gone only twenty minutes, but the group teased us anyway. We just shrugged and dropped the logs in a pile so some of the guys could start building the fire back up, then sat down on opposite sides of the pit. As conversation resumed, we glanced at each other across the fire from time to time, sharing secret smiles that we hoped no one noticed.

The sun began to come up as the fire died down again, and people began to drift away. Sam and I were among the last two people left, and I could tell we were both lingering, waiting to be alone. He approached as I shook the sand from my towel, then began to fold it up.

“Sam, I—” He cut me off with a kiss, and I stared at him, nonplussed.

“What were you going to say?” he asked, his face still close to mine.

“I…don’t remember,” I said, and he kissed me again. “This is a surprise,” I murmured. My towel had fallen to the sand, forgotten; his hands were on my hips again and I couldn’t form rational thoughts.

“Why?” he said, smiling, pulling me closer.

“I just—I didn’t—I thought maybe—I thought it was just, like, that you probably wanted a one time thing.” I had to drag the words out; the gold flecks in his brown eyes were all I could think about.

“Frankie,” he said, his hand cupping my face now as he looked into my eyes, “if you think I’m going to give this up, and by this I mean both our friendship and what we did a few hours ago—” His eyes flick toward the lifeguard tower, then back to me. “—you’re crazy.”

“But I thought—” Why am I fighting this, isn’t this what I’ve wanted—even though I didn’t want to want it—for years? “I thought, you know, going back to school—we’re both working during the summer—”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, and kissed me again, lightly. 

“Oh…okay,” I said, a smile spreading across my face.

“Now,” he said, picking up my towel and brushing the sand from it again. “Can I take you out to breakfast?”

I smiled and laced my fingers through his, and together we walked to the parking lot.

Oblivion.

It’s what she seeks as he pistons into her, her ample juices smoothing the way.

In her real life, her daytime life, she’s in control. Always. No exceptions. 

Here, she can let go.

Stop worrying about the next project, the next paycheck.

Stop making decisions.

Stop thinking.

Here, she can let someone else take control.

And he’s so good at taking control.

***

When she arrived that evening—clad in nothing but heels, stockings, and a garter belt under a long trench, as instructed—he yanked her through the doorway and pushed her up against the wall, his hand on her throat.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say,” he said, his lips close to her ear. She nodded, already whimpering, already wet and trembling with need.

His other hand worked the knotted belt at her waist, and the trench fell open. None of the buttons were fastened—just as he had instructed.

He held her to the wall by her throat, his other hand groping her all over as he pushed the coat from her shoulders. His hand slipped between her legs and suddenly his fingers were inside her, pumping in and out.

He chuckled softly in her ear. “Look how wet you already are. Look how much you want this.”

She could do nothing but whimper, her legs about to buckle.

His lips still close to her ear, he hissed, “On your knees. Now.”

He pulled his hand away from her throat and she dropped to her knees in front of him. A moment later he was pushing past her lips, his cock already hard, thrusting into her throat.

“Look at me.”

With an effort, she looked up, and his eyes blazed down at her as he fucked her mouth. He held her head steady as he slid further and further into her throat, her eyes beginning to tear. He wiped one tear away and then another, smearing her mascara as he choked her with his shaft. He drove her back against the wall, pushing into her throat until he could go no further. Then he held her there.

She felt a brief moment of panic as her air was cut off, and then conscious thought began to fade as her vision swam at the edges. She fought desperately to keep her eyes on his, but could feel them slipping gradually out of focus as she floated at the edge of consciousness. Just as the blackness closed in, he pulled away from her, freeing her throat.

She swayed and began to fall forward, but he grabbed her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. He dragged her, gasping, into the living room, where he bent her over the couch. His first thrust into her shut off the thinking part of her brain, and she became nothing but a vessel for pleasure.

He fucked her until she came, shaking and dripping; then he propped one of her legs up on the sofa and fucked her some more. She was wet all the way to mid-thigh now, soaking the lace tops of her stockings, and still he thrust into her. She came again, moaning, and he withdrew.

He scooped her limp body into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He removed her shoes, then chained her ankles to the footboard and her wrists to the headboard. He looked at her for a moment as she lay there, dazed. Then he began to undress.

***

Now, he kneels between her spread thighs, pushing them apart as he thrusts into her. 

Her mind is blank, blissfully blank. The only thing that matters is the pleasure between her legs.

Hands move from her thighs to her waist to her breasts, stroking, caressing, pinching. She cries out and arches into him.

His breath at her ear. She can’t understand what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter.

His hands move back down to her waist and he lifts her hips toward him. The new angle is exquisite, pushing her over the edge again.

She comes for a third time, and still he thrusts into her, relentless. 

He whispers to her again, but the words are gibberish. Her mind can’t process anything beyond her own pleasure.

He pulls her toward him, resting her thighs on his, making light circles over her clit with his thumb. 

She can’t think; she can only feel. And this feels like it might drown her.

He’s still thrusting, bottoming out inside her over and over, forcing an involuntary grunt from her with each impact of his hips on hers. 

She’s immobilized with ecstasy, able to do nothing but wait for the wave to crash over her.

When it does, she loses what little control she had left. The orgasm bursts from her, fluids gushing from between her legs to soak the sheets.

Her eyes roll back as she thrashes, too far gone to even scream. 

And then she collapses, insensible, drifting in a semi-conscious haze. 

She lolls like a ragdoll, her body limp and slack, as he continues thrusting. 

As if from far away, she hears him grunt as he spurts inside her.

***

Half an hour later, he helps her back into her trench coat and leads her to the door.

“Same time next week?” he asks.

“You bet,” she says, a tremor in her voice. “Thank you, Dr. Harper.”

They shake hands and she departs, her legs trembling slightly as her therapist’s come drips down her thighs.

Oblivion.

It’s what she seeks as he pistons into her, her ample juices smoothing the way.

In her real life, her daytime life, she’s in control. Always. No exceptions. 

Here, she can let go.

Stop worrying about the next project, the next paycheck.

Stop making decisions.

Stop thinking.

Here, she can let someone else take control.

And he’s so good at taking control.

***

When she arrived that evening—clad in nothing but heels, stockings, and a garter belt under a long trench, as instructed—he yanked her through the doorway and pushed her up against the wall, his hand on her throat.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say,” he said, his lips close to her ear. She nodded, already whimpering, already wet and trembling with need.

His other hand worked the knotted belt at her waist, and the trench fell open. None of the buttons were fastened—just as he had instructed.

He held her to the wall by her throat, his other hand groping her all over as he pushed the coat from her shoulders. His hand slipped between her legs and suddenly his fingers were inside her, pumping in and out.

He chuckled softly in her ear. “Look how wet you already are. Look how much you want this.”

She could do nothing but whimper, her legs about to buckle.

His lips still close to her ear, he hissed, “On your knees. Now.”

He pulled his hand away from her throat and she dropped to her knees in front of him. A moment later he was pushing past her lips, his cock already hard, thrusting into her throat.

“Look at me.”

With an effort, she looked up, and his eyes blazed down at her as he fucked her mouth. He held her head steady as he slid further and further into her throat, her eyes beginning to tear. He wiped one tear away and then another, smearing her mascara as he choked her with his shaft. He drove her back against the wall, pushing into her throat until he could go no further. Then he held her there.

She felt a brief moment of panic as her air was cut off, and then conscious thought began to fade as her vision swam at the edges. She fought desperately to keep her eyes on his, but could feel them slipping gradually out of focus as she floated at the edge of consciousness. Just as the blackness closed in, he pulled away from her, freeing her throat.

She swayed and began to fall forward, but he grabbed her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. He dragged her, gasping, into the living room, where he bent her over the couch. His first thrust into her shut off the thinking part of her brain, and she became nothing but a vessel for pleasure.

He fucked her until she came, shaking and dripping; then he propped one of her legs up on the sofa and fucked her some more. She was wet all the way to mid-thigh now, soaking the lace tops of her stockings, and still he thrust into her. She came again, moaning, and he withdrew.

He scooped her limp body into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He removed her shoes, then chained her ankles to the footboard and her wrists to the headboard. He looked at her for a moment as she lay there, dazed. Then he began to undress.

***

Now, he kneels between her spread thighs, pushing them apart as he thrusts into her. 

Her mind is blank, blissfully blank. The only thing that matters is the pleasure between her legs.

Hands move from her thighs to her waist to her breasts, stroking, caressing, pinching. She cries out and arches into him.

His breath at her ear. She can’t understand what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter.

His hands move back down to her waist and he lifts her hips toward him. The new angle is exquisite, pushing her over the edge again.

She comes for a third time, and still he thrusts into her, relentless. 

He whispers to her again, but the words are gibberish. Her mind can’t process anything beyond her own pleasure.

He pulls her toward him, resting her thighs on his, making light circles over her clit with his thumb. 

She can’t think; she can only feel. And this feels like it might drown her.

He’s still thrusting, bottoming out inside her over and over, forcing an involuntary grunt from her with each impact of his hips on hers. 

She’s immobilized with ecstasy, able to do nothing but wait for the wave to crash over her.

When it does, she loses what little control she had left. The orgasm bursts from her, fluids gushing from between her legs to soak the sheets.

Her eyes roll back as she thrashes, too far gone to even scream. 

And then she collapses, insensible, drifting in a semi-conscious haze. 

She lolls like a ragdoll, her body limp and slack, as he continues thrusting. 

As if from far away, she hears him grunt as he spurts inside her.

***

Half an hour later, he helps her back into her trench coat and leads her to the door.

“Same time next week?” he asks.

“You bet,” she says, a tremor in her voice. “Thank you, Dr. Harper.”

They shake hands and she departs, her legs trembling slightly as her therapist’s come drips down her thighs.

Oblivion.

It’s what she seeks as he pistons into her, her ample juices smoothing the way.

In her real life, her daytime life, she’s in control. Always. No exceptions. 

Here, she can let go.

Stop worrying about the next project, the next paycheck.

Stop making decisions.

Stop thinking.

Here, she can let someone else take control.

And he’s so good at taking control.

***

When she arrived that evening—clad in nothing but heels, stockings, and a garter belt under a long trench, as instructed—he yanked her through the doorway and pushed her up against the wall, his hand on her throat.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say,” he said, his lips close to her ear. She nodded, already whimpering, already wet and trembling with need.

His other hand worked the knotted belt at her waist, and the trench fell open. None of the buttons were fastened—just as he had instructed.

He held her to the wall by her throat, his other hand groping her all over as he pushed the coat from her shoulders. His hand slipped between her legs and suddenly his fingers were inside her, pumping in and out.

He chuckled softly in her ear. “Look how wet you already are. Look how much you want this.”

She could do nothing but whimper, her legs about to buckle.

His lips still close to her ear, he hissed, “On your knees. Now.”

He pulled his hand away from her throat and she dropped to her knees in front of him. A moment later he was pushing past her lips, his cock already hard, thrusting into her throat.

“Look at me.”

With an effort, she looked up, and his eyes blazed down at her as he fucked her mouth. He held her head steady as he slid further and further into her throat, her eyes beginning to tear. He wiped one tear away and then another, smearing her mascara as he choked her with his shaft. He drove her back against the wall, pushing into her throat until he could go no further. Then he held her there.

She felt a brief moment of panic as her air was cut off, and then conscious thought began to fade as her vision swam at the edges. She fought desperately to keep her eyes on his, but could feel them slipping gradually out of focus as she floated at the edge of consciousness. Just as the blackness closed in, he pulled away from her, freeing her throat.

She swayed and began to fall forward, but he grabbed her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. He dragged her, gasping, into the living room, where he bent her over the couch. His first thrust into her shut off the thinking part of her brain, and she became nothing but a vessel for pleasure.

He fucked her until she came, shaking and dripping; then he propped one of her legs up on the sofa and fucked her some more. She was wet all the way to mid-thigh now, soaking the lace tops of her stockings, and still he thrust into her. She came again, moaning, and he withdrew.

He scooped her limp body into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He removed her shoes, then chained her ankles to the footboard and her wrists to the headboard. He looked at her for a moment as she lay there, dazed. Then he began to undress.

***

Now, he kneels between her spread thighs, pushing them apart as he thrusts into her. 

Her mind is blank, blissfully blank. The only thing that matters is the pleasure between her legs.

Hands move from her thighs to her waist to her breasts, stroking, caressing, pinching. She cries out and arches into him.

His breath at her ear. She can’t understand what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter.

His hands move back down to her waist and he lifts her hips toward him. The new angle is exquisite, pushing her over the edge again.

She comes for a third time, and still he thrusts into her, relentless. 

He whispers to her again, but the words are gibberish. Her mind can’t process anything beyond her own pleasure.

He pulls her toward him, resting her thighs on his, making light circles over her clit with his thumb. 

She can’t think; she can only feel. And this feels like it might drown her.

He’s still thrusting, bottoming out inside her over and over, forcing an involuntary grunt from her with each impact of his hips on hers. 

She’s immobilized with ecstasy, able to do nothing but wait for the wave to crash over her.

When it does, she loses what little control she had left. The orgasm bursts from her, fluids gushing from between her legs to soak the sheets.

Her eyes roll back as she thrashes, too far gone to even scream. 

And then she collapses, insensible, drifting in a semi-conscious haze. 

She lolls like a ragdoll, her body limp and slack, as he continues thrusting. 

As if from far away, she hears him grunt as he spurts inside her.

***

Half an hour later, he helps her back into her trench coat and leads her to the door.

“Same time next week?” he asks.

“You bet,” she says, a tremor in her voice. “Thank you, Dr. Harper.”

They shake hands and she departs, her legs trembling slightly as her therapist’s come drips down her thighs.

Oblivion.

It’s what she seeks as he pistons into her, her ample juices smoothing the way.

In her real life, her daytime life, she’s in control. Always. No exceptions. 

Here, she can let go.

Stop worrying about the next project, the next paycheck.

Stop making decisions.

Stop thinking.

Here, she can let someone else take control.

And he’s so good at taking control.

***

When she arrived that evening—clad in nothing but heels, stockings, and a garter belt under a long trench, as instructed—he yanked her through the doorway and pushed her up against the wall, his hand on her throat.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say,” he said, his lips close to her ear. She nodded, already whimpering, already wet and trembling with need.

His other hand worked the knotted belt at her waist, and the trench fell open. None of the buttons were fastened—just as he had instructed.

He held her to the wall by her throat, his other hand groping her all over as he pushed the coat from her shoulders. His hand slipped between her legs and suddenly his fingers were inside her, pumping in and out.

He chuckled softly in her ear. “Look how wet you already are. Look how much you want this.”

She could do nothing but whimper, her legs about to buckle.

His lips still close to her ear, he hissed, “On your knees. Now.”

He pulled his hand away from her throat and she dropped to her knees in front of him. A moment later he was pushing past her lips, his cock already hard, thrusting into her throat.

“Look at me.”

With an effort, she looked up, and his eyes blazed down at her as he fucked her mouth. He held her head steady as he slid further and further into her throat, her eyes beginning to tear. He wiped one tear away and then another, smearing her mascara as he choked her with his shaft. He drove her back against the wall, pushing into her throat until he could go no further. Then he held her there.

She felt a brief moment of panic as her air was cut off, and then conscious thought began to fade as her vision swam at the edges. She fought desperately to keep her eyes on his, but could feel them slipping gradually out of focus as she floated at the edge of consciousness. Just as the blackness closed in, he pulled away from her, freeing her throat.

She swayed and began to fall forward, but he grabbed her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. He dragged her, gasping, into the living room, where he bent her over the couch. His first thrust into her shut off the thinking part of her brain, and she became nothing but a vessel for pleasure.

He fucked her until she came, shaking and dripping; then he propped one of her legs up on the sofa and fucked her some more. She was wet all the way to mid-thigh now, soaking the lace tops of her stockings, and still he thrust into her. She came again, moaning, and he withdrew.

He scooped her limp body into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He removed her shoes, then chained her ankles to the footboard and her wrists to the headboard. He looked at her for a moment as she lay there, dazed. Then he began to undress.

***

Now, he kneels between her spread thighs, pushing them apart as he thrusts into her. 

Her mind is blank, blissfully blank. The only thing that matters is the pleasure between her legs.

Hands move from her thighs to her waist to her breasts, stroking, caressing, pinching. She cries out and arches into him.

His breath at her ear. She can’t understand what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter.

His hands move back down to her waist and he lifts her hips toward him. The new angle is exquisite, pushing her over the edge again.

She comes for a third time, and still he thrusts into her, relentless. 

He whispers to her again, but the words are gibberish. Her mind can’t process anything beyond her own pleasure.

He pulls her toward him, resting her thighs on his, making light circles over her clit with his thumb. 

She can’t think; she can only feel. And this feels like it might drown her.

He’s still thrusting, bottoming out inside her over and over, forcing an involuntary grunt from her with each impact of his hips on hers. 

She’s immobilized with ecstasy, able to do nothing but wait for the wave to crash over her.

When it does, she loses what little control she had left. The orgasm bursts from her, fluids gushing from between her legs to soak the sheets.

Her eyes roll back as she thrashes, too far gone to even scream. 

And then she collapses, insensible, drifting in a semi-conscious haze. 

She lolls like a ragdoll, her body limp and slack, as he continues thrusting. 

As if from far away, she hears him grunt as he spurts inside her.

***

Half an hour later, he helps her back into her trench coat and leads her to the door.

“Same time next week?” he asks.

“You bet,” she says, a tremor in her voice. “Thank you, Dr. Harper.”

They shake hands and she departs, her legs trembling slightly as her therapist’s come drips down her thighs.

Written for Image 3 of the July Image Prompt Contest.

***

Oblivion.

It’s what she seeks as he pistons into her, her ample juices smoothing the way.

In her real life, her daytime life, she’s in control. Always. No exceptions. 

Here, she can let go.

Stop worrying about the next project, the next paycheck.

Stop making decisions.

Stop thinking.

Here, she can let someone else take control.

And he’s so good at taking control.

***

When she arrived that evening—clad in nothing but heels, stockings, and a garter belt under a long trench, as instructed—he yanked her through the doorway and pushed her up against the wall, his hand on her throat.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say,” he said, his lips close to her ear. She nodded, already whimpering, already wet and trembling with need.

His other hand worked the knotted belt at her waist, and the trench fell open. None of the buttons were fastened—just as he had instructed.

He held her to the wall by her throat, his other hand groping her all over as he pushed the coat from her shoulders. His hand slipped between her legs and suddenly his fingers were inside her, pumping in and out.

He chuckled softly in her ear. “Look how wet you already are. Look how much you want this.”

She could do nothing but whimper, her legs about to buckle.

His lips still close to her ear, he hissed, “On your knees. Now.”

He pulled his hand away from her throat and she dropped to her knees in front of him. A moment later he was pushing past her lips, his cock already hard, thrusting into her throat.

“Look at me.”

With an effort, she looked up, and his eyes blazed down at her as he fucked her mouth. He held her head steady as he slid further and further into her throat, her eyes beginning to tear. He wiped one tear away and then another, smearing her mascara as he choked her with his shaft. He drove her back against the wall, pushing into her throat until he could go no further. Then he held her there.

She felt a brief moment of panic as her air was cut off, and then conscious thought began to fade as her vision swam at the edges. She fought desperately to keep her eyes on his, but could feel them slipping gradually out of focus as she floated at the edge of consciousness. Just as the blackness closed in, he pulled away from her, freeing her throat.

She swayed and began to fall forward, but he grabbed her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. He dragged her, gasping, into the living room, where he bent her over the couch. His first thrust into her shut off the thinking part of her brain, and she became nothing but a vessel for pleasure.

He fucked her until she came, shaking and dripping; then he propped one of her legs up on the sofa and fucked her some more. She was wet all the way to mid-thigh now, soaking the lace tops of her stockings, and still he thrust into her. She came again, moaning, and he withdrew.

He scooped her limp body into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He removed her shoes, then chained her ankles to the footboard and her wrists to the headboard. He looked at her for a moment as she lay there, dazed. Then he began to undress.

***

Now, he kneels between her spread thighs, pushing them apart as he thrusts into her. 

Her mind is blank, blissfully blank. The only thing that matters is the pleasure between her legs.

Hands move from her thighs to her waist to her breasts, stroking, caressing, pinching. She cries out and arches into him.

His breath at her ear. She can’t understand what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter.

His hands move back down to her waist and he lifts her hips toward him. The new angle is exquisite, pushing her over the edge again.

She comes for a third time, and still he thrusts into her, relentless. 

He whispers to her again, but the words are gibberish. Her mind can’t process anything beyond her own pleasure.

He pulls her toward him, resting her thighs on his, making light circles over her clit with his thumb. 

She can’t think; she can only feel. And this feels like it might drown her.

He’s still thrusting, bottoming out inside her over and over, forcing an involuntary grunt from her with each impact of his hips on hers. 

She’s immobilized with ecstasy, able to do nothing but wait for the wave to crash over her.

When it does, she loses what little control she had left. The orgasm bursts from her, fluids gushing from between her legs to soak the sheets.

Her eyes roll back as she thrashes, too far gone to even scream. 

And then she collapses, insensible, drifting in a semi-conscious haze. 

She lolls like a ragdoll, her body limp and slack, as he continues thrusting. 

As if from far away, she hears him grunt as he spurts inside her.

***

Half an hour later, he helps her back into her trench coat and leads her to the door.

“Same time next week?” he asks.

“You bet,” she says, a tremor in her voice. “Thank you, Dr. Harper.”

They shake hands and she departs, her legs trembling slightly as her therapist’s come drips down her thighs.

Part 1: They Both Had Terrible Dates. Then They Got Stuck In The Elevator.

Part 2: I Got Stuck In The Elevator With The Cute Girl From My Building. Then She Came Home With Me. 

***

I woke to the sound of oil sizzling in a pan.

With an effort, I forced my eyes open and squinted around the room. I didn’t recognize it, and panic dumped adrenaline into my bloodstream.

I sat up and felt a spike of pain through my skull. The sensation sloshed through my head and then settled behind my eyes to throb there. Every heartbeat fluttered my vision and I closed my eyes again, laying back down on the pillow. My mouth tasted like dryer lint.

Okay, Ellie-girl, I thought. What happened last night? Where are we?

And then it came back to me.

The bad date. The extra drinks. The elevator…and Jake. Jake, the cute neighbor guy I always see at the mailboxes. 

This was his apartment. We had had sex in the stopped elevator…and then we had come back here after getting rescued by the firemen. 

I realized I was naked under the blankets. Where were my clothes?

As I laid there, more memories of the evening came back to me. His come in my mouth; his tongue on my clit, warm and wet. The sex, gentle and unhurried, in great contrast to our frantic tryst in the elevator. He had been kind, considerate—tender, even. Which was a lot more than could be said about some of my recent dates. I smiled as I remembered. 

Then my head throbbed again, and I grimaced. 

A moment later I heard footsteps and struggled to sit up again, squinting toward the door, holding the sheet to my chest. Jake walked back into the bedroom, smiling, shirtless, wearing only a pair of gym shorts. He was holding a plate of grilled cheese and a glass of some green concoction that made my stomach turn over.

“Good morning,” he said, far too cheerfully. “I woke up with a hell of a hangover too. But grilled cheese and a smoothie always fixes me right up.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to hand me the plate and glass. I peered back at him and didn’t move to take them—partially because I thought I might puke if I did, and partially because I’d have to drop the sheet. I suddenly felt a bit shy.

He smiled anyway, and put the dishes on the nightstand. “It’s okay, take whatever time you need. And by the way, if you want something to wear—something more comfortable than your clothes from last night, I mean—I can grab you a t-shirt if you want.” I nodded, and he crossed the room to his dresser. He pulled out a shirt and handed it to me. When I didn’t put it on immediately, he took the hint and turned around, still smiling.

I dropped the sheet and yanked the shirt over my head. It billowed comfortably around me, covering me down to my hips. I sighed and he turned back around. “Better?” he asked. I nodded again, and he sat back down on the edge of the bed, watching me expectantly. 

“I’m—” My voice cracked and I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure I feel up to eating or drinking right now, unless it’s ibuprofen and water.”

“I can get you some of that,” he said. “But if you’re willing, just give the smoothie a try. I know it looks gross, but it’s an old family recipe and we swear by it.” He stood up and left the room. I stared at the glass of green goo and reached for it with a trembling hand.

I tilted it to my mouth and to my surprise, it didn’t taste bad. It wasn’t a flavor I would seek out in any other circumstance—nor one I could really describe—but it went down easily enough, and when my stomach didn’t immediately reject it, I took another sip, then another. My sour stomach began to settle, and the grilled cheese actually started to look appetizing.

Jake returned with the ibuprofen and water, and I swallowed the pills and drained the glass. The smoothie appeared to be working its magic, and I took a tentative nibble at the corner of the grilled cheese sandwich as he watched. 

“Good,” I said. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he said. He got up one more time, then returned with his own half-eaten grilled cheese and half-drunk smoothie, and sat on the other side of the bed. For a few moments, we ate and drank in silence, and I began to feel slightly more human again. 

As we ate, I shot occasional glances at him, not fully turning my head, trying to observe him without being caught. He had been a little nervous and awkward last night when he had asked me to stay, but now he seemed confident and in control. It made sense; we were in his place, after all. He hadn’t woken up naked and hungover in a stranger’s bed. 

Although I guess we weren’t exactly strangers anymore.

I finished my sandwich and smoothie and sighed in contentment, the headache receding and the nausea gone. He looked over at me, and I said, “That was really good. Thank you again. This hangover is a whopper.”

“Mine was too. But there’s a reason why we swear by this smoothie.” He smiled shyly at me. “I just hope you’re only regretting your alcohol consumption, and not anything else from last night.”

I smiled back, last night’s memories crowding into my mind. “I can’t think of anything that I regret about last night.”

He nodded and scooched toward me on the bed so he could drape his arm around me. I relaxed into him, my head resting on his shoulder. He leaned his head on mine, and I think he might have kissed my hair. A strangely intimate gesture from someone I’d never spoken to until about twelve hours ago, but it felt right.

I felt so comfortable, actually, that I had almost dozed off again when he said, “Do you want to…maybe…talk about last night?”

I didn’t, not really, so I turned my face up to his and answered, “Maybe after.”

“After wha—”

I pulled him down on top of me. 

He wrapped his arms around me and we held each other, kissing deeply but slowly, our actions feeling more weighty and deliberate in the light of day. His hair was soft under my fingers, his day-old stubble tickling my cheek. I hugged him to me and he squeezed back, then rolled over so I was on top of him.

His hands slid from my waist to my bare thighs, and I shivered lightly at his touch. It felt just as good as I remembered, and I kissed him harder, nibbling at his bottom lip. He groaned and squeezed my thighs, and I kissed down his neck to his clavicle, then back up to nuzzle behind his ear. His hands were everywhere now, roaming over the borrowed t-shirt as I nibbled his earlobe.

His hands drifted to my breasts, and he fondled them gently over the shirt, his thumbs finding my nipples already hard and straining through the well-worn cotton. I shivered again as pleasant tingles ran through me at his touch, and found his mouth again with mine. My tongue slipped past his lips and he groaned, squeezing my breasts and making me gasp. 

His hands slid back down to my thighs, and this time slipped under the hem of the t-shirt. His touch was gentle but possessive as he moved up my body, his hands warm on my skin. He moved as if he wanted to touch every part of me: slowly, but with intention. He lingered on the swell of my hip and at the curve of my waist; his fingers traced my spine from the small of my back to the base of my skull as if he was counting the vertebrae. He slipped his hands around my ribcage to cup my breasts again, and a low moan escaped my throat as his thumbs brushed my bare nipples. 

His movements rucked the shirt up under my arms, and as he grasped the hem, he broke the kiss and breathed, “As much as I like the sight of you in my shirt, I think I’d much rather see you out of it. Is that okay?”

My grin answered the question for him, and he tugged his shirt over my head.

Naked again, I sat up, straddling him. I could feel him straining underneath me, his hardness obvious through his loose shorts. I traced his waistband with my fingertips as I ground my hips lightly against him and he sighed, closing his eyes. I teased him like this for a few moments, enjoying the sounds he made and the stirring I felt underneath me, watching his chest hitch as his breathing became more ragged. 

He looked up and saw me watching, a grin spreading across my face again as he moaned. “You’re going to kill me,” he gasped. 

I smiled wider. “Well, we certainly wouldn’t want that.”

I slipped my fingers into his waistband and tugged his shorts down to his thighs. He sprung free immediately, hard and veiny, his shaft rising from a small patch of dark hair. His skin was hot to the touch as I grasped him gently and began to stroke.

“Elise, seriously—if you don’t stop—”

“I don’t want to stop,” I said. His shaft rested against my abdomen as I slid my hand up and down, still watching him. “I think I have you right where I want you.”

I kept one hand on him, pressing him to my abdomen as I leaned over to fish in his nightstand. I pulled out a condom and, praying my high school sex-ed lessons wouldn’t fail me, I tore it open, tossed the foil packet aside, and rolled the condom over him. He seemed like he might be hyperventilating, his eyes closed, his breathing jagged.

