“I don’t think it’s silly.”
“No?”
“No.”
He turns to face me, and I turn to face him. I look down at our feet almost touching. The toes of his boots are scuffed like old. Mine are shiny like new.
I want to kiss him again, but I don’t know if that’s something I can do outside of his home.
“Hey,” he says softly.
I look up.
I don’t know how to read his face right this minute. He seems on the verge of making a joke or telling me a secret. I reach for his hand and he takes it. I like how rough it is. The hands of someone who does things, repairs, and fixes. I know how mine must feel. The hands of someone that does nothing and would fumble if they had to patch anything up.
I don’t know if I’ll ever measure up.
“I wouldn’t forget,” I say.
When my eyes meet his, they’re like blue flames. He pulls me up against him and his breath is warm. “No?”
“No.”
I want to ask him if I can spend the night.
Problem is, I don’t want to stop kissing him to ask.
I don’t know how long it’s been now. Hours, maybe? His sitting room seems darker beyond my eyelids, his naked chest warm and hard with his soft downy hair brushing against me. Our legs and feet get tangled as we push away our pants and then our underpants. I hear them fall to the floor, as we press down into his sofa under a kiss that is strung together in one long thread that passes from me to him, and him to me, and circles us both. A thread that tugs and pulls, wound up tight, until my breastbone is flush against his, and I swear I can feel the thudding of his heart. And is it trying to get through? Is it trying to meet my own? Halfway?
A thread that’s tight rope walking, in and out of a needle, and he could string me along on it, lead me astray, and I’d follow him anywhere. As long as he met me. Halfway.
I know what I want. I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask, the polite thing to do, or if he’ll just let me. I slide a hand down between us and feel the wet tip of his cock. I was right, of course, he’s huge, bigger than me, and I have this strange sense of desire mixed with envy. As soon as my fingers are on him, he lets out this sigh, and I break our kiss so I can see his face.
He’s got his eyes squeezed shut and it’s because of me. He’s hard as a rock and it’s because of me. I take pride in it. I could be some gloating fool, except I’m melting underneath him. The heat of the evening and the heat of our bodies makes me sweat. There’s a thin sheen of it between us, making my skin stick to his skin, and can’t it just be this way? Who needs to eat? Who needs to sleep? When you’ve got him and he’s got me, and we’re not going anywhere.
We jerk each other for a time. My free arm is around him, my fingers clinging to the muscles on his back, and they move in tandem with his arm connected to the hand that’s touching me, stroking me until I’m about to go blind. Then he sort of takes over, takes both of us in his one hand, and that’s something that evokes a sound from me I don’t even recognize. I clamp my hand over my mouth. I want to look at him, right in his sky-blue eyes, to see what I’ll find there, but I’m going to come. I’m such an amateur; such a gloating fool.
My cock twitches in his hand, and I see nothing but white. I catch my voice in my throat, afraid of the sound I’ll make, afraid of what it will reveal about me. Then I feel his lips on mine, kissing me hard, and my come spilling between us. A handful of seconds pass before he grunts and I feel him coming, too, warm and sticky all over my sweating skin. I swear, all life on earth has died out, gone to Mars on a flying saucer, except for me and him. I swear, it’s all gone. We’ll walk out into deserted streets, if we can ever bring ourselves to leave this place at all, and find we’ve been gifted this world to have all to ourselves. I swear, it’s got to be true.
He rests his head against mine as our panting breaths slow. When I open my eyes, I see he’s looking at me, watching my face. Heat blooms over my cheeks. I feel like a ghost, transparent, and moving through his walls. I dart my eyes away from his, focus on his earlobe, but he gently touches my chin, pulling my gaze back to him.
There’s a secret there. Something tender and fragile. I put a finger to his lips as if I’m shushing him, when he’s saying nothing at all, not with his mouth at least. And then I close my eyes and listen to his breaths slow in my ear, feel his sweat cool on my skin, and somewhere far off there’s the sound of a train whistle. Low and lonely and distant, and I feel a tear at the corner of my eye.
I mourn for its loneliness for I am not. I wish all things could be like me in this moment: safe, and covered, and found.
I slide the patio door closed, carefully and quietly.
The television is on, and I hear Aunt Amy getting up from the sofa and turning the knob. She appears in the kitchen doorway, Pepto-pink curlers in her hair wrapped in a pink net, nightgown brushing against her knees, also Pepto-pink.
I freeze behind the table, hoping she doesn’t come too close or turn on the kitchen light. I’m sure his scent is all over me. His come is still on me. I wouldn’t let him clean it off. And do I look like I just tumbled with the fella next door? I did my best. Smoothed out my hair, cleaned my glasses, and made sure my shirt wasn’t buttoned up crooked.
But Aunt Amy doesn’t move closer or turn on any lights. She simply crosses her arms. “I don’t mind if you stay out late. But you need to tell me.”
I nod, then feel that mule-kick of defiance. “I’m almost twenty. I shouldn’t have to tell anyone anything.”
Her eyes narrow in the same way Pops’ eyes do, and I feel a prickle on the back of my neck.
I see her jaw clench and unclench. “Yes, that’s true. You’re an adult. But this is my home. It’s not much to ask, really.”
