Heather's Norwellyn house was perhaps the homiest place Colin Watson had ever been in.
The first thing that struck him about it, when he had first stepped over the threshold some five or six years ago, was that it was a little bit old--worn, stained carpeting; cracks in the plaster where people had kicked the corner on their way around too many times; broken tiles fixed with wrong-colored replacements. The ceiling seemed a little lower than normal, and the concrete patio in the backyard had weeds breaking up through it.
But after only a few minutes in the house, he realized that it was not the disorder of disrepair that he saw, but the disorder of long, hard use. Like a pair of old, well-loved jeans, the house was broken-in, maybe a little frayed, but still perfectly useful.
Colin Watson's father was an architect, and when he moved his family to Saldaea Heights, he had designed and commissioned a monstrosity of a museum house: marble floors, vaulting ceilings, virginal white walls and more rooms than anyone could ever want. Colin's family had lived there for almost ten years and the place was still pristine. Colin saw it as a sterile environment, like a hospital: cold and distant and untouchable. Next to this, the warm, breathing disorder of the Norwellyn household was a refreshing change.
As Mrs. Norwellyn had suggested, one of Heather's friends was already there, a bright-faced Chinese girl named Tanya Chang who had a habit of being very loud. A second friend, Lacie Epstein, had yet to arrive. The third was also absent: Adam Hawthorne, the third member of Colin's assembled family.
"Hey, Heather. Whatdja bring him for?" Tanya asked.
Heather shrugged. "He wanted to come."
"Yeah, but why was he with you," Tanya persisted.
Heather and Colin exchanged glances. "We'll leave that explanation until later." Tanya, sensing a particularly juicy bit of gossip on the horizon, squealed and rubbed her hands together.
Heather, predicting that the remaining members of the study group would arrive within a few minutes, went to get cookies for her guests, directing Colin to find a seat somewhere. She was proved right; barely had she walked into the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" Mrs. Norwellyn said. "Hi, Colin."
"No, I'll get it," Heather said, rushing out of the kitchen, unbound hair flying. She was wearing the clothes she had worn yesterday, and Colin was glad to see that they had not wrinkled or stained during the night's recreational events.
"I'll get your cookies," Colin offered, and went into the kitchen. Three feet away, through the wall that divided the front door from the kitchen, he heard Heather and her mother chatting with her new arrival--probably Lacie, since Adam had a much deeper voice than that. Once Adam and Lindsay had measured against a piano and discovered that Adam's talking note was the D below middle C.
A 'container' of Safeway chocolate chip cookies was on the counter--Colin did not know how else to describe it; it was one of those plastic trays with ridges to hold the cookies on their sides, that could be slid in and out of the plastic bag. It defied description. There was also a plate, on which Heather had laid a few cookes. Colin washed his hands and got them finished up, arraying them in a circular overlapping pattern. Before he was halfway finished he heard Adam Hawthorne's voice on the other side of the wall.
Colin had not gone to the same school as Adam and Heather for years. He attended a private, expensive college, Besaid University, by the grace of his father's income, stimulated by the California Bay Area's housing crunch; today a house in an affluent community will sell for upwards of ten million dollars. Heather and Adam, on the other hand, were not poor, but neither had that sort of money at their disposal. Coincidentally, neither had their biological fathers around. Heather's had left before Heather had started school, and she had only gained a stepfather in the past few years. Adam's father had died, succumbing to early cancer when Adam was nine. Colin didn't think this had anything to do with it; both Mrs. Norwellyn and Mrs. Hawthorne were friendly, capable women. But to save on expenses, both Adam and Heather had attended a local junior college for two years. Now Adam was transferring to UC Davis to be with other friends, though he had successfully applied to Berkeley, and Heather was considering San Jose State.
Heather's sister Katharine walked in. "What are you doing here?" It was not too uncommon to see Colin or Adam around the Norwellyn household, but she had never expected to find one of them laying out cookies in the kitchen.
Colin shrugged. "I'm helping Heather."
The family resemblance between Katharine and Heather was unmistakeable; both had similar hair colorings and facial structures, though Katharine's eyes had a lot more gray in them. Katharine's voice had remained high, however, and her proportions and the roundness of her face made her look like an eternal schoolgirl. She had graduated near the top of her class and had deferred an acceptance to UC Berkeley for two years to attend Manetheren College and save her mother's money, as Heather had. She was seventeen.
When Colin finished with the cookies he brought them out and set them on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. "Anyone want something to drink?"
Adam jumped. "Colin," he said, a smile brightening his face. "What are you doing here?"
Colin shrugged and grinned. "Helping Heather."
Adam Wright had always been tall, but now Colin was finally catching up to him after a lifetime of shortness. He had a chiseled, handsome face and warm eyes. He wore his dark hair short and spiked with gel. Like Colin, he had never placed much emphasis on the aesthetics of his body, but he paid attention to what he wore; at present he had on a necklace of pooka shells, blue jeans and a hooded grey sweater with UCSD in red block letters on the front. He was one of the kindest and most generous people Colin had ever met. Also, because he was gay, there was a constant stream of girls falling over him. Colin felt that this was proof of God having a sense of humor.
In the kitchen he asked Katharine to help with the sodas. He knew where they were--he had a head for random trivia--but he didn't want to seem rude by simply walking in and busting open the refrigerator. Once everyone had their drinks, Colin retired to a side chair, content to sit and watch the exchange of information go by.
It was a fairly rapid session. Heather's class was focusing on the rise and fall of the Ottoman Empire. They traded notes and observations on the lecture; evidently the teacher, a notorious test-giver, had suggested that this particular nation would feature prominently on the final. Colin had studied the Ottomans before, history being a common requirement at most colleges, and every now and then Heather asked him to clarify a point. Colin wondered why she did this. Was she trying to make a point of him being a part of her life? The Ottomans interested him, especially their method of succession when a sultan passed away; Colin was a psychologist, and any way to manipulate behavior interested him. But he wasn't exactly an expert here.
When the meeting ended, Lacie Espinosa excused herself, but Tanya still had questions. "So, Heather, where were you?" Adam looked over, mildly interested.
Heather glanced at Colin, feeling his eyes on the back of her head. "What do you mean by that, Tanya?"
"I got here at 10:58," Tanya said, "and you weren't here. Then five minutes later you come in with Colin." Tanya was grinning delightedly; her Gossip Radar was lighting up like a Christmas tree. "What gives?"
Now Adam was clearly interested. He looked back and forth between the faces of his two oldest friends, his hazel eyes speculative.
"Oh, well," said Heather, fidgeting. Why should this be so uncomfortable to admit? Neither Adam nor Tanya was going to scold her. "I was with Colin at his dorm for a while. We got a little held up in traffic on the way here."
"Wait," Tanya said. "You went to Colin's place last night, and then again this morning?"
Colin had stood unobtrusively, and now he sat on the end of the couch nearest to Heather, with Tanya on its other side. Heather herself sat in one of the free-standing single-user chairs, ninety degrees around the coffee table to Colin's right; Adam occupied the second chair, directly across from Colin and Tanya.
"Err, well." Heather toyed with the notes in her lap. "I didn't really come home after I went last night."
"Oh re-eally," Tanya shrieked, a gigantic grin on his face.
"Colin, what's going on?" Adam asked. "Something's not adding up here. You're going out with that Jason guy, aren't you?"