I knelt up straighter, guiding him to my entrance. He moaned again as he felt the heat at my core, and I slowly slid down onto his shaft, savoring every inch of him as I welcomed him into me, sighing with pleasure as my hips met his. He looked back up at me, and I smiled as I began to grind against him again.

His eyes widened, a look of panic briefly crossing his face before his eyes slid out of focus and I felt him pulsing inside me. His hands found my hips and held me to him as he spasmed, groaning, obviously chagrined at his loss of control. I continued to grind my hips gently against his and he jerked up into me—once, twice—before settling back onto the bed.

I leaned forward, supporting myself on my hands as I looked down into his face. He let out a shaky exhale and then looked sheepishly up at me. 

“I’m sorry—that’s so embarrassing—”

I kissed his lips lightly, interrupting his apologies. “No sorries necessary. I find it kind of flattering, actually. But you do owe me a round two once you’re ready.”

He chuckled weakly and said, “You bet.” I kissed him again, then swung my leg over him and laid back down on the bed as he rolled off to get cleaned up. 

As he walked back into the room, I watched him from where I had propped myself on one elbow, following him with my eyes, observing his masculine grace. His legs and chest were dusted with dark hair to match the stubble on his face, and I could just see a vein or two standing out on each of his muscular forearms. 

He paused when he re-entered the room, as if the sight of me startled him, and for a moment it seemed like he didn’t quite know what to do. His eyes raked greedily over me, lingering at my chest before landing between my spread legs, where I still glistened with wetness. Then, with an effort, he tore his eyes away from me and climbed back onto the bed. He pulled me close, tugged my leg over his hip, and gently stroked my thigh. For a moment we just looked at each other as we laid there, nose to nose. Then he smiled.

“I never thought—” He paused. “All those times I saw you at the mailboxes…I never thought we’d end up here.”

“Me neither,” I said.

“Thank god for broken elevators,” he said, and we both laughed. God, I was beginning to love his laugh. 

We were silent for a few moments, just looking at each other. His fingers drifted lightly over my back, waist, hip, and thigh, sending shivers through me again. 

“Maybe we should…” he started, but he trailed off as I kissed him again.

“Shhhhh.”

“But—”

“Shhhhh.”

I pulled him back on top of me. He was already hardening again, pressed between us. He kissed me again, lightly, his lips just barely brushing mine, before kissing down to the hollow of my throat. He lingered there for a moment, like he was taking my pulse—I could feel it beating strongly under his lips. 

He continued kissing downward until his mouth was on my breast, and I gasped and arched against him as he swirled his tongue around my nipple. He caressed both breasts as he suckled one and then the other, my nipples gathering into hard little buds in his mouth. 

He was fully hard now, pressing against me, and when I shifted my weight slightly he slipped between my legs. Suddenly, his bare tip was nestled against me and as he shifted his own weight, he slid into me—just an inch. 

We froze, staring at each other, hearts pounding.

What now, Ellie-girl, I thought as I looked into his eyes. You don’t know him. This isn’t a good idea. Maybe you should—

I know what I should do, I answered myself. But…I think I trust him. And god, I want him so badly.

And so even though I knew it was risky, I held his gaze as I ran my hands down his body to his hips, and I pulled him gently into me. 

We froze again, eyes locked on each other as we each processed what was happening. And then he began to thrust, slowly, tentatively, not taking his eyes off mine even as he leaned down to kiss me.

I closed my eyes as our lips touched, lost in the pleasure of his skin against mine. I felt him shift his weight again and then his hand was between my legs, his thumb on my clit, keeping light, consistent pressure as he thrust in and out. His other hand slid from my hip to my waist to my breast, cupping it gently. My nipple ached for his touch, and he teased me by gently circling the edge of it without brushing the peak. I arched into him, trying to get his hand to land where I wanted it, but he noticed and kept teasing.

He held me on the edge as he stroked gently into me, smiling down at me as I writhed underneath him. As I reached the point of no return, my hips bucking up into his and his thumb still keeping steady pressure on my clit, he finally brushed his thumb over my nipple, then pinched it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. More pleasure washed over me and I arched against him again, quivering and moaning. His thrusts came harder as my muscles clenched around him, and I cried out as he moved faster and faster. 

He dropped his body back down onto mine and slipped his arms under me, holding me tighter as his thrusts became frantic. I wrapped my legs around his waist and tilted my hips upward to meet him, and he buried his face in my neck as he came. I stroked his sweaty hair as he pulsed inside me, my own aftershocks still coursing through me.

Then it was over and we lay in each other’s arms again, panting and sweaty. He brushed light kisses along my neck until I turned to face him, and he met my lips with his. He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Now can we talk?” he asked, his hand coming to rest to cup my face.

“But this is so much easier than talking,” I said. I wasn’t quite able to meet his eyes, focusing instead on watching my own finger as I drew it lightly up and down through the hair on his chest.

He smiled and leaned forward to kiss the tip of my nose. “It is very easy to do this with you. And I’m still just…amazed…that I got the cute girl from the mailboxes into my bed somehow.” I snorted and rolled my eyes, but the compliment still made me smile. 

He went on, “And if you’re looking for something casual, I can be casual. Or if this was just a one time thing for you…” He trailed off, looking away. “...I can accept that, too.”

There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t get my lips to form the words.

Like, I don’t think I want this to be a one time thing.

Like, I think we could really have something.

Like, I love your laugh and the way you touch me and the way you feel inside me.

Like, Thank god for that stupid fucking elevator.

But I just laid there wordlessly, playing with his chest hair, and he plunged ahead.

“Basically, what I’m saying is…I like you a lot, and I want to see you again. What do you think about a second date?”

A second date. I smiled, finally meeting his eyes, and leaned in to kiss him lightly.

“I’d love to have a second date,” I said. “But I think we need to have a first date, first.”

*******

This is the final chapter for Elise and Jake! I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about them as much as I’ve enjoyed writing about them. Let me know how you think their first date goes in the comments! ♥️

Part 1: They Both Had Terrible Dates. Then They Got Stuck In The Elevator.

Part 2: I Got Stuck In The Elevator With The Cute Girl From My Building. Then She Came Home With Me. 

***

I woke to the sound of oil sizzling in a pan.

With an effort, I forced my eyes open and squinted around the room. I didn’t recognize it, and panic dumped adrenaline into my bloodstream.

I sat up and felt a spike of pain through my skull. The sensation sloshed through my head and then settled behind my eyes to throb there. Every heartbeat fluttered my vision and I closed my eyes again, laying back down on the pillow. My mouth tasted like dryer lint.

Okay, Ellie-girl, I thought. What happened last night? Where are we?

And then it came back to me.

The bad date. The extra drinks. The elevator…and Jake. Jake, the cute neighbor guy I always see at the mailboxes. 

This was his apartment. We had had sex in the stopped elevator…and then we had come back here after getting rescued by the firemen. 

I realized I was naked under the blankets. Where were my clothes?

As I laid there, more memories of the evening came back to me. His come in my mouth; his tongue on my clit, warm and wet. The sex, gentle and unhurried, in great contrast to our frantic tryst in the elevator. He had been kind, considerate—tender, even. Which was a lot more than could be said about some of my recent dates. I smiled as I remembered. 

Then my head throbbed again, and I grimaced. 

A moment later I heard footsteps and struggled to sit up again, squinting toward the door, holding the sheet to my chest. Jake walked back into the bedroom, smiling, shirtless, wearing only a pair of gym shorts. He was holding a plate of grilled cheese and a glass of some green concoction that made my stomach turn over.

“Good morning,” he said, far too cheerfully. “I woke up with a hell of a hangover too. But grilled cheese and a smoothie always fixes me right up.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to hand me the plate and glass. I peered back at him and didn’t move to take them—partially because I thought I might puke if I did, and partially because I’d have to drop the sheet. I suddenly felt a bit shy.

He smiled anyway, and put the dishes on the nightstand. “It’s okay, take whatever time you need. And by the way, if you want something to wear—something more comfortable than your clothes from last night, I mean—I can grab you a t-shirt if you want.” I nodded, and he crossed the room to his dresser. He pulled out a shirt and handed it to me. When I didn’t put it on immediately, he took the hint and turned around, still smiling.

I dropped the sheet and yanked the shirt over my head. It billowed comfortably around me, covering me down to my hips. I sighed and he turned back around. “Better?” he asked. I nodded again, and he sat back down on the edge of the bed, watching me expectantly. 

“I’m—” My voice cracked and I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure I feel up to eating or drinking right now, unless it’s ibuprofen and water.”

“I can get you some of that,” he said. “But if you’re willing, just give the smoothie a try. I know it looks gross, but it’s an old family recipe and we swear by it.” He stood up and left the room. I stared at the glass of green goo and reached for it with a trembling hand.

I tilted it to my mouth and to my surprise, it didn’t taste bad. It wasn’t a flavor I would seek out in any other circumstance—nor one I could really describe—but it went down easily enough, and when my stomach didn’t immediately reject it, I took another sip, then another. My sour stomach began to settle, and the grilled cheese actually started to look appetizing.

Jake returned with the ibuprofen and water, and I swallowed the pills and drained the glass. The smoothie appeared to be working its magic, and I took a tentative nibble at the corner of the grilled cheese sandwich as he watched. 

“Good,” I said. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he said. He got up one more time, then returned with his own half-eaten grilled cheese and half-drunk smoothie, and sat on the other side of the bed. For a few moments, we ate and drank in silence, and I began to feel slightly more human again. 

As we ate, I shot occasional glances at him, not fully turning my head, trying to observe him without being caught. He had been a little nervous and awkward last night when he had asked me to stay, but now he seemed confident and in control. It made sense; we were in his place, after all. He hadn’t woken up naked and hungover in a stranger’s bed. 

Although I guess we weren’t exactly strangers anymore.

I finished my sandwich and smoothie and sighed in contentment, the headache receding and the nausea gone. He looked over at me, and I said, “That was really good. Thank you again. This hangover is a whopper.”

“Mine was too. But there’s a reason why we swear by this smoothie.” He smiled shyly at me. “I just hope you’re only regretting your alcohol consumption, and not anything else from last night.”

I smiled back, last night’s memories crowding into my mind. “I can’t think of anything that I regret about last night.”

He nodded and scooched toward me on the bed so he could drape his arm around me. I relaxed into him, my head resting on his shoulder. He leaned his head on mine, and I think he might have kissed my hair. A strangely intimate gesture from someone I’d never spoken to until about twelve hours ago, but it felt right.

I felt so comfortable, actually, that I had almost dozed off again when he said, “Do you want to…maybe…talk about last night?”

I didn’t, not really, so I turned my face up to his and answered, “Maybe after.”

“After wha—”

I pulled him down on top of me. 

He wrapped his arms around me and we held each other, kissing deeply but slowly, our actions feeling more weighty and deliberate in the light of day. His hair was soft under my fingers, his day-old stubble tickling my cheek. I hugged him to me and he squeezed back, then rolled over so I was on top of him.

His hands slid from my waist to my bare thighs, and I shivered lightly at his touch. It felt just as good as I remembered, and I kissed him harder, nibbling at his bottom lip. He groaned and squeezed my thighs, and I kissed down his neck to his clavicle, then back up to nuzzle behind his ear. His hands were everywhere now, roaming over the borrowed t-shirt as I nibbled his earlobe.

His hands drifted to my breasts, and he fondled them gently over the shirt, his thumbs finding my nipples already hard and straining through the well-worn cotton. I shivered again as pleasant tingles ran through me at his touch, and found his mouth again with mine. My tongue slipped past his lips and he groaned, squeezing my breasts and making me gasp. 

His hands slid back down to my thighs, and this time slipped under the hem of the t-shirt. His touch was gentle but possessive as he moved up my body, his hands warm on my skin. He moved as if he wanted to touch every part of me: slowly, but with intention. He lingered on the swell of my hip and at the curve of my waist; his fingers traced my spine from the small of my back to the base of my skull as if he was counting the vertebrae. He slipped his hands around my ribcage to cup my breasts again, and a low moan escaped my throat as his thumbs brushed my bare nipples. 

His movements rucked the shirt up under my arms, and as he grasped the hem, he broke the kiss and breathed, “As much as I like the sight of you in my shirt, I think I’d much rather see you out of it. Is that okay?”

My grin answered the question for him, and he tugged his shirt over my head.

Naked again, I sat up, straddling him. I could feel him straining underneath me, his hardness obvious through his loose shorts. I traced his waistband with my fingertips as I ground my hips lightly against him and he sighed, closing his eyes. I teased him like this for a few moments, enjoying the sounds he made and the stirring I felt underneath me, watching his chest hitch as his breathing became more ragged. 

He looked up and saw me watching, a grin spreading across my face again as he moaned. “You’re going to kill me,” he gasped. 

I smiled wider. “Well, we certainly wouldn’t want that.”

I slipped my fingers into his waistband and tugged his shorts down to his thighs. He sprung free immediately, hard and veiny, his shaft rising from a small patch of dark hair. His skin was hot to the touch as I grasped him gently and began to stroke.

“Elise, seriously—if you don’t stop—”

“I don’t want to stop,” I said. His shaft rested against my abdomen as I slid my hand up and down, still watching him. “I think I have you right where I want you.”

I kept one hand on him, pressing him to my abdomen as I leaned over to fish in his nightstand. I pulled out a condom and, praying my high school sex-ed lessons wouldn’t fail me, I tore it open, tossed the foil packet aside, and rolled the condom over him. He seemed like he might be hyperventilating, his eyes closed, his breathing jagged.

I knelt up straighter, guiding him to my entrance. He moaned again as he felt the heat at my core, and I slowly slid down onto his shaft, savoring every inch of him as I welcomed him into me, sighing with pleasure as my hips met his. He looked back up at me, and I smiled as I began to grind against him again.

His eyes widened, a look of panic briefly crossing his face before his eyes slid out of focus and I felt him pulsing inside me. His hands found my hips and held me to him as he spasmed, groaning, obviously chagrined at his loss of control. I continued to grind my hips gently against his and he jerked up into me—once, twice—before settling back onto the bed.

I leaned forward, supporting myself on my hands as I looked down into his face. He let out a shaky exhale and then looked sheepishly up at me. 

“I’m sorry—that’s so embarrassing—”

I kissed his lips lightly, interrupting his apologies. “No sorries necessary. I find it kind of flattering, actually. But you do owe me a round two once you’re ready.”

He chuckled weakly and said, “You bet.” I kissed him again, then swung my leg over him and laid back down on the bed as he rolled off to get cleaned up. 

As he walked back into the room, I watched him from where I had propped myself on one elbow, following him with my eyes, observing his masculine grace. His legs and chest were dusted with dark hair to match the stubble on his face, and I could just see a vein or two standing out on each of his muscular forearms. 

He paused when he re-entered the room, as if the sight of me startled him, and for a moment it seemed like he didn’t quite know what to do. His eyes raked greedily over me, lingering at my chest before landing between my spread legs, where I still glistened with wetness. Then, with an effort, he tore his eyes away from me and climbed back onto the bed. He pulled me close, tugged my leg over his hip, and gently stroked my thigh. For a moment we just looked at each other as we laid there, nose to nose. Then he smiled.

“I never thought—” He paused. “All those times I saw you at the mailboxes…I never thought we’d end up here.”

“Me neither,” I said.

“Thank god for broken elevators,” he said, and we both laughed. God, I was beginning to love his laugh. 

We were silent for a few moments, just looking at each other. His fingers drifted lightly over my back, waist, hip, and thigh, sending shivers through me again. 

“Maybe we should…” he started, but he trailed off as I kissed him again.

“Shhhhh.”

“But—”

“Shhhhh.”

I pulled him back on top of me. He was already hardening again, pressed between us. He kissed me again, lightly, his lips just barely brushing mine, before kissing down to the hollow of my throat. He lingered there for a moment, like he was taking my pulse—I could feel it beating strongly under his lips. 

He continued kissing downward until his mouth was on my breast, and I gasped and arched against him as he swirled his tongue around my nipple. He caressed both breasts as he suckled one and then the other, my nipples gathering into hard little buds in his mouth. 

He was fully hard now, pressing against me, and when I shifted my weight slightly he slipped between my legs. Suddenly, his bare tip was nestled against me and as he shifted his own weight, he slid into me—just an inch. 

We froze, staring at each other, hearts pounding.

What now, Ellie-girl, I thought as I looked into his eyes. You don’t know him. This isn’t a good idea. Maybe you should—

I know what I should do, I answered myself. But…I think I trust him. And god, I want him so badly.

And so even though I knew it was risky, I held his gaze as I ran my hands down his body to his hips, and I pulled him gently into me. 

We froze again, eyes locked on each other as we each processed what was happening. And then he began to thrust, slowly, tentatively, not taking his eyes off mine even as he leaned down to kiss me.

I closed my eyes as our lips touched, lost in the pleasure of his skin against mine. I felt him shift his weight again and then his hand was between my legs, his thumb on my clit, keeping light, consistent pressure as he thrust in and out. His other hand slid from my hip to my waist to my breast, cupping it gently. My nipple ached for his touch, and he teased me by gently circling the edge of it without brushing the peak. I arched into him, trying to get his hand to land where I wanted it, but he noticed and kept teasing.

He held me on the edge as he stroked gently into me, smiling down at me as I writhed underneath him. As I reached the point of no return, my hips bucking up into his and his thumb still keeping steady pressure on my clit, he finally brushed his thumb over my nipple, then pinched it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. More pleasure washed over me and I arched against him again, quivering and moaning. His thrusts came harder as my muscles clenched around him, and I cried out as he moved faster and faster. 

He dropped his body back down onto mine and slipped his arms under me, holding me tighter as his thrusts became frantic. I wrapped my legs around his waist and tilted my hips upward to meet him, and he buried his face in my neck as he came. I stroked his sweaty hair as he pulsed inside me, my own aftershocks still coursing through me.

Then it was over and we lay in each other’s arms again, panting and sweaty. He brushed light kisses along my neck until I turned to face him, and he met my lips with his. He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Now can we talk?” he asked, his hand coming to rest to cup my face.

“But this is so much easier than talking,” I said. I wasn’t quite able to meet his eyes, focusing instead on watching my own finger as I drew it lightly up and down through the hair on his chest.

He smiled and leaned forward to kiss the tip of my nose. “It is very easy to do this with you. And I’m still just…amazed…that I got the cute girl from the mailboxes into my bed somehow.” I snorted and rolled my eyes, but the compliment still made me smile. 

He went on, “And if you’re looking for something casual, I can be casual. Or if this was just a one time thing for you…” He trailed off, looking away. “...I can accept that, too.”

There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t get my lips to form the words.

Like, I don’t think I want this to be a one time thing.

Like, I think we could really have something.

Like, I love your laugh and the way you touch me and the way you feel inside me.

Like, Thank god for that stupid fucking elevator.

But I just laid there wordlessly, playing with his chest hair, and he plunged ahead.

“Basically, what I’m saying is…I like you a lot, and I want to see you again. What do you think about a second date?”

A second date. I smiled, finally meeting his eyes, and leaned in to kiss him lightly.

“I’d love to have a second date,” I said. “But I think we need to have a first date, first.”

*******

This is the final chapter for Elise and Jake! I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about them as much as I’ve enjoyed writing about them. Let me know how you think their first date goes in the comments! ♥️

Part 1: They Both Had Terrible Dates. Then They Got Stuck In The Elevator.

Part 2: I Got Stuck In The Elevator With The Cute Girl From My Building. Then She Came Home With Me.

***

I woke to the sound of oil sizzling in a pan.

With an effort, I forced my eyes open and squinted around the room. I didn’t recognize it, and panic dumped adrenaline into my bloodstream.

I sat up and felt a spike of pain through my skull. The sensation sloshed through my head and then settled behind my eyes to throb there. Every heartbeat fluttered my vision and I closed my eyes again, laying back down on the pillow. My mouth tasted like dryer lint.

Okay, Ellie-girl, I thought. What happened last night? Where are we?

And then it came back to me.

The bad date. The extra drinks. The elevator…and Jake. Jake, the cute neighbor guy I always see at the mailboxes. 

This was his apartment. We had had sex in the stopped elevator…and then we had come back here after getting rescued by the firemen. 

I realized I was naked under the blankets. Where were my clothes?

As I laid there, more memories of the evening came back to me. His come in my mouth; his tongue on my clit, warm and wet. The sex, gentle and unhurried, in great contrast to our frantic tryst in the elevator. He had been kind, considerate—tender, even. Which was a lot more than could be said about some of my recent dates. I smiled as I remembered. 

Then my head throbbed again, and I grimaced. 

A moment later I heard footsteps and struggled to sit up again, squinting toward the door, holding the sheet to my chest. Jake walked back into the bedroom, smiling, shirtless, wearing only a pair of gym shorts. He was holding a plate of grilled cheese and a glass of some green concoction that made my stomach turn over.

“Good morning,” he said, far too cheerfully. “I woke up with a hell of a hangover too. But grilled cheese and a smoothie always fixes me right up.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to hand me the plate and glass. I peered back at him and didn’t move to take them—partially because I thought I might puke if I did, and partially because I’d have to drop the sheet. I suddenly felt a bit shy.

He smiled anyway, and put the dishes on the nightstand. “It’s okay, take whatever time you need. And by the way, if you want something to wear—something more comfortable than your clothes from last night, I mean—I can grab you a t-shirt if you want.” I nodded, and he crossed the room to his dresser. He pulled out a shirt and handed it to me. When I didn’t put it on immediately, he took the hint and turned around, still smiling.

I dropped the sheet and yanked the shirt over my head. It billowed comfortably around me, covering me down to my hips. I sighed and he turned back around. “Better?” he asked. I nodded again, and he sat back down on the edge of the bed, watching me expectantly. 

“I’m—” My voice cracked and I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure I feel up to eating or drinking right now, unless it’s ibuprofen and water.”

“I can get you some of that,” he said. “But if you’re willing, just give the smoothie a try. I know it looks gross, but it’s an old family recipe and we swear by it.” He stood up and left the room. I stared at the glass of green goo and reached for it with a trembling hand.

I tilted it to my mouth and to my surprise, it didn’t taste bad. It wasn’t a flavor I would seek out in any other circumstance—nor one I could really describe—but it went down easily enough, and when my stomach didn’t immediately reject it, I took another sip, then another. My sour stomach began to settle, and the grilled cheese actually started to look appetizing.

Jake returned with the ibuprofen and water, and I swallowed the pills and drained the glass. The smoothie appeared to be working its magic, and I took a tentative nibble at the corner of the grilled cheese sandwich as he watched. 

“Good,” I said. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he said. He got up one more time, then returned with his own half-eaten grilled cheese and half-drunk smoothie, and sat on the other side of the bed. For a few moments, we ate and drank in silence, and I began to feel slightly more human again. 

As we ate, I shot occasional glances at him, not fully turning my head, trying to observe him without being caught. He had been a little nervous and awkward last night when he had asked me to stay, but now he seemed confident and in control. It made sense; we were in his place, after all. He hadn’t woken up naked and hungover in a stranger’s bed. 

Although I guess we weren’t exactly strangers anymore.

I finished my sandwich and smoothie and sighed in contentment, the headache receding and the nausea gone. He looked over at me, and I said, “That was really good. Thank you again. This hangover is a whopper.”

“Mine was too. But there’s a reason why we swear by this smoothie.” He smiled shyly at me. “I just hope you’re only regretting your alcohol consumption, and not anything else from last night.”

I smiled back, last night’s memories crowding into my mind. “I can’t think of anything that I regret about last night.”

He nodded and scooched toward me on the bed so he could drape his arm around me. I relaxed into him, my head resting on his shoulder. He leaned his head on mine, and I think he might have kissed my hair. A strangely intimate gesture from someone I’d never spoken to until about twelve hours ago, but it felt right.

I felt so comfortable, actually, that I had almost dozed off again when he said, “Do you want to…maybe…talk about last night?”

I didn’t, not really, so I turned my face up to his and answered, “Maybe after.”

“After wha—”

I pulled him down on top of me. 

He wrapped his arms around me and we held each other, kissing deeply but slowly, our actions feeling more weighty and deliberate in the light of day. His hair was soft under my fingers, his day-old stubble tickling my cheek. I hugged him to me and he squeezed back, then rolled over so I was on top of him.

His hands slid from my waist to my bare thighs, and I shivered lightly at his touch. It felt just as good as I remembered, and I kissed him harder, nibbling at his bottom lip. He groaned and squeezed my thighs, and I kissed down his neck to his clavicle, then back up to nuzzle behind his ear. His hands were everywhere now, roaming over the borrowed t-shirt as I nibbled his earlobe.

His hands drifted to my breasts, and he fondled them gently over the shirt, his thumbs finding my nipples already hard and straining through the well-worn cotton. I shivered again as pleasant tingles ran through me at his touch, and found his mouth again with mine. My tongue slipped past his lips and he groaned, squeezing my breasts and making me gasp. 

His hands slid back down to my thighs, and this time slipped under the hem of the t-shirt. His touch was gentle but possessive as he moved up my body, his hands warm on my skin. He moved as if he wanted to touch every part of me: slowly, but with intention. He lingered on the swell of my hip and at the curve of my waist; his fingers traced my spine from the small of my back to the base of my skull as if he was counting the vertebrae. He slipped his hands around my ribcage to cup my breasts again, and a low moan escaped my throat as his thumbs brushed my bare nipples. 

His movements rucked the shirt up under my arms, and as he grasped the hem, he broke the kiss and breathed, “As much as I like the sight of you in my shirt, I think I’d much rather see you out of it. Is that okay?”

My grin answered the question for him, and he tugged his shirt over my head.

Naked again, I sat up, straddling him. I could feel him straining underneath me, his hardness obvious through his loose shorts. I traced his waistband with my fingertips as I ground my hips lightly against him and he sighed, closing his eyes. I teased him like this for a few moments, enjoying the sounds he made and the stirring I felt underneath me, watching his chest hitch as his breathing became more ragged. 

He looked up and saw me watching, a grin spreading across my face again as he moaned. “You’re going to kill me,” he gasped. 

I smiled wider. “Well, we certainly wouldn’t want that.”

I slipped my fingers into his waistband and tugged his shorts down to his thighs. He sprung free immediately, hard and veiny, his shaft rising from a small patch of dark hair. His skin was hot to the touch as I grasped him gently and began to stroke.

“Elise, seriously—if you don’t stop—”

“I don’t want to stop,” I said. His shaft rested against my abdomen as I slid my hand up and down, still watching him. “I think I have you right where I want you.”

I kept one hand on him, pressing him to my abdomen as I leaned over to fish in his nightstand. I pulled out a condom and, praying my high school sex-ed lessons wouldn’t fail me, I tore it open, tossed the foil packet aside, and rolled the condom over him. He seemed like he might be hyperventilating, his eyes closed, his breathing jagged.

I knelt up straighter, guiding him to my entrance. He moaned again as he felt the heat at my core, and I slowly slid down onto his shaft, savoring every inch of him as I welcomed him into me, sighing with pleasure as my hips met his. He looked back up at me, and I smiled as I began to grind against him again.

His eyes widened, a look of panic briefly crossing his face before his eyes slid out of focus and I felt him pulsing inside me. His hands found my hips and held me to him as he spasmed, groaning, obviously chagrined at his loss of control. I continued to grind my hips gently against his and he jerked up into me—once, twice—before settling back onto the bed.

I leaned forward, supporting myself on my hands as I looked down into his face. He let out a shaky exhale and then looked sheepishly up at me. 

“I’m sorry—that’s so embarrassing—”

I kissed his lips lightly, interrupting his apologies. “No sorries necessary. I find it kind of flattering, actually. But you do owe me a round two once you’re ready.”

He chuckled weakly and said, “You bet.” I kissed him again, then swung my leg over him and laid back down on the bed as he rolled off to get cleaned up. 

As he walked back into the room, I watched him from where I had propped myself on one elbow, following him with my eyes, observing his masculine grace. His legs and chest were dusted with dark hair to match the stubble on his face, and I could just see a vein or two standing out on each of his muscular forearms. 

He paused when he re-entered the room, as if the sight of me startled him, and for a moment it seemed like he didn’t quite know what to do. His eyes raked greedily over me, lingering at my chest before landing between my spread legs, where I still glistened with wetness. Then, with an effort, he tore his eyes away from me and climbed back onto the bed. He pulled me close, tugged my leg over his hip, and gently stroked my thigh. For a moment we just looked at each other as we laid there, nose to nose. Then he smiled.

“I never thought—” He paused. “All those times I saw you at the mailboxes…I never thought we’d end up here.”

“Me neither,” I said.

“Thank god for broken elevators,” he said, and we both laughed. God, I was beginning to love his laugh. 

We were silent for a few moments, just looking at each other. His fingers drifted lightly over my back, waist, hip, and thigh, sending shivers through me again. 

“Maybe we should…” he started, but he trailed off as I kissed him again.

“Shhhhh.”

“But—”

“Shhhhh.”

I pulled him back on top of me. He was already hardening again, pressed between us. He kissed me again, lightly, his lips just barely brushing mine, before kissing down to the hollow of my throat. He lingered there for a moment, like he was taking my pulse—I could feel it beating strongly under his lips. 

