Undertow (Dragonfly)

by Moore, Leigh Talbert

  It was hot, and everywhere his hands went caught fire beneath my skin. But I couldn’t seem to catch up with him or find his rhythm. I finally got my glass to the table without spilling too much wine down my arm. I wanted to find his skin, to slide my hands over his chest and really invest in the moment. We were making love.

  But he was already under my skirt when I turned back, pushing it up over my hips and tugging my panties down. I barely registered the sound of the foil wrapper in his hands when he laid me back against the pillows, and I felt his eager first thrust. No hesitation, no question, just in.

  Pain killed my mood. Pain and an uncomfortable feeling of fullness. I tried to adjust my position, but Nick didn’t seem to notice any of my discomfort. He gasped a few times. His voice was strangled as he ground out something like so tight and continued thrusting. I held my breath and bit my lip, trying not to cry out, and after a few more minutes, it was over.

  Seriously.

  Over.

  He rose above me, swirled his tongue around in my mouth a few times, and then stretched back on the pillows with a satisfied sigh. He reached for me, pulling my head onto his chest then he stroked my cheek and back. Before long his hand stilled and his breathing turned heavy. I was stunned. That was it?

  A few minutes went by, and he didn’t move. He was definitely out for the night. I rolled over onto my side, out of his arms, staring at the wall as a single tear slid down my nose. That was not what I expected from Mr. Sensory Experience. Especially not for our first time. Then I felt it coming.

  I jumped up and dashed to the restroom just in time to catch the first drop. I sat on the toilet for at least ten minutes wiping and trying to apply pressure. Was this normal? Did everyone bleed this much? I put my head against the sink and silently prayed that I wouldn’t die. I knew something bad was going to happen to me for this, but please, please, please don’t let it be something bad and humiliating, like hemorrhaging to death in his bathroom.

  Then I started to cry for real.

  If my mother were around, we would probably have talked about this when I was in high school. If it weren’t midnight, I could call Meg. As it was, I didn’t have anybody to talk to. I was on my own.

  I sniffed a few times and straightened up. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the reins and acted like the college woman I was. I got myself together, grabbed a pantiliner and crept back to the bed to sleep alone.

  The next day, Nick apologized for “dozing off,” he called it. He explained it was the late nights grading midterm projects and promised to make up for it. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and the next night we tried again—this time in the bed. He started again, kissing my neck, his hands sliding under my shirt to my breasts. I was able to join in the experience a bit more, opening his shirt and kissing his chest. Sadly, he wasn’t as defined as I’d hoped, but he was a bit older than me.

  When he pulled me onto his lap this time, it didn’t hurt as much. I tried to rock into him more, remembering Meg’s explanations of her honeymoon techniques. He liked what I was doing, I could tell by his groans and gasps of how good I felt. And then, just as it was getting good for me, it was over. My lips tightened. Clearly, he hadn’t really been talking about how good I felt, as his firework went off just as mine was getting lit. And then like before, instead of trying for more, he simply slid me off his lap, put my cheek on his chest, and went to sleep.

  I lay in the darkness with my brow creased. I didn’t get it. I had to be doing something wrong. Was my body going too slow? Did some women finish faster? Was I missing a step? I so wanted to call Meg and ask her, but it would have to wait until I got back.

  Feb. 2, 19--

  Suzanne thought my weekend of bad sex and narcolepsy was beyond hilarious. She rolled on her bed laughing at my confusion and disappointment.

  “I told you not to date a professor,” she said, shaking her head. “He can’t help it if he’s old and can’t keep his eyes open.”

  “He’s not that old!” I argued. “I’m thinking I must’ve been doing something wrong.”

  “In my experience, a guy would never poop out with someone like you in his bed. Unless he was doing some seriously heavy drinking.”

  “He wasn’t! We had a few glasses of champagne. You know, enough to take the edge off, and that was it.” I tugged my feet onto the bed. “And he didn’t poop out before. Just immediately after. I don’t know what to think.”

  “I think you need to find a hot young stud your own age and get treated right. This guy’s a dud. Throw him back.”

  My lips pressed into a frown. “I can’t. I like him, and well, he’s my first. I want it to be special.”

  Suzanne shook her head. “You’re very sweet, but few of us get that magical first experience. Actually, I’m trying to think if I’ve ever heard of anyone having that.”

  I wondered about Meg. I really did need to get her take on the whole thing. But I didn’t have a chance to talk to her before Nick was calling me again for another date.

  This time it was a completely different ballgame. Dinner led to drinks and then back to his apartment. We were barely inside the door before he dropped to his knees and was lifting my skirt, removing my panties. My back was to the wall, and I could barely catch my breath or the back of his head as he kissed me, exploring with his tongue in a way that shot me over the edge at lightning speed. Then just as quickly he stood back up, lifting me higher and finishing the experience. I was confused, but boy was I satisfied. And at least I understood now what everybody was talking about. I wondered why this Professor Parker hadn’t shown up for our dirty weekend.

  “Maybe he really was tired from exams and grading.” I argued to Suzanne when I got home and told her how it went this time.

  “Maybe,” she frowned. “That just seems weird to me. You sure he wasn’t sneaking anything on Tybee Island when you weren’t looking?”