"What, me," Colin asked, scandalized.
"No, Heather, silly," Adam said, grinning.
"Oh, well, actually, she's not," Colin said.
"Yeah," Heather said. "We broke up yesterday."
"A-and," Tanya squealed.
"Well," Heather said. She and Colin smiled at each other and she took his hand. "Colin and I realized that we kinda like each other."
There was a beat of silence, in which Tanya and Adam, their two best friends, regarded them in twin images of surprise. Then Adam burst out, "Took ya long enough!" He was grinning.
"And you spent all night at his place?" Tanya shrieked incredulously.
Colin and Heather glanced at each other, smiling and blushing.
"Oh my God," Tanya said, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down. "Oh, my God, that's so-- Oh my God!" She covered her mouth with her hands and finally surrendered some volume. "What about your mother?" she asked, eyes wide. "I've been yelling and shrieking and--"
"Well, uhm, actually, my mother already knows," Heather said.
"And you're still in one piece," Adam asked, impressed.
"Actually, she was... Kind of approving," Heather said, blushing furiously.
"Evidently she's been pushing for Heather to get together with me for a while now," Colin offered.
"Yes, but... Like that?" Adam asked.
Tanya's eyes were wide. "Wow," she said to Heather. "You have, like, the coolest mom ever."
Heather chuckled. "If you think mine is cool, you should see his," she said, indicating Adam with a pass of her hand.
"Maybe, but I don't think she'd let me stay overnight at the house of someone I was dating," Adam said.
"No, she might," Colin said. "It's probably gonna happen at some point, so what's a smart parent gonna do? Exile you, so that you've got to sneak around and your first time is in the trunk of a car or something? Or let it happen and pretend not to see?"
"That's a good point," Tanya said. "I'll have to remember that for when I have kids."
After Adam and Tanya left, Mrs. Norwellyn came in to talk to them. "So, kids, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" A faint flicker of something crossed her broad face. "Kids. You guys aren't exactly kids anymore, are you. So what're you folks planning for the rest of the day?"
"Well, actually," Heather said, "we were going to go back to Colin's place and study."
"Study what," Mrs. Norwellyn said with a knowing smile.
Heather felt her ears heat up. "Schoolwork," she said primly, struggling for composure. It was one thing to have a parent look the other way; it was really another to have her confront you with that knowledge in your living room. "We may be horny college students, Mom, but we're also responsible college students, and we do have homework to do. Why not just do it in the same room as each other?"
"Why not just study here," Mrs. Norwellyn asked.
"Well." Heather averted her eyes, blushing, a secret smile on her face. "We do want to study other things."
Mrs. Norwellyn glanced at Colin. "What're your thoughts on this, Colin?"
Colin shrugged, giving Heather's hand a squeeze. "What she says, goes, as far as I'm concerned."
Mrs. Norwellyn laughed. "All right, I can see I can't win against you two. Go on ahead, then. But Heather, I want you back home by eight o'clock tonight. I'll be able to hold Arthur off until then, but that's your maximum limit." Arthur Combs was Heather's stepfather. This was his first marriage, and he was a little overprotective of his new daughters, as though determined to make up for not having been around for most of their childhoods.
"All right, Mom," Heather said, and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."
"Well, run along, then, you two lovebirds," Mrs. Norwellyn said, making shooing motions with her hands. She smiled at them as they got into Heather's car.
Heather grabbed a change of clothes and her schoolbooks, and then they were on their way back to Colin's dorm, joyful at their time together. Heather turned on her radio and they sang with the music. Heather marvelled at his sense of pitch, marvelled at his ability to harmonize. She herself felt like a sore frog when she tried to sing, but Colin encouraged her. "You sound fine. There's nothing wrong with your voice." And finally, she sung, abandoning her embarrassment in the sheer joy of lifting her voice to the skies, and discovered that-- Hey, he was right, she did sound okay. Maybe that was the trick of it, just not being embarrassed.
They stood in the center of his room, looking around, looking at each other, giggling. "So," she asked, "do you actually want to study, or..."
"Actually, I kinda want lunch," he said. "It's past twelve. I'm hungry."
"What is it you're hungry for," she asked, her eyes lidded enticingly. She slid across the intervening space, pressing her boobs into his arm.
"Food," he said stolidly. "I work better on a full stomach." He eyed her for a second, a mischievous smile on his face, and then surprised them both by reaching out and placing his hand directly on the crotch of her jeans, cupping the mound beneath it. "And maybe some pussy for dessert."
She gave him a truly wicked grin.
They ate lunch at the cafeteria, all aglow with love--their eyes flickering over each other's faces, their hands constantly touching. The slightest thing sent them into peals of laughter, and they could not stop smiling. People passing by glanced at their companions and nodded knowingly. Colin and Heather didn't care. They had other things to occupy their attention.
And when they came back to Colin's room, they made love--slow, unflinching, unashamed, giving all to each other. They kissed, rubbing against each other, as his hardness moved within her; she moaned and whimpered and held him close, and he thought that she had never looked so beautiful. And when the time came and he erupted within her, pulsing and groaning with the discharge of his need, she clung even more tightly, wanting his seed, wanting him, all of him, forever and ever.
Afterwards they cuddled, content and satisfied and pleasantly exhausted, talking.
"I don't know what came over me," she said, thinking of her actions back in the cafeteria. If not for the glances between them, the warm silences, the love for him as evident as a blush upon her face, she knew that everyone would have perceived her as being completely drunk. She had an adventurous streak, but she wasn't used to being this... Out-of-control.
"Hey, it got me too," he reminded her, smiling.
"What," she asked.
He shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe we caught SARS or something."
She giggled. "Yeah, that's got to be it..." Then the laughter faded into a contented sigh, and she snuggled closer to him, feeling the sheen of sweat across his chest, the warm reddish smell of his flesh, the feeling of his body pressed against hers.
"I love you, Heather," he said tenderly.
She opened her eyes again. "Is that it?"
He blinked, thinking he was being called on for more. "What, do I have to spout off a sonnet or something?"
"No, I mean... Is that why we were so... Completely high just now? Just because we're in love? Because, I mean," she continued, "we've been throwing that around a lot recently, we've kind of been using it as an excuse for everything. It's like the insanity plea in court or something. And I'm starting to think that maybe we shouldn't do that."
He frowned at her. "I don't get it."
"Well, I mean... We've been pretty wild recently. And I don't mean the fucking." She flipped hair out of her face with one hand. "No one cares about what we do in privacy--or, at least, I don't. As far as I'm concerned, we could be fucking, or we could be, like, knitting or something. And it'd just be, you know, What We Do When We're Alone. But in public... I dunno."
"Well, I also kinda recall you being a little embarrassed about things we did privately as well," he said quietly.
She grimaced. "Yeah. That's true. So I guess it's both. But what I'm saying is... I dunno, maybe we ought to put a damper on things."
He nodded slowly.
"I mean, we're just... Out of control. And I know," she said, smiling, putting a finger across his lips. "I know it's mostly been me being out of control here--" He was kissing her finger amorously. She pulled it back, giggling, and he gave her a saucy grin. "--but some self-control would probably be appropriate."
He laid his hand on her cheek, kissed her. "Whatever you want, I'm okay with," he said.
"It definitely means we can't have sex this often," she said.
He hesitated for a beat. "Whatever you want, I'm okay with."