He continued kissing downward until his mouth was on my breast, and I gasped and arched against him as he swirled his tongue around my nipple. He caressed both breasts as he suckled one and then the other, my nipples gathering into hard little buds in his mouth. 

He was fully hard now, pressing against me, and when I shifted my weight slightly he slipped between my legs. Suddenly, his bare tip was nestled against me and as he shifted his own weight, he slid into me—just an inch. 

We froze, staring at each other, hearts pounding.

What now, Ellie-girl, I thought as I looked into his eyes. You don’t know him. This isn’t a good idea. Maybe you should—

I know what I should do, I answered myself. But…I think I trust him. And god, I want him so badly.

And so even though I knew it was risky, I held his gaze as I ran my hands down his body to his hips, and I pulled him gently into me. 

We froze again, eyes locked on each other as we each processed what was happening. And then he began to thrust, slowly, tentatively, not taking his eyes off mine even as he leaned down to kiss me.

I closed my eyes as our lips touched, lost in the pleasure of his skin against mine. I felt him shift his weight again and then his hand was between my legs, his thumb on my clit, keeping light, consistent pressure as he thrust in and out. His other hand slid from my hip to my waist to my breast, cupping it gently. My nipple ached for his touch, and he teased me by gently circling the edge of it without brushing the peak. I arched into him, trying to get his hand to land where I wanted it, but he noticed and kept teasing.

He held me on the edge as he stroked gently into me, smiling down at me as I writhed underneath him. As I reached the point of no return, my hips bucking up into his and his thumb still keeping steady pressure on my clit, he finally brushed his thumb over my nipple, then pinched it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. More pleasure washed over me and I arched against him again, quivering and moaning. His thrusts came harder as my muscles clenched around him, and I cried out as he moved faster and faster. 

He dropped his body back down onto mine and slipped his arms under me, holding me tighter as his thrusts became frantic. I wrapped my legs around his waist and tilted my hips upward to meet him, and he buried his face in my neck as he came. I stroked his sweaty hair as he pulsed inside me, my own aftershocks still coursing through me.

Then it was over and we lay in each other’s arms again, panting and sweaty. He brushed light kisses along my neck until I turned to face him, and he met my lips with his. He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Now can we talk?” he asked, his hand coming to rest to cup my face.

“But this is so much easier than talking,” I said. I wasn’t quite able to meet his eyes, focusing instead on watching my own finger as I drew it lightly up and down through the hair on his chest.

He smiled and leaned forward to kiss the tip of my nose. “It is very easy to do this with you. And I’m still just…amazed…that I got the cute girl from the mailboxes into my bed somehow.” I snorted and rolled my eyes, but the compliment still made me smile. 

He went on, “And if you’re looking for something casual, I can be casual. Or if this was just a one time thing for you…” He trailed off, looking away. “...I can accept that, too.”

There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t get my lips to form the words.

Like, I don’t think I want this to be a one time thing.

Like, I think we could really have something.

Like, I love your laugh and the way you touch me and the way you feel inside me.

Like, Thank god for that stupid fucking elevator.

But I just laid there wordlessly, playing with his chest hair, and he plunged ahead.

“Basically, what I’m saying is…I like you a lot, and I want to see you again. What do you think about a second date?”

A second date. I smiled, finally meeting his eyes, and leaned in to kiss him lightly.

“I’d love to have a second date,” I said. “But I think we need to have a first date, first.”

*******

This is the final chapter for Elise and Jake! I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about them as much as I’ve enjoyed writing about them. Let me know how you think their first date goes in the comments! ♥️

Author's Note: This piece was inspired by u/austhrowaway91919's comment here (number 1).

Part 1: They Both Had Terrible Dates. Then They Got Stuck In The Elevator. 

Part 2: I Got Stuck In The Elevator With The Cute Girl From My Building. Then She Came Home With Me.

***

I woke to the sound of oil sizzling in a pan.

With an effort, I forced my eyes open and squinted around the room. I didn’t recognize it, and panic dumped adrenaline into my bloodstream.

I sat up and felt a spike of pain through my skull. The sensation sloshed through my head and then settled behind my eyes to throb there. Every heartbeat fluttered my vision and I closed my eyes again, laying back down on the pillow. My mouth tasted like dryer lint.

Okay, Ellie-girl, I thought. What happened last night? Where are we?

And then it came back to me.

The bad date. The extra drinks. The elevator…and Jake. Jake, the cute neighbor guy I always see at the mailboxes. 

This was his apartment. We had had sex in the stopped elevator…and then we had come back here after getting rescued by the firemen. 

I realized I was naked under the blankets. Where were my clothes?

As I laid there, more memories of the evening came back to me. His come in my mouth; his tongue on my clit, warm and wet. The sex, gentle and unhurried, in great contrast to our frantic tryst in the elevator. He had been kind, considerate—tender, even. Which was a lot more than could be said about some of my recent dates. I smiled as I remembered. 

Then my head throbbed again, and I grimaced. 

A moment later I heard footsteps and struggled to sit up again, squinting toward the door, holding the sheet to my chest. Jake walked back into the bedroom, smiling, shirtless, wearing only a pair of gym shorts. He was holding a plate of grilled cheese and a glass of some green concoction that made my stomach turn over.

“Good morning,” he said, far too cheerfully. “I woke up with a hell of a hangover too. But grilled cheese and a smoothie always fixes me right up.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to hand me the plate and glass. I peered back at him and didn’t move to take them—partially because I thought I might puke if I did, and partially because I’d have to drop the sheet. I suddenly felt a bit shy.

He smiled anyway, and put the dishes on the nightstand. “It’s okay, take whatever time you need. And by the way, if you want something to wear—something more comfortable than your clothes from last night, I mean—I can grab you a t-shirt if you want.” I nodded, and he crossed the room to his dresser. He pulled out a shirt and handed it to me. When I didn’t put it on immediately, he took the hint and turned around, still smiling.

I dropped the sheet and yanked the shirt over my head. It billowed comfortably around me, covering me down to my hips. I sighed and he turned back around. “Better?” he asked. I nodded again, and he sat back down on the edge of the bed, watching me expectantly. 

“I’m—” My voice cracked and I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure I feel up to eating or drinking right now, unless it’s ibuprofen and water.”

“I can get you some of that,” he said. “But if you’re willing, just give the smoothie a try. I know it looks gross, but it’s an old family recipe and we swear by it.” He stood up and left the room. I stared at the glass of green goo and reached for it with a trembling hand.

I tilted it to my mouth and to my surprise, it didn’t taste bad. It wasn’t a flavor I would seek out in any other circumstance—nor one I could really describe—but it went down easily enough, and when my stomach didn’t immediately reject it, I took another sip, then another. My sour stomach began to settle, and the grilled cheese actually started to look appetizing.

Jake returned with the ibuprofen and water, and I swallowed the pills and drained the glass. The smoothie appeared to be working its magic, and I took a tentative nibble at the corner of the grilled cheese sandwich as he watched. 

“Good,” I said. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he said. He got up one more time, then returned with his own half-eaten grilled cheese and half-drunk smoothie, and sat on the other side of the bed. For a few moments, we ate and drank in silence, and I began to feel slightly more human again. 

As we ate, I shot occasional glances at him, not fully turning my head, trying to observe him without being caught. He had been a little nervous and awkward last night when he had asked me to stay, but now he seemed confident and in control. It made sense; we were in his place, after all. He hadn’t woken up naked and hungover in a stranger’s bed. 

Although I guess we weren’t exactly strangers anymore.

I finished my sandwich and smoothie and sighed in contentment, the headache receding and the nausea gone. He looked over at me, and I said, “That was really good. Thank you again. This hangover is a whopper.”

“Mine was too. But there’s a reason why we swear by this smoothie.” He smiled shyly at me. “I just hope you’re only regretting your alcohol consumption, and not anything else from last night.”

I smiled back, last night’s memories crowding into my mind. “I can’t think of anything that I regret about last night.”

He nodded and scooched toward me on the bed so he could drape his arm around me. I relaxed into him, my head resting on his shoulder. He leaned his head on mine, and I think he might have kissed my hair. A strangely intimate gesture from someone I’d never spoken to until about twelve hours ago, but it felt right.

I felt so comfortable, actually, that I had almost dozed off again when he said, “Do you want to…maybe…talk about last night?”

I didn’t, not really, so I turned my face up to his and answered, “Maybe after.”

“After wha—”

I pulled him down on top of me. 

He wrapped his arms around me and we held each other, kissing deeply but slowly, our actions feeling more weighty and deliberate in the light of day. His hair was soft under my fingers, his day-old stubble tickling my cheek. I hugged him to me and he squeezed back, then rolled over so I was on top of him.

His hands slid from my waist to my bare thighs, and I shivered lightly at his touch. It felt just as good as I remembered, and I kissed him harder, nibbling at his bottom lip. He groaned and squeezed my thighs, and I kissed down his neck to his clavicle, then back up to nuzzle behind his ear. His hands were everywhere now, roaming over the borrowed t-shirt as I nibbled his earlobe.

His hands drifted to my breasts, and he fondled them gently over the shirt, his thumbs finding my nipples already hard and straining through the well-worn cotton. I shivered again as pleasant tingles ran through me at his touch, and found his mouth again with mine. My tongue slipped past his lips and he groaned, squeezing my breasts and making me gasp. 

His hands slid back down to my thighs, and this time slipped under the hem of the t-shirt. His touch was gentle but possessive as he moved up my body, his hands warm on my skin. He moved as if he wanted to touch every part of me: slowly, but with intention. He lingered on the swell of my hip and at the curve of my waist; his fingers traced my spine from the small of my back to the base of my skull as if he was counting the vertebrae. He slipped his hands around my ribcage to cup my breasts again, and a low moan escaped my throat as his thumbs brushed my bare nipples. 

His movements rucked the shirt up under my arms, and as he grasped the hem, he broke the kiss and breathed, “As much as I like the sight of you in my shirt, I think I’d much rather see you out of it. Is that okay?”

My grin answered the question for him, and he tugged his shirt over my head.

Naked again, I sat up, straddling him. I could feel him straining underneath me, his hardness obvious through his loose shorts. I traced his waistband with my fingertips as I ground my hips lightly against him and he sighed, closing his eyes. I teased him like this for a few moments, enjoying the sounds he made and the stirring I felt underneath me, watching his chest hitch as his breathing became more ragged. 

He looked up and saw me watching, a grin spreading across my face again as he moaned. “You’re going to kill me,” he gasped. 

I smiled wider. “Well, we certainly wouldn’t want that.”

I slipped my fingers into his waistband and tugged his shorts down to his thighs. He sprung free immediately, hard and veiny, his shaft rising from a small patch of dark hair. His skin was hot to the touch as I grasped him gently and began to stroke.

“Elise, seriously—if you don’t stop—”

“I don’t want to stop,” I said. His shaft rested against my abdomen as I slid my hand up and down, still watching him. “I think I have you right where I want you.”

I kept one hand on him, pressing him to my abdomen as I leaned over to fish in his nightstand. I pulled out a condom and, praying my high school sex-ed lessons wouldn’t fail me, I tore it open, tossed the foil packet aside, and rolled the condom over him. He seemed like he might be hyperventilating, his eyes closed, his breathing jagged.

I knelt up straighter, guiding him to my entrance. He moaned again as he felt the heat at my core, and I slowly slid down onto his shaft, savoring every inch of him as I welcomed him into me, sighing with pleasure as my hips met his. He looked back up at me, and I smiled as I began to grind against him again.

His eyes widened, a look of panic briefly crossing his face before his eyes slid out of focus and I felt him pulsing inside me. His hands found my hips and held me to him as he spasmed, groaning, obviously chagrined at his loss of control. I continued to grind my hips gently against his and he jerked up into me—once, twice—before settling back onto the bed.

I leaned forward, supporting myself on my hands as I looked down into his face. He let out a shaky exhale and then looked sheepishly up at me. 

“I’m sorry—that’s so embarrassing—”

I kissed his lips lightly, interrupting his apologies. “No sorries necessary. I find it kind of flattering, actually. But you do owe me a round two once you’re ready.”

He chuckled weakly and said, “You bet.” I kissed him again, then swung my leg over him and laid back down on the bed as he rolled off to get cleaned up. 

As he walked back into the room, I watched him from where I had propped myself on one elbow, following him with my eyes, observing his masculine grace. His legs and chest were dusted with dark hair to match the stubble on his face, and I could just see a vein or two standing out on each of his muscular forearms. 

He paused when he re-entered the room, as if the sight of me startled him, and for a moment it seemed like he didn’t quite know what to do. His eyes raked greedily over me, lingering at my chest before landing between my spread legs, where I still glistened with wetness. Then, with an effort, he tore his eyes away from me and climbed back onto the bed. He pulled me close, tugged my leg over his hip, and gently stroked my thigh. For a moment we just looked at each other as we laid there, nose to nose. Then he smiled.

“I never thought—” He paused. “All those times I saw you at the mailboxes…I never thought we’d end up here.”

“Me neither,” I said.

“Thank god for broken elevators,” he said, and we both laughed. God, I was beginning to love his laugh. 

We were silent for a few moments, just looking at each other. His fingers drifted lightly over my back, waist, hip, and thigh, sending shivers through me again. 

“Maybe we should…” he started, but he trailed off as I kissed him again.

“Shhhhh.”

“But—”

“Shhhhh.”

I pulled him back on top of me. He was already hardening again, pressed between us. He kissed me again, lightly, his lips just barely brushing mine, before kissing down to the hollow of my throat. He lingered there for a moment, like he was taking my pulse—I could feel it beating strongly under his lips. 

He continued kissing downward until his mouth was on my breast, and I gasped and arched against him as he swirled his tongue around my nipple. He caressed both breasts as he suckled one and then the other, my nipples gathering into hard little buds in his mouth. 

He was fully hard now, pressing against me, and when I shifted my weight slightly he slipped between my legs. Suddenly, his bare tip was nestled against me and as he shifted his own weight, he slid into me—just an inch. 

We froze, staring at each other, hearts pounding.

What now, Ellie-girl, I thought as I looked into his eyes. You don’t know him. This isn’t a good idea. Maybe you should—

I know what I should do, I answered myself. But…I think I trust him. And god, I want him so badly.

And so even though I knew it was risky, I held his gaze as I ran my hands down his body to his hips, and I pulled him gently into me. 

We froze again, eyes locked on each other as we each processed what was happening. And then he began to thrust, slowly, tentatively, not taking his eyes off mine even as he leaned down to kiss me.

I closed my eyes as our lips touched, lost in the pleasure of his skin against mine. I felt him shift his weight again and then his hand was between my legs, his thumb on my clit, keeping light, consistent pressure as he thrust in and out. His other hand slid from my hip to my waist to my breast, cupping it gently. My nipple ached for his touch, and he teased me by gently circling the edge of it without brushing the peak. I arched into him, trying to get his hand to land where I wanted it, but he noticed and kept teasing.

He held me on the edge as he stroked gently into me, smiling down at me as I writhed underneath him. As I reached the point of no return, my hips bucking up into his and his thumb still keeping steady pressure on my clit, he finally brushed his thumb over my nipple, then pinched it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. More pleasure washed over me and I arched against him again, quivering and moaning. His thrusts came harder as my muscles clenched around him, and I cried out as he moved faster and faster. 

He dropped his body back down onto mine and slipped his arms under me, holding me tighter as his thrusts became frantic. I wrapped my legs around his waist and tilted my hips upward to meet him, and he buried his face in my neck as he came. I stroked his sweaty hair as he pulsed inside me, my own aftershocks still coursing through me.

Then it was over and we lay in each other’s arms again, panting and sweaty. He brushed light kisses along my neck until I turned to face him, and he met my lips with his. He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Now can we talk?” he asked, his hand coming to rest to cup my face.

“But this is so much easier than talking,” I said. I wasn’t quite able to meet his eyes, focusing instead on watching my own finger as I drew it lightly up and down through the hair on his chest.

He smiled and leaned forward to kiss the tip of my nose. “It is very easy to do this with you. And I’m still just…amazed…that I got the cute girl from the mailboxes into my bed somehow.” I snorted and rolled my eyes, but the compliment still made me smile. 

He went on, “And if you’re looking for something casual, I can be casual. Or if this was just a one time thing for you…” He trailed off, looking away. “...I can accept that, too.”

There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t get my lips to form the words.

Like, I don’t think I want this to be a one time thing.

Like, I think we could really have something.

Like, I love your laugh and the way you touch me and the way you feel inside me.

Like, Thank god for that stupid fucking elevator.

But I just laid there wordlessly, playing with his chest hair, and he plunged ahead.

“Basically, what I’m saying is…I like you a lot, and I want to see you again. What do you think about a second date?”

A second date. I smiled, finally meeting his eyes, and leaned in to kiss him lightly.

“I’d love to have a second date,” I said. “But I think we need to have a first date, first.”

*******

This is the final chapter for Elise and Jake! I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about them as much as I’ve enjoyed writing about them. Let me know how you think their first date goes in the comments! ♥️

I’m putting the final touches on my outfit for tonight’s party when I hear a knock at the apartment door. My roommate, Becky, answers it.

“Hey Alex! Nice costume. Jenny’s almost ready—she’s in her room.”

“Come on in!” I shout. I’m standing at the mirror braiding my hair into pigtails, and I hear him enter the room behind me as I’m finally able to tie off the end of the second long braid. We make eye contact in the mirror and I say, “Hey, great costume.”

“Thanks,” he says. He’s wearing an embroidered western-style shirt that stretches over his broad chest, cowboy boots, and blue jeans with an enormous, gaudy silver belt buckle. I turn, squint, and see it has a bald eagle on it, then look up at him. “Where on earth did you get that awful thing?” I ask, laughing. 

He smiles and shrugs. “Temu. It was like four bucks. I’m actually surprised it’s even staying on.”

“Well, it really makes your outfit. Are you ready to go?” 

“Yep,” he says. “I like your outfit, too. Very Americana.”

I’m wearing a red gingham button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, the bottom of the shirt tied in a knot just over my belly button. The ends of my braids are tied with little red bows to match my shirt. A short denim skirt and cowboy boots, as well as a sparkly cowboy hat, complete my costume for tonight’s party theme: “One Last Rodeo.” 

Our senior year is winding down, and it’s going to be so strange in a month when, for the first time, Alex and I will be living in separate cities. We grew up on the same block, so we’ve been going to school together our whole lives, even ending up at the same local state university after neither of our top school choices panned out. And now he’s been recruited by a tech company in Austin, Texas, and there’s a job waiting for me at a publishing house in New York. Even though I’m excited to graduate and start my career, the thought of leaving my family and my hometown—and Alex, my oldest friend—after almost 22 years is intimidating. 

But finals are finally over, and now we just have a few days until graduation.

“Hey, Becky!” I call as we leave my room. “Are you guys ready to go?”

Becky and her boyfriend Jason appear from the kitchen, dressed like Woody and Jessie from Toy Story. Becky’s even managed to procure a red, braided yarn wig from somewhere, and she’s drawn extra freckles across her nose with an eyebrow pencil. They look at each other, then wordlessly turn around and lift their left feet to display the soles of their boots, where they’ve written “AИDY” in black sharpie. Alex and I laugh and clap. 

“Wow, you guys did a great job on your costumes!” I say, still laughing. 

“Yeah, really impressive,” Alex says. “You guys will win the costume contest for sure.”

We’re still laughing together as we walk out the door. 

***

The party is held at a local bar-slash-dancehall that caters to the line-dancing crowd. There are pool tables, dart boards, and a mechanical bull that already has a line practically out the door. As we walk in, a girl wearing a huge Dolly Parton wig gets thrown from the bull, landing on the inflatable base with an audible whoosh of air from her lungs. “Ow, that’s gotta hurt,” Jason says as we pass, and the rest of us wince and murmur in agreement.

We split up as we move further inside, Becky and Jason drifting off to make out in a dark corner, while Alex is hailed by a couple of his weightlifting buddies. They greet each other with arm punches and handshakes that look designed to hurt, and I roll my eyes as I walk away to find my own friends. Their raucous laughter follows me and I shake my head, smiling a little.

Alex is a good guy, but when he’s around his friends, he has to puff out his chest and pretend to be an alpha. As far as I can tell, “being an alpha” means flexing as girls walk by, wearing too much cologne, and crushing empty beer cans on their heads. I’ve tried to talk to him about it before, but he says I just don’t get it. I suppose I don’t.

I find a few of my literary magazine friends and we head to the bar for margaritas. We toast, snap a few selfies, and drink, chatting about our future plans. Paul and Anya are both going on to grad school to study literature, while Hannah, Brennan, and I are all heading into the “real world.” We order round after round, toasting each other, our futures, our school, our magazine, getting sloppier by the minute. 

It’s my turn to get a round of drinks, and I’m standing at the bar—okay, leaning on the bar, struggling slightly to stay upright—when I glance around the room and recognize a familiar silhouette leaning up against one of the pool tables. It’s Alex, his tall, barrel-chested frame towering over the girl he’s chatting up. She needs to tilt her head nearly all the way back to look up at him, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

I turn back to the bar with a sigh, starting to get impatient, when I feel hands on my waist and hot breath in my ear. “Hey, baby, want to show me what’s under that skirt?”

I whirl around and a guy I don’t know is pushing me up against the bar, his hands on my hips now as he presses against me, flirting with the edge of my miniskirt. He has a buffalo-check shirt on and a blue handkerchief in his shirt pocket, and he looks like Paul Bunyan. The edge of the bar pushes painfully into my back.

“Uh, no, excuse me,” I say, giggling nervously. I try to side-step him, but he places one hand on either side of me and traps me between them.

“What, too good for me? Come on, I just want to talk. What’s your major?” He’s leaning forward, his face inches from mine, bathing me in his whiskey breath. 

“No—let me go—”

I try to push against his chest, but the whole drunk weight of him is leaning on me now, and he grinds his hips against me as I strain hopelessly against his bulk. He tries to kiss me and I turn my head just in time, but his lips still attach themselves to my neck like a suction cup, and I renew my efforts to free myself.

“Hey!—What’s going—Hey, get off!”

Paul Bunyan is pushed aside, and suddenly Alex is in front of me.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I nod, and he wraps his arm possessively around my shoulders.

Mr. Bunyan is squaring up, ready for a fight, when he sees Alex’s arm around me. He looks from me to Alex and back to me, then at the floor, looking chastised. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize—my bad.” He slinks away, and Alex squeezes my shoulders before dropping his arm. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah—I’m fine. Thanks for the rescue. You can go back to your girl over there.” I nod toward the pool tables, where the girl Alex had been chatting with is watching us, her eyes narrowed. His eyes flick toward her, then back to me. It looks for a moment like he wants to say something else, but then Hannah pops up at my elbow.

“Are you okay, Jenny? Let’s get you back to the table. I’ll help carry the drinks.”

By the time I look up again, Alex has disappeared back into the crowd.

***

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of more drinks, and suddenly the lights are coming up as the bar starts chivvying people out. People have been leaving in pairs and groups for the last hour, and I’ve long since lost track of Alex. We had planned to walk back to our building together, but it seems like he may have left with that girl he was talking to. 

I hop down from my stool and sway slightly, feeling pleasantly dizzy, and get ready to walk back to my place by myself. Becky and Jason are long gone, headed back to his apartment with their first-place ribbons, and most of my magazine friends live in the opposite direction. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Hannah asks as we walk toward the exit.

“Totally fine,” I say. “I’m only a few blocks away. It’s an easy walk.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she says. I nod, and we hug before parting ways.

As I turn to start walking, I hear someone calling my name. “Jenny! Wait up!”

Thundering footsteps sound behind me and I turn. It’s Alex, and he’s alone. His cowboy boots click loudly on the pavement, and I stop and wait for him to catch up. 

“I thought we were walking back together!” he says, winded.

“Me too, but I thought you’d already left. I saw you talking to that girl and just assumed—”

“Oh, uh, yeah, that was just, uh…that didn’t really work out,” he says, slurring slightly and grinning despite his apparent strike-out.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, realizing as I say it that I’m not really sorry at all. “Let’s get going, you should probably get to bed.” 

“But whyyyy, it’s so nice out tonight and we’re having so much fun—” He slings his arm around my shoulders and begins, incredibly, to skip down the sidewalk. I can’t help but grin dizzily as he pulls me along, but if he keeps going like this—his strides are enormous and I can barely keep up—we’re both going to end up on the ground.

“What—okay—what has gotten into you?” I ask, laughing, trying to slow him down. “You’re going to kill us both if you keep skipping like this, I can’t keep up with you.”

“I’m just enjoying my time with my friend while I can,” he says, his voice sing-song. He slows down to a normal walking speed and his arm slips to my waist. His hand is warm on my exposed midriff. “We’re friends, right?”

“Wha—of course we’re friends, Alex, what do you mean?”

“Just—” He looks up at the sky, then down at the sidewalk, not meeting my eyes. “In a couple of weeks we’ll be living in different cities, and it’ll be so weird not having you around.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say. “But we’ll both be home for the holidays, so we’ll still see each other. And they do have this really great thing called phones where we can call each other and text each other and even video chat.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “But…”

“But what?”

“But—I—oh, hell.”

I look up just in time to see him swooping down toward me, and he presses his lips to mine.

My whole body tightens in surprise. This is Alex, I think, Alex, the kid I’ve known since I was five, who I used to make mudpies with, who I learned to ride bikes with, who I ran through the sprinkler with. Alex, who signed my cast when I broke my arm and threw snowballs at me and rode the bus with me. Alex, who can be a big dumb macho jerk when he’s around his big dumb macho jerk friends. 

And then I think, But wait—this is Alex, who took me to junior prom when my first boyfriend dumped me the week before, who walks me home from every party, who saved me tonight and who’s saved me countless other times…have I been missing something?

All of this goes through my mind in half a second, and then he’s pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “I’ve just always wanted—”

I grab a handful of his shirt, pull him down toward me, and kiss him again. My mouth softens, and his tongue pushes past my lips as his arms wrap around me. I throw my arms around his neck and he presses his body to mine, his hands on the small of my back. For the first time I understand what all those girls are seeing when he towers over them, and I melt into his arms.

We part a moment later, panting.

“What was that?” I whisper, looking up at him. A gentle smile is tugging at his lips. 

“That is what I’ve been wanting to do since the seventh grade.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But—why didn’t—”

“Because we’re friends,” he says, taking both my hands. “And I didn’t want to mess that up. You’re…really important to me. But now…when we’re graduating…” He squeezes my hands as he shrugs. “I had to take the chance while there still was a chance. I knew I’d always regret it if I didn’t.”

I can’t seem to form any words; my brain has gone to radio static. He’s still holding my hands, looking at me like I’m supposed to say something. I suppose I probably should, but nothing comes, and I just stare at him.

His face changes, just a subtle shift in his eyes, even as he maintains his smile. He drops my hands. “Um, sorry,” he says, looking away. “I guess—maybe I shouldn’t have—”

I interrupt him. “No, I just—I can’t quite wrap my brain around this.” I take his hands again and step closer to him. We’re still on the sidewalk, still two blocks from our building. “Is this really happening?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I think it is.”

He kisses me again, and this time he doesn’t hold back. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet, his tongue in my mouth, his hands warm on my skin as my shirt rides up my back. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back, tasting the liquor on his breath, thinking nothing has ever tasted so good. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies his kiss sobers me up faster than ten cups of coffee.

He puts me down and we look at each other again, astonished smiles spreading slowly across our faces. He laces his fingers through mine and we start walking again, nervous and giddy. My heart pounds as we walk faster and faster, sneaking glances at each other and giggling like kids. 

We’re almost running by the time we get back to our building, and as we walk through my apartment door I’m trembling all over, excitement and nerves still dumping buckets of adrenaline into my bloodstream. With the door closed behind us, we look at each other again and smile shyly, suddenly uncomfortable, knowing we’ve already crossed a line that can’t be un-crossed.

He approaches me slowly and rests his hands on my shoulders. His thumbs play with my open collar, and his eyes drift downward to where my shirt is buttoned. His hands follow, and suddenly they’re on my breasts. My breath catches in my throat and he pauses, and as I lean toward him to reassure him with a kiss, he tilts his head up and—clunk—his forehead collides with mine.

We both stumble backwards, palms pressed to our heads, groaning in pain. And then we catch each other’s eye, and soon we’re laughing, doubled over as we gasp for breath. He’s still pretty drunk, and just as I notice him listing to the side, I watch as he loses his balance and tumbles to the ground. We both laugh harder, tears squeezing from my eyes. 

I try to help him to his feet, but his dead weight is no match for me and I end up plopping to the ground myself, cackling even harder now. We can’t look at each other; every time we do, fresh streams of giggles burst from us. My stomach hurts and I’m starting to feel lightheaded, and I’m grateful I’m already sitting on the ground.

Finally, finally, we manage to stop laughing. He gets to his knees and then to his feet, offering me a hand and pulling me up.