  “I never smelled or saw anything.”

  She made a face.

  “Well, I don’t care,” I said. “Tonight was fantastic. Oh my god. And I’m glad we’re over the hump.”

  “Sounds to me like you just found it.”

  I rolled my eyes and laughed. Suzanne was the perfect roommate.

  May 8, 19--

  This semester just flew by, Journal!

  I spent practically every weekend with Nick. I even started sleeping over at his apartment some nights during the week. It all started when he suggested I come back to his place after class on a Wednesday afternoon, so he could show me a new technique. I thought he’d been talking about art until I walked in the door and he caught me by the waist, sliding my stomach onto the dining room table.

  I wasn’t sure what to do, but I soon understood as his hand slid my panties to the side. He massaged the front as he entered from behind, and it didn’t take long for the fireworks to go off. I couldn’t breathe as his lips made their way from my hair to behind my ear and down my neck. His hand never stopping below my waist, and I decided this was a technique we should add to our private curriculum for further exploration.

  The year was like a dream being with him, and it wasn’t all just physical. We talked about my plans to be a fine artist, and he said I was doing it at the perfect time. Big corporations were hiring artists to create looks for entire buildings, and he thought with my distinctive style, I could attract the attention of companies in Atlanta and Nashville. Possibly even beyond. He thought Houston and places in Texas would be interested in using my vibrant, beachy style. I spent the entire spring semester loving being in love, believing it was forever.

  Finals week sneaked up on me, and I was happily finishing my class projects when I realized it was almost time for summer. Sadly, Raku pottery never emerged as my alternate medium, and I decided to let it go after I shattered almost every vessel I made. My instructor was very understanding, and I still ended up with an A. I suppose it was for effort, or maybe it was just a pity grade. It was abundantly clear how hard I was trying to ge
t it right. I just did not have the knack.

  By contrast, I felt pretty confident about my grade in painting class, and I was just finishing up my final piece when Nick asked me stay after on our last day of exams.

  “Yes, Mr. Parker,” I said with a sly grin as I entered his office.

  “Alexandra. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the summer break. Are you planning to go back to Alabama?”

  “I haven’t decided. I mean, I don’t have to go back. I’m sure I could take some summer classes if you liked.”

  “You should only do that if you want to. I was recently offered the chance to study with a master painter in Paris.”

  I almost couldn’t breathe. “Paris! How wonderful!” I couldn’t believe he was asking me to go to Paris with him! Could I afford it? How would this even work?

  “Yes, it’s a rare opportunity,” he said. “I’m very excited about it, but it means I’m going to be very busy. I wanted to let you know in case you had some summer courses you needed to take…”

  “No. I’m free! And I would love to go to Paris with you.”

  “Oh,” he paused. Then he seemed to shift uncomfortably. “And I would certainly love to escort you. But I don’t think I’ll have any time for fun, and Paris is a long way away.”

  The room grew quiet as I realized he was not inviting me to go with him. I could feel the bright red slowly creeping into my cheeks. “I’m so sorry!” My breathy laugh sounded too high. “I feel so stupid. I completely misunderstood—”

  “I didn’t mean to imply,” he paused, then his tone changed. He almost sounded fatherly. “Alexandra. You know I love the time when we’re together.” He walked over and put his arm across my shoulders. “But sometimes there are periods of separation.”

  “Of course.” My silly eyes went blurry, and I fought crying with every ounce of my strength. “I’m sorry I jumped ahead of you. I’ve got lots of things to do here. Please go and have a wonderful time.”

  He patted my arm. “That’s my girl. You’ll be alright then?”

  I nodded too vigorously. “I’ll be fine! I’ll head home, do some painting, catch up with friends.”

  “My pretty little painter,” he sighed, touching my chin. “You have the most exquisite face. I’m leaving Friday, so I probably won’t have time to see you again before I go.”

  He kissed me on the cheek and then exited his office. I couldn’t move. That was it? He was leaving Friday? Would he even call? I rose on trembling legs and walked back to my apartment.

  Suzanne was there. She was packing to go home for the summer, and I imagined I’d be doing the same pretty soon. When I walked in, she did a double-take before walking over to hold my hand.

  “What’s the matter, Lex? You look like you failed a class.”

  I felt like I’d been hit with a bat right in the stomach. “He’s leaving for Paris on Friday,” I managed to say.

  My roommate frowned. “Who’s leaving for Paris?”

  “Nick.” I dropped slowly to the bed. “He asked me to stay after class so he could tell me he’s leaving for Paris on Friday and won’t be back ’til the fall.”

  She stopped packing and came to sit beside me on the bed. “Oh, honey. Are you okay?”

  I couldn’t look at her. I was having trouble focusing on anything. “I don’t know. I mean, he didn’t say we were breaking up. He just said he’d be very busy and he wouldn’t have time to entertain me.”

  “You weren’t thinking you’d go to Paris with him alone?” she said. “For one, you don’t even speak French.”

  I shook my head, still numb. “It doesn’t matter because I wasn’t invited.”