"Well, I don't know what your definition of 'not this often' is, but I've waited for most of two decades to be here. I can wait some more. Besides, I figure that anything worth having now, is also worth having later. Unless it has an expiration date on it or something."
She giggled. "'Pussy. Consume by August 3rd.'"
"Okay, now that's ridiculous," he said, laughing.
They giggled, but there was something else nagging on the back of her mind. It took her a little while to recall. "But, Colin... There's more."
He fell silent, regarding her attentively.
"Well... It's gonna be finals week in a few weeks," she said. "We're not gonna be able to meet like this for... For a few weeks, at least. This may be the last time we get to make love until summer."
"It's only three more weeks," he said.
She gave him a rueful smile. "You've clearly never been in a situation where you wanted sex but couldn't get it."
"On the contrary," he said, "you could say I've been in that situation for years. I think I'll manage."
She wasn't so optimistic, but she could tell he was trying to be brave for her sake, so she smiled and let it pass. Besides, surely she'd be able to find chunks of a couple hours where she'd be able to slip away... No, but his roommate would be here. Maybe they could...
"So," he said. "What are you saying?"
She took a moment to compose her thoughts. What was she saying? Less abandon; finals coming up; not enough time... The picture became clear, and it wasn't a great one. "I guess I'm saying that this will be our last chance to spend time like this for a few weeks. And that... We better enjoy it."
He nodded. "I hear you." A slight grimace. "I guess we had better put the homework away."
She shook her head. "No, it has to be done. And at least you'll be here. It beats being at home, trying to concentrate and being distracted by wanting to be near you."
He smiled. "Boyfriend as motivational tool. I like it."
Actually, she wanted to take a shower first, so he talked to one of his girl friends down the hall. She loaned Heather her bathroom keys, and Heather took his towel, his robe, his shower supplies, and his room keys, and was gone for half an hour. When she returned, she put on her change of clothes--white pants and a pale blue T-shirt that brought out the color of her eyes. She spent some time combing her hair. "I'd help you with that," Colin offered, "but I think I'd get way too distracted." She took it at face value, not understanding. To Colin, it made perfect sense: standing behind her, very close behind her, his front pressing into her rear, as he combed her hair--having someone comb your hair is very different from doing it yourself; the care they lavish turns it into a sensual luxury. They would probably end up making love again, and as much as Colin liked that, he felt he needed to concentrate.
"Don't worry," she said. "When summer comes, we'll find time for me to come over and take a shower with you. They tell me," she added, her eyes twinkling, "that having your lover in the shower can be very entertaining."
He grinned at her.
A little bit to his surprise, they actually did do homework: he had a term paper to work on, and she spread out on the floor with her history textbook, after a few disparaging comments at his hygeine habits and a short session with a broom. Colin, never a fastidious cleaner, realized he would have to develop a few new habits. But once she had a clear space, she did settle down and study; and so did he. It took him a little while to understand it, but he eventually realized that they were trying to set a new precedent for themselves. They had already declared that there was almost no limit to the amount and quality of sex they would share; now they were trying to back away from that, to prove that their relationship was not completely centered on that level of decadence, that their friendship hadn't been lost somewhere in the tangle of limbs and genitals. Colin was pleased that it hadn't.
The afternoon passed in this way. Group study sessions were somewhat uncommon among them, since all three were introverted over their homework, but Colin, Adam and Heather had spent no small number of afternoons in each other's company, talking, chatting, laughing and, occasionally, actually doing homework.
"It feels a little weird without Adam," Heather observed, but neither made an effort to contact him. This time was theirs.
Eventually Heather looked up, having finished her reading and outlining and note-taking, to see that several hours had passed. Colin had reached a conclusion some time ago and was playing Solitaire on his computer. She put her book down and moved over to him, wrapping her arms around his chest. "So, now what," she asked.
He shrugged. "I dunno. We've got a few hours. I'm sure there's something we could do."
It was late enough that they felt a little hungry, so they decided to go for their evening meal, this time a little more dignified. When they returned, they still didn't have any real idea of how to pass the time. A dorm room is not the best place to entertain guests. He slumped on the bed, feeling at loose ends.
She sat down in his lap. It was a slightly lopsided fit, they being much of a height, but he wrapped his arms around her without complaint. She rested her head on the top of his.
"Would I be right in guessing that you'd kind of like to stay away from sex for the time being," she asked.
"Yeah," he said. "I mean, like, I'm basically addicted to you now." A smile to show he meant no harm by that. She took no offense; she was hooked on him as well. "I'd kind of like to get to the point where I'm not addicted and horny, which is probably an even worse state to be in."
She smiled at him. "You're my hero." She had no idea what she meant by that, but she did mean it.
They held each other for a while, sitting there soaking up each other's presence. No other boyfriend of hers had made such a big deal of simply holding her. Hugs had been rare in her lifetime. She knew the same was true for him. He was very sensitive to the tactile; touch and sound were just as important to him as sight, a rarity in today's visually-oriented world. He could see just fine, and he had his music to protect him, but who gave him hugs? Nobody, save his few fruitless relationships, and now Heather herself. So she held him, and let him drink in the sensations, and felt happy and protected in his arms.
After a while, she worked her hand under his shirt and started to pull it off. When he started to protest, she said, "Oh, come on, you know it's gonna happen eventually. Besides," and she hesitated, not sure how he would take this, "I like the skin contact. It's more fun without all these clothes on." He didn't object to that, and she felt emboldened.
She stood up and took off her shirt, revealing a simple white cotton bra, and then removed her pants and underclothes. Across from her, Colin divested himself of his garments, until finally they stood before each other, naked as the day they were born.
He blinked at her. "Well... Now what?"
"I dunno, what do you want to do," she asked. She felt hesitant of making a decision for some reason.
"I just want to hold you," he said.
"Does that mean no sex," she asked.
He shook his head. "It's not exclusive. I'm okay with anything, but if there's one thing I definitely want to do, it's hold you for a while."
They lay down on the bed, spooning under the covers, his chest against her back. His arm wrapped around his waist, and she laid her own arm atop it. For some reason, he was not really thinking of sex at all, and after a few minutes passed, as they breathed and held each other, it became clear that she wasn't either. She wondered why they had gotten so solemn, and after a few moments, the reason came to her.
"I'm sad," she said.
"Because it has to end soon. Because I'll have to go home and the weekend will be over and we won't get another chance like this for... God, maybe forever. I mean, we'll meet during the summer, but... It'll be different. It won't be the same. It'll be in one of our houses and we'll have to worry about sisters and parents and-- ...It'll just be different."
He drew himself closer to her, comforting her with his presence.
"I mean... You know? It'll be sad," she said. "Because it won't be the same."
"Maybe it'll be better," he offered.
"I dunno," she said. "Everything just looks so bleak from here."
She could not put it in words, wasn't even sure she understood why she felt so bad. But she thought it had something to do with the weekend itself. The last twenty-four hours had been heaven: she had found love, she had had probably the best sex in her life, several times, and she had spent it all with someone who was increasingly beginning to look like the man of her dreams--sensitive and rational and wise and not afraid to be different. He would open doors for her and be just as comfortable if she opened them for him. There was not a lot more she could ask for. And this weekend had been filled with the wonder of discovering it all for the first time--his cock, his hands on her breasts, his lips on her pussy--or, in some cases, rediscovering it all, like his smile, his eyes, the innate gentleness of his hands. She took one of those hands in her own now, turning it over in front of her eyes, kissing the palm. He had a large hand, but not disproportionately so, with long capable fingers and a light down of hair on the back. He had played piano for several years; he had taken karate lessons for far longer. Neither seemed inappropriate for that hand.