“Man,” he says, “I’m sorry about that. I guess we’re both—”

“Nervous,” I finish for him, and he nods. “I also just kept thinking about the sound our heads made—”

“Me too,” he says, chuckling again. “But I can’t think about it anymore because I think I might hyperventilate if I start laughing again.”

“Same,” I say. 

Our breathing slows down again as we watch each other. He’s still holding my hand after helping me up. I’m trying to be serious, but my face keeps wanting to twitch into a smile. 

He steps toward me and takes my other hand, lacing his fingers through mine again. 

“Are you ready?” he breathes.

My lips part slightly as I nod.

This time when he kisses me, it’s soft and gentle, tentative, patient. He squeezes my hands lightly as he exhales, then lets go of them to cup my face. He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead and kisses me again, this time sucking lightly on my bottom lip. A sigh escapes me, and I feel my body relax.

His hands drift to my shoulders, his thumbs teasing the sensitive skin along my clavicle. As we kiss, I reach out in front of me to find the buttons of his shirt and begin undoing them one by one. His hands slide slowly down my front until he’s cupping my breasts again, and we both start to breathe faster. 

I finish unbuttoning his shirt and slip my hands inside, touching his bare chest for the first time. He’s broad and muscular, standing about eight inches taller than me, and I break our kiss so I can kiss his Adam’s apple and the hollow of his throat as I slide the shirt from his shoulders. He groans, the sound escaping as if he was trying to hold it back.

He unbuttons my shirt, then unties the knotted fabric. He pushes the blouse from my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. Then his hands are on me again, now working at my bra clasp. He unhooks it and slides the straps down my arms, slowly, like he can’t believe what he’s doing. 

The apartment is dark, lit only by the sodium-vapor streetlamps outside the window, and we’re still standing in the small entranceway. He cups my breasts again, now bare against his hands. The orange glow of the streetlamp is reflected in his eyes as he watches himself caress me, as if mesmerized. I can feel his disbelief—and his excitement—coming off of him in waves. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, and I wonder if he can feel it. 

 “Come on,” I say, and I lead him to my bedroom.

I leave the overhead lights off, but turn on the string of multicolor twinkle lights I hung around the perimeter of the room when I first moved in. They’re not very bright, but they lend a warm, colorful glow to the room as they fade slowly in and out. I press my body to his and wrap my arms around his waist, my cheek to his bare chest. He rests his chin on my head and strokes my hair, and I can hear his heart beating wildly. It makes me smile to know he’s as nervous as I am.

I look up, and he bends down to kiss me again. It’s more urgent this time, and his hands find their way under my skirt. I’m wearing a thong underneath, and he draws in a long breath when he encounters my bare skin. I smile against his mouth and turn my head to kiss along his jaw, the warmth from his touch spreading through my body. He finds the hidden side zipper on the skirt and tugs it down, and the skirt falls to my feet. 

He lowers me onto the bed so I’m lying on my back, and I kick off my boots as he fumbles in his pocket. He tosses a small foil packet onto the bed before unbuckling his belt, the obnoxious bald eagle belt buckle making it difficult to maneuver. He struggles for a moment and then yanks at it, and I watch as it breaks and goes flying in a flash of metal, coming to rest under my desk.

That almost gets us both laughing again, but I stop as he slips out of his jeans and boots and strips off his socks. His boxer shorts do little to hide his tumescence, and it’s my turn to watch, transfixed, as he lowers himself to the bed.

Lying on his side, slipping one arm under my shoulders, he looms over me in the semidarkness. He uses his free hand to play lightly with one nipple, then the other as he kisses my neck. He moves slowly down my body and my heart pounds harder, desperate for his touch but so full of nerves that I can hardly breathe. He slides one finger under my thong, then stops. We look at each other as the lights around us change colors, and I kiss him again, nodding as I pant through my excitement.

He slips the thong aside, then draws a finger through the wetness that’s gathered between my legs. We both shiver as he touches me, and as he slips his finger inside me, I grasp him over his boxers and begin to stroke him gently.

I feel him swell under the fabric and he groans. When I slip my hand into his waistband and touch his bare skin for the first time, he buries his face in my neck and whimpers. His warm breath on my skin makes me shiver, tingles running through my body.

He pulls away for a moment and slides his boxers off, kicking them to the floor. Naked now, he leans over me and slips his fingers back into the waistband of my thong, then slowly tugs it down my thighs…then to my knees…and then finally to my ankles. It gets tossed to the floor as well, and out of the corner of my eye I see it land on one of my boots.

We pause again, just looking at each other, letting the weight of the moment settle over us. Every inside joke, every sleepover, every time we fought over what kind of pizza to order or what movie to watch—they all led us here, and I can see in his eyes that he’s reliving the same moments I am. He smiles again, gently, and I nod.

He reaches for the condom in its square foil packet, tears it open, rolls it on. He lowers his body over mine, supporting himself on one elbow as he guides himself to my entrance. I look up into his face, and he looks down at me.

“No turning back now,” he whispers.

“No,” I breathe. “No turning back.”

His lips meet mine as he slides slowly into me, and I moan into his mouth. He kisses along my cheek to my jaw, then down behind my ear, burying his face in my neck again as he begins to thrust. 

“Oh, god,” he whispers. “Oh, god, it’s finally real.”

He finds my mouth with his again and kisses me desperately, and I wrap my arms around him. It’s finally real, I think, in a dazed sort of way. I never knew I wanted this, but now…now I can’t think of anything in the world that I want more.

His strokes begin to speed up, and I hold him tighter to me, wrapping my legs around his hips. He’s thrusting deeply now, deeper than I’ve ever felt before, and the sensation takes my breath away. It’s both painful and arousing and I don’t know how to process it, so I kiss him harder, cupping his face and holding it to mine. We’re both sweating now, and there’s a masculine, musky scent surrounding him that I’ve never noticed before. It’s utterly intoxicating, and I almost laugh with the joy of it.

We hold each other tighter and tighter as his thrusts come faster, panting and sweaty, kissing frantically, and now I do laugh, and then we laugh together at finding ourselves here, where suddenly it seems like we’ve been heading all along. And when he thrusts into me for the final time, shuddering and gasping, he drops his head to my shoulder and whispers, “oh god, oh god, oh god,” as he comes. I stroke his sweaty hair and whisper, my lips to his ear, “I know…I know.”

***

We spend the next few moments catching our breath, his head still on my shoulder, and I feel a brief moment of sadness as he withdraws from me. My hand is still in his sweaty hair when he looks up at me.

“So…that happened,” he says. His bashful smile makes my chest flutter.

“It sure did,” I say. “What happens now?”

“Well,” he says, “first I’m going to take care of this condom, and then I’m going to take care of you.”

“Take care of—what do you mean?” I ask as he rolls off the bed.

“I mean, you haven’t come yet, so I’m going to make sure you do.”

“Uh—”

But then he’s gone, leaving the room to dispose of the condom in the bathroom I share with Becky. 

I had assumed that, like the other two guys I’d slept with, Alex would either get cleaned up and bounce, or get cleaned up and then fall asleep immediately, probably trapping me under one heavy leg as he snored away and I stared at the ceiling. (It had happened before.) It hadn’t even occurred to me that there was a third option.

Alex comes back into the room and slides back into my narrow bed, spooning me so my back is pressed against his chest. One arm slips under my neck so my head rests on his bicep, and the other rests on my waist for a moment before drifting between my legs. He pulls my hips gently toward him so they open slightly, and his finger just brushes against me when I say, “Wait.”

He pauses, but doesn’t move his hand away. “What?” he whispers in my ear. “Are you okay?”

“You—you don’t have to worry about me,” I say. “We can just go to sleep if you want. Wouldn’t you rather just go to sleep?”

“No, I’d rather get you off first,” he says, as if the answer is obvious.

“Well, I mean, just—don’t worry about it,” I say. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Jenny,” he says, “I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since the seventh grade, and I’ve been dreaming of making you come since…well…not much later than that, if we’re being honest.” One hand is still between my legs; the other begins to stroke my breast. I shiver in his arms. “Trust me, this is not, like, a hardship for me.”

“It’s just—” I can feel my face burning with shame, and I’m thankful I’m facing away from him. “It’s just that, um, I’ve never actually…” I trail off, hoping he’ll understand without making me say it.

He does; good old Alex. “Jen, are you telling me that neither of those guys you dated—one of whom you dated for like ten months—are you saying they never made you come? You never once had an orgasm with them?”

I shake my head. “We had sex, and it was good—I mean, it was fine—and it seemed like maybe there should be something more, but there just…never was. And it wasn’t ever really a big deal,” I add hurriedly.

“Well,” he says, “there is more, and it is a big deal. And if you’ll let me” —he pulls me tighter against him so we’re fully skin to skin, his front against my back— “I’d like to show you.”

“Okay,” I whisper, my voice hardly audible even to my own ears.

“Okay,” he says. “Stop me if it gets to be too much.”

I nod, and he nuzzles my neck. I can feel him smiling against my skin.

The hand between my legs begins to move again, one finger stroking me gently open before slipping into me, followed by a second. The other finds my nipple and rolls it gently between his thumb and forefinger, sending sparkles of pleasure through my veins. His lips are on my neck, my ear, my shoulder, my jaw, and his warm breath tickles my sensitive skin.

He alternates the gentle thrusts of his fingers with light circles over my clit, barely touching it, focusing on the sensitive flesh to either side of it. I moan low in my throat, already almost overwhelmed with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, slipping his fingers into me and stroking me from the inside, then drawing them out and circling my clit, until I’m gasping and panting in his arms. My nipples have gathered into points so hard they feel like they could cut glass, and every brush of his fingers over them makes me moan.

There’s pressure building inside me, and I don’t know what to do with it. I squirm in his arms, trying to get away from it; I can feel my pulse pounding in my throat and between my legs, and still he keeps his steady rhythm, stroking and stroking. I begin to whimper and tremble, and he holds me tighter as he presses his lips to my ear.

“It’s okay, Jenny. I’ve got you. Stop fighting it.”

I try to relax, and as I stop squirming, he whispers, “That’s it, just like that.” He keeps stroking, and finally the pressure reaches critical mass and explodes outward, flooding my body with pleasure. For a moment my whole body tenses; then I begin to shake, my legs trying to close around his hand, but he pulls them gently back apart. He strokes me through it, one hand on my breast, the other inside me, and I turn my face into the pillow so I can scream.

“That’s right,” he whispers. “Just like that. I’ve got you. Let it out.”

I thrash and shudder but he holds me steady, his strokes slowing but not stopping until I go limp in his arms, panting, “No more, I can’t take it, no more, please.”

He stops then and just holds me, letting me come back down to earth. He kisses my neck gently, and I feel him smiling again as the last shivers run through me. Finally, I recover enough to turn over toward him, and he kisses my lips lightly.

“How was that?” he asks, the smile on his face making clear that he knows exactly how it was.

“It was…” I can hardly form words. “Indescribable.” 

His smile widens and he kisses my forehead. “Aren’t you glad that we didn’t just go to sleep?”

I nod and rest my head against his chest, still catching my breath. My mind is reeling. This is Alex, I think again. Alex is lying naked in my bed. I just had sex with Alex. Alex just made me come for the first time. My brain struggles to rationalize this and can’t make sense of it. Did we just make a huge mistake?

I look back up at him, and he smiles down at me and kisses the tip of my nose. 

“What—” It comes out in a squeak, and I clear my throat. “What now?” I ask.

“I don’t think we have to decide that yet,” he says, though he looks thoughtful. “I have some ideas, but I think it’s worth sleeping on them first.”

My eyelids start to droop at the mention of sleep, and I realize for the first time how exhausted I am. “Okay,” I say, and I snuggle closer to him. His arms tighten around me.

“I am pretty sure of one thing, though,” he whispers. 

“Mmmm?”

“It’s going to be a fun Senior Week.”

I smile against his chest, and he holds me as we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

I’m putting the final touches on my outfit for tonight’s party when I hear a knock at the apartment door. My roommate, Becky, answers it.

“Hey Alex! Nice costume. Jenny’s almost ready—she’s in her room.”

“Come on in!” I shout. I’m standing at the mirror braiding my hair into pigtails, and I hear him enter the room behind me as I’m finally able to tie off the end of the second long braid. We make eye contact in the mirror and I say, “Hey, great costume.”

“Thanks,” he says. He’s wearing an embroidered western-style shirt that stretches over his broad chest, cowboy boots, and blue jeans with an enormous, gaudy silver belt buckle. I turn, squint, and see it has a bald eagle on it, then look up at him. “Where on earth did you get that awful thing?” I ask, laughing. 

He smiles and shrugs. “Temu. It was like four bucks. I’m actually surprised it’s even staying on.”

“Well, it really makes your outfit. Are you ready to go?” 

“Yep,” he says. “I like your outfit, too. Very Americana.”

I’m wearing a red gingham button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, the bottom of the shirt tied in a knot just over my belly button. The ends of my braids are tied with little red bows to match my shirt. A short denim skirt and cowboy boots, as well as a sparkly cowboy hat, complete my costume for tonight’s party theme: “One Last Rodeo.” 

Our senior year is winding down, and it’s going to be so strange in a month when, for the first time, Alex and I will be living in separate cities. We grew up on the same block, so we’ve been going to school together our whole lives, even ending up at the same local state university after neither of our top school choices panned out. And now he’s been recruited by a tech company in Austin, Texas, and there’s a job waiting for me at a publishing house in New York. Even though I’m excited to graduate and start my career, the thought of leaving my family and my hometown—and Alex, my oldest friend—after almost 22 years is intimidating. 

But finals are finally over, and now we just have a few days until graduation.

“Hey, Becky!” I call as we leave my room. “Are you guys ready to go?”

Becky and her boyfriend Jason appear from the kitchen, dressed like Woody and Jessie from Toy Story. Becky’s even managed to procure a red, braided yarn wig from somewhere, and she’s drawn extra freckles across her nose with an eyebrow pencil. They look at each other, then wordlessly turn around and lift their left feet to display the soles of their boots, where they’ve written “AИDY” in black sharpie. Alex and I laugh and clap. 

“Wow, you guys did a great job on your costumes!” I say, still laughing. 

“Yeah, really impressive,” Alex says. “You guys will win the costume contest for sure.”

We’re still laughing together as we walk out the door. 

***

The party is held at a local bar-slash-dancehall that caters to the line-dancing crowd. There are pool tables, dart boards, and a mechanical bull that already has a line practically out the door. As we walk in, a girl wearing a huge Dolly Parton wig gets thrown from the bull, landing on the inflatable base with an audible whoosh of air from her lungs. “Ow, that’s gotta hurt,” Jason says as we pass, and the rest of us wince and murmur in agreement.

We split up as we move further inside, Becky and Jason drifting off to make out in a dark corner, while Alex is hailed by a couple of his weightlifting buddies. They greet each other with arm punches and handshakes that look designed to hurt, and I roll my eyes as I walk away to find my own friends. Their raucous laughter follows me and I shake my head, smiling a little.

Alex is a good guy, but when he’s around his friends, he has to puff out his chest and pretend to be an alpha. As far as I can tell, “being an alpha” means flexing as girls walk by, wearing too much cologne, and crushing empty beer cans on their heads. I’ve tried to talk to him about it before, but he says I just don’t get it. I suppose I don’t.

I find a few of my literary magazine friends and we head to the bar for margaritas. We toast, snap a few selfies, and drink, chatting about our future plans. Paul and Anya are both going on to grad school to study literature, while Hannah, Brennan, and I are all heading into the “real world.” We order round after round, toasting each other, our futures, our school, our magazine, getting sloppier by the minute. 

It’s my turn to get a round of drinks, and I’m standing at the bar—okay, leaning on the bar, struggling slightly to stay upright—when I glance around the room and recognize a familiar silhouette leaning up against one of the pool tables. It’s Alex, his tall, barrel-chested frame towering over the girl he’s chatting up. She needs to tilt her head nearly all the way back to look up at him, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

I turn back to the bar with a sigh, starting to get impatient, when I feel hands on my waist and hot breath in my ear. “Hey, baby, want to show me what’s under that skirt?”

I whirl around and a guy I don’t know is pushing me up against the bar, his hands on my hips now as he presses against me, flirting with the edge of my miniskirt. He has a buffalo-check shirt on and a blue handkerchief in his shirt pocket, and he looks like Paul Bunyan. The edge of the bar pushes painfully into my back.

“Uh, no, excuse me,” I say, giggling nervously. I try to side-step him, but he places one hand on either side of me and traps me between them.

“What, too good for me? Come on, I just want to talk. What’s your major?” He’s leaning forward, his face inches from mine, bathing me in his whiskey breath. 

“No—let me go—”

I try to push against his chest, but the whole drunk weight of him is leaning on me now, and he grinds his hips against me as I strain hopelessly against his bulk. He tries to kiss me and I turn my head just in time, but his lips still attach themselves to my neck like a suction cup, and I renew my efforts to free myself.

“Hey!—What’s going—Hey, get off!”

Paul Bunyan is pushed aside, and suddenly Alex is in front of me.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I nod, and he wraps his arm possessively around my shoulders.

Mr. Bunyan is squaring up, ready for a fight, when he sees Alex’s arm around me. He looks from me to Alex and back to me, then at the floor, looking chastised. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize—my bad.” He slinks away, and Alex squeezes my shoulders before dropping his arm. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah—I’m fine. Thanks for the rescue. You can go back to your girl over there.” I nod toward the pool tables, where the girl Alex had been chatting with is watching us, her eyes narrowed. His eyes flick toward her, then back to me. It looks for a moment like he wants to say something else, but then Hannah pops up at my elbow.

“Are you okay, Jenny? Let’s get you back to the table. I’ll help carry the drinks.”

By the time I look up again, Alex has disappeared back into the crowd.

***

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of more drinks, and suddenly the lights are coming up as the bar starts chivvying people out. People have been leaving in pairs and groups for the last hour, and I’ve long since lost track of Alex. We had planned to walk back to our building together, but it seems like he may have left with that girl he was talking to. 

I hop down from my stool and sway slightly, feeling pleasantly dizzy, and get ready to walk back to my place by myself. Becky and Jason are long gone, headed back to his apartment with their first-place ribbons, and most of my magazine friends live in the opposite direction. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Hannah asks as we walk toward the exit.

“Totally fine,” I say. “I’m only a few blocks away. It’s an easy walk.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she says. I nod, and we hug before parting ways.

As I turn to start walking, I hear someone calling my name. “Jenny! Wait up!”

Thundering footsteps sound behind me and I turn. It’s Alex, and he’s alone. His cowboy boots click loudly on the pavement, and I stop and wait for him to catch up. 

“I thought we were walking back together!” he says, winded.

“Me too, but I thought you’d already left. I saw you talking to that girl and just assumed—”

“Oh, uh, yeah, that was just, uh…that didn’t really work out,” he says, slurring slightly and grinning despite his apparent strike-out.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, realizing as I say it that I’m not really sorry at all. “Let’s get going, you should probably get to bed.” 

“But whyyyy, it’s so nice out tonight and we’re having so much fun—” He slings his arm around my shoulders and begins, incredibly, to skip down the sidewalk. I can’t help but grin dizzily as he pulls me along, but if he keeps going like this—his strides are enormous and I can barely keep up—we’re both going to end up on the ground.

“What—okay—what has gotten into you?” I ask, laughing, trying to slow him down. “You’re going to kill us both if you keep skipping like this, I can’t keep up with you.”

“I’m just enjoying my time with my friend while I can,” he says, his voice sing-song. He slows down to a normal walking speed and his arm slips to my waist. His hand is warm on my exposed midriff. “We’re friends, right?”

“Wha—of course we’re friends, Alex, what do you mean?”

“Just—” He looks up at the sky, then down at the sidewalk, not meeting my eyes. “In a couple of weeks we’ll be living in different cities, and it’ll be so weird not having you around.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say. “But we’ll both be home for the holidays, so we’ll still see each other. And they do have this really great thing called phones where we can call each other and text each other and even video chat.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “But…”

“But what?”

“But—I—oh, hell.”

I look up just in time to see him swooping down toward me, and he presses his lips to mine.

My whole body tightens in surprise. This is Alex, I think, Alex, the kid I’ve known since I was five, who I used to make mudpies with, who I learned to ride bikes with, who I ran through the sprinkler with. Alex, who signed my cast when I broke my arm and threw snowballs at me and rode the bus with me. Alex, who can be a big dumb macho jerk when he’s around his big dumb macho jerk friends. 

And then I think, But wait—this is Alex, who took me to junior prom when my first boyfriend dumped me the week before, who walks me home from every party, who saved me tonight and who’s saved me countless other times…have I been missing something?

All of this goes through my mind in half a second, and then he’s pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “I’ve just always wanted—”

I grab a handful of his shirt, pull him down toward me, and kiss him again. My mouth softens, and his tongue pushes past my lips as his arms wrap around me. I throw my arms around his neck and he presses his body to mine, his hands on the small of my back. For the first time I understand what all those girls are seeing when he towers over them, and I melt into his arms.

We part a moment later, panting.

“What was that?” I whisper, looking up at him. A gentle smile is tugging at his lips. 

“That is what I’ve been wanting to do since the seventh grade.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But—why didn’t—”

“Because we’re friends,” he says, taking both my hands. “And I didn’t want to mess that up. You’re…really important to me. But now…when we’re graduating…” He squeezes my hands as he shrugs. “I had to take the chance while there still was a chance. I knew I’d always regret it if I didn’t.”

I can’t seem to form any words; my brain has gone to radio static. He’s still holding my hands, looking at me like I’m supposed to say something. I suppose I probably should, but nothing comes, and I just stare at him.

His face changes, just a subtle shift in his eyes, even as he maintains his smile. He drops my hands. “Um, sorry,” he says, looking away. “I guess—maybe I shouldn’t have—”

I interrupt him. “No, I just—I can’t quite wrap my brain around this.” I take his hands again and step closer to him. We’re still on the sidewalk, still two blocks from our building. “Is this really happening?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I think it is.”

He kisses me again, and this time he doesn’t hold back. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet, his tongue in my mouth, his hands warm on my skin as my shirt rides up my back. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back, tasting the liquor on his breath, thinking nothing has ever tasted so good. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies his kiss sobers me up faster than ten cups of coffee.

He puts me down and we look at each other again, astonished smiles spreading slowly across our faces. He laces his fingers through mine and we start walking again, nervous and giddy. My heart pounds as we walk faster and faster, sneaking glances at each other and giggling like kids. 

We’re almost running by the time we get back to our building, and as we walk through my apartment door I’m trembling all over, excitement and nerves still dumping buckets of adrenaline into my bloodstream. With the door closed behind us, we look at each other again and smile shyly, suddenly uncomfortable, knowing we’ve already crossed a line that can’t be un-crossed.

He approaches me slowly and rests his hands on my shoulders. His thumbs play with my open collar, and his eyes drift downward to where my shirt is buttoned. His hands follow, and suddenly they’re on my breasts. My breath catches in my throat and he pauses, and as I lean toward him to reassure him with a kiss, he tilts his head up and—clunk—his forehead collides with mine.

We both stumble backwards, palms pressed to our heads, groaning in pain. And then we catch each other’s eye, and soon we’re laughing, doubled over as we gasp for breath. He’s still pretty drunk, and just as I notice him listing to the side, I watch as he loses his balance and tumbles to the ground. We both laugh harder, tears squeezing from my eyes. 

I try to help him to his feet, but his dead weight is no match for me and I end up plopping to the ground myself, cackling even harder now. We can’t look at each other; every time we do, fresh streams of giggles burst from us. My stomach hurts and I’m starting to feel lightheaded, and I’m grateful I’m already sitting on the ground.

Finally, finally, we manage to stop laughing. He gets to his knees and then to his feet, offering me a hand and pulling me up.

“Man,” he says, “I’m sorry about that. I guess we’re both—”

“Nervous,” I finish for him, and he nods. “I also just kept thinking about the sound our heads made—”

“Me too,” he says, chuckling again. “But I can’t think about it anymore because I think I might hyperventilate if I start laughing again.”

“Same,” I say. 

Our breathing slows down again as we watch each other. He’s still holding my hand after helping me up. I’m trying to be serious, but my face keeps wanting to twitch into a smile. 

He steps toward me and takes my other hand, lacing his fingers through mine again. 

“Are you ready?” he breathes.

My lips part slightly as I nod.

This time when he kisses me, it’s soft and gentle, tentative, patient. He squeezes my hands lightly as he exhales, then lets go of them to cup my face. He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead and kisses me again, this time sucking lightly on my bottom lip. A sigh escapes me, and I feel my body relax.

His hands drift to my shoulders, his thumbs teasing the sensitive skin along my clavicle. As we kiss, I reach out in front of me to find the buttons of his shirt and begin undoing them one by one. His hands slide slowly down my front until he’s cupping my breasts again, and we both start to breathe faster. 

I finish unbuttoning his shirt and slip my hands inside, touching his bare chest for the first time. He’s broad and muscular, standing about eight inches taller than me, and I break our kiss so I can kiss his Adam’s apple and the hollow of his throat as I slide the shirt from his shoulders. He groans, the sound escaping as if he was trying to hold it back.

He unbuttons my shirt, then unties the knotted fabric. He pushes the blouse from my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. Then his hands are on me again, now working at my bra clasp. He unhooks it and slides the straps down my arms, slowly, like he can’t believe what he’s doing. 

The apartment is dark, lit only by the sodium-vapor streetlamps outside the window, and we’re still standing in the small entranceway. He cups my breasts again, now bare against his hands. The orange glow of the streetlamp is reflected in his eyes as he watches himself caress me, as if mesmerized. I can feel his disbelief—and his excitement—coming off of him in waves. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, and I wonder if he can feel it. 

 “Come on,” I say, and I lead him to my bedroom.

I leave the overhead lights off, but turn on the string of multicolor twinkle lights I hung around the perimeter of the room when I first moved in. They’re not very bright, but they lend a warm, colorful glow to the room as they fade slowly in and out. I press my body to his and wrap my arms around his waist, my cheek to his bare chest. He rests his chin on my head and strokes my hair, and I can hear his heart beating wildly. It makes me smile to know he’s as nervous as I am.

I look up, and he bends down to kiss me again. It’s more urgent this time, and his hands find their way under my skirt. I’m wearing a thong underneath, and he draws in a long breath when he encounters my bare skin. I smile against his mouth and turn my head to kiss along his jaw, the warmth from his touch spreading through my body. He finds the hidden side zipper on the skirt and tugs it down, and the skirt falls to my feet. 

He lowers me onto the bed so I’m lying on my back, and I kick off my boots as he fumbles in his pocket. He tosses a small foil packet onto the bed before unbuckling his belt, the obnoxious bald eagle belt buckle making it difficult to maneuver. He struggles for a moment and then yanks at it, and I watch as it breaks and goes flying in a flash of metal, coming to rest under my desk.

That almost gets us both laughing again, but I stop as he slips out of his jeans and boots and strips off his socks. His boxer shorts do little to hide his tumescence, and it’s my turn to watch, transfixed, as he lowers himself to the bed.

Lying on his side, slipping one arm under my shoulders, he looms over me in the semidarkness. He uses his free hand to play lightly with one nipple, then the other as he kisses my neck. He moves slowly down my body and my heart pounds harder, desperate for his touch but so full of nerves that I can hardly breathe. He slides one finger under my thong, then stops. We look at each other as the lights around us change colors, and I kiss him again, nodding as I pant through my excitement.

He slips the thong aside, then draws a finger through the wetness that’s gathered between my legs. We both shiver as he touches me, and as he slips his finger inside me, I grasp him over his boxers and begin to stroke him gently.

I feel him swell under the fabric and he groans. When I slip my hand into his waistband and touch his bare skin for the first time, he buries his face in my neck and whimpers. His warm breath on my skin makes me shiver, tingles running through my body.

He pulls away for a moment and slides his boxers off, kicking them to the floor. Naked now, he leans over me and slips his fingers back into the waistband of my thong, then slowly tugs it down my thighs…then to my knees…and then finally to my ankles. It gets tossed to the floor as well, and out of the corner of my eye I see it land on one of my boots.

We pause again, just looking at each other, letting the weight of the moment settle over us. Every inside joke, every sleepover, every time we fought over what kind of pizza to order or what movie to watch—they all led us here, and I can see in his eyes that he’s reliving the same moments I am. He smiles again, gently, and I nod.

He reaches for the condom in its square foil packet, tears it open, rolls it on. He lowers his body over mine, supporting himself on one elbow as he guides himself to my entrance. I look up into his face, and he looks down at me.

“No turning back now,” he whispers.

“No,” I breathe. “No turning back.”

His lips meet mine as he slides slowly into me, and I moan into his mouth. He kisses along my cheek to my jaw, then down behind my ear, burying his face in my neck again as he begins to thrust. 

“Oh, god,” he whispers. “Oh, god, it’s finally real.”

He finds my mouth with his again and kisses me desperately, and I wrap my arms around him. It’s finally real, I think, in a dazed sort of way. I never knew I wanted this, but now…now I can’t think of anything in the world that I want more.

