Philadelphia

by L B Winter

  “Because of something Jamie told me,” I said.

  “Oh, God, what did he tell you?”

  It was easier that he couldn’t see my face, that we were still hugging like our lives depended on it, when I said, “So, he knew that I felt, like, abandoned by everybody this semester. Like, you all were hanging out together without me, and I just felt unwanted. So I started making all these new friends, and—” I pulled away and looked at him, happy to see an expression of profound relief in his eyes. “And you’re gonna love them, Steve-o. I mean, you already know Zeke, but his friends are really cool, too. And Tay and Tessa are dating now, and she’s—well, I actually don’t know if you’ll like her, but she’s great for him.”

  He laughed, stepping back and folding his arms in front of his chest, and I knew that he already knew what I would say, just like I had earlier.

  “Anyway, he said you felt like I was moving on and forgot about you. But I felt like you forgot about me. And like, if both of us never forgot about each other and really missed each other, well…I think that’s pretty fucking important information.”

  Again, he laughed, and he pulled me into another hug. “I am so fucking relieved to hear that, you have no idea.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that. For a while, it was an adjustment, working at The Beat and trying to figure out my schedule, and Trent’s new schedule without Lynn around as much. I never meant for you to feel like we forgot about you. I should have made more of an effort. I knew that at the time, but I guess after a while I just forgot.”

  “Wow,” I said, pulling back again, head shaking in mock disbelief. “You said it.”

  “I said what? Oh,” he said, eyes widening. “I did. Oh, my God. I said it. It wasn’t even hard to say. I said I’m sorry, holy shit! I have to call Trent.”

  I cracked up, wiping the traces of tears from my eyes as he shook his head, still smiling, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. As he dialed his boyfriend, almost giddy with relief, and told him how we were good as new again, Jamie finally came down the stairs. Just by the smile on his face, I could tell he’d been waiting for us to finish talking before he came down.

  I smiled at him when he walked up beside me, slung an arm over my shoulder, and kissed the side of my head.

  “You look like Taylor,” I said, nodding at his outfit. He’d grabbed Tay’s Track and Field State Championship t-shirt, running shorts, and knee socks.

  “I can’t believe he has socks like these,” Jamie said, a soft laugh accompanying his words. “I had to try them on. Like, seriously? He works out in these?”

  “Hey,” I said, “they look really cool.”

  “On him or on me?”

  “On everybody. Well-known fact of life. Tall socks make runners cooler.”

  “That is neither well known nor true,” Jamie said, “but I’m gonna wear ‘em anyway.”

  “Good for you.”

  He shook his head, an amused smile on his face. “I really thought you’d tease me more for this. Sort of ruins the joke.”

  My own smile deepened, and I said, “Hey, I said you look like Taylor. He’s a good-looking dude. What’s the problem?”

  “Oh, no,” he groaned, removing his arm from my shoulder and swatting my ass. I shivered, and he gave it a good squeeze and pulled me closer. “Don’t tell me you have a thing for Taylor.”

  “When we were kids, I did. You knew that. I told you at Freedom.”

  “How am I supposed to compete with him?” he joked. “He’s a doctor!”

  I shrugged. “You’ll have to up your game.”

  “What—besides knee-socks? What’s sexier than this?”

  “You could do that thing with the water bottle again.”

  He laughed, giving up on pretending to be annoyed, and pulled me into his arms again. He did that thing that I was beginning to love, arms resting on my shoulders, tilting my face back so he could ravage my mouth with his. I hoped I never, ever got used to the sheer sexiness of being kissed like this. The thrill of feeling so wanted, so loved.

  “Aw, you two,” Steven said, and we broke apart and looked toward him. I’d almost forgotten he was there. “Trent’s coming over. He wants to apologize to you, too. He said if I can say I’m sorry, then he’d better not let me upstage him.”

  “He doesn’t have to,” I said. “I mean, he’s always welcome to come over, but—”

  “No,” Steven said. “We made you feel like shit. I am…” he swallowed, took a deep breath, but kept his composure. “I am genuinely sorry, baby. I knew, at first—there was a time when I knew that I should do more to make sure you knew we still cared, that even though things were changing, we’d always be there for you. But I guess I just…got caught up in everything, and even though I never quite forgot, I also never did anything about it. I’m the one who made you feel forgotten, and I don’t ever want you to feel that way.”

  I sighed shakily, determined not to cry again even though his words were hitting me right in the most vulnerable place, fixing it up and putting everything to rights again.

  “Oh, just hug again,” Jamie said, giving me a little shove toward Steven. So we did, and I promised myself that no matter what happened, I would never let things get this bad with my friends again. If I was hurting, I would say something—and if it looked like they were, I would ask.