She had discovered, rediscovered, this man over the course of their night and day together. She had fallen in love with him. For a short time, she had had him all to herself. And now that time would end.
What was she so afraid of? Did she think he would find someone else? That was unlikely. She loved Colin with all her heart, but she also knew he was hardly the charmer type. No one flung themselves at him. Beneath the surface, he was one of the most interesting people she had ever met, but he was quiet and reserved in public. His first impressions, she knew, tended to be that he was not a person of any great consequence. Before anyone gets to know you, you have to look interesting, and that was something Colin was not good at doing. No, was afraid to do, really. She didn't want to try and untangle why he felt that way. He had tried to explain it once, and it had left her completely mystified. But the idea of someone picking him up was, in short, patently absurd.
Was it because she thought he would lose interest in her? That too was doubtful. By his own admission, he had been in love with her for basically as long as he had known her, which was the greater part of his life. Now he had her. He wouldn't abandon her any time soon. Unless she had read him completely wrong. He wasn't one of those fuck-and-run types, was he? It would be hard to find out, since she had been his first fuck. She'd just have to wait and see. But she seriously doubted it. Humor was in his nature, but dishonesty and frivolity were not. He took his friends and his loved ones seriously. Discarding a fourteen-year friendship in favor of a night of sex was not something she would ever expect from him.
Was it, then, simply because their time together was coming to an end? Had he truly become such an integral part of her heart? They would only be busy for three weeks, and surely there would be time for phone calls, for e-mails, maybe even for short visits to re-enact the events of this time in frantic abandon. Surely he had not become so important to her, surely not this quickly.
But she still had the feeling that it was the end of an era, one she would miss when it was gone. An era of light, of carefree happiness, of freedom. They could probably never be this unrestrained again--at least, not for a long time. And that was cause to mourn.
She sighed, turned over in his arms, clung to him. "Hold me. I feel cold."
He did. And when she cried--just a little--he kissed the tears from her face.
"Feeling better now," he asked when she had finished.
"Yeah," she said. "Kinda. I just... I dunno."
"Well, neither do I, but... It seems kind of pointless to be sad right now. We still have some time together. We should just... Enjoy having each other."
She blinked at him, wondering if he had caught the double entendre.
"Enjoy ourselves," he corrected, his brow furrowing. "Enjoy each other. Enjoy being together. Enjoy... Goddammit, how come everything I say has a double meaning right now?"
"Twisted and depraved is the mind of Colin Watson," Heather intoned, and then surprised herself by bursting into giggles.
"No, but seriously, I never have this problem normally, even when you're around me," he said. "And we're holding each other," he amended. "And we're naked. And I'm poking you down there. And--"
"Hell of a lot of amendments to that one," she laughed, and he broke into a smile as well.
"No, but honestly, Colin," she said. "This does interest me. Why aren't... I mean, we went over this before. I seem to be the sexually charged one nowadays. What about you, what do you think? How come I'm the active one here?"
He thought about it for a little while. "Well, it's not that I don't want to have sex with you. I'd be lying if I said that. But, at the same time... I don't want that to be all we do. I don't just want to think of you sexually and then nothing else. I want more than that. And you deserve more than that. You're not just a sex object."
"I can be, if you want," she said, a wicked grin on her face.
He shook his head. "No. We'll have sex, and maybe we'll have a lot of sex, and we'll enjoy it. But you're a woman, Heather, not just some receptacle that I can fuck. If I wanted one of those, I'd just buy one of those inflatable love doll things. I don't want that. I want you."
"Inflatable love doll," she asked.
"You've never heard of them?"
"Seriously? I'd think you'd have... Well, they're like those plastic pool floater things, except that they're in the shape of a woman. And they have pussies."
"Goodness no, fake ones. But they tell me they can do remarkable things with silicone these days."
She shook her head, laughing. "The things people think of."
He gave her a wry smile. "You ain't seen nothin' yet. There's a company on the Internet that makes, not really love dolls, but more like store mannequins. Solid latex, fake hair, pussies, realistic faces, fully moveable joints, the whole works. Sells for like five thousand dollars online."
Heather shook her head, marvelling. "Modern technology at its finest. Do they have a guy one?"
"I dunno, probably. Why, thinking of replacing me with one?" He grinned.
She laughed. "Why would I do that? Latex doesn't tell me how much it loves me. Still, though. You kinda gotta wonder what kind of person would buy that. I mean, what kind of person can't get out and get laid?"
"Don't look at me," he said. He was conscious of the irony of the statement. Until twenty-four hours ago, he had been one of those people--though he had never been desperate enough to buy a five-grand silicone sex puppet. "I wouldn't care one way or another, anyway. I've got all I need right here." He tightened his arms around her.
She gave him a secret smile. "Your very own love doll?"
He kissed her tenderly. "Emphasis on 'love.'"
She smiled. "There. I don't feel depressed anymore."
"Well, that makes me happy," he said.
She thought about it as they cuddled--his words, his resistance to sex to make sure she felt valued for more than her pussy. He had gone on the warpath when she once used the word 'cunt' in reference to her vagina; he thought it was more offensive than 'fuck.' She appreciated the thought, but at the same time, a little part of her was frustrated. Heather had never taken a real interest in sex until she realized how important guys thought it was, and then it became a tool that she could use, a source of power over them--especially given her looks. But after her fumbling experiences with sex, first with Trent and then later fooling around by herself, she had discovered a primal, sensual part of herself that loved sex, that lived for nothing but and was satisfied with nothing but someone's cock ramming into her pussy as she groaned and squealed, bucking back at him hungrily, wanting more. She had learned to cover that part of herself from prying eyes, as a woman shields her private parts with her hand, because she realized that it could be used against her, to tarnish her reputation. And in any case, sex with previous boyfriends hadn't been that satisfying anyway.
The irony, then, was that with Colin, she didn't feel ashamed at admitting that she loved it, flat out, she loved fucking, and would probably take him any time he wanted her. She didn't feel ashamed for herself, but she knew that others would expect her to be ashamed for liking sex, or be shocked that she wasn't ashamed, or be appalled that she liked sex in the first place. And so she hid, until she could find someone who didn't judge, who accepted what he saw. And that was Colin. Except that now that she had found him, as it turned out, he was practically doing his best to be celibate! What sort of luck was that?
But then she thought about what Colin had said. Her first experience had been with Trent, when she was fifteen and a sophomore and he was already on the way to the breakdown that would lead to his overdose and eventual confinement to rehab. He had been insistent, had refused to take no for an answer. She didn't think of it as rape, because it he had been completely zoned out, his actions and reactions blurred by the drugs in his system. And what he wanted to do was caress her boobs, stroke her clit, bring her to orgasm (and then fuck her). It was a tricky line to walk, but she honored his intentions; he had been hoping to do something for her that she would enjoy, and she appreciated the spirit of the offer, even if the offer itself was displeasing. And it had felt good, what he did--very good, in fact. But she still hadn't been sure she wanted him to do it. It had been a very confusing experience.