His strokes begin to speed up, and I hold him tighter to me, wrapping my legs around his hips. He’s thrusting deeply now, deeper than I’ve ever felt before, and the sensation takes my breath away. It’s both painful and arousing and I don’t know how to process it, so I kiss him harder, cupping his face and holding it to mine. We’re both sweating now, and there’s a masculine, musky scent surrounding him that I’ve never noticed before. It’s utterly intoxicating, and I almost laugh with the joy of it.

We hold each other tighter and tighter as his thrusts come faster, panting and sweaty, kissing frantically, and now I do laugh, and then we laugh together at finding ourselves here, where suddenly it seems like we’ve been heading all along. And when he thrusts into me for the final time, shuddering and gasping, he drops his head to my shoulder and whispers, “oh god, oh god, oh god,” as he comes. I stroke his sweaty hair and whisper, my lips to his ear, “I know…I know.”

***

We spend the next few moments catching our breath, his head still on my shoulder, and I feel a brief moment of sadness as he withdraws from me. My hand is still in his sweaty hair when he looks up at me.

“So…that happened,” he says. His bashful smile makes my chest flutter.

“It sure did,” I say. “What happens now?”

“Well,” he says, “first I’m going to take care of this condom, and then I’m going to take care of you.”

“Take care of—what do you mean?” I ask as he rolls off the bed.

“I mean, you haven’t come yet, so I’m going to make sure you do.”

“Uh—”

But then he’s gone, leaving the room to dispose of the condom in the bathroom I share with Becky. 

I had assumed that, like the other two guys I’d slept with, Alex would either get cleaned up and bounce, or get cleaned up and then fall asleep immediately, probably trapping me under one heavy leg as he snored away and I stared at the ceiling. (It had happened before.) It hadn’t even occurred to me that there was a third option.

Alex comes back into the room and slides back into my narrow bed, spooning me so my back is pressed against his chest. One arm slips under my neck so my head rests on his bicep, and the other rests on my waist for a moment before drifting between my legs. He pulls my hips gently toward him so they open slightly, and his finger just brushes against me when I say, “Wait.”

He pauses, but doesn’t move his hand away. “What?” he whispers in my ear. “Are you okay?”

“You—you don’t have to worry about me,” I say. “We can just go to sleep if you want. Wouldn’t you rather just go to sleep?”

“No, I’d rather get you off first,” he says, as if the answer is obvious.

“Well, I mean, just—don’t worry about it,” I say. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Jenny,” he says, “I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since the seventh grade, and I’ve been dreaming of making you come since…well…not much later than that, if we’re being honest.” One hand is still between my legs; the other begins to stroke my breast. I shiver in his arms. “Trust me, this is not, like, a hardship for me.”

“It’s just—” I can feel my face burning with shame, and I’m thankful I’m facing away from him. “It’s just that, um, I’ve never actually…” I trail off, hoping he’ll understand without making me say it.

He does; good old Alex. “Jen, are you telling me that neither of those guys you dated—one of whom you dated for like ten months—are you saying they never made you come? You never once had an orgasm with them?”

I shake my head. “We had sex, and it was good—I mean, it was fine—and it seemed like maybe there should be something more, but there just…never was. And it wasn’t ever really a big deal,” I add hurriedly.

“Well,” he says, “there is more, and it is a big deal. And if you’ll let me” —he pulls me tighter against him so we’re fully skin to skin, his front against my back— “I’d like to show you.”

“Okay,” I whisper, my voice hardly audible even to my own ears.

“Okay,” he says. “Stop me if it gets to be too much.”

I nod, and he nuzzles my neck. I can feel him smiling against my skin.

The hand between my legs begins to move again, one finger stroking me gently open before slipping into me, followed by a second. The other finds my nipple and rolls it gently between his thumb and forefinger, sending sparkles of pleasure through my veins. His lips are on my neck, my ear, my shoulder, my jaw, and his warm breath tickles my sensitive skin.

He alternates the gentle thrusts of his fingers with light circles over my clit, barely touching it, focusing on the sensitive flesh to either side of it. I moan low in my throat, already almost overwhelmed with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, slipping his fingers into me and stroking me from the inside, then drawing them out and circling my clit, until I’m gasping and panting in his arms. My nipples have gathered into points so hard they feel like they could cut glass, and every brush of his fingers over them makes me moan.

There’s pressure building inside me, and I don’t know what to do with it. I squirm in his arms, trying to get away from it; I can feel my pulse pounding in my throat and between my legs, and still he keeps his steady rhythm, stroking and stroking. I begin to whimper and tremble, and he holds me tighter as he presses his lips to my ear.

“It’s okay, Jenny. I’ve got you. Stop fighting it.”

I try to relax, and as I stop squirming, he whispers, “That’s it, just like that.” He keeps stroking, and finally the pressure reaches critical mass and explodes outward, flooding my body with pleasure. For a moment my whole body tenses; then I begin to shake, my legs trying to close around his hand, but he pulls them gently back apart. He strokes me through it, one hand on my breast, the other inside me, and I turn my face into the pillow so I can scream.

“That’s right,” he whispers. “Just like that. I’ve got you. Let it out.”

I thrash and shudder but he holds me steady, his strokes slowing but not stopping until I go limp in his arms, panting, “No more, I can’t take it, no more, please.”

He stops then and just holds me, letting me come back down to earth. He kisses my neck gently, and I feel him smiling again as the last shivers run through me. Finally, I recover enough to turn over toward him, and he kisses my lips lightly.

“How was that?” he asks, the smile on his face making clear that he knows exactly how it was.

“It was…” I can hardly form words. “Indescribable.” 

His smile widens and he kisses my forehead. “Aren’t you glad that we didn’t just go to sleep?”

I nod and rest my head against his chest, still catching my breath. My mind is reeling. This is Alex, I think again. Alex is lying naked in my bed. I just had sex with Alex. Alex just made me come for the first time. My brain struggles to rationalize this and can’t make sense of it. Did we just make a huge mistake?

I look back up at him, and he smiles down at me and kisses the tip of my nose. 

“What—” It comes out in a squeak, and I clear my throat. “What now?” I ask.

“I don’t think we have to decide that yet,” he says, though he looks thoughtful. “I have some ideas, but I think it’s worth sleeping on them first.”

My eyelids start to droop at the mention of sleep, and I realize for the first time how exhausted I am. “Okay,” I say, and I snuggle closer to him. His arms tighten around me.

“I am pretty sure of one thing, though,” he whispers. 

“Mmmm?”

“It’s going to be a fun Senior Week.”

I smile against his chest, and he holds me as we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

I’m putting the final touches on my outfit for tonight’s party when I hear a knock at the apartment door. My roommate, Becky, answers it.

“Hey Alex! Nice costume. Jenny’s almost ready—she’s in her room.”

“Come on in!” I shout. I’m standing at the mirror braiding my hair into pigtails, and I hear him enter the room behind me as I’m finally able to tie off the end of the second long braid. We make eye contact in the mirror and I say, “Hey, great costume.”

“Thanks,” he says. He’s wearing an embroidered western-style shirt that stretches over his broad chest, cowboy boots, and blue jeans with an enormous, gaudy silver belt buckle. I turn, squint, and see it has a bald eagle on it, then look up at him. “Where on earth did you get that awful thing?” I ask, laughing. 

He smiles and shrugs. “Temu. It was like four bucks. I’m actually surprised it’s even staying on.”

“Well, it really makes your outfit. Are you ready to go?” 

“Yep,” he says. “I like your outfit, too. Very Americana.”

I’m wearing a red gingham button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, the bottom of the shirt tied in a knot just over my belly button. The ends of my braids are tied with little red bows to match my shirt. A short denim skirt and cowboy boots, as well as a sparkly cowboy hat, complete my costume for tonight’s party theme: “One Last Rodeo.” 

Our senior year is winding down, and it’s going to be so strange in a month when, for the first time, Alex and I will be living in separate cities. We grew up on the same block, so we’ve been going to school together our whole lives, even ending up at the same local state university after neither of our top school choices panned out. And now he’s been recruited by a tech company in Austin, Texas, and there’s a job waiting for me at a publishing house in New York. Even though I’m excited to graduate and start my career, the thought of leaving my family and my hometown—and Alex, my oldest friend—after almost 22 years is intimidating. 

But finals are finally over, and now we just have a few days until graduation.

“Hey, Becky!” I call as we leave my room. “Are you guys ready to go?”

Becky and her boyfriend Jason appear from the kitchen, dressed like Woody and Jessie from Toy Story. Becky’s even managed to procure a red, braided yarn wig from somewhere, and she’s drawn extra freckles across her nose with an eyebrow pencil. They look at each other, then wordlessly turn around and lift their left feet to display the soles of their boots, where they’ve written “AИDY” in black sharpie. Alex and I laugh and clap. 

“Wow, you guys did a great job on your costumes!” I say, still laughing. 

“Yeah, really impressive,” Alex says. “You guys will win the costume contest for sure.”

We’re still laughing together as we walk out the door. 

***

The party is held at a local bar-slash-dancehall that caters to the line-dancing crowd. There are pool tables, dart boards, and a mechanical bull that already has a line practically out the door. As we walk in, a girl wearing a huge Dolly Parton wig gets thrown from the bull, landing on the inflatable base with an audible whoosh of air from her lungs. “Ow, that’s gotta hurt,” Jason says as we pass, and the rest of us wince and murmur in agreement.

We split up as we move further inside, Becky and Jason drifting off to make out in a dark corner, while Alex is hailed by a couple of his weightlifting buddies. They greet each other with arm punches and handshakes that look designed to hurt, and I roll my eyes as I walk away to find my own friends. Their raucous laughter follows me and I shake my head, smiling a little.

Alex is a good guy, but when he’s around his friends, he has to puff out his chest and pretend to be an alpha. As far as I can tell, “being an alpha” means flexing as girls walk by, wearing too much cologne, and crushing empty beer cans on their heads. I’ve tried to talk to him about it before, but he says I just don’t get it. I suppose I don’t.

I find a few of my literary magazine friends and we head to the bar for margaritas. We toast, snap a few selfies, and drink, chatting about our future plans. Paul and Anya are both going on to grad school to study literature, while Hannah, Brennan, and I are all heading into the “real world.” We order round after round, toasting each other, our futures, our school, our magazine, getting sloppier by the minute. 

It’s my turn to get a round of drinks, and I’m standing at the bar—okay, leaning on the bar, struggling slightly to stay upright—when I glance around the room and recognize a familiar silhouette leaning up against one of the pool tables. It’s Alex, his tall, barrel-chested frame towering over the girl he’s chatting up. She needs to tilt her head nearly all the way back to look up at him, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

I turn back to the bar with a sigh, starting to get impatient, when I feel hands on my waist and hot breath in my ear. “Hey, baby, want to show me what’s under that skirt?”

I whirl around and a guy I don’t know is pushing me up against the bar, his hands on my hips now as he presses against me, flirting with the edge of my miniskirt. He has a buffalo-check shirt on and a blue handkerchief in his shirt pocket, and he looks like Paul Bunyan. The edge of the bar pushes painfully into my back.

“Uh, no, excuse me,” I say, giggling nervously. I try to side-step him, but he places one hand on either side of me and traps me between them.

“What, too good for me? Come on, I just want to talk. What’s your major?” He’s leaning forward, his face inches from mine, bathing me in his whiskey breath. 

“No—let me go—”

I try to push against his chest, but the whole drunk weight of him is leaning on me now, and he grinds his hips against me as I strain hopelessly against his bulk. He tries to kiss me and I turn my head just in time, but his lips still attach themselves to my neck like a suction cup, and I renew my efforts to free myself.

“Hey!—What’s going—Hey, get off!”

Paul Bunyan is pushed aside, and suddenly Alex is in front of me.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I nod, and he wraps his arm possessively around my shoulders.

Mr. Bunyan is squaring up, ready for a fight, when he sees Alex’s arm around me. He looks from me to Alex and back to me, then at the floor, looking chastised. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize—my bad.” He slinks away, and Alex squeezes my shoulders before dropping his arm. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah—I’m fine. Thanks for the rescue. You can go back to your girl over there.” I nod toward the pool tables, where the girl Alex had been chatting with is watching us, her eyes narrowed. His eyes flick toward her, then back to me. It looks for a moment like he wants to say something else, but then Hannah pops up at my elbow.

“Are you okay, Jenny? Let’s get you back to the table. I’ll help carry the drinks.”

By the time I look up again, Alex has disappeared back into the crowd.

***

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of more drinks, and suddenly the lights are coming up as the bar starts chivvying people out. People have been leaving in pairs and groups for the last hour, and I’ve long since lost track of Alex. We had planned to walk back to our building together, but it seems like he may have left with that girl he was talking to. 

I hop down from my stool and sway slightly, feeling pleasantly dizzy, and get ready to walk back to my place by myself. Becky and Jason are long gone, headed back to his apartment with their first-place ribbons, and most of my magazine friends live in the opposite direction. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Hannah asks as we walk toward the exit.

“Totally fine,” I say. “I’m only a few blocks away. It’s an easy walk.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she says. I nod, and we hug before parting ways.

As I turn to start walking, I hear someone calling my name. “Jenny! Wait up!”

Thundering footsteps sound behind me and I turn. It’s Alex, and he’s alone. His cowboy boots click loudly on the pavement, and I stop and wait for him to catch up. 

“I thought we were walking back together!” he says, winded.

“Me too, but I thought you’d already left. I saw you talking to that girl and just assumed—”

“Oh, uh, yeah, that was just, uh…that didn’t really work out,” he says, slurring slightly and grinning despite his apparent strike-out.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, realizing as I say it that I’m not really sorry at all. “Let’s get going, you should probably get to bed.” 

“But whyyyy, it’s so nice out tonight and we’re having so much fun—” He slings his arm around my shoulders and begins, incredibly, to skip down the sidewalk. I can’t help but grin dizzily as he pulls me along, but if he keeps going like this—his strides are enormous and I can barely keep up—we’re both going to end up on the ground.

“What—okay—what has gotten into you?” I ask, laughing, trying to slow him down. “You’re going to kill us both if you keep skipping like this, I can’t keep up with you.”

“I’m just enjoying my time with my friend while I can,” he says, his voice sing-song. He slows down to a normal walking speed and his arm slips to my waist. His hand is warm on my exposed midriff. “We’re friends, right?”

“Wha—of course we’re friends, Alex, what do you mean?”

“Just—” He looks up at the sky, then down at the sidewalk, not meeting my eyes. “In a couple of weeks we’ll be living in different cities, and it’ll be so weird not having you around.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say. “But we’ll both be home for the holidays, so we’ll still see each other. And they do have this really great thing called phones where we can call each other and text each other and even video chat.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “But…”

“But what?”

“But—I—oh, hell.”

I look up just in time to see him swooping down toward me, and he presses his lips to mine.

My whole body tightens in surprise. This is Alex, I think, Alex, the kid I’ve known since I was five, who I used to make mudpies with, who I learned to ride bikes with, who I ran through the sprinkler with. Alex, who signed my cast when I broke my arm and threw snowballs at me and rode the bus with me. Alex, who can be a big dumb macho jerk when he’s around his big dumb macho jerk friends. 

And then I think, But wait—this is Alex, who took me to junior prom when my first boyfriend dumped me the week before, who walks me home from every party, who saved me tonight and who’s saved me countless other times…have I been missing something?

All of this goes through my mind in half a second, and then he’s pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “I’ve just always wanted—”

I grab a handful of his shirt, pull him down toward me, and kiss him again. My mouth softens, and his tongue pushes past my lips as his arms wrap around me. I throw my arms around his neck and he presses his body to mine, his hands on the small of my back. For the first time I understand what all those girls are seeing when he towers over them, and I melt into his arms.

We part a moment later, panting.

“What was that?” I whisper, looking up at him. A gentle smile is tugging at his lips. 

“That is what I’ve been wanting to do since the seventh grade.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But—why didn’t—”

“Because we’re friends,” he says, taking both my hands. “And I didn’t want to mess that up. You’re…really important to me. But now…when we’re graduating…” He squeezes my hands as he shrugs. “I had to take the chance while there still was a chance. I knew I’d always regret it if I didn’t.”

I can’t seem to form any words; my brain has gone to radio static. He’s still holding my hands, looking at me like I’m supposed to say something. I suppose I probably should, but nothing comes, and I just stare at him.

His face changes, just a subtle shift in his eyes, even as he maintains his smile. He drops my hands. “Um, sorry,” he says, looking away. “I guess—maybe I shouldn’t have—”

I interrupt him. “No, I just—I can’t quite wrap my brain around this.” I take his hands again and step closer to him. We’re still on the sidewalk, still two blocks from our building. “Is this really happening?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I think it is.”

He kisses me again, and this time he doesn’t hold back. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet, his tongue in my mouth, his hands warm on my skin as my shirt rides up my back. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back, tasting the liquor on his breath, thinking nothing has ever tasted so good. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies his kiss sobers me up faster than ten cups of coffee.

He puts me down and we look at each other again, astonished smiles spreading slowly across our faces. He laces his fingers through mine and we start walking again, nervous and giddy. My heart pounds as we walk faster and faster, sneaking glances at each other and giggling like kids. 

We’re almost running by the time we get back to our building, and as we walk through my apartment door I’m trembling all over, excitement and nerves still dumping buckets of adrenaline into my bloodstream. With the door closed behind us, we look at each other again and smile shyly, suddenly uncomfortable, knowing we’ve already crossed a line that can’t be un-crossed.

He approaches me slowly and rests his hands on my shoulders. His thumbs play with my open collar, and his eyes drift downward to where my shirt is buttoned. His hands follow, and suddenly they’re on my breasts. My breath catches in my throat and he pauses, and as I lean toward him to reassure him with a kiss, he tilts his head up and—clunk—his forehead collides with mine.

We both stumble backwards, palms pressed to our heads, groaning in pain. And then we catch each other’s eye, and soon we’re laughing, doubled over as we gasp for breath. He’s still pretty drunk, and just as I notice him listing to the side, I watch as he loses his balance and tumbles to the ground. We both laugh harder, tears squeezing from my eyes. 

I try to help him to his feet, but his dead weight is no match for me and I end up plopping to the ground myself, cackling even harder now. We can’t look at each other; every time we do, fresh streams of giggles burst from us. My stomach hurts and I’m starting to feel lightheaded, and I’m grateful I’m already sitting on the ground.

Finally, finally, we manage to stop laughing. He gets to his knees and then to his feet, offering me a hand and pulling me up.

“Man,” he says, “I’m sorry about that. I guess we’re both—”

“Nervous,” I finish for him, and he nods. “I also just kept thinking about the sound our heads made—”

“Me too,” he says, chuckling again. “But I can’t think about it anymore because I think I might hyperventilate if I start laughing again.”

“Same,” I say. 

Our breathing slows down again as we watch each other. He’s still holding my hand after helping me up. I’m trying to be serious, but my face keeps wanting to twitch into a smile. 

He steps toward me and takes my other hand, lacing his fingers through mine again. 

“Are you ready?” he breathes.

My lips part slightly as I nod.

This time when he kisses me, it’s soft and gentle, tentative, patient. He squeezes my hands lightly as he exhales, then lets go of them to cup my face. He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead and kisses me again, this time sucking lightly on my bottom lip. A sigh escapes me, and I feel my body relax.

His hands drift to my shoulders, his thumbs teasing the sensitive skin along my clavicle. As we kiss, I reach out in front of me to find the buttons of his shirt and begin undoing them one by one. His hands slide slowly down my front until he’s cupping my breasts again, and we both start to breathe faster. 

I finish unbuttoning his shirt and slip my hands inside, touching his bare chest for the first time. He’s broad and muscular, standing about eight inches taller than me, and I break our kiss so I can kiss his Adam’s apple and the hollow of his throat as I slide the shirt from his shoulders. He groans, the sound escaping as if he was trying to hold it back.

He unbuttons my shirt, then unties the knotted fabric. He pushes the blouse from my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. Then his hands are on me again, now working at my bra clasp. He unhooks it and slides the straps down my arms, slowly, like he can’t believe what he’s doing. 

The apartment is dark, lit only by the sodium-vapor streetlamps outside the window, and we’re still standing in the small entranceway. He cups my breasts again, now bare against his hands. The orange glow of the streetlamp is reflected in his eyes as he watches himself caress me, as if mesmerized. I can feel his disbelief—and his excitement—coming off of him in waves. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, and I wonder if he can feel it. 

 “Come on,” I say, and I lead him to my bedroom.

I leave the overhead lights off, but turn on the string of multicolor twinkle lights I hung around the perimeter of the room when I first moved in. They’re not very bright, but they lend a warm, colorful glow to the room as they fade slowly in and out. I press my body to his and wrap my arms around his waist, my cheek to his bare chest. He rests his chin on my head and strokes my hair, and I can hear his heart beating wildly. It makes me smile to know he’s as nervous as I am.

I look up, and he bends down to kiss me again. It’s more urgent this time, and his hands find their way under my skirt. I’m wearing a thong underneath, and he draws in a long breath when he encounters my bare skin. I smile against his mouth and turn my head to kiss along his jaw, the warmth from his touch spreading through my body. He finds the hidden side zipper on the skirt and tugs it down, and the skirt falls to my feet. 

He lowers me onto the bed so I’m lying on my back, and I kick off my boots as he fumbles in his pocket. He tosses a small foil packet onto the bed before unbuckling his belt, the obnoxious bald eagle belt buckle making it difficult to maneuver. He struggles for a moment and then yanks at it, and I watch as it breaks and goes flying in a flash of metal, coming to rest under my desk.

That almost gets us both laughing again, but I stop as he slips out of his jeans and boots and strips off his socks. His boxer shorts do little to hide his tumescence, and it’s my turn to watch, transfixed, as he lowers himself to the bed.

Lying on his side, slipping one arm under my shoulders, he looms over me in the semidarkness. He uses his free hand to play lightly with one nipple, then the other as he kisses my neck. He moves slowly down my body and my heart pounds harder, desperate for his touch but so full of nerves that I can hardly breathe. He slides one finger under my thong, then stops. We look at each other as the lights around us change colors, and I kiss him again, nodding as I pant through my excitement.

He slips the thong aside, then draws a finger through the wetness that’s gathered between my legs. We both shiver as he touches me, and as he slips his finger inside me, I grasp him over his boxers and begin to stroke him gently.

I feel him swell under the fabric and he groans. When I slip my hand into his waistband and touch his bare skin for the first time, he buries his face in my neck and whimpers. His warm breath on my skin makes me shiver, tingles running through my body.

He pulls away for a moment and slides his boxers off, kicking them to the floor. Naked now, he leans over me and slips his fingers back into the waistband of my thong, then slowly tugs it down my thighs…then to my knees…and then finally to my ankles. It gets tossed to the floor as well, and out of the corner of my eye I see it land on one of my boots.

We pause again, just looking at each other, letting the weight of the moment settle over us. Every inside joke, every sleepover, every time we fought over what kind of pizza to order or what movie to watch—they all led us here, and I can see in his eyes that he’s reliving the same moments I am. He smiles again, gently, and I nod.

He reaches for the condom in its square foil packet, tears it open, rolls it on. He lowers his body over mine, supporting himself on one elbow as he guides himself to my entrance. I look up into his face, and he looks down at me.

“No turning back now,” he whispers.

“No,” I breathe. “No turning back.”

His lips meet mine as he slides slowly into me, and I moan into his mouth. He kisses along my cheek to my jaw, then down behind my ear, burying his face in my neck again as he begins to thrust. 

“Oh, god,” he whispers. “Oh, god, it’s finally real.”

He finds my mouth with his again and kisses me desperately, and I wrap my arms around him. It’s finally real, I think, in a dazed sort of way. I never knew I wanted this, but now…now I can’t think of anything in the world that I want more.

His strokes begin to speed up, and I hold him tighter to me, wrapping my legs around his hips. He’s thrusting deeply now, deeper than I’ve ever felt before, and the sensation takes my breath away. It’s both painful and arousing and I don’t know how to process it, so I kiss him harder, cupping his face and holding it to mine. We’re both sweating now, and there’s a masculine, musky scent surrounding him that I’ve never noticed before. It’s utterly intoxicating, and I almost laugh with the joy of it.

We hold each other tighter and tighter as his thrusts come faster, panting and sweaty, kissing frantically, and now I do laugh, and then we laugh together at finding ourselves here, where suddenly it seems like we’ve been heading all along. And when he thrusts into me for the final time, shuddering and gasping, he drops his head to my shoulder and whispers, “oh god, oh god, oh god,” as he comes. I stroke his sweaty hair and whisper, my lips to his ear, “I know…I know.”

***

We spend the next few moments catching our breath, his head still on my shoulder, and I feel a brief moment of sadness as he withdraws from me. My hand is still in his sweaty hair when he looks up at me.

“So…that happened,” he says. His bashful smile makes my chest flutter.

“It sure did,” I say. “What happens now?”

“Well,” he says, “first I’m going to take care of this condom, and then I’m going to take care of you.”

“Take care of—what do you mean?” I ask as he rolls off the bed.

“I mean, you haven’t come yet, so I’m going to make sure you do.”

“Uh—”

But then he’s gone, leaving the room to dispose of the condom in the bathroom I share with Becky. 

I had assumed that, like the other two guys I’d slept with, Alex would either get cleaned up and bounce, or get cleaned up and then fall asleep immediately, probably trapping me under one heavy leg as he snored away and I stared at the ceiling. (It had happened before.) It hadn’t even occurred to me that there was a third option.

Alex comes back into the room and slides back into my narrow bed, spooning me so my back is pressed against his chest. One arm slips under my neck so my head rests on his bicep, and the other rests on my waist for a moment before drifting between my legs. He pulls my hips gently toward him so they open slightly, and his finger just brushes against me when I say, “Wait.”

He pauses, but doesn’t move his hand away. “What?” he whispers in my ear. “Are you okay?”

“You—you don’t have to worry about me,” I say. “We can just go to sleep if you want. Wouldn’t you rather just go to sleep?”

“No, I’d rather get you off first,” he says, as if the answer is obvious.

“Well, I mean, just—don’t worry about it,” I say. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Jenny,” he says, “I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since the seventh grade, and I’ve been dreaming of making you come since…well…not much later than that, if we’re being honest.” One hand is still between my legs; the other begins to stroke my breast. I shiver in his arms. “Trust me, this is not, like, a hardship for me.”

“It’s just—” I can feel my face burning with shame, and I’m thankful I’m facing away from him. “It’s just that, um, I’ve never actually…” I trail off, hoping he’ll understand without making me say it.

He does; good old Alex. “Jen, are you telling me that neither of those guys you dated—one of whom you dated for like ten months—are you saying they never made you come? You never once had an orgasm with them?”

I shake my head. “We had sex, and it was good—I mean, it was fine—and it seemed like maybe there should be something more, but there just…never was. And it wasn’t ever really a big deal,” I add hurriedly.

“Well,” he says, “there is more, and it is a big deal. And if you’ll let me” —he pulls me tighter against him so we’re fully skin to skin, his front against my back— “I’d like to show you.”

“Okay,” I whisper, my voice hardly audible even to my own ears.

“Okay,” he says. “Stop me if it gets to be too much.”

I nod, and he nuzzles my neck. I can feel him smiling against my skin.

The hand between my legs begins to move again, one finger stroking me gently open before slipping into me, followed by a second. The other finds my nipple and rolls it gently between his thumb and forefinger, sending sparkles of pleasure through my veins. His lips are on my neck, my ear, my shoulder, my jaw, and his warm breath tickles my sensitive skin.

He alternates the gentle thrusts of his fingers with light circles over my clit, barely touching it, focusing on the sensitive flesh to either side of it. I moan low in my throat, already almost overwhelmed with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, slipping his fingers into me and stroking me from the inside, then drawing them out and circling my clit, until I’m gasping and panting in his arms. My nipples have gathered into points so hard they feel like they could cut glass, and every brush of his fingers over them makes me moan.

There’s pressure building inside me, and I don’t know what to do with it. I squirm in his arms, trying to get away from it; I can feel my pulse pounding in my throat and between my legs, and still he keeps his steady rhythm, stroking and stroking. I begin to whimper and tremble, and he holds me tighter as he presses his lips to my ear.

“It’s okay, Jenny. I’ve got you. Stop fighting it.”

I try to relax, and as I stop squirming, he whispers, “That’s it, just like that.” He keeps stroking, and finally the pressure reaches critical mass and explodes outward, flooding my body with pleasure. For a moment my whole body tenses; then I begin to shake, my legs trying to close around his hand, but he pulls them gently back apart. He strokes me through it, one hand on my breast, the other inside me, and I turn my face into the pillow so I can scream.

“That’s right,” he whispers. “Just like that. I’ve got you. Let it out.”

I thrash and shudder but he holds me steady, his strokes slowing but not stopping until I go limp in his arms, panting, “No more, I can’t take it, no more, please.”

He stops then and just holds me, letting me come back down to earth. He kisses my neck gently, and I feel him smiling again as the last shivers run through me. Finally, I recover enough to turn over toward him, and he kisses my lips lightly.

“How was that?” he asks, the smile on his face making clear that he knows exactly how it was.

“It was…” I can hardly form words. “Indescribable.” 