  She sat on the bed and looked at me. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m just… I don’t know what to think.” I looked down at my hands in my lap as flickers of pain began radiating out from the center of my chest. I felt the muscles in my cheeks start to pull as tears flooded my eyes.

  When she spoke this time, Suzanne’s voice was soft. “I think he’s a total dirt bag, and now he’s broken your heart.”

  “Has he?” I looked up at her blinking fast, tears dropping onto my cheeks, which I hastily wiped away. “I mean, he said we were having a period of separation. I mean, I guess that means I should just wait and see what happens when he gets back.”

  “I wouldn’t wait for him,” she said hugging me close. “Not for one second.”

  June 20, 19--

  Suzanne was right. I shouldn’t have waited for him. But I’ve spent half the summer doing just that, thinking about Nick and counting the days until fall classes will begin again. He’s just so encouraging to me in my art, and he’s so sexy to be with.

  I can’t complain that he mistreated me somehow by going to Paris alone. I’m probably just too young and immature. I don’t understand this is how adult relationships sometimes go—periods of separation like he said. And it’s only for the summer!

  Being back at Miss Stella’s house is wonderful. I love being in my old room and waking up in the mornings to the smell of her rich coffee. Miss Stella is a classic old Southern lady. Her big Victorian home is stuffed with antiques and lace and old Edwardian chairs and armoires, and her yard is a garden of flowering plants and trees.

  I remember arriving at her home when I was only five years old. I thought I’d moved into a castle. She took me in and bought me a whole new wardrobe and enrolled me at the Magnolia School with Meg. She opened a new world to me full of refined tastes and experiences. Since I’ve gotten back for the summer, I’ve pretty much just hung around the house with her.

  Occasionally, I’ll walk down to the shore, but mostly I wait. Wait for the days to pass and fall to come.

  I was at the beach reading a book when Bill stopped by for an unexpected visit. The last time I’d seen him was when I’d visited Meg and Will at Christmas.

  “What brings you to Port Hogan?” I said. “I thought you were taking classes nonstop.”

  “Heard you were back,” he said, that serious expression on his face as always. “Miss Stella said you were down here.”

  Bill never visited me, and I had to confess, the suspense was killing me. “So what’s up?”

  He flopped down on the sand beside me. “How’s art school going?”

  “Really?” I creased my brow. “You’re here to talk about art school?”

  He looked down at his hands and shook his head. “No, I was just wondering if you were happy there or if you thought you might move back home.”

  I exhaled a laugh. “I didn’t expect you to miss me so much.”

  “I have reasons for asking.”

  I took a deep breath before answering. “Truthfully? I don’t expect to be moving home for a while, if ever. Why?”

  “I just know Meg misses you.” He looked up at me with those bright blue eyes of his. “She’s been hanging out with Winifred Hayes, and that woman is a damned nuisance.”

  I laughed. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say a word about Meg’s friends. She must be pretty bad.”

  He looked back down, and I watched him slide a finger through the sand. “Will you be home all summer?”

  I nodded. “At least another month or so.”

  “Maybe you and Meg could get together. Get her away from her new friend.”

  I sat up fast and dusted my palms together. “Why don’t you talk to Meg about this yourself? I mean, she is your wife now. This is the kind of thing husbands and wives talk about with each other.”

  “I’m not interested in arguing with her over her friends.”

  “You don’t have to argue.”

  He sat up and assessed my little beach camp. “What are you doing out here? Reading?”

  “Trying to, but there’s so much talking.”

  He frowned, but I laughed. “You want me to call Meg and invite her out?” I asked.

  “How about you come over for dinner Friday? She’s inviting those two, and you can see what I’m talking about.�
��

  “Are you inviting me to dinner Friday?” I teased. “We really have grown closer.”

  He stood all the way up then, dusting off his pants. “I’m sure Meg’ll say something about it when you call her. Our house at seven.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  I watched him walk back to his truck waiting at Mrs. Stella’s house. I’d never really understood Bill Kyser, but he was turning out to be okay. When we were in school, I’d given him a hard time about his big plan, but mostly it was just something I did.

  I don’t want to see high-rises taking over our hometown, but I don’t really think stopping Bill is going to keep them from coming. Those developers have been marching their way from Panama City westward for years, snatching up undeveloped tracts of sand and stabbing in towering concrete masses everywhere you look.

  I just started riding Bill about his plan one day and never seemed to quit. Maybe I could change that. I guess I’m more sensitive to people’s feelings since mine have taken it on the chin.

  I gave Meg a call and got on the guest list for that dinner.

  Aug. 1, 19--

  August at last! I’m back in Savannah.

  Sorry you got neglected, Journal. What did I not write down?

  Oh! That dinner with Meg and Bill was actually fun. I totally got what Bill was saying about Winnie and Travis Hayes. And what kind of name is Winifred anyway? Those people were too much, and I was sorry Meg was left with only that type of superficial “friend” to spend her time.

  Saying goodbye to her had been hard. Even little Will cried when I left, which naturally made me cry. We had been together nonstop after that dinner. I’d painted Will’s portrait, and Meg had said she was going to have it framed and put in his room in their little cottage. I told her I’d paint her another, bigger one of him when they finished their house on the island.