Later, experimenting on her own, she decided that she would let him do it again, but he had better ask first. She wasn't just there to be fondled at his beck and call. And from that point on, she had made it clear to her other boyfriends that No meant No. (She never really had another encounter with Trent, just some vague petting.) Not that she had said No very often, but when she said it, she made certain they listened.
Did she really want to be on call in that way? Did she really want to just be--how had he put it--some receptacle he could fuck? That had been what she was to Trent, and only the fact that somewhere, in his depression-and-heroin-deadened mind, he actually cared for her, had saved it from being a total disaster. Was that how she wanted Colin to treat her?
But Colin wouldn't treat her that way. She knew that, just as she knew that gravity pointed down, that the sun rose in the east and set in the west. Dishonesty and corruption were not in his nature. Even if she offered herself to him, any place any time and regardless of what she herself felt, he would not take advantage of her. He would be sweet, and considerate, and kind, and make love to her, not just have intercourse with her. What was that scientific term? Coitus. Would you say "coit" if you were trying to use it as an action word? Whatever the term was, he would not do it. She knew this with a conviction she could not explain, and didn't think she needed to. It was just a fact, immutable and unchanging, like the earth beneath her feet.
Colin had an encyclopedic memory for vocabulary, but she was pretty sure that if she asked him what the verb form of 'coitus' was, that dry, emotionless, scientific sex, he would not know the answer. She thought that was very appropriate. The word had no place in his vocabulary as it had no place in his life.
So, even if she offered, Colin would not take. But did she want to offer? Had she really offered to be nothing but a sex object? Did she really want to turn Heather Norwellyn into some sort of... Well, prostitute?
She knew the answer to that one.
She sighed contentedly and snuggled closer into his embrace. "What's on your mind," he asked.
She smiled up at him. "I was just thinking that you're right about this whole just-holding-each-other thing. In some ways, it beats sex any day."
He smiled back. "That doesn't mean I'm not horny. I just try to keep a sense of perspective."
"I know," she said. And now I have some, too.
"It's not that I want you to be, you know, completely out of control," she said, picking up her train of thought as though she had vocalized the rest of it. "I like it that you... Show restraint. That you don't let it get the better of you when you want to fuck me. It makes me feel respected."
He smiled, his heart lifting. "Well, I do my best."
"But at the same time, you know... It doesn't have to be so rigid and all."
"Really? I thought when it was soft, it doesn't get anywhere."
She stuck out her tongue at him. "That's not what I meant. I meant your self-control. There's such thing as having none... But there's such thing as having too much, too. I think you could stand to lighten up a bit."
He grimaced. "I don't know about that." He hesitated, considering. What he was about to say could land him in deep, deep water. Maybe it would be best to just skip it... But no, he rejected that course outright. Colin's nature was one of unending practicality; he knew he would have to face this particular conversation eventually, and if it could not be outrun, then it should be confronted. He drew a deep breath. "I lightened up once. With Selena. It turned out... Bad. We basically haven't spoken since."
She fell silent. She got the implications. "I... I hadn't known that."
"Well, it's not something I'm proud of."
"I thought you were... Didn't you say you were a virgin?"
"Yeah. We didn't actually do intercourse. But everything leading up to it. And I was... Insistent. Decisions were made, and later reversed." His face was slack and weary. "And then regretted."
She weas shocked. She had never suspected. She thought about Trent.
Instantly her mind rebelled. No, no, that's not the same at all! Colin isn't riding for a breakdown! He isn't out of his mind! He's a gentle, kind man, he doesn't do things like force himself on a--
...Isn't that, in essence, what he's saying he did?
She realized her face must have shown some of her thoughts, because Colin sighed and said, "What do you want to hear, Heather?"
"The truth," she said, without thinking.
A faint smile lit his lips. "Yes, but about what? Specifically."
She looked at him, her face a strange mixture of fear and worry. "What you were thinking at the time?"
A grimace, this time. "That's easy, I wasn't thinking. Or, at least, not with the head that provides complex thought. I saw this thing I wanted, and I didn't give up until I had it."
"What did she say, exactly," she asked.
He felt inward relief. She was looking for a way out for him, and she had asked exactly the right question to give him one. "Well, first she said no," he said. "But then she changed her mind."
Heather blinked. "So... What was the problem? She said Yes."
"Well, later I found out that while she may have said yes, she meant no."
"Well, that's not fair," she said. "You're not telepathic, are you? If someone changes their mind like that..."
"Yes, but that isn't a fair attitude either," he said. "I've studied this since. There's a common... A myth, an archetype, for a successful seduction. Like, there's a specific script for it. The man wants it, and so does the woman, but she says she doesn't because that's what she's supposed to say. She has to look, you know, chaste and so on. It's the man's job to be persistent and erode her defenses and convince her to admit the truth. In the end, she stops saying no and says yes, and then they have their fun.
"The common scenario for date-rape is identical to that in all respects except one: the woman actually doesn't mean yes, and she changes her mind only because persuading him isn't worth the effort. It's an 'All right, if we have to, let's get this over with' reaction. In other words, in both situations, girls are supposed to resist, and then supposed to give in. But they don't always like it. And it creates a mess."
Heather wasn't sure what to say about that. It was a confusing tangle. "Yeah, but it's not your fault if she sent you mixed signals."
"No, it's not," he said. "But that doesn't change the fact that she was hurt, badly, because of my actions."
"Yes, but... If she's the one who changed her mind..."
"Yes, but it was still a failure on my part," he said, his voice no less iron for its lack of volume. "I want to be the kind of person who can pick up on what isn't being said, and react to it. Just as important, I want to be the kind of person who listens when a girl says No. And I wasn't.
"I don't care about blame, I don't care who's fault it is. What's important to me is that I be this kind of person. And I wasn't. The fact that she complicated the issue does not change the fact that I failed to do the things I should have."
And who, besides ourselves, can we possibly disappoint more by failing?
Heather was silent for a moment, ingesting all of it. She had always known his values, always known how strongly he adhered to them; and, because he was human, she had always known that he must have failed to stick to them at some point. But she had no idea it had been this... Disastrous.
"Did you guys ever come to... To some sort of peace about it," she asked.
His face fell. "We basically haven't spoken since."
"That's awful," she said, her throat constricting. To walk around with that sort of guilt...
"She made it clear that she didn't want to hear from me, and... Well, I mean, come on. I'd already done her a massive disrespect, how could I do anything else? I wrote her an e-mail apologizing as best I could, and that was that."
"That's awful," she said again.
"Well," he said, a resigned note in his voice. "There's a saying I picked up from a book somewhere: 'Take what you want, and pay for it.' I got what I wanted: an hour or two of oral sex. It wasn't worth the price, but I bought it. And so now I pay."
She hugged him tightly, squeezing her eyes closed against the thought of his guilt. How must it feel, knowing you have unwittingly done things to someone that are the stuff of nightmares? She was suddenly, intensely glad to be female. Later she would look back and wonder what she was thinking; which would be worse, to cause the nightmares or to have to suffer them? But at that moment, she was glad to not be the one who inflicted such suffering.
When she let go, he said, "I guess you're not scared off."
She laid a finger across his lips. "There are people who do bad things on purpose. And then there are people who do bad things accidentally. You fall into the second category. And you feel bad about it. You feel terrible about it. I don't think anyone could ask for a more appropriate punishment."