His smile widens and he kisses my forehead. “Aren’t you glad that we didn’t just go to sleep?”

I nod and rest my head against his chest, still catching my breath. My mind is reeling. This is Alex, I think again. Alex is lying naked in my bed. I just had sex with Alex. Alex just made me come for the first time. My brain struggles to rationalize this and can’t make sense of it. Did we just make a huge mistake?

I look back up at him, and he smiles down at me and kisses the tip of my nose. 

“What—” It comes out in a squeak, and I clear my throat. “What now?” I ask.

“I don’t think we have to decide that yet,” he says, though he looks thoughtful. “I have some ideas, but I think it’s worth sleeping on them first.”

My eyelids start to droop at the mention of sleep, and I realize for the first time how exhausted I am. “Okay,” I say, and I snuggle closer to him. His arms tighten around me.

“I am pretty sure of one thing, though,” he whispers. 

“Mmmm?”

“It’s going to be a fun Senior Week.”

I smile against his chest, and he holds me as we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Author's Note: This story was inspired by this writing prompt from u/nervous-fix-642! Thanks for the fun prompt!

***

I’m putting the final touches on my outfit for tonight’s party when I hear a knock at the apartment door. My roommate, Becky, answers it.

“Hey Alex! Nice costume. Jenny’s almost ready—she’s in her room.”

“Come on in!” I shout. I’m standing at the mirror braiding my hair into pigtails, and I hear him enter the room behind me as I’m finally able to tie off the end of the second long braid. We make eye contact in the mirror and I say, “Hey, great costume.”

“Thanks,” he says. He’s wearing an embroidered western-style shirt that stretches over his broad chest, cowboy boots, and blue jeans with an enormous, gaudy silver belt buckle. I turn, squint, and see it has a bald eagle on it, then look up at him. “Where on earth did you get that awful thing?” I ask, laughing. 

He smiles and shrugs. “Temu. It was like four bucks. I’m actually surprised it’s even staying on.”

“Well, it really makes your outfit. Are you ready to go?” 

“Yep,” he says. “I like your outfit, too. Very Americana.”

I’m wearing a red gingham button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, the bottom of the shirt tied in a knot just over my belly button. The ends of my braids are tied with little red bows to match my shirt. A short denim skirt and cowboy boots, as well as a sparkly cowboy hat, complete my costume for tonight’s party theme: “One Last Rodeo.” 

Our senior year is winding down, and it’s going to be so strange in a month when, for the first time, Alex and I will be living in separate cities. We grew up on the same block, so we’ve been going to school together our whole lives, even ending up at the same local state university after neither of our top school choices panned out. And now he’s been recruited by a tech company in Austin, Texas, and there’s a job waiting for me at a publishing house in New York. Even though I’m excited to graduate and start my career, the thought of leaving my family and my hometown—and Alex, my oldest friend—after almost 22 years is intimidating. 

But finals are finally over, and now we just have a few days until graduation.

“Hey, Becky!” I call as we leave my room. “Are you guys ready to go?”

Becky and her boyfriend Jason appear from the kitchen, dressed like Woody and Jessie from Toy Story. Becky’s even managed to procure a red, braided yarn wig from somewhere, and she’s drawn extra freckles across her nose with an eyebrow pencil. They look at each other, then wordlessly turn around and lift their left feet to display the soles of their boots, where they’ve written “AИDY” in black sharpie. Alex and I laugh and clap. 

“Wow, you guys did a great job on your costumes!” I say, still laughing. 

“Yeah, really impressive,” Alex says. “You guys will win the costume contest for sure.”

We’re still laughing together as we walk out the door. 

***

The party is held at a local bar-slash-dancehall that caters to the line-dancing crowd. There are pool tables, dart boards, and a mechanical bull that already has a line practically out the door. As we walk in, a girl wearing a huge Dolly Parton wig gets thrown from the bull, landing on the inflatable base with an audible whoosh of air from her lungs. “Ow, that’s gotta hurt,” Jason says as we pass, and the rest of us wince and murmur in agreement.

We split up as we move further inside, Becky and Jason drifting off to make out in a dark corner, while Alex is hailed by a couple of his weightlifting buddies. They greet each other with arm punches and handshakes that look designed to hurt, and I roll my eyes as I walk away to find my own friends. Their raucous laughter follows me and I shake my head, smiling a little.

Alex is a good guy, but when he’s around his friends, he has to puff out his chest and pretend to be an alpha. As far as I can tell, “being an alpha” means flexing as girls walk by, wearing too much cologne, and crushing empty beer cans on their heads. I’ve tried to talk to him about it before, but he says I just don’t get it. I suppose I don’t.

I find a few of my literary magazine friends and we head to the bar for margaritas. We toast, snap a few selfies, and drink, chatting about our future plans. Paul and Anya are both going on to grad school to study literature, while Hannah, Brennan, and I are all heading into the “real world.” We order round after round, toasting each other, our futures, our school, our magazine, getting sloppier by the minute. 

It’s my turn to get a round of drinks, and I’m standing at the bar—okay, leaning on the bar, struggling slightly to stay upright—when I glance around the room and recognize a familiar silhouette leaning up against one of the pool tables. It’s Alex, his tall, barrel-chested frame towering over the girl he’s chatting up. She needs to tilt her head nearly all the way back to look up at him, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

I turn back to the bar with a sigh, starting to get impatient, when I feel hands on my waist and hot breath in my ear. “Hey, baby, want to show me what’s under that skirt?”

I whirl around and a guy I don’t know is pushing me up against the bar, his hands on my hips now as he presses against me, flirting with the edge of my miniskirt. He has a buffalo-check shirt on and a blue handkerchief in his shirt pocket, and he looks like Paul Bunyan. The edge of the bar pushes painfully into my back.

“Uh, no, excuse me,” I say, giggling nervously. I try to side-step him, but he places one hand on either side of me and traps me between them.

“What, too good for me? Come on, I just want to talk. What’s your major?” He’s leaning forward, his face inches from mine, bathing me in his whiskey breath. 

“No—let me go—”

I try to push against his chest, but the whole drunk weight of him is leaning on me now, and he grinds his hips against me as I strain hopelessly against his bulk. He tries to kiss me and I turn my head just in time, but his lips still attach themselves to my neck like a suction cup, and I renew my efforts to free myself.

“Hey!—What’s going—Hey, get off!”

Paul Bunyan is pushed aside, and suddenly Alex is in front of me.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I nod, and he wraps his arm possessively around my shoulders.

Mr. Bunyan is squaring up, ready for a fight, when he sees Alex’s arm around me. He looks from me to Alex and back to me, then at the floor, looking chastised. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize—my bad.” He slinks away, and Alex squeezes my shoulders before dropping his arm. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah—I’m fine. Thanks for the rescue. You can go back to your girl over there.” I nod toward the pool tables, where the girl Alex had been chatting with is watching us, her eyes narrowed. His eyes flick toward her, then back to me. It looks for a moment like he wants to say something else, but then Hannah pops up at my elbow.

“Are you okay, Jenny? Let’s get you back to the table. I’ll help carry the drinks.”

By the time I look up again, Alex has disappeared back into the crowd.

***

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of more drinks, and suddenly the lights are coming up as the bar starts chivvying people out. People have been leaving in pairs and groups for the last hour, and I’ve long since lost track of Alex. We had planned to walk back to our building together, but it seems like he may have left with that girl he was talking to. 

I hop down from my stool and sway slightly, feeling pleasantly dizzy, and get ready to walk back to my place by myself. Becky and Jason are long gone, headed back to his apartment with their first-place ribbons, and most of my magazine friends live in the opposite direction. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Hannah asks as we walk toward the exit.

“Totally fine,” I say. “I’m only a few blocks away. It’s an easy walk.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she says. I nod, and we hug before parting ways.

As I turn to start walking, I hear someone calling my name. “Jenny! Wait up!”

Thundering footsteps sound behind me and I turn. It’s Alex, and he’s alone. His cowboy boots click loudly on the pavement, and I stop and wait for him to catch up. 

“I thought we were walking back together!” he says, winded.

“Me too, but I thought you’d already left. I saw you talking to that girl and just assumed—”

“Oh, uh, yeah, that was just, uh…that didn’t really work out,” he says, slurring slightly and grinning despite his apparent strike-out.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, realizing as I say it that I’m not really sorry at all. “Let’s get going, you should probably get to bed.” 

“But whyyyy, it’s so nice out tonight and we’re having so much fun—” He slings his arm around my shoulders and begins, incredibly, to skip down the sidewalk. I can’t help but grin dizzily as he pulls me along, but if he keeps going like this—his strides are enormous and I can barely keep up—we’re both going to end up on the ground.

“What—okay—what has gotten into you?” I ask, laughing, trying to slow him down. “You’re going to kill us both if you keep skipping like this, I can’t keep up with you.”

“I’m just enjoying my time with my friend while I can,” he says, his voice sing-song. He slows down to a normal walking speed and his arm slips to my waist. His hand is warm on my exposed midriff. “We’re friends, right?”

“Wha—of course we’re friends, Alex, what do you mean?”

“Just—” He looks up at the sky, then down at the sidewalk, not meeting my eyes. “In a couple of weeks we’ll be living in different cities, and it’ll be so weird not having you around.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say. “But we’ll both be home for the holidays, so we’ll still see each other. And they do have this really great thing called phones where we can call each other and text each other and even video chat.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “But…”

“But what?”

“But—I—oh, hell.”

I look up just in time to see him swooping down toward me, and he presses his lips to mine.

My whole body tightens in surprise. This is Alex, I think, Alex, the kid I’ve known since I was five, who I used to make mudpies with, who I learned to ride bikes with, who I ran through the sprinkler with. Alex, who signed my cast when I broke my arm and threw snowballs at me and rode the bus with me. Alex, who can be a big dumb macho jerk when he’s around his big dumb macho jerk friends. 

And then I think, But wait—this is Alex, who took me to junior prom when my first boyfriend dumped me the week before, who walks me home from every party, who saved me tonight and who’s saved me countless other times…have I been missing something?

All of this goes through my mind in half a second, and then he’s pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “I’ve just always wanted—”

I grab a handful of his shirt, pull him down toward me, and kiss him again. My mouth softens, and his tongue pushes past my lips as his arms wrap around me. I throw my arms around his neck and he presses his body to mine, his hands on the small of my back. For the first time I understand what all those girls are seeing when he towers over them, and I melt into his arms.

We part a moment later, panting.

“What was that?” I whisper, looking up at him. A gentle smile is tugging at his lips. 

“That is what I’ve been wanting to do since the seventh grade.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But—why didn’t—”

“Because we’re friends,” he says, taking both my hands. “And I didn’t want to mess that up. You’re…really important to me. But now…when we’re graduating…” He squeezes my hands as he shrugs. “I had to take the chance while there still was a chance. I knew I’d always regret it if I didn’t.”

I can’t seem to form any words; my brain has gone to radio static. He’s still holding my hands, looking at me like I’m supposed to say something. I suppose I probably should, but nothing comes, and I just stare at him.

His face changes, just a subtle shift in his eyes, even as he maintains his smile. He drops my hands. “Um, sorry,” he says, looking away. “I guess—maybe I shouldn’t have—”

I interrupt him. “No, I just—I can’t quite wrap my brain around this.” I take his hands again and step closer to him. We’re still on the sidewalk, still two blocks from our building. “Is this really happening?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I think it is.”

He kisses me again, and this time he doesn’t hold back. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet, his tongue in my mouth, his hands warm on my skin as my shirt rides up my back. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back, tasting the liquor on his breath, thinking nothing has ever tasted so good. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies his kiss sobers me up faster than ten cups of coffee.

He puts me down and we look at each other again, astonished smiles spreading slowly across our faces. He laces his fingers through mine and we start walking again, nervous and giddy. My heart pounds as we walk faster and faster, sneaking glances at each other and giggling like kids. 

We’re almost running by the time we get back to our building, and as we walk through my apartment door I’m trembling all over, excitement and nerves still dumping buckets of adrenaline into my bloodstream. With the door closed behind us, we look at each other again and smile shyly, suddenly uncomfortable, knowing we’ve already crossed a line that can’t be un-crossed.

He approaches me slowly and rests his hands on my shoulders. His thumbs play with my open collar, and his eyes drift downward to where my shirt is buttoned. His hands follow, and suddenly they’re on my breasts. My breath catches in my throat and he pauses, and as I lean toward him to reassure him with a kiss, he tilts his head up and—clunk—his forehead collides with mine.

We both stumble backwards, palms pressed to our heads, groaning in pain. And then we catch each other’s eye, and soon we’re laughing, doubled over as we gasp for breath. He’s still pretty drunk, and just as I notice him listing to the side, I watch as he loses his balance and tumbles to the ground. We both laugh harder, tears squeezing from my eyes. 

I try to help him to his feet, but his dead weight is no match for me and I end up plopping to the ground myself, cackling even harder now. We can’t look at each other; every time we do, fresh streams of giggles burst from us. My stomach hurts and I’m starting to feel lightheaded, and I’m grateful I’m already sitting on the ground.

Finally, finally, we manage to stop laughing. He gets to his knees and then to his feet, offering me a hand and pulling me up.

“Man,” he says, “I’m sorry about that. I guess we’re both—”

“Nervous,” I finish for him, and he nods. “I also just kept thinking about the sound our heads made—”

“Me too,” he says, chuckling again. “But I can’t think about it anymore because I think I might hyperventilate if I start laughing again.”

“Same,” I say. 

Our breathing slows down again as we watch each other. He’s still holding my hand after helping me up. I’m trying to be serious, but my face keeps wanting to twitch into a smile. 

He steps toward me and takes my other hand, lacing his fingers through mine again. 

“Are you ready?” he breathes.

My lips part slightly as I nod.

This time when he kisses me, it’s soft and gentle, tentative, patient. He squeezes my hands lightly as he exhales, then lets go of them to cup my face. He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead and kisses me again, this time sucking lightly on my bottom lip. A sigh escapes me, and I feel my body relax.

His hands drift to my shoulders, his thumbs teasing the sensitive skin along my clavicle. As we kiss, I reach out in front of me to find the buttons of his shirt and begin undoing them one by one. His hands slide slowly down my front until he’s cupping my breasts again, and we both start to breathe faster. 

I finish unbuttoning his shirt and slip my hands inside, touching his bare chest for the first time. He’s broad and muscular, standing about eight inches taller than me, and I break our kiss so I can kiss his Adam’s apple and the hollow of his throat as I slide the shirt from his shoulders. He groans, the sound escaping as if he was trying to hold it back.

He unbuttons my shirt, then unties the knotted fabric. He pushes the blouse from my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. Then his hands are on me again, now working at my bra clasp. He unhooks it and slides the straps down my arms, slowly, like he can’t believe what he’s doing. 

The apartment is dark, lit only by the sodium-vapor streetlamps outside the window, and we’re still standing in the small entranceway. He cups my breasts again, now bare against his hands. The orange glow of the streetlamp is reflected in his eyes as he watches himself caress me, as if mesmerized. I can feel his disbelief—and his excitement—coming off of him in waves. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, and I wonder if he can feel it. 

 “Come on,” I say, and I lead him to my bedroom.

I leave the overhead lights off, but turn on the string of multicolor twinkle lights I hung around the perimeter of the room when I first moved in. They’re not very bright, but they lend a warm, colorful glow to the room as they fade slowly in and out. I press my body to his and wrap my arms around his waist, my cheek to his bare chest. He rests his chin on my head and strokes my hair, and I can hear his heart beating wildly. It makes me smile to know he’s as nervous as I am.

I look up, and he bends down to kiss me again. It’s more urgent this time, and his hands find their way under my skirt. I’m wearing a thong underneath, and he draws in a long breath when he encounters my bare skin. I smile against his mouth and turn my head to kiss along his jaw, the warmth from his touch spreading through my body. He finds the hidden side zipper on the skirt and tugs it down, and the skirt falls to my feet. 

He lowers me onto the bed so I’m lying on my back, and I kick off my boots as he fumbles in his pocket. He tosses a small foil packet onto the bed before unbuckling his belt, the obnoxious bald eagle belt buckle making it difficult to maneuver. He struggles for a moment and then yanks at it, and I watch as it breaks and goes flying in a flash of metal, coming to rest under my desk.

That almost gets us both laughing again, but I stop as he slips out of his jeans and boots and strips off his socks. His boxer shorts do little to hide his tumescence, and it’s my turn to watch, transfixed, as he lowers himself to the bed.

Lying on his side, slipping one arm under my shoulders, he looms over me in the semidarkness. He uses his free hand to play lightly with one nipple, then the other as he kisses my neck. He moves slowly down my body and my heart pounds harder, desperate for his touch but so full of nerves that I can hardly breathe. He slides one finger under my thong, then stops. We look at each other as the lights around us change colors, and I kiss him again, nodding as I pant through my excitement.

He slips the thong aside, then draws a finger through the wetness that’s gathered between my legs. We both shiver as he touches me, and as he slips his finger inside me, I grasp him over his boxers and begin to stroke him gently.

I feel him swell under the fabric and he groans. When I slip my hand into his waistband and touch his bare skin for the first time, he buries his face in my neck and whimpers. His warm breath on my skin makes me shiver, tingles running through my body.

He pulls away for a moment and slides his boxers off, kicking them to the floor. Naked now, he leans over me and slips his fingers back into the waistband of my thong, then slowly tugs it down my thighs…then to my knees…and then finally to my ankles. It gets tossed to the floor as well, and out of the corner of my eye I see it land on one of my boots.

We pause again, just looking at each other, letting the weight of the moment settle over us. Every inside joke, every sleepover, every time we fought over what kind of pizza to order or what movie to watch—they all led us here, and I can see in his eyes that he’s reliving the same moments I am. He smiles again, gently, and I nod.

He reaches for the condom in its square foil packet, tears it open, rolls it on. He lowers his body over mine, supporting himself on one elbow as he guides himself to my entrance. I look up into his face, and he looks down at me.

“No turning back now,” he whispers.

“No,” I breathe. “No turning back.”

His lips meet mine as he slides slowly into me, and I moan into his mouth. He kisses along my cheek to my jaw, then down behind my ear, burying his face in my neck again as he begins to thrust. 

“Oh, god,” he whispers. “Oh, god, it’s finally real.”

He finds my mouth with his again and kisses me desperately, and I wrap my arms around him. It’s finally real, I think, in a dazed sort of way. I never knew I wanted this, but now…now I can’t think of anything in the world that I want more.

His strokes begin to speed up, and I hold him tighter to me, wrapping my legs around his hips. He’s thrusting deeply now, deeper than I’ve ever felt before, and the sensation takes my breath away. It’s both painful and arousing and I don’t know how to process it, so I kiss him harder, cupping his face and holding it to mine. We’re both sweating now, and there’s a masculine, musky scent surrounding him that I’ve never noticed before. It’s utterly intoxicating, and I almost laugh with the joy of it.

We hold each other tighter and tighter as his thrusts come faster, panting and sweaty, kissing frantically, and now I do laugh, and then we laugh together at finding ourselves here, where suddenly it seems like we’ve been heading all along. And when he thrusts into me for the final time, shuddering and gasping, he drops his head to my shoulder and whispers, “oh god, oh god, oh god,” as he comes. I stroke his sweaty hair and whisper, my lips to his ear, “I know…I know.”

***

We spend the next few moments catching our breath, his head still on my shoulder, and I feel a brief moment of sadness as he withdraws from me. My hand is still in his sweaty hair when he looks up at me.

“So…that happened,” he says. His bashful smile makes my chest flutter.

“It sure did,” I say. “What happens now?”

“Well,” he says, “first I’m going to take care of this condom, and then I’m going to take care of you.”

“Take care of—what do you mean?” I ask as he rolls off the bed.

“I mean, you haven’t come yet, so I’m going to make sure you do.”

“Uh—”

But then he’s gone, leaving the room to dispose of the condom in the bathroom I share with Becky. 

I had assumed that, like the other two guys I’d slept with, Alex would either get cleaned up and bounce, or get cleaned up and then fall asleep immediately, probably trapping me under one heavy leg as he snored away and I stared at the ceiling. (It had happened before.) It hadn’t even occurred to me that there was a third option.

Alex comes back into the room and slides back into my narrow bed, spooning me so my back is pressed against his chest. One arm slips under my neck so my head rests on his bicep, and the other rests on my waist for a moment before drifting between my legs. He pulls my hips gently toward him so they open slightly, and his finger just brushes against me when I say, “Wait.”

He pauses, but doesn’t move his hand away. “What?” he whispers in my ear. “Are you okay?”

“You—you don’t have to worry about me,” I say. “We can just go to sleep if you want. Wouldn’t you rather just go to sleep?”

“No, I’d rather get you off first,” he says, as if the answer is obvious.

“Well, I mean, just—don’t worry about it,” I say. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Jenny,” he says, “I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since the seventh grade, and I’ve been dreaming of making you come since…well…not much later than that, if we’re being honest.” One hand is still between my legs; the other begins to stroke my breast. I shiver in his arms. “Trust me, this is not, like, a hardship for me.”

“It’s just—” I can feel my face burning with shame, and I’m thankful I’m facing away from him. “It’s just that, um, I’ve never actually…” I trail off, hoping he’ll understand without making me say it.

He does; good old Alex. “Jen, are you telling me that neither of those guys you dated—one of whom you dated for like ten months—are you saying they never made you come? You never once had an orgasm with them?”

I shake my head. “We had sex, and it was good—I mean, it was fine—and it seemed like maybe there should be something more, but there just…never was. And it wasn’t ever really a big deal,” I add hurriedly.

“Well,” he says, “there is more, and it is a big deal. And if you’ll let me” —he pulls me tighter against him so we’re fully skin to skin, his front against my back— “I’d like to show you.”

“Okay,” I whisper, my voice hardly audible even to my own ears.

“Okay,” he says. “Stop me if it gets to be too much.”

I nod, and he nuzzles my neck. I can feel him smiling against my skin.

The hand between my legs begins to move again, one finger stroking me gently open before slipping into me, followed by a second. The other finds my nipple and rolls it gently between his thumb and forefinger, sending sparkles of pleasure through my veins. His lips are on my neck, my ear, my shoulder, my jaw, and his warm breath tickles my sensitive skin.

He alternates the gentle thrusts of his fingers with light circles over my clit, barely touching it, focusing on the sensitive flesh to either side of it. I moan low in my throat, already almost overwhelmed with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, slipping his fingers into me and stroking me from the inside, then drawing them out and circling my clit, until I’m gasping and panting in his arms. My nipples have gathered into points so hard they feel like they could cut glass, and every brush of his fingers over them makes me moan.

There’s pressure building inside me, and I don’t know what to do with it. I squirm in his arms, trying to get away from it; I can feel my pulse pounding in my throat and between my legs, and still he keeps his steady rhythm, stroking and stroking. I begin to whimper and tremble, and he holds me tighter as he presses his lips to my ear.

“It’s okay, Jenny. I’ve got you. Stop fighting it.”

I try to relax, and as I stop squirming, he whispers, “That’s it, just like that.” He keeps stroking, and finally the pressure reaches critical mass and explodes outward, flooding my body with pleasure. For a moment my whole body tenses; then I begin to shake, my legs trying to close around his hand, but he pulls them gently back apart. He strokes me through it, one hand on my breast, the other inside me, and I turn my face into the pillow so I can scream.

“That’s right,” he whispers. “Just like that. I’ve got you. Let it out.”

I thrash and shudder but he holds me steady, his strokes slowing but not stopping until I go limp in his arms, panting, “No more, I can’t take it, no more, please.”

He stops then and just holds me, letting me come back down to earth. He kisses my neck gently, and I feel him smiling again as the last shivers run through me. Finally, I recover enough to turn over toward him, and he kisses my lips lightly.

“How was that?” he asks, the smile on his face making clear that he knows exactly how it was.

“It was…” I can hardly form words. “Indescribable.” 

His smile widens and he kisses my forehead. “Aren’t you glad that we didn’t just go to sleep?”

I nod and rest my head against his chest, still catching my breath. My mind is reeling. This is Alex, I think again. Alex is lying naked in my bed. I just had sex with Alex. Alex just made me come for the first time. My brain struggles to rationalize this and can’t make sense of it. Did we just make a huge mistake?

I look back up at him, and he smiles down at me and kisses the tip of my nose. 

“What—” It comes out in a squeak, and I clear my throat. “What now?” I ask.

“I don’t think we have to decide that yet,” he says, though he looks thoughtful. “I have some ideas, but I think it’s worth sleeping on them first.”

My eyelids start to droop at the mention of sleep, and I realize for the first time how exhausted I am. “Okay,” I say, and I snuggle closer to him. His arms tighten around me.

“I am pretty sure of one thing, though,” he whispers. 

“Mmmm?”

“It’s going to be a fun Senior Week.”

I smile against his chest, and he holds me as we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

I’m putting the final touches on my outfit for tonight’s party when I hear a knock at the apartment door. My roommate, Becky, answers it.

“Hey Alex! Nice costume. Jenny’s almost ready—she’s in her room.”

“Come on in!” I shout. I’m standing at the mirror braiding my hair into pigtails, and I hear him enter the room behind me as I’m finally able to tie off the end of the second long braid. We make eye contact in the mirror and I say, “Hey, great costume.”

“Thanks,” he says. He’s wearing an embroidered western-style shirt that stretches over his broad chest, cowboy boots, and blue jeans with an enormous, gaudy silver belt buckle. I turn, squint, and see it has a bald eagle on it, then look up at him. “Where on earth did you get that awful thing?” I ask, laughing. 

He smiles and shrugs. “Temu. It was like four bucks. I’m actually surprised it’s even staying on.”

“Well, it really makes your outfit. Are you ready to go?” 

“Yep,” he says. “I like your outfit, too. Very Americana.”

I’m wearing a red gingham button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, the bottom of the shirt tied in a knot just over my belly button. The ends of my braids are tied with little red bows to match my shirt. A short denim skirt and cowboy boots, as well as a sparkly cowboy hat, complete my costume for tonight’s party theme: “One Last Rodeo.” 

Our senior year is winding down, and it’s going to be so strange in a month when, for the first time, Alex and I will be living in separate cities. We grew up on the same block, so we’ve been going to school together our whole lives, even ending up at the same local state university after neither of our top school choices panned out. And now he’s been recruited by a tech company in Austin, Texas, and there’s a job waiting for me at a publishing house in New York. Even though I’m excited to graduate and start my career, the thought of leaving my family and my hometown—and Alex, my oldest friend—after almost 22 years is intimidating. 

But finals are finally over, and now we just have a few days until graduation.

“Hey, Becky!” I call as we leave my room. “Are you guys ready to go?”

Becky and her boyfriend Jason appear from the kitchen, dressed like Woody and Jessie from Toy Story. Becky’s even managed to procure a red, braided yarn wig from somewhere, and she’s drawn extra freckles across her nose with an eyebrow pencil. They look at each other, then wordlessly turn around and lift their left feet to display the soles of their boots, where they’ve written “AИDY” in black sharpie. Alex and I laugh and clap. 

“Wow, you guys did a great job on your costumes!” I say, still laughing. 

“Yeah, really impressive,” Alex says. “You guys will win the costume contest for sure.”

We’re still laughing together as we walk out the door. 

***

The party is held at a local bar-slash-dancehall that caters to the line-dancing crowd. There are pool tables, dart boards, and a mechanical bull that already has a line practically out the door. As we walk in, a girl wearing a huge Dolly Parton wig gets thrown from the bull, landing on the inflatable base with an audible whoosh of air from her lungs. “Ow, that’s gotta hurt,” Jason says as we pass, and the rest of us wince and murmur in agreement.

We split up as we move further inside, Becky and Jason drifting off to make out in a dark corner, while Alex is hailed by a couple of his weightlifting buddies. They greet each other with arm punches and handshakes that look designed to hurt, and I roll my eyes as I walk away to find my own friends. Their raucous laughter follows me and I shake my head, smiling a little.

Alex is a good guy, but when he’s around his friends, he has to puff out his chest and pretend to be an alpha. As far as I can tell, “being an alpha” means flexing as girls walk by, wearing too much cologne, and crushing empty beer cans on their heads. I’ve tried to talk to him about it before, but he says I just don’t get it. I suppose I don’t.

I find a few of my literary magazine friends and we head to the bar for margaritas. We toast, snap a few selfies, and drink, chatting about our future plans. Paul and Anya are both going on to grad school to study literature, while Hannah, Brennan, and I are all heading into the “real world.” We order round after round, toasting each other, our futures, our school, our magazine, getting sloppier by the minute. 

It’s my turn to get a round of drinks, and I’m standing at the bar—okay, leaning on the bar, struggling slightly to stay upright—when I glance around the room and recognize a familiar silhouette leaning up against one of the pool tables. It’s Alex, his tall, barrel-chested frame towering over the girl he’s chatting up. She needs to tilt her head nearly all the way back to look up at him, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

I turn back to the bar with a sigh, starting to get impatient, when I feel hands on my waist and hot breath in my ear. “Hey, baby, want to show me what’s under that skirt?”

I whirl around and a guy I don’t know is pushing me up against the bar, his hands on my hips now as he presses against me, flirting with the edge of my miniskirt. He has a buffalo-check shirt on and a blue handkerchief in his shirt pocket, and he looks like Paul Bunyan. The edge of the bar pushes painfully into my back.

“Uh, no, excuse me,” I say, giggling nervously. I try to side-step him, but he places one hand on either side of me and traps me between them.

“What, too good for me? Come on, I just want to talk. What’s your major?” He’s leaning forward, his face inches from mine, bathing me in his whiskey breath. 

“No—let me go—”

I try to push against his chest, but the whole drunk weight of him is leaning on me now, and he grinds his hips against me as I strain hopelessly against his bulk. He tries to kiss me and I turn my head just in time, but his lips still attach themselves to my neck like a suction cup, and I renew my efforts to free myself.

“Hey!—What’s going—Hey, get off!”

Paul Bunyan is pushed aside, and suddenly Alex is in front of me.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I nod, and he wraps his arm possessively around my shoulders.

Mr. Bunyan is squaring up, ready for a fight, when he sees Alex’s arm around me. He looks from me to Alex and back to me, then at the floor, looking chastised. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize—my bad.” He slinks away, and Alex squeezes my shoulders before dropping his arm. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah—I’m fine. Thanks for the rescue. You can go back to your girl over there.” I nod toward the pool tables, where the girl Alex had been chatting with is watching us, her eyes narrowed. His eyes flick toward her, then back to me. It looks for a moment like he wants to say something else, but then Hannah pops up at my elbow.

“Are you okay, Jenny? Let’s get you back to the table. I’ll help carry the drinks.”

By the time I look up again, Alex has disappeared back into the crowd.

***

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of more drinks, and suddenly the lights are coming up as the bar starts chivvying people out. People have been leaving in pairs and groups for the last hour, and I’ve long since lost track of Alex. We had planned to walk back to our building together, but it seems like he may have left with that girl he was talking to. 

I hop down from my stool and sway slightly, feeling pleasantly dizzy, and get ready to walk back to my place by myself. Becky and Jason are long gone, headed back to his apartment with their first-place ribbons, and most of my magazine friends live in the opposite direction. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Hannah asks as we walk toward the exit.

“Totally fine,” I say. “I’m only a few blocks away. It’s an easy walk.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she says. I nod, and we hug before parting ways.

As I turn to start walking, I hear someone calling my name. “Jenny! Wait up!”

Thundering footsteps sound behind me and I turn. It’s Alex, and he’s alone. His cowboy boots click loudly on the pavement, and I stop and wait for him to catch up. 

“I thought we were walking back together!” he says, winded.

“Me too, but I thought you’d already left. I saw you talking to that girl and just assumed—”

“Oh, uh, yeah, that was just, uh…that didn’t really work out,” he says, slurring slightly and grinning despite his apparent strike-out.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, realizing as I say it that I’m not really sorry at all. “Let’s get going, you should probably get to bed.” 

“But whyyyy, it’s so nice out tonight and we’re having so much fun—” He slings his arm around my shoulders and begins, incredibly, to skip down the sidewalk. I can’t help but grin dizzily as he pulls me along, but if he keeps going like this—his strides are enormous and I can barely keep up—we’re both going to end up on the ground.

“What—okay—what has gotten into you?” I ask, laughing, trying to slow him down. “You’re going to kill us both if you keep skipping like this, I can’t keep up with you.”

“I’m just enjoying my time with my friend while I can,” he says, his voice sing-song. He slows down to a normal walking speed and his arm slips to my waist. His hand is warm on my exposed midriff. “We’re friends, right?”

“Wha—of course we’re friends, Alex, what do you mean?”

“Just—” He looks up at the sky, then down at the sidewalk, not meeting my eyes. “In a couple of weeks we’ll be living in different cities, and it’ll be so weird not having you around.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say. “But we’ll both be home for the holidays, so we’ll still see each other. And they do have this really great thing called phones where we can call each other and text each other and even video chat.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “But…”

“But what?”

“But—I—oh, hell.”

I look up just in time to see him swooping down toward me, and he presses his lips to mine.

My whole body tightens in surprise. This is Alex, I think, Alex, the kid I’ve known since I was five, who I used to make mudpies with, who I learned to ride bikes with, who I ran through the sprinkler with. Alex, who signed my cast when I broke my arm and threw snowballs at me and rode the bus with me. Alex, who can be a big dumb macho jerk when he’s around his big dumb macho jerk friends. 

And then I think, But wait—this is Alex, who took me to junior prom when my first boyfriend dumped me the week before, who walks me home from every party, who saved me tonight and who’s saved me countless other times…have I been missing something?

All of this goes through my mind in half a second, and then he’s pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “I’ve just always wanted—”

I grab a handful of his shirt, pull him down toward me, and kiss him again. My mouth softens, and his tongue pushes past my lips as his arms wrap around me. I throw my arms around his neck and he presses his body to mine, his hands on the small of my back. For the first time I understand what all those girls are seeing when he towers over them, and I melt into his arms.

We part a moment later, panting.

“What was that?” I whisper, looking up at him. A gentle smile is tugging at his lips. 

“That is what I’ve been wanting to do since the seventh grade.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But—why didn’t—”

“Because we’re friends,” he says, taking both my hands. “And I didn’t want to mess that up. You’re…really important to me. But now…when we’re graduating…” He squeezes my hands as he shrugs. “I had to take the chance while there still was a chance. I knew I’d always regret it if I didn’t.”

I can’t seem to form any words; my brain has gone to radio static. He’s still holding my hands, looking at me like I’m supposed to say something. I suppose I probably should, but nothing comes, and I just stare at him.

His face changes, just a subtle shift in his eyes, even as he maintains his smile. He drops my hands. “Um, sorry,” he says, looking away. “I guess—maybe I shouldn’t have—”

I interrupt him. “No, I just—I can’t quite wrap my brain around this.” I take his hands again and step closer to him. We’re still on the sidewalk, still two blocks from our building. “Is this really happening?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I think it is.”

He kisses me again, and this time he doesn’t hold back. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet, his tongue in my mouth, his hands warm on my skin as my shirt rides up my back. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back, tasting the liquor on his breath, thinking nothing has ever tasted so good. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies his kiss sobers me up faster than ten cups of coffee.

He puts me down and we look at each other again, astonished smiles spreading slowly across our faces. He laces his fingers through mine and we start walking again, nervous and giddy. My heart pounds as we walk faster and faster, sneaking glances at each other and giggling like kids. 

We’re almost running by the time we get back to our building, and as we walk through my apartment door I’m trembling all over, excitement and nerves still dumping buckets of adrenaline into my bloodstream. With the door closed behind us, we look at each other again and smile shyly, suddenly uncomfortable, knowing we’ve already crossed a line that can’t be un-crossed.

He approaches me slowly and rests his hands on my shoulders. His thumbs play with my open collar, and his eyes drift downward to where my shirt is buttoned. His hands follow, and suddenly they’re on my breasts. My breath catches in my throat and he pauses, and as I lean toward him to reassure him with a kiss, he tilts his head up and—clunk—his forehead collides with mine.

We both stumble backwards, palms pressed to our heads, groaning in pain. And then we catch each other’s eye, and soon we’re laughing, doubled over as we gasp for breath. He’s still pretty drunk, and just as I notice him listing to the side, I watch as he loses his balance and tumbles to the ground. We both laugh harder, tears squeezing from my eyes. 

I try to help him to his feet, but his dead weight is no match for me and I end up plopping to the ground myself, cackling even harder now. We can’t look at each other; every time we do, fresh streams of giggles burst from us. My stomach hurts and I’m starting to feel lightheaded, and I’m grateful I’m already sitting on the ground.

Finally, finally, we manage to stop laughing. He gets to his knees and then to his feet, offering me a hand and pulling me up.

“Man,” he says, “I’m sorry about that. I guess we’re both—”

“Nervous,” I finish for him, and he nods. “I also just kept thinking about the sound our heads made—”

“Me too,” he says, chuckling again. “But I can’t think about it anymore because I think I might hyperventilate if I start laughing again.”

“Same,” I say. 

Our breathing slows down again as we watch each other. He’s still holding my hand after helping me up. I’m trying to be serious, but my face keeps wanting to twitch into a smile. 

He steps toward me and takes my other hand, lacing his fingers through mine again. 

“Are you ready?” he breathes.

My lips part slightly as I nod.

This time when he kisses me, it’s soft and gentle, tentative, patient. He squeezes my hands lightly as he exhales, then lets go of them to cup my face. He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead and kisses me again, this time sucking lightly on my bottom lip. A sigh escapes me, and I feel my body relax.

His hands drift to my shoulders, his thumbs teasing the sensitive skin along my clavicle. As we kiss, I reach out in front of me to find the buttons of his shirt and begin undoing them one by one. His hands slide slowly down my front until he’s cupping my breasts again, and we both start to breathe faster. 

I finish unbuttoning his shirt and slip my hands inside, touching his bare chest for the first time. He’s broad and muscular, standing about eight inches taller than me, and I break our kiss so I can kiss his Adam’s apple and the hollow of his throat as I slide the shirt from his shoulders. He groans, the sound escaping as if he was trying to hold it back.

He unbuttons my shirt, then unties the knotted fabric. He pushes the blouse from my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. Then his hands are on me again, now working at my bra clasp. He unhooks it and slides the straps down my arms, slowly, like he can’t believe what he’s doing. 

The apartment is dark, lit only by the sodium-vapor streetlamps outside the window, and we’re still standing in the small entranceway. He cups my breasts again, now bare against his hands. The orange glow of the streetlamp is reflected in his eyes as he watches himself caress me, as if mesmerized. I can feel his disbelief—and his excitement—coming off of him in waves. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, and I wonder if he can feel it. 

 “Come on,” I say, and I lead him to my bedroom.

I leave the overhead lights off, but turn on the string of multicolor twinkle lights I hung around the perimeter of the room when I first moved in. They’re not very bright, but they lend a warm, colorful glow to the room as they fade slowly in and out. I press my body to his and wrap my arms around his waist, my cheek to his bare chest. He rests his chin on my head and strokes my hair, and I can hear his heart beating wildly. It makes me smile to know he’s as nervous as I am.

I look up, and he bends down to kiss me again. It’s more urgent this time, and his hands find their way under my skirt. I’m wearing a thong underneath, and he draws in a long breath when he encounters my bare skin. I smile against his mouth and turn my head to kiss along his jaw, the warmth from his touch spreading through my body. He finds the hidden side zipper on the skirt and tugs it down, and the skirt falls to my feet. 

He lowers me onto the bed so I’m lying on my back, and I kick off my boots as he fumbles in his pocket. He tosses a small foil packet onto the bed before unbuckling his belt, the obnoxious bald eagle belt buckle making it difficult to maneuver. He struggles for a moment and then yanks at it, and I watch as it breaks and goes flying in a flash of metal, coming to rest under my desk.

That almost gets us both laughing again, but I stop as he slips out of his jeans and boots and strips off his socks. His boxer shorts do little to hide his tumescence, and it’s my turn to watch, transfixed, as he lowers himself to the bed.

Lying on his side, slipping one arm under my shoulders, he looms over me in the semidarkness. He uses his free hand to play lightly with one nipple, then the other as he kisses my neck. He moves slowly down my body and my heart pounds harder, desperate for his touch but so full of nerves that I can hardly breathe. He slides one finger under my thong, then stops. We look at each other as the lights around us change colors, and I kiss him again, nodding as I pant through my excitement.

He slips the thong aside, then draws a finger through the wetness that’s gathered between my legs. We both shiver as he touches me, and as he slips his finger inside me, I grasp him over his boxers and begin to stroke him gently.

I feel him swell under the fabric and he groans. When I slip my hand into his waistband and touch his bare skin for the first time, he buries his face in my neck and whimpers. His warm breath on my skin makes me shiver, tingles running through my body.

He pulls away for a moment and slides his boxers off, kicking them to the floor. Naked now, he leans over me and slips his fingers back into the waistband of my thong, then slowly tugs it down my thighs…then to my knees…and then finally to my ankles. It gets tossed to the floor as well, and out of the corner of my eye I see it land on one of my boots.

We pause again, just looking at each other, letting the weight of the moment settle over us. Every inside joke, every sleepover, every time we fought over what kind of pizza to order or what movie to watch—they all led us here, and I can see in his eyes that he’s reliving the same moments I am. He smiles again, gently, and I nod.

He reaches for the condom in its square foil packet, tears it open, rolls it on. He lowers his body over mine, supporting himself on one elbow as he guides himself to my entrance. I look up into his face, and he looks down at me.

“No turning back now,” he whispers.

“No,” I breathe. “No turning back.”

His lips meet mine as he slides slowly into me, and I moan into his mouth. He kisses along my cheek to my jaw, then down behind my ear, burying his face in my neck again as he begins to thrust. 

“Oh, god,” he whispers. “Oh, god, it’s finally real.”

He finds my mouth with his again and kisses me desperately, and I wrap my arms around him. It’s finally real, I think, in a dazed sort of way. I never knew I wanted this, but now…now I can’t think of anything in the world that I want more.

His strokes begin to speed up, and I hold him tighter to me, wrapping my legs around his hips. He’s thrusting deeply now, deeper than I’ve ever felt before, and the sensation takes my breath away. It’s both painful and arousing and I don’t know how to process it, so I kiss him harder, cupping his face and holding it to mine. We’re both sweating now, and there’s a masculine, musky scent surrounding him that I’ve never noticed before. It’s utterly intoxicating, and I almost laugh with the joy of it.

We hold each other tighter and tighter as his thrusts come faster, panting and sweaty, kissing frantically, and now I do laugh, and then we laugh together at finding ourselves here, where suddenly it seems like we’ve been heading all along. And when he thrusts into me for the final time, shuddering and gasping, he drops his head to my shoulder and whispers, “oh god, oh god, oh god,” as he comes. I stroke his sweaty hair and whisper, my lips to his ear, “I know…I know.”

***

We spend the next few moments catching our breath, his head still on my shoulder, and I feel a brief moment of sadness as he withdraws from me. My hand is still in his sweaty hair when he looks up at me.

“So…that happened,” he says. His bashful smile makes my chest flutter.

“It sure did,” I say. “What happens now?”

“Well,” he says, “first I’m going to take care of this condom, and then I’m going to take care of you.”

“Take care of—what do you mean?” I ask as he rolls off the bed.

“I mean, you haven’t come yet, so I’m going to make sure you do.”

“Uh—”

But then he’s gone, leaving the room to dispose of the condom in the bathroom I share with Becky. 

I had assumed that, like the other two guys I’d slept with, Alex would either get cleaned up and bounce, or get cleaned up and then fall asleep immediately, probably trapping me under one heavy leg as he snored away and I stared at the ceiling. (It had happened before.) It hadn’t even occurred to me that there was a third option.

Alex comes back into the room and slides back into my narrow bed, spooning me so my back is pressed against his chest. One arm slips under my neck so my head rests on his bicep, and the other rests on my waist for a moment before drifting between my legs. He pulls my hips gently toward him so they open slightly, and his finger just brushes against me when I say, “Wait.”

He pauses, but doesn’t move his hand away. “What?” he whispers in my ear. “Are you okay?”

“You—you don’t have to worry about me,” I say. “We can just go to sleep if you want. Wouldn’t you rather just go to sleep?”

“No, I’d rather get you off first,” he says, as if the answer is obvious.

“Well, I mean, just—don’t worry about it,” I say. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Jenny,” he says, “I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since the seventh grade, and I’ve been dreaming of making you come since…well…not much later than that, if we’re being honest.” One hand is still between my legs; the other begins to stroke my breast. I shiver in his arms. “Trust me, this is not, like, a hardship for me.”

“It’s just—” I can feel my face burning with shame, and I’m thankful I’m facing away from him. “It’s just that, um, I’ve never actually…” I trail off, hoping he’ll understand without making me say it.

He does; good old Alex. “Jen, are you telling me that neither of those guys you dated—one of whom you dated for like ten months—are you saying they never made you come? You never once had an orgasm with them?”

I shake my head. “We had sex, and it was good—I mean, it was fine—and it seemed like maybe there should be something more, but there just…never was. And it wasn’t ever really a big deal,” I add hurriedly.

“Well,” he says, “there is more, and it is a big deal. And if you’ll let me” —he pulls me tighter against him so we’re fully skin to skin, his front against my back— “I’d like to show you.”

“Okay,” I whisper, my voice hardly audible even to my own ears.

“Okay,” he says. “Stop me if it gets to be too much.”

I nod, and he nuzzles my neck. I can feel him smiling against my skin.

The hand between my legs begins to move again, one finger stroking me gently open before slipping into me, followed by a second. The other finds my nipple and rolls it gently between his thumb and forefinger, sending sparkles of pleasure through my veins. His lips are on my neck, my ear, my shoulder, my jaw, and his warm breath tickles my sensitive skin.

He alternates the gentle thrusts of his fingers with light circles over my clit, barely touching it, focusing on the sensitive flesh to either side of it. I moan low in my throat, already almost overwhelmed with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, slipping his fingers into me and stroking me from the inside, then drawing them out and circling my clit, until I’m gasping and panting in his arms. My nipples have gathered into points so hard they feel like they could cut glass, and every brush of his fingers over them makes me moan.

There’s pressure building inside me, and I don’t know what to do with it. I squirm in his arms, trying to get away from it; I can feel my pulse pounding in my throat and between my legs, and still he keeps his steady rhythm, stroking and stroking. I begin to whimper and tremble, and he holds me tighter as he presses his lips to my ear.

“It’s okay, Jenny. I’ve got you. Stop fighting it.”

I try to relax, and as I stop squirming, he whispers, “That’s it, just like that.” He keeps stroking, and finally the pressure reaches critical mass and explodes outward, flooding my body with pleasure. For a moment my whole body tenses; then I begin to shake, my legs trying to close around his hand, but he pulls them gently back apart. He strokes me through it, one hand on my breast, the other inside me, and I turn my face into the pillow so I can scream.

“That’s right,” he whispers. “Just like that. I’ve got you. Let it out.”

I thrash and shudder but he holds me steady, his strokes slowing but not stopping until I go limp in his arms, panting, “No more, I can’t take it, no more, please.”

He stops then and just holds me, letting me come back down to earth. He kisses my neck gently, and I feel him smiling again as the last shivers run through me. Finally, I recover enough to turn over toward him, and he kisses my lips lightly.

“How was that?” he asks, the smile on his face making clear that he knows exactly how it was.

“It was…” I can hardly form words. “Indescribable.” 

His smile widens and he kisses my forehead. “Aren’t you glad that we didn’t just go to sleep?”

I nod and rest my head against his chest, still catching my breath. My mind is reeling. This is Alex, I think again. Alex is lying naked in my bed. I just had sex with Alex. Alex just made me come for the first time. My brain struggles to rationalize this and can’t make sense of it. Did we just make a huge mistake?

I look back up at him, and he smiles down at me and kisses the tip of my nose. 

“What—” It comes out in a squeak, and I clear my throat. “What now?” I ask.

“I don’t think we have to decide that yet,” he says, though he looks thoughtful. “I have some ideas, but I think it’s worth sleeping on them first.”

My eyelids start to droop at the mention of sleep, and I realize for the first time how exhausted I am. “Okay,” I say, and I snuggle closer to him. His arms tighten around me.

“I am pretty sure of one thing, though,” he whispers. 

“Mmmm?”

“It’s going to be a fun Senior Week.”

I smile against his chest, and he holds me as we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Author's Note: This piece was inspired by u/austhrowaway91919's comment here (number 1). It's a continuation of my story They Both Had Terrible Dates. Then They Got Stuck In The Elevator. Please enjoy! 🙂

*******

My heart was still racing, my head spinning as she pulled me down the hallway away from the vestibule, away from the firefighters who rescued us from the stopped elevator. We turned the corner and she stopped, laughing, and turned to me.

“Look at me, leading the way as if I know where I’m going. I have no idea where your apartment is, Jake. Maybe you should lead.”

She looked at me expectantly, my dazzled brain taking a moment to catch up. “Uh—yeah, it’s this way,” I said, squeezing in front of her and tugging her along. She giggled and trotted after me.

What is happening? I asked myself. Is this real life?

An hour ago, I was stumbling through the doorway of my building, annoyed at being stood up on another date. And now, I was holding hands with the cute girl from the mailboxes—turns out her name is Elise—leading her to my apartment.

Oh, and we’d had sex in the elevator after we’d gotten trapped.

My t-shirt was still balled in my pocket, my jacket zipped up to my throat. We had just barely gotten our clothes back on when the firefighters had pried open the doors. The adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, along with the remnants of the four—or was it five?—drinks I had had while waiting for my date. My hand felt sweaty in hers, and I hoped she didn’t notice.

As we stumbled down the hall, I remembered the elevator. How we had laughed together about our failed dates. How the booze had possessed me, made me make the crazy suggestion that fate had led us to that moment. How her skin felt under my hands. And somehow, I’d managed not to screw it up, and she was following me back to my apartment.

Just the thought of the last hour sent tendrils of warmth through my groin and I felt myself stirring. I had to get her inside, and quickly.

We finally made it to my door—the hallway felt a mile long—and it took a moment for me to get the key into the lock, my hand still trembling with adrenaline, drunkenness, and anticipation. A small part of my mind snickered at the analogy and I pushed it away as I opened the door.

I pulled her over the threshold and shut the door behind her, pushing her back up against it. She looked up at me, her last giggle dying on her lips as she stared, a little smile still on her face. Then I bent back down and kissed her.

She kissed me back eagerly, and I could feel her fingers at my chest, then my collarbone, searching for the zipper on my jacket. She found it, slid it down, and slipped her hands inside as I unzipped hers. Our lips still touching, we each took a moment to shimmy out of our jackets, and they fell to the floor with a rustle. 

She threw her arms around my neck and without thinking I lifted her, my hands supporting her thighs as she wrapped her legs around my waist. I held her to me as she rained kisses down on my face, then staggered blindly to the couch. I dropped backwards onto it, and she landed straddling me.

Her blouse was still unbuttoned from the elevator, and I slid it easily from her shoulders to reveal her bra for the second time. Made of a lacy, filmy fabric, it did almost nothing to hide her from me, and her nipples strained clearly against the cups. I brushed them with my thumbs and she shivered, still kissing me, her hands cupping my face as she ground her hips against mine. 

My mind was still reeling when she pulled back slightly, then climbed carefully off of me. I opened my eyes and met hers.

“Are you—?”

“Yes,” she said, and began to kiss down my chest as her fingers worked at my waist, unbuttoning my jeans. She had to work to tug them off me, the still-damp fabric sticking slightly to my skin. She let them pool around my ankles, then knelt at my feet. I felt her hands in the waistband of my boxer briefs and then those had been tugged down too, and cool air brushed my hot skin for a moment before her warm, wet tongue was on me. My head fell back against the back of the couch.

She took her time, swirling her tongue around my tip and stroking gently up and down my shaft as her other hand cupped and gently massaged my balls. My head still lolling on the back of the couch, I groped the air until I found her head, then rested my hand lightly in her hair, stroking it as she bobbed up and down. The combined sensations of her hands and her hot, swirling tongue had me speeding toward the edge, and a brief moment of panic washed over me—what if I didn’t let her know soon enough—

So with a monumental effort, I brought my head up and—feeling incredibly awkward—tapped her shoulder lightly. She didn’t notice, still bobbing up and down, so I grabbed her shoulder gently and shook her once, twice. She looked up, startled, but didn’t stop stroking me with one hand, still massaging with the other. 

“I’m gonna—I have to—is it okay—” Words swam around my mind like shiny, darting fish and I couldn’t catch hold of enough of them to form a full sentence.

She smiled slowly, her strokes slowing.

“Is what okay?” she asked, her eyes boring into mine as her hands worked. I thought she was teasing me, but I couldn’t be sure. 

“Is it—can I—I want—” My net was empty, the bright word-fish still eluding me as I cast around again for enough to convey my meaning.

“I think,” she whispered, still stroking, her eyes on mine,  “that you might be asking whether you can come in my mouth.” 

I nodded, panting, jagged breaths tearing at my chest. I pulsed under her hands, dangerously close now.

Her smile widened, and she nodded slowly before dipping her head back down. She flattened her tongue at the base of my shaft before she dragged it up to my tip, moving at an agonizing crawl as my breath came faster and faster. She looked back up at me and waited for my eyes to meet hers before sliding my whole shaft back into her mouth—and then the world whited out for a moment as I came.

She continued to suck lightly as I pumped come into her throat, and I felt her swallow around me. She held me in her mouth as my shudders subsided, resting her head against one thigh and tracing light circles on the other with her fingernail. She looked up at me, and I combed my fingers through her hair. She smiled around my softening flesh and closed her eyes, as if she was comfortable enough to drop off to sleep.

After a few moments, I reached down to her and tugged on her arm. She understood, and got up to sit next to me on the couch, her feet on the floor. I kicked my pants and briefs off and realized that I was naked, and she still had most of her clothes on. 

It was time to remedy that.

I leaned in and kissed her lightly, one arm sliding around her shoulders while the other hand drifted to her hip. I slid that hand further under both her legs and then lifted them from the floor, turning her so her legs were draped across my lap. We held each other for a moment like that as we kissed deeply, tongues seeking, one of my hands plunged into her hair and the other sliding back up her waist. Hers were cupping my face again, holding my lips to hers. 

I unhooked her bra again and slipped the straps from her shoulders. Wrapping my arms around her, I kissed from her mouth to the hollow of her throat, and her head fell back as her breathing came faster. I kept kissing downward until I found one breast, and I gathered her nipple into my mouth. She gasped the moment my lips touched her there, and I smiled against her soft flesh as I swirled my tongue around the hard little bud in my mouth. Her breath hitched again as I cupped her other breast in my palm, gently stroking her nipple with my thumb.

I held her there for a moment, trembling and panting as I played with her breasts. I could feel myself already hardening again, and I briefly wondered when I had ever been so ready to go again so quickly. I didn’t think I had ever been. 

But she did something to me, man. I could have sat there and played with her forever, listening to the tiny whispery pleasure sounds she was making. I never wanted to stop.

And so I sucked and stroked and caressed her until both her nipples were hard and aching and she trembled at the lightest brush of a thumb or even an exhale. Only then did I move my mouth further down her body, leaving one hand on her breast to tease her gently as I used the other to unbutton her jeans. I tugged them down little by little, the stiff, damp fabric clinging tightly to her. When I got her jeans off, her panties were askew, dipping below one pelvic bone to reveal just a peek of the crease between her thigh and her vulva, and my breath caught in my throat. More than anything in the world, I needed to kiss that crease, and I groaned as I looked at it.

I scooped her into my arms and stood up and she gasped, surprised. But she threw her arms around my neck again and kissed me as I walked her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed, resting her head on my pillow. The way she looked up at me made my insides twist, and I couldn’t hold her gaze longer than a moment. Instead my eyes drifted down her body, drinking her in: her pink, erect nipples, straining upwards; the delicate curves of her waist and hips; her panties, still askew, still revealing just the tiniest bit of that crease. And then I saw something else that made my heart stop for a moment, and then begin to pound even harder.

Her panties were made of the same filmy fabric that her bra had been made of, and they were nearly transparent with wetness. Every contour, crease, and curve of her was clearly visible through the fabric as it clung to her skin, and a strangled sound of desperation escaped my throat. 

I climbed carefully onto the bed, my body hovering over hers, and lowered my head to brush her lips before moving back down her body again. I paused just below her navel, and I could feel her breath hitch in anticipation. But I moved slowly, needing to kiss that crease where her leg joined her body but not wanting to rush, needing desperately to be inside her but knowing we had all night.

I kissed lightly along the top edge of her panties, following the slant downwards towards her exposed hip bone. When I got to the crease of her thigh, I paused there for a moment and let my fingers drift lightly between her legs, feeling the dampness there. Then I kissed down, over her panties, tasting her through the delicate fabric, dampening it further as I sucked and she shuddered and moaned.

After a moment, I hooked my fingers into her waistband and tugged them just far enough down her thighs to expose her completely. For a moment I drew back and just looked at her, wet and glistening, pink and perfect—then, I slid her panties the rest of the way off, pushed her thighs apart, and dove in.

For the next several minutes I was lost, mindlessly licking and sucking, inhaling her intoxicating scent as I lapped at her sweet juices. Her breathing sped up as I slipped two fingers into her, stroking that sensitive spot, and she began to grind her hips against my mouth. Her hand slipped into my hair and held me to her as I drew light circles around her clit with my tongue. 

“Yes—there—right there—”

Her thighs suddenly clamped around my head, muffling my hearing, but I could still hear her moans as she shuddered and thrashed through her orgasm. I stroked her through it with my tongue and fingers, only stopping when she pushed me away. 

I kissed my way back up her body, stopping to nibble gently at each nipple as her head turned languidly side to side on the pillow. I kissed up her neck to her jaw before finally finding her lips again, and when I looked into her face I could see that her eyes were far away and unfocused. I kissed the tip of her nose and she smiled vaguely.