He nodded. "Yeah. But some might. I don't tell a lot of people, obviously, because they might get scared off."
She nodded. "It's a sore spot." Neither of them had said the word, rape, except for Colin that one time, but it hung over them in the air, coloring their silences, reverberating in its own absence.
"I hope you haven't had any experiences in this field," he said.
"Well," she said, not meeting his eyes.
She outlined the situation with Trent, giving him her thoughts on the matter. "I don't really blame him. It's not that I'm defending him, it's just... Well, what's the point? He did what he did. It could've gone better, it could've gone worse. I don't think he was aware of what he was doing and saying and hearing. I think that if he had been, he would have stopped. And I think he deserves credit for wanting to, you know, show me a good time." She sighed. "I used to be a little angry at him--you know, it was the first time anyone ever touched me down there, and... Shouldn't it have been under better circumstances? But eventually I realized there was no point in being angry. He was well-intentioned, in his way; things just didn't work out as well as they could have."
"Wow," he said. "Wish Selena would take lessons from you."
"I..." She hesitated now, feeling vulnerable. Well, she was in his arms, in his bed, and she was naked. He had made this admission to her in exactly that vulnerable state. Even more vulnerable: he had certain sensitive parts between his legs that she could have smashed, had that been her inclination. Yet he had gone on. Her respect for his bravery rose several notches.
"Well... I guess you don't think badly of me, then," she said.
He shook his head. "You didn't of me, it'd be damned hypocritical if I did of you. And if you aren't angry at him for mistreating him, who am I to be angry? And besides, if I was going to dislike him because he, you know, touched you down there, I'd have to be angry with everyone who's done that." He shook his head again, an ingenious smile spreading across his features. "There's just no future in being angry."
She giggled and nuzzled his face with his nose. "That's why I like you."
He held her tightly.
"I guess it's okay to you that I'm not perfect," she said.
"Have you ever seen Good Will Hunting? There's a line in there, I think it's Robin Williams: 'It's not a question of whether she's perfect, it's whether she's perfect for you.'"
She smiled up at him, feeling her heart lift. It was a sweet thing to say. "And what do you think?"
He looked at her for a moment, and then answered, completely honestly: "Well, aside from the impossibility of actually knowing anything, I'd say you're perfect for me."
"Of course," he continued, "things change. Things always do. That's why I try not to make blanket statements like this, because the day will probably come when I have to eat my words. So I guess there's this sort of undefined temporal limit on the statement. But--"
She was laughing. "Wait, undefined temporary what? You sound like Star Trek."
He grinned. "Learned technobabble from Geordi La Forge with the best of 'em."
"Well, explain it in plain English, please." She stuck out her tongue at him, grinning.
"Okay, well. When I say, 'You're perfect for me,' it's kind of like a coupon: there's an expiration date. Temporal means time, you know what a limit is, thus a temporal limit: a time limit. The thing is, I don't know when that expiration date is. It's undefined. So, when I say, 'You're perfect for me,' that statement will be true only until a certain point in time."
"When's that?" she asked.
"The day we break up," he said.
She shivered a little. Hopefully that day would be a long way off. How could he be so... Accepting? "Maybe we won't break up."
"Well, I'd like that, Heather," he said, his voice tender. "I do love you. I've been the happiest man alive since we got together. But... You know that relationships don't always work out."
He was right, of course. Even people deeply in love had broken up before. If she and Colin did, they wouldn't be the first. "So we can't hope?" she asked.
"Now that's ridiculous. Of course we hope. I know I won't stop. It would be such a... Well, wouldn't it be cool to be one of those fairy-tale situations where childhood sweethearts get married? And if someone gave me the choice of who was going to be my childhood sweetheart, it'd have to be you. Hands down. But that doesn't mean I should ignore reality."
"Isn't that hard," she asked. "Like, being hopeful in one hand and then--"
"Heehee. Shitting in the other?"
"It's a saying I've heard. 'Wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one gets full the fastest.'"
"God. That's... Descriptive."
"It is. That's what makes it a good saying."
"Anyway. As I was saying. Isn't it hard, balancing hope and practicality like that?" She didn't know the extent of his hopes and dreams, but she knew his practicality--it was strong and intense. He kept himself grounded in reality. It was part of why she admired him.
He shook his head. "No, not really. I just... I don't mix them up. Yeah, I hope. I hope a lot. But I don't let that become part of my life. It's... You know, it's off to one side. Kind of like my fantasy life."
She giggled. "You have one?"
"You better believe it, hon. If you judged by that, I haven't been a virgin for years. But... I keep 'em separate. Like, if I'm fantasizing about having sex with somebody, I set up the situation so that it's contrary to reality. It really is a fantasy, because it never could happen, or it depends on things happening that never will. I try to make it as unrealistic as possible." He gave a small smile. "Like, back in eighth grade, I felt I could fantasize about you at will because in order for any of it to come true, you'd have to, you know, move back. Or at least contact me again." For her two years away, communication between her and Colin and Adam had abruptly shut off to nothing.
"Did you ever?"
"Oh? Actually, no, not really. I only really started thinking about it in eighth grade, and by then there was someone else to occupy my attention."
"Little chipper blonde girl by the name of Amanda. It took me until right at the end of the year to admit I liked her, and by that time she had already taken up with someone else. And it was more physical than anything else. We did hang out later, just the two of us, and we didn't get along very well. Not like we argued or anything, but we didn't connect either."
"So... What was the hinge on which your fantasies about Amanda revolved?"
He gave her a sardonic look. "That she'd start going out with me."
"Why do you care about my fantasy life anyway?" he asked, grinning.
"Well, you never know what you might discover," she said, teasing. "And so tell me, Colin, what was the magic ingredient in your fantasies about me?"
The smile faded off his face for a moment as he thought. He felt uncomfortable. "Well... Mostly that you'd, you know, stop running with the popular crowd and go back to the way you were before. And that you'd notice me."
"Basically what happened, then," she said quietly.
She wondered, momentarily, if this was a sign of some sort. Of what? That they were meant for each other? That Colin could see the future? That she had turned into the kind of person he wanted to be involved with? That last was obvious. Why else would they be involved now? She wasn't sure what to make of it.
"Well, dreams do come true, I guess," she said, forcing levity into her voice that she did not feel.
He frowned. She could get nothing past him. "What's wrong? Why so sad?"
"I dunno," she said honestly. "Give me a minute to work it out."
They fell silent as she sorted through her emotions.
"Colin," she said, "it's not really that I'm back to the way I was before. It wasn't a before thing. I've always been this way."
He said nothing, listening, waiting for her to continue.
"Don't think of my... The popularity thing wasn't like a phase or anything. It's part of who I am. I do like those kinds of things--you know, the boy bands and the designer clothes and all that stuff. It's kind of in a recession right now, but... That's part of me. Don't think that I've left it behind. I've just... Put it off to the side for a moment."
He nodded. "That works."
She blinked at him, tilted her head. "So? Reactions?"
He shrugged. "Adam's into that stuff too. I don't have a problem with him being that way. Don't see why I should have a problem with you."
She felt the vague dread melting away.
He smiled. "And don't worry, I retreat into shallowness too sometimes."
"Hey," she said, "it's not necessarily shallowness, it's just... Not-as-deep-ness."
He grinned and kissed her. "Fine, conceded."
"So, have we got everything figured out now," she asked him. "We've been talking for like an hour, and there's still other things I want to do."
"Things or people," he asked ingeniously.
"You never get tired of that pun, do you," she said, shaking her head with an amused smile.
"Sorry, it's my dad's fault. He loves bad puns."
She pre-empted any further conversation by kissing him, letting their tongues tease, running her hands over his back, through his hair. "That's enough talking," she said when they finished. "We'll have plenty of time for that later. But we don't have a lot of time now. So no more talking."
He gave her a saucy grin. "The Mad Talker, that's me. Can't make me stop talking. I talk as much as a... As an... Uh. I need a comparison."
"As someone who loves to hear the sound of his voice," she offered, grinning.
He stuck her tongue out at her, and so, as if it were the most obvious thing to do in the world, she kissed it. And finally he relented, and kissed her back. And for a while there was no more talk, as they kissed, lips on lips, bodies pressing together, their hands roaming each other's skin.
She broke off for a second, reached over his shoulder and rattled the box of condoms they had bought last night... All those ages ago. Most of them were still there. "Kind of a waste of money, weren't they?"
"Well, we could still use them," he offered.
"Hmm." She grinned at him seductively. "Would you like to use them?"
Instead of responding in kind, he said, "Actually, that'd probably be a good idea. Love doesn't equal safe sex."
"Well, there's always The Pill."
"Yeah, but what if it doesn't work? What if it works, you know, five times out of six or something? Well, we've done it six times. If it's the right part of your cycle..."
"All right," she said, "we'll go for it. Too bad, though," she said, putting on a pout. "I was really looking forward to the feeling of your hot cum filling my pussy."
His eyebrows jumped and she felt his cock jump precipitously against her stomach.
She giggled. "Looks like someone else likes the idea."
He took a deep breath. "Yeah, someone does. But he also loves you, and even if you enjoy it when I come inside you, it's not worth inflicting a risk of pregnancy on you."
"What's all this I stuff," she asked, a malicious grin on her face. "We're talking about that nameless he person."
He rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. "He."
"In any case, it's not like we haven't risked it already."
He flushed a little, but grinned self-deprecatingly. "Okay, so I'm stupid. But nonetheless. Fine, if you want a working reason, I want to make this last."
"You win with that one," she said, grinning. "Strap that thing on, Tiger."
He got one and handed it to her. She burrowed beneath the covers; it was dim down there, and warm. His cock stuck up at her, begging for attention, and she reached out with lovingly ran her tongue across its surface area. She heard a muffled moan from above and the words: "That's not a condom."
She giggled. "Silly." She slid the rubber over his length and then came back up to kiss him. "All done. Ready?"
"Are you ready," he asked.
"Is that important," she asked him, beaming.
"What sort of prick do you think I am," he asked, rolling his eyes and grinning. "Lie down." He guided her onto her back and moved so that he lay beside her.
His hand slid over her body, roaming freely over her breasts, her stomach, her navel, her hips, her thighs, and he kissed her, his mouth open, drawing her into him. His hand slid across her breast and then rubbed against the nipple, and she pushed up against him as lightning lines of pleasure arced through her. He felt her nipple harden, perking up for attention. She moaned into his open mouth.
He transferred from her mouth to her breast, kissing in meandering lines between them, pushing the covers back to expose them. Meanwhile his hand caressed her flat stomach, spending time to tickle her navel, and then brushed across her mound and her trimmed pubic hair. She opened her thighs to his touch. He cupped his hand at her groin, found her already wet and wanting his touch.
With a sudden movement, she reached out and pushed the covers back, then flung her body out from under them, leaving herself exposed and him behind. Grinning, he emulated her and came back to her body, his tongue leaving damp trails across her breasts, his hand pressing into her mound, one of his fingers pressing against the bottom of her ass cleft. The heel of his hand was right on top of her clitoris, and she moaned at the pressure, pushing herself up to him. The smell of her sex began to fill the air, musky and arousing.
His fingers began their deft manipulations as his hand moved up and down over her slit, paying special attention to that hard, yearning bud at the top of her cleft. But when she felt him begin to slide inside her, she took his hand away. "No," she said, "only one thing goes in there." And she reached for his cock.
At her guidance, he moved to cover her, and she positioned his white-clad manhood at the entrance to her depths. In a single smooth movement, he slid inside her, feeling the indescribable warmth of her velvet embrace. She felt him open her up all at once, his member sliding into her womanhood, filling her passage and crevices, the tip just brushing her cervix, and she purred and pressed up to him. She wrapped her legs around his hips, knowing he loved them there, and smiled up to him and kissed him.
Supporting himself on his elbows, he began to move within her, and she rocked her hips in time with his motion, reaching up to take him. She ran her hands over his back, his buttocks, his hips, his flanks. She pulled him back down to kiss him as his cock moved inside her, sliding in and out, leaving her and opening her again. She loved the feel of him. The latex dulled things somewhat, but it didn't change the feeling of him being inside her, spreading her pussy lips, opening up her pussy until she felt engorged and satiated and that she couldn't take any more. She marvelled. She had had bigger than he, but she had never felt this... Penetrated.
After she kissed him, she whispered in his ear, "Now, baby, get ready for the ride of your life."
As he came down, she used her pussy muscles to squeeze down on him. His eyes jolted open and breath left him in a grunt, and he stared down at her. She beamed back up at him proudly.
He felt her pussy lips clasping his dick as he withdrew, and then the creamy, smooth walls of her pussy taking her in, so smooth and yet creating that maddening, irresistable friction; and then finally the imposion as she grasped him with her pussy, assaulting him with her body. He felt her nipples brush his chest, felt the gentle sharpness of her trimmed pubic hair poking at his body. Her nails scraped across his back, his hips, through his hair, across every sensitive place he never knew he had.
"If you keep doing that," he said, pausing as he thrust in and her pussy begged for more, "I'm not gonna last long."
She kissed him soundly. "That's the idea."
He began to move with more speed, their bodies rocking with the momentum of his impact. She felt the dull tremors through her flesh as he sunk himself inside her, and she squeezed on him again and again. His groin pressed against her clit on every stroke, heightening her pleasure. "Come on," she whispered, "come in me, come inside me, make me your woman. I want you."
She thought he murmured, "You got it--" And then he was stiffening inside her, stiffening above her, shoving into her, and he held himself there as she felt faint warmth through the tip of the condom and his cock shuddered within her. She bore down with her legs, drawing him in as deep as she could, and even as frustration at the condom washed over her, she kissed his neck, his ear, whispering to him how much she loved him, how she had enjoyed his release inside her.
He was still for a moment, lying on top of her, pressing her into the bed with his pleasant weight. Then he withdrew without warning, his head leaving her shoulder, his breath no longer ruffling her hair. She wondered for a moment where he had gone. Then she felt his breath tickling her pussy lips, and understood.
He licked across the surface of her pussy lips, tasting her tangy, slightly tart juices and the prickly, warm red taste of her flesh itself, and then again with more pressure. He spread her lips, licking along every fold, every crevice he could find, tasting her, loving her, hearing her coo and whimper as she pressed up to meet him, her legs folding around him, her hand on his head.
Her pussy enveloped his fingers as he entered her, two fingers this time, no working up slowly. He knew this was not the time for subtlety; their fucking had already brought her near, and he could finish it quickly. And he did. He let his fingers make short, shallow thrusts--he had heard somewhere that most of the nerves in the vagina are in the first third, and he intended to capitalize on that. His tongue begin to concentrate on the area at the top of her slit, licking in close proximity to her clit, the area narrowing, narrowing as he teased her.