“Are you good?” I asked. She closed her eyes and her smile widened as she nodded.

“Good.” I was harder than stone now, and I needed her badly. Still on my hands and knees, straddling her, I reached over to my nightstand and pulled open the drawer. I rummaged inside and pulled out a condom in a foil packet, tore it open, and rolled it on.

Finally, I lowered my body down onto hers, and she opened her eyes again as I pressed at her entrance. She looked at me and nodded, her face serious now, her eyes wide. I held her gaze as I sank into her, and watched her eyes slide out of focus again as I began to thrust.

Moving in and out of her for the second time tonight, I couldn’t help but remember all the times I saw her at the mailboxes, thinking about how cute she was, coming back to my lonely apartment to fantasize about plucking up the courage to actually say something to her, and never quite managing it. Until tonight, when we got stuck in the elevator, and my boozed-up brain decided to go for it before my sober brain could react.

Good looking out, drunk brain, I thought, and smiled.

I slipped my arms underneath her to embrace her more closely, burying my face in her neck, pressing my lips to her delicate skin. She’d broken out in a light sweat, her pores opening and releasing more of that intoxicating scent, and I opened my mouth to whisper in her ear before I fully knew what I was about to say.

“I’m definitely grateful for that stopped elevator now.”

“Mmmm,” she said, turning toward me. “Me too.” She wrapped her arms around me and held me closer. 

We held each other like that, nose to nose, our lips just brushing as I stroked in and out of her, one of her hands cupping my face while the other rested on my hip. Suddenly I felt her energy shift, and the hand on my hip began pulling me into her as her breathing sped up again. I propped myself up on my elbows to get a better look at her face, and saw the desire in her eyes. I tilted my head questioningly and she nodded, her eyes widening again. I smiled and kissed her, and her back arched up into me as she kissed me back.

I pushed myself up onto my hands, thrusting harder now as she writhed beneath me. My senses were all heightened and I watched, as if in slow motion, a tiny bead of sweat form at the hollow of her throat and then slide down between her breasts. A drop of sweat from my own forehead splashed onto her bare shoulder. I wanted to hold back until she came again, and I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to—

But then she did come, her back arching again, and she pulled me back down on top of her. Her entire body quivered in my arms, her muscles clenching down on me as I lowered my lips to hers. I thrust into her one more time, then began to pulse inside her as she spasmed around me. We kissed madly, our tongues exploring as our bodies pressed together, the heat between us almost consuming us.

And then it was over, and we were in each other’s arms, the sweat cooling on our skin. We lay for a moment catching our breath, and then got up to clean up.

She used the bathroom while I removed the condom and rolled it up in a tissue, tossing it into the wastebasket next to my bed. I was pulling back the covers when she walked back into the bedroom. I turned to her and cleared my throat, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Um,” I started, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat again. “I don’t, uh, want to make any assumptions. But. You’re welcome to, um, you know.” I cleared my throat for a third time and patted the bed. “Stay. If you want to.”

A smile crept slowly across her face as she came toward me, then stopped in front of me, lightly pressing her body to mine and resting her hands on my hips. And god help me, I felt myself stir again against her.

“I do want to stay,” she said quietly, her hands drifting up my body to my chest, then the back of my neck. She pulled me down so we were eye level and pressed her lips to mine. 

“I want to see what you’re like in the morning.” 

*******

It was so fun to write this second chapter! Let me know if you want to know how the morning after goes for Elise and Jake. ♥️

This is a continuation of my story They Both Had Terrible Dates. Then They Got Stuck In The Elevator. Please enjoy! 🙂

*******

My heart was still racing, my head spinning as she pulled me down the hallway away from the vestibule, away from the firefighters who rescued us from the stopped elevator. We turned the corner and she stopped, laughing, and turned to me.

“Look at me, leading the way as if I know where I’m going. I have no idea where your apartment is, Jake. Maybe you should lead.”

She looked at me expectantly, my dazzled brain taking a moment to catch up. “Uh—yeah, it’s this way,” I said, squeezing in front of her and tugging her along. She giggled and trotted after me.

What is happening? I asked myself. Is this real life?

An hour ago, I was stumbling through the doorway of my building, annoyed at being stood up on another date. And now, I was holding hands with the cute girl from the mailboxes—turns out her name is Elise—leading her to my apartment.

Oh, and we’d had sex in the elevator after we’d gotten trapped.

My t-shirt was still balled in my pocket, my jacket zipped up to my throat. We had just barely gotten our clothes back on when the firefighters had pried open the doors. The adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, along with the remnants of the four—or was it five?—drinks I had had while waiting for my date. My hand felt sweaty in hers, and I hoped she didn’t notice.

As we stumbled down the hall, I remembered the elevator. How we had laughed together about our failed dates. How the booze had possessed me, made me make the crazy suggestion that fate had led us to that moment. How her skin felt under my hands. And somehow, I’d managed not to screw it up, and she was following me back to my apartment.

Just the thought of the last hour sent tendrils of warmth through my groin and I felt myself stirring. I had to get her inside, and quickly.

We finally made it to my door—the hallway felt a mile long—and it took a moment for me to get the key into the lock, my hand still trembling with adrenaline, drunkenness, and anticipation. A small part of my mind snickered at the analogy and I pushed it away as I opened the door.

I pulled her over the threshold and shut the door behind her, pushing her back up against it. She looked up at me, her last giggle dying on her lips as she stared, a little smile still on her face. Then I bent back down and kissed her.

She kissed me back eagerly, and I could feel her fingers at my chest, then my collarbone, searching for the zipper on my jacket. She found it, slid it down, and slipped her hands inside as I unzipped hers. Our lips still touching, we each took a moment to shimmy out of our jackets, and they fell to the floor with a rustle. 

She threw her arms around my neck and without thinking I lifted her, my hands supporting her thighs as she wrapped her legs around my waist. I held her to me as she rained kisses down on my face, then staggered blindly to the couch. I dropped backwards onto it, and she landed straddling me.

Her blouse was still unbuttoned from the elevator, and I slid it easily from her shoulders to reveal her bra for the second time. Made of a lacy, filmy fabric, it did almost nothing to hide her from me, and her nipples strained clearly against the cups. I brushed them with my thumbs and she shivered, still kissing me, her hands cupping my face as she ground her hips against mine. 

My mind was still reeling when she pulled back slightly, then climbed carefully off of me. I opened my eyes and met hers.

“Are you—?”

“Yes,” she said, and began to kiss down my chest as her fingers worked at my waist, unbuttoning my jeans. She had to work to tug them off me, the still-damp fabric sticking slightly to my skin. She let them pool around my ankles, then knelt at my feet. I felt her hands in the waistband of my boxer briefs and then those had been tugged down too, and cool air brushed my hot skin for a moment before her warm, wet tongue was on me. My head fell back against the back of the couch.

She took her time, swirling her tongue around my tip and stroking gently up and down my shaft as her other hand cupped and gently massaged my balls. My head still lolling on the back of the couch, I groped the air until I found her head, then rested my hand lightly in her hair, stroking it as she bobbed up and down. The combined sensations of her hands and her hot, swirling tongue had me speeding toward the edge, and a brief moment of panic washed over me—what if I didn’t let her know soon enough—

So with a monumental effort, I brought my head up and—feeling incredibly awkward—tapped her shoulder lightly. She didn’t notice, still bobbing up and down, so I grabbed her shoulder gently and shook her once, twice. She looked up, startled, but didn’t stop stroking me with one hand, still massaging with the other. 

“I’m gonna—I have to—is it okay—” Words swam around my mind like shiny, darting fish and I couldn’t catch hold of enough of them to form a full sentence.

She smiled slowly, her strokes slowing.

“Is what okay?” she asked, her eyes boring into mine as her hands worked. I thought she was teasing me, but I couldn’t be sure. 

“Is it—can I—I want—” My net was empty, the bright word-fish still eluding me as I cast around again for enough to convey my meaning.

“I think,” she whispered, still stroking, her eyes on mine,  “that you might be asking whether you can come in my mouth.” 

I nodded, panting, jagged breaths tearing at my chest. I pulsed under her hands, dangerously close now.

Her smile widened, and she nodded slowly before dipping her head back down. She flattened her tongue at the base of my shaft before she dragged it up to my tip, moving at an agonizing crawl as my breath came faster and faster. She looked back up at me and waited for my eyes to meet hers before sliding my whole shaft back into her mouth—and then the world whited out for a moment as I came.

She continued to suck lightly as I pumped come into her throat, and I felt her swallow around me. She held me in her mouth as my shudders subsided, resting her head against one thigh and tracing light circles on the other with her fingernail. She looked up at me, and I combed my fingers through her hair. She smiled around my softening flesh and closed her eyes, as if she was comfortable enough to drop off to sleep.

After a few moments, I reached down to her and tugged on her arm. She understood, and got up to sit next to me on the couch, her feet on the floor. I kicked my pants and briefs off and realized that I was naked, and she still had most of her clothes on. 

It was time to remedy that.

I leaned in and kissed her lightly, one arm sliding around her shoulders while the other hand drifted to her hip. I slid that hand further under both her legs and then lifted them from the floor, turning her so her legs were draped across my lap. We held each other for a moment like that as we kissed deeply, tongues seeking, one of my hands plunged into her hair and the other sliding back up her waist. Hers were cupping my face again, holding my lips to hers. 

I unhooked her bra again and slipped the straps from her shoulders. Wrapping my arms around her, I kissed from her mouth to the hollow of her throat, and her head fell back as her breathing came faster. I kept kissing downward until I found one breast, and I gathered her nipple into my mouth. She gasped the moment my lips touched her there, and I smiled against her soft flesh as I swirled my tongue around the hard little bud in my mouth. Her breath hitched again as I cupped her other breast in my palm, gently stroking her nipple with my thumb.

I held her there for a moment, trembling and panting as I played with her breasts. I could feel myself already hardening again, and I briefly wondered when I had ever been so ready to go again so quickly. I didn’t think I had ever been. 

But she did something to me, man. I could have sat there and played with her forever, listening to the tiny whispery pleasure sounds she was making. I never wanted to stop.

And so I sucked and stroked and caressed her until both her nipples were hard and aching and she trembled at the lightest brush of a thumb or even an exhale. Only then did I move my mouth further down her body, leaving one hand on her breast to tease her gently as I used the other to unbutton her jeans. I tugged them down little by little, the stiff, damp fabric clinging tightly to her. When I got her jeans off, her panties were askew, dipping below one pelvic bone to reveal just a peek of the crease between her thigh and her vulva, and my breath caught in my throat. More than anything in the world, I needed to kiss that crease, and I groaned as I looked at it.

I scooped her into my arms and stood up and she gasped, surprised. But she threw her arms around my neck again and kissed me as I walked her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed, resting her head on my pillow. The way she looked up at me made my insides twist, and I couldn’t hold her gaze longer than a moment. Instead my eyes drifted down her body, drinking her in: her pink, erect nipples, straining upwards; the delicate curves of her waist and hips; her panties, still askew, still revealing just the tiniest bit of that crease. And then I saw something else that made my heart stop for a moment, and then begin to pound even harder.

Her panties were made of the same filmy fabric that her bra had been made of, and they were nearly transparent with wetness. Every contour, crease, and curve of her was clearly visible through the fabric as it clung to her skin, and a strangled sound of desperation escaped my throat. 

I climbed carefully onto the bed, my body hovering over hers, and lowered my head to brush her lips before moving back down her body again. I paused just below her navel, and I could feel her breath hitch in anticipation. But I moved slowly, needing to kiss that crease where her leg joined her body but not wanting to rush, needing desperately to be inside her but knowing we had all night.

I kissed lightly along the top edge of her panties, following the slant downwards towards her exposed hip bone. When I got to the crease of her thigh, I paused there for a moment and let my fingers drift lightly between her legs, feeling the dampness there. Then I kissed down, over her panties, tasting her through the delicate fabric, dampening it further as I sucked and she shuddered and moaned.

After a moment, I hooked my fingers into her waistband and tugged them just far enough down her thighs to expose her completely. For a moment I drew back and just looked at her, wet and glistening, pink and perfect—then, I slid her panties the rest of the way off, pushed her thighs apart, and dove in.

For the next several minutes I was lost, mindlessly licking and sucking, inhaling her intoxicating scent as I lapped at her sweet juices. Her breathing sped up as I slipped two fingers into her, stroking that sensitive spot, and she began to grind her hips against my mouth. Her hand slipped into my hair and held me to her as I drew light circles around her clit with my tongue. 

“Yes—there—right there—”

Her thighs suddenly clamped around my head, muffling my hearing, but I could still hear her moans as she shuddered and thrashed through her orgasm. I stroked her through it with my tongue and fingers, only stopping when she pushed me away. 

I kissed my way back up her body, stopping to nibble gently at each nipple as her head turned languidly side to side on the pillow. I kissed up her neck to her jaw before finally finding her lips again, and when I looked into her face I could see that her eyes were far away and unfocused. I kissed the tip of her nose and she smiled vaguely.

“Are you good?” I asked. She closed her eyes and her smile widened as she nodded.

“Good.” I was harder than stone now, and I needed her badly. Still on my hands and knees, straddling her, I reached over to my nightstand and pulled open the drawer. I rummaged inside and pulled out a condom in a foil packet, tore it open, and rolled it on.

Finally, I lowered my body down onto hers, and she opened her eyes again as I pressed at her entrance. She looked at me and nodded, her face serious now, her eyes wide. I held her gaze as I sank into her, and watched her eyes slide out of focus again as I began to thrust.

Moving in and out of her for the second time tonight, I couldn’t help but remember all the times I saw her at the mailboxes, thinking about how cute she was, coming back to my lonely apartment to fantasize about plucking up the courage to actually say something to her, and never quite managing it. Until tonight, when we got stuck in the elevator, and my boozed-up brain decided to go for it before my sober brain could react.

Good looking out, drunk brain, I thought, and smiled.

I slipped my arms underneath her to embrace her more closely, burying my face in her neck, pressing my lips to her delicate skin. She’d broken out in a light sweat, her pores opening and releasing more of that intoxicating scent, and I opened my mouth to whisper in her ear before I fully knew what I was about to say.

“I’m definitely grateful for that stopped elevator now.”

“Mmmm,” she said, turning toward me. “Me too.” She wrapped her arms around me and held me closer. 

We held each other like that, nose to nose, our lips just brushing as I stroked in and out of her, one of her hands cupping my face while the other rested on my hip. Suddenly I felt her energy shift, and the hand on my hip began pulling me into her as her breathing sped up again. I propped myself up on my elbows to get a better look at her face, and saw the desire in her eyes. I tilted my head questioningly and she nodded, her eyes widening again. I smiled and kissed her, and her back arched up into me as she kissed me back.

I pushed myself up onto my hands, thrusting harder now as she writhed beneath me. My senses were all heightened and I watched, as if in slow motion, a tiny bead of sweat form at the hollow of her throat and then slide down between her breasts. A drop of sweat from my own forehead splashed onto her bare shoulder. I wanted to hold back until she came again, and I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to—

But then she did come, her back arching again, and she pulled me back down on top of her. Her entire body quivered in my arms, her muscles clenching down on me as I lowered my lips to hers. I thrust into her one more time, then began to pulse inside her as she spasmed around me. We kissed madly, our tongues exploring as our bodies pressed together, the heat between us almost consuming us.

And then it was over, and we were in each other’s arms, the sweat cooling on our skin. We lay for a moment catching our breath, and then got up to clean up.

She used the bathroom while I removed the condom and rolled it up in a tissue, tossing it into the wastebasket next to my bed. I was pulling back the covers when she walked back into the bedroom. I turned to her and cleared my throat, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Um,” I started, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat again. “I don’t, uh, want to make any assumptions. But. You’re welcome to, um, you know.” I cleared my throat for a third time and patted the bed. “Stay. If you want to.”

A smile crept slowly across her face as she came toward me, then stopped in front of me, lightly pressing her body to mine and resting her hands on my hips. And god help me, I felt myself stir again against her.

“I do want to stay,” she said quietly, her hands drifting up my body to my chest, then the back of my neck. She pulled me down so we were eye level and pressed her lips to mine. 

“I want to see what you’re like in the morning.” 

*******

It was so fun to write this second chapter! Let me know if you want to know how the morning after goes for Elise and Jake. ♥️

This is a continuation of my story They Both Had Terrible Dates. Then They Got Stuck In The Elevator. Please enjoy! 🙂

*******

My heart was still racing, my head spinning as she pulled me down the hallway away from the vestibule, away from the firefighters who rescued us from the stopped elevator. We turned the corner and she stopped, laughing, and turned to me.

“Look at me, leading the way as if I know where I’m going. I have no idea where your apartment is, Jake. Maybe you should lead.”

She looked at me expectantly, my dazzled brain taking a moment to catch up. “Uh—yeah, it’s this way,” I said, squeezing in front of her and tugging her along. She giggled and trotted after me.

What is happening? I asked myself. Is this real life?

An hour ago, I was stumbling through the doorway of my building, annoyed at being stood up on another date. And now, I was holding hands with the cute girl from the mailboxes—turns out her name is Elise—leading her to my apartment.

Oh, and we’d had sex in the elevator after we’d gotten trapped.

My t-shirt was still balled in my pocket, my jacket zipped up to my throat. We had just barely gotten our clothes back on when the firefighters had pried open the doors. The adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, along with the remnants of the four—or was it five?—drinks I had had while waiting for my date. My hand felt sweaty in hers, and I hoped she didn’t notice.

As we stumbled down the hall, I remembered the elevator. How we had laughed together about our failed dates. How the booze had possessed me, made me make the crazy suggestion that fate had led us to that moment. How her skin felt under my hands. And somehow, I’d managed not to screw it up, and she was following me back to my apartment.

Just the thought of the last hour sent tendrils of warmth through my groin and I felt myself stirring. I had to get her inside, and quickly.

We finally made it to my door—the hallway felt a mile long—and it took a moment for me to get the key into the lock, my hand still trembling with adrenaline, drunkenness, and anticipation. A small part of my mind snickered at the analogy and I pushed it away as I opened the door.

I pulled her over the threshold and shut the door behind her, pushing her back up against it. She looked up at me, her last giggle dying on her lips as she stared, a little smile still on her face. Then I bent back down and kissed her.

She kissed me back eagerly, and I could feel her fingers at my chest, then my collarbone, searching for the zipper on my jacket. She found it, slid it down, and slipped her hands inside as I unzipped hers. Our lips still touching, we each took a moment to shimmy out of our jackets, and they fell to the floor with a rustle. 

She threw her arms around my neck and without thinking I lifted her, my hands supporting her thighs as she wrapped her legs around my waist. I held her to me as she rained kisses down on my face, then staggered blindly to the couch. I dropped backwards onto it, and she landed straddling me.

Her blouse was still unbuttoned from the elevator, and I slid it easily from her shoulders to reveal her bra for the second time. Made of a lacy, filmy fabric, it did almost nothing to hide her from me, and her nipples strained clearly against the cups. I brushed them with my thumbs and she shivered, still kissing me, her hands cupping my face as she ground her hips against mine. 

My mind was still reeling when she pulled back slightly, then climbed carefully off of me. I opened my eyes and met hers.

“Are you—?”

“Yes,” she said, and began to kiss down my chest as her fingers worked at my waist, unbuttoning my jeans. She had to work to tug them off me, the still-damp fabric sticking slightly to my skin. She let them pool around my ankles, then knelt at my feet. I felt her hands in the waistband of my boxer briefs and then those had been tugged down too, and cool air brushed my hot skin for a moment before her warm, wet tongue was on me. My head fell back against the back of the couch.

She took her time, swirling her tongue around my tip and stroking gently up and down my shaft as her other hand cupped and gently massaged my balls. My head still lolling on the back of the couch, I groped the air until I found her head, then rested my hand lightly in her hair, stroking it as she bobbed up and down. The combined sensations of her hands and her hot, swirling tongue had me speeding toward the edge, and a brief moment of panic washed over me—what if I didn’t let her know soon enough—

So with a monumental effort, I brought my head up and—feeling incredibly awkward—tapped her shoulder lightly. She didn’t notice, still bobbing up and down, so I grabbed her shoulder gently and shook her once, twice. She looked up, startled, but didn’t stop stroking me with one hand, still massaging with the other. 

“I’m gonna—I have to—is it okay—” Words swam around my mind like shiny, darting fish and I couldn’t catch hold of enough of them to form a full sentence.

She smiled slowly, her strokes slowing.

“Is what okay?” she asked, her eyes boring into mine as her hands worked. I thought she was teasing me, but I couldn’t be sure. 

“Is it—can I—I want—” My net was empty, the bright word-fish still eluding me as I cast around again for enough to convey my meaning.

“I think,” she whispered, still stroking, her eyes on mine,  “that you might be asking whether you can come in my mouth.” 

I nodded, panting, jagged breaths tearing at my chest. I pulsed under her hands, dangerously close now.

Her smile widened, and she nodded slowly before dipping her head back down. She flattened her tongue at the base of my shaft before she dragged it up to my tip, moving at an agonizing crawl as my breath came faster and faster. She looked back up at me and waited for my eyes to meet hers before sliding my whole shaft back into her mouth—and then the world whited out for a moment as I came.

She continued to suck lightly as I pumped come into her throat, and I felt her swallow around me. She held me in her mouth as my shudders subsided, resting her head against one thigh and tracing light circles on the other with her fingernail. She looked up at me, and I combed my fingers through her hair. She smiled around my softening flesh and closed her eyes, as if she was comfortable enough to drop off to sleep.

After a few moments, I reached down to her and tugged on her arm. She understood, and got up to sit next to me on the couch, her feet on the floor. I kicked my pants and briefs off and realized that I was naked, and she still had most of her clothes on. 

It was time to remedy that.

I leaned in and kissed her lightly, one arm sliding around her shoulders while the other hand drifted to her hip. I slid that hand further under both her legs and then lifted them from the floor, turning her so her legs were draped across my lap. We held each other for a moment like that as we kissed deeply, tongues seeking, one of my hands plunged into her hair and the other sliding back up her waist. Hers were cupping my face again, holding my lips to hers. 

I unhooked her bra again and slipped the straps from her shoulders. Wrapping my arms around her, I kissed from her mouth to the hollow of her throat, and her head fell back as her breathing came faster. I kept kissing downward until I found one breast, and I gathered her nipple into my mouth. She gasped the moment my lips touched her there, and I smiled against her soft flesh as I swirled my tongue around the hard little bud in my mouth. Her breath hitched again as I cupped her other breast in my palm, gently stroking her nipple with my thumb.

I held her there for a moment, trembling and panting as I played with her breasts. I could feel myself already hardening again, and I briefly wondered when I had ever been so ready to go again so quickly. I didn’t think I had ever been. 

But she did something to me, man. I could have sat there and played with her forever, listening to the tiny whispery pleasure sounds she was making. I never wanted to stop.

And so I sucked and stroked and caressed her until both her nipples were hard and aching and she trembled at the lightest brush of a thumb or even an exhale. Only then did I move my mouth further down her body, leaving one hand on her breast to tease her gently as I used the other to unbutton her jeans. I tugged them down little by little, the stiff, damp fabric clinging tightly to her. When I got her jeans off, her panties were askew, dipping below one pelvic bone to reveal just a peek of the crease between her thigh and her vulva, and my breath caught in my throat. More than anything in the world, I needed to kiss that crease, and I groaned as I looked at it.

I scooped her into my arms and stood up and she gasped, surprised. But she threw her arms around my neck again and kissed me as I walked her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed, resting her head on my pillow. The way she looked up at me made my insides twist, and I couldn’t hold her gaze longer than a moment. Instead my eyes drifted down her body, drinking her in: her pink, erect nipples, straining upwards; the delicate curves of her waist and hips; her panties, still askew, still revealing just the tiniest bit of that crease. And then I saw something else that made my heart stop for a moment, and then begin to pound even harder.

Her panties were made of the same filmy fabric that her bra had been made of, and they were nearly transparent with wetness. Every contour, crease, and curve of her was clearly visible through the fabric as it clung to her skin, and a strangled sound of desperation escaped my throat. 

I climbed carefully onto the bed, my body hovering over hers, and lowered my head to brush her lips before moving back down her body again. I paused just below her navel, and I could feel her breath hitch in anticipation. But I moved slowly, needing to kiss that crease where her leg joined her body but not wanting to rush, needing desperately to be inside her but knowing we had all night.

I kissed lightly along the top edge of her panties, following the slant downwards towards her exposed hip bone. When I got to the crease of her thigh, I paused there for a moment and let my fingers drift lightly between her legs, feeling the dampness there. Then I kissed down, over her panties, tasting her through the delicate fabric, dampening it further as I sucked and she shuddered and moaned.

After a moment, I hooked my fingers into her waistband and tugged them just far enough down her thighs to expose her completely. For a moment I drew back and just looked at her, wet and glistening, pink and perfect—then, I slid her panties the rest of the way off, pushed her thighs apart, and dove in.

For the next several minutes I was lost, mindlessly licking and sucking, inhaling her intoxicating scent as I lapped at her sweet juices. Her breathing sped up as I slipped two fingers into her, stroking that sensitive spot, and she began to grind her hips against my mouth. Her hand slipped into my hair and held me to her as I drew light circles around her clit with my tongue. 

“Yes—there—right there—”

Her thighs suddenly clamped around my head, muffling my hearing, but I could still hear her moans as she shuddered and thrashed through her orgasm. I stroked her through it with my tongue and fingers, only stopping when she pushed me away. 

I kissed my way back up her body, stopping to nibble gently at each nipple as her head turned languidly side to side on the pillow. I kissed up her neck to her jaw before finally finding her lips again, and when I looked into her face I could see that her eyes were far away and unfocused. I kissed the tip of her nose and she smiled vaguely.

“Are you good?” I asked. She closed her eyes and her smile widened as she nodded.

“Good.” I was harder than stone now, and I needed her badly. Still on my hands and knees, straddling her, I reached over to my nightstand and pulled open the drawer. I rummaged inside and pulled out a condom in a foil packet, tore it open, and rolled it on.

Finally, I lowered my body down onto hers, and she opened her eyes again as I pressed at her entrance. She looked at me and nodded, her face serious now, her eyes wide. I held her gaze as I sank into her, and watched her eyes slide out of focus again as I began to thrust.

Moving in and out of her for the second time tonight, I couldn’t help but remember all the times I saw her at the mailboxes, thinking about how cute she was, coming back to my lonely apartment to fantasize about plucking up the courage to actually say something to her, and never quite managing it. Until tonight, when we got stuck in the elevator, and my boozed-up brain decided to go for it before my sober brain could react.

Good looking out, drunk brain, I thought, and smiled.

I slipped my arms underneath her to embrace her more closely, burying my face in her neck, pressing my lips to her delicate skin. She’d broken out in a light sweat, her pores opening and releasing more of that intoxicating scent, and I opened my mouth to whisper in her ear before I fully knew what I was about to say.

“I’m definitely grateful for that stopped elevator now.”

“Mmmm,” she said, turning toward me. “Me too.” She wrapped her arms around me and held me closer. 

We held each other like that, nose to nose, our lips just brushing as I stroked in and out of her, one of her hands cupping my face while the other rested on my hip. Suddenly I felt her energy shift, and the hand on my hip began pulling me into her as her breathing sped up again. I propped myself up on my elbows to get a better look at her face, and saw the desire in her eyes. I tilted my head questioningly and she nodded, her eyes widening again. I smiled and kissed her, and her back arched up into me as she kissed me back.

I pushed myself up onto my hands, thrusting harder now as she writhed beneath me. My senses were all heightened and I watched, as if in slow motion, a tiny bead of sweat form at the hollow of her throat and then slide down between her breasts. A drop of sweat from my own forehead splashed onto her bare shoulder. I wanted to hold back until she came again, and I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to—

But then she did come, her back arching again, and she pulled me back down on top of her. Her entire body quivered in my arms, her muscles clenching down on me as I lowered my lips to hers. I thrust into her one more time, then began to pulse inside her as she spasmed around me. We kissed madly, our tongues exploring as our bodies pressed together, the heat between us almost consuming us.

And then it was over, and we were in each other’s arms, the sweat cooling on our skin. We lay for a moment catching our breath, and then got up to clean up.

She used the bathroom while I removed the condom and rolled it up in a tissue, tossing it into the wastebasket next to my bed. I was pulling back the covers when she walked back into the bedroom. I turned to her and cleared my throat, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Um,” I started, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat again. “I don’t, uh, want to make any assumptions. But. You’re welcome to, um, you know.” I cleared my throat for a third time and patted the bed. “Stay. If you want to.”

A smile crept slowly across her face as she came toward me, then stopped in front of me, lightly pressing her body to mine and resting her hands on my hips. And god help me, I felt myself stir again against her.

“I do want to stay,” she said quietly, her hands drifting up my body to my chest, then the back of my neck. She pulled me down so we were eye level and pressed her lips to mine. 

“I want to see what you’re like in the morning.” 

*******

It was so fun to write this second chapter! Let me know if you want to know how the morning after goes for Elise and Jake. ♥️