"Oh, God, Colin--" She gasped for breath. "Touch my clit, touch my clit--"
He blew breath across it first, letting her whimper, and then flicked his tongue across it. She pressed up to him as he did so, her hips coming off the bed. Just as they had fallen back, he delivered another, stronger swipe of the tongue. She lifted off as before. The sensations were maddening to her. She was not quite as full of his fingers as she had been with his cock, but the direct sensations on her clit were fast building her up for her fall.
This time he made a long, leisurely pass with his tongue, marvelling that she could stand this sort of direct stimulation. She pressed up and held herself there, begging him. Her pussy lips had gone dark pink from engorgement; she was beginning to be so wet that some of her nectar dribbled between her ass cheeks, and her pubic hair was distinctly matted.
He began to lick her clit in earnest, rubbing it with his tongue as his fingers moved within her. Her breathing had run ragged; her chest and face were flushed, her nipples standing out at stiff attention--the one he could see; she was playing with the other. The other hand held his head to her pussy, pushing him in the direction she wanted him to go. He was only too glad to oblige.
What surprised him was that he didn't need to suck on her clit at all--her breath suddenly hitched, and she whispered, "Oh God Colin I'm coming--!!" And then all thought left her, as orgasm cascaded down on her and her pussy spasmed, clamping down on his fingers. He latched onto her clit and sucked, feeling increased wetness from her pussy; feeling her hips buck and her legs tremble. He could see her asshole contracting too, which gave him an idea for later. He wished he could see her face--it must be beautiful.
As she came down, he relaxed a bit, and all she felt was the sedentary weight of his fingers inside her, his breath on her pussy. But then he began again, building her up, beginning to run her over the edge even as she scrambled to clamber back on. She felt his tongue slipping through the crevices of her cleft, lighting up these corners and pockets she had not known she had. His fingers left her, only to be replaced by his tongue, entering her gently; a new sensation, to feel that pulsing, squirmy thing licking at her entrance. She was surprised his tongue was that long.
His absent fingers made themselves known at the length of skin between her ass and her pussy, pressing there, providing pleasurable pressure. Then, to his surprise, they slipped down to her asshole and began to fondle there, running around the rim of her puckered hole, probing gently, teasing. At the same time his tongue returned to her clit, and other fingers to her pussy, and she thought she was in heaven.
He brought her to another orgasm this way, his tongue flicking over her clit as he sucked on it, his fingers penetrating her, his other hand playing with her asshole and eventually, when it spasmed in orgasm, sticking a finger inside. She thought she would die from pleasure.
"Oh, God," she said, pulling at his head with a strengthless hand. "No more. No more." He crawled up to lay beside her, and she kissed him as thoroughly as she knew how, silently thanking him, pulling him down on her.
Her hand snuck down his body to his cock and found the old condom still there, hanging half off his renewed erection. At first she thought about going for it with her mouth, but he seemed to like fucking better than sucking. So she peeled off the old one and tossed it away, then went for a second one. When she was finished, she pushed him over onto his back, then straddled him and guided his cock into herself. They sighed in unison as he entered her; she felt the welcome, well-loved sensation of his cock spreading her depths; he the warm, silky grasp of her pussy; and they smiled to each other.
"I love you," he mouthed.
"I love you," she responded.
They rocked back and forth, she lying across him, his arms wrapped around her. They didn't kiss; they didn't need to. In this moment, their union was complete; they were as close together as they could be, as close to being a single person as they could be. She felt her breath ruffling her hair, his forearms resting across her waist, the feeling of his chest and torso pressing against hers, the gentle rise and fall of his breath.
"Do you think we're meant to be together," she asked him.
There was a wealth of emotions and experiences going into that question. They had fallen in love... How long ago? Maybe they had been in love for years before admitting it to each other. Even more than that, they were friends; even more than that, they loved each other. There was a fine distinction between loving someone and being in love with someone--Colin, of course, had clued her into it--but she knew they had both. She loved her friends, she was in love with Colin... Except that now she realized that she loved him, too. And then they had had sex, several times, and made love, several times, and gone down on each other, several times. And through it all she had abandoned her own pleasure, put her own desires on the shelf in favor of his own. She had never done that before for anyone in her life, and she had never felt as pleased with herself than when she did it. And now, lying here, connected with him in that one very special place, feeling completely and totally at peace with the world, feeling complete in a way she had never felt before. Feeling as though they were, really, two halves of the same whole.
And so that was the million-dollar question. Was it all as right as it seemed? Did they have a future? Would they break up, as he had suggested; would this falter somewhere down the line, a promising relationship that finally, sadly, sputtered out? Was that their fate? Or would they still be together, twenty or fifty years from now? Would she be holding his hand, or he hers, when one or the other of them took their last breath?
Do you think we're meant to be together?
"You know I can't answer that with any certainty," he said. It was his honesty again; he refused to lie, even on things like this. "But... Anything that feels this right... I feel it in my heart, Heather, you're supposed to be here. With me, in my arms. And I trust that feeling. And I wouldn't give it up for the world."
"So what do you hope," she asked, remembering his earlier words about separating fantasy from fact.
He looked her in the eye. "I hope it goes on forever."
She smiled and kissed him. "That's what I hope too."
They made love slowly, lit by the rays of the setting sun. The world faded out of their conscious awareness, leaving only themselves and each other, the feel of skin on skin, of breasts brushing back and forth, of their lips and tongues mingling, of the gentle movements of their hips. They felt no hurry, no pressure; they wanted only to celebrate this moment, celebrate their unity. Celebrate their love. They moved, clinging to each other, basking in the bliss of their shared love.
Completely to their surprise, she came; a flicker crossed her face, and then her eyes closed and her back arched a little, lifting her face for more. Her expression was one of joy, of longing; he saw it, and felt her spasm around him, and then he was gone too, and all movement stopped as their breathing quickened and fell in unison with the last great rush of their love.
After, she lost all count of time. She lay on his chest, her eyes closed, feeling him breathe, feeling his heart beat. She smiled. Perhaps she fell asleep for a little while, cradled and coddled by his arms. But eventually she looked up and saw the time on the clock: 7:30 PM. It was time for her to go home.
They dressed in silence; anything that they needed to say, they conveyed with a glance, a smile, the gentle brush of hand on hand. They walked down to the parking lot. When they reached her car, they went into each other's arms--a long, intense embrace, without kissing, without movement. Their chests rose and fell in unison as they breathed.
When she stepped back, she said, "Should I be sad?"
"I don't know," he said truthfully. "I wish this time didn't have to end. But when I think back on all that we've shared, I'm glad we'll get to do it again."
She smiled at him. "You have a good answer for everything."
"I didn't think it was that great," he said, smiling. "Just appropriate."
She kissed him. "I love you, Colin."
"I love you, Heather."
"Any time. Maybe not tonight, my mom will get annoyed, but... Whenever you want. Or my cell phone, you know that number."
He grinned. "I can't wait."
And Colin Watson stood back as Heather backed her car out of the parking slot and drove away. He waved to her until she turned from his line of sight, and then smiled to himself and walked back to his dorm.
Heather Norwellyn sped along the freeway, singing.
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