  Making up with Trent and Steven and Jamie was only the beginning of what turned out to be a fantastic week. Jamie stayed over with me that night, and though I didn’t get nearly enough sleep, I felt better than I had in weeks. The first day of the internship was pretty boring, but it was great to have Steven and Jamie there to pick me up—a surprise I hadn’t expected when I walked out to the bus stop.

  “Hey,” Steven had called out the window. “We have news!”

  I’d gotten in the car, all curiosity, but neither of them said a word, and the car stayed parked at the curb for a moment. Jamie glanced at Steven, then said, “I’m gonna get in back with him.”

  “Lovebirds,” Steven muttered.

  Jamie climbed out and slid in beside me, pulling out his phone and saying, “Look what I got.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised. “Is it new?”

  “Yeah, Steven and Trent added me to their plan so it’s only like $60 a month. I can afford it now, because…” He thumbed through a few apps on his phone, then smiled at me and began to read, “Dear Mr. Campbell, we are writing in follow-up to our previous communications regarding your scholarship and mentorship arrangements. It is now our belief that we acted prematurely in terminating your employment agreement with us even before it began. It has been pointed out to us that it is unfair to judge you based on your past experiences, and that your experiences may in fact be highly beneficial to your role here as a mentor. As a mentor, you will experience extensive training which we believe will equip you to understand and fulfill your role with excellence. Should there be any question of performance at any time, we will assess your employment situation—as we do for any employee. We do wish to extend our apologies for any emotional distress our earlier decision caused; we did not intend to act rashly, but we now recognize that our actions were not the result of careful, unbiased consideration and were instead a knee-jerk reaction to information that perhaps ought not to have been regarded so highly.”

  I cracked up. “Oh, my God,” I said, “that’s their nice way of saying they read my email, and now they’re convinced I’m crazy.”

  Jamie glanced at me, smiling vaguely, but continued reading. “We are also pleased to clarify that, under the terms of your scholarship, you are allowed and encouraged to apply for funding in future years, for up to four contiguous years, or six years total, should you pursue post-graduate studies.”

  I sighed audibly with relief. “Jamie, that’s amazing. Oh fuck, am I ever relieved.” I laid my head back on the seat.

  He bumped my knee with his, and I looked up at him. “Thanks for writing to them. I owe you,” he said sincerely.

 
; “No,” I said, “I should have just minded my own business in the first place. But I’m really fucking happy they got their shit together and gave you your job back.”

  “Me, too,” Steven said from the front seat. “It seems sort of unprofessional, though. Like, hiring or firing him based on your whims.”

  I cracked up. “More like, the email I sent them yesterday was so totally insane that they were like, ‘We can’t listen to this psycho.’ I discredited myself forever.” Looking at Jamie, I added, “I hope you never read that email. It was so embarrassing.”

  “I want to read it,” he said, smiling at me gently. His voice was quiet, his eyes sincere, and I knew in that moment that I would be forwarding it to him to read, anyway, embarrassing pleading and all. He could have anything he wanted.

  Steven dropped us both off at my place, and I was happy to see that Jamie brought a backpack full of his own things. “So I don’t have to borrow Tay’s clothes,” he explained, “but I can still go for a run in the morning.”

  “Smart,” I said.

  “I’m glad it’s a close enough distance I can run it,” he said. “Kills two birds with one stone, you know?”

  “Sure,” I said. “And can I just say, I love it when you compare seeing me with killing a bird.”

  “I knew you would.”

  How easily he kissed me, his motions as smooth and sure as if he’d been doing it forever. I let him pull me into his arms, fast and hard at first, then melting into gentle and slow. His hands on my face, his lips on my neck, his attention moving lower, lower. We stripped off our clothes right there in the living room—because, why not?—and I marveled again at how easy it was to be with him, no shame, no holding back.

  “Want to go upstairs?” he said.

  “No,” I murmured against his lips.

  “That’s where the condoms and lube are.”

  “We can go get them.”

  “Anybody could walk by the back window,” he pointed out—a large, picture window behind the couch revealing the yard beyond. He was right—anybody could.

  But, “I like that,” I whispered.

  “Do you really?” his eyes twinkled, and I nodded. “Okay.” A pause. “Can I fuck you?”

  I nodded again, biting my lip.

  “God, you really like that idea, don’t you?”

  Another nod.

  I don’t think anybody ever ran up and down stairs as fast as he did just then. And when he reached me again, he tackled me onto the couch, and I was impressed to see he’d grabbed a towel, too. “So we don’t get cum all over everything,” he said.

  “Nice,” I tried to say, but my words were lost when his lips latched onto mine, a heated breath leaving my skin tingling as he rubbed against me.

  His lubed fingers found my hole, pressed inside me like he belonged there. The pinch, the graze of his fingernail, a curve of his finger touching me in just the right place, making me cry out with pleasure.

  “Oh, my God, Jamie,” I moaned, arching my back.

  “Mmm. You feel so good,” he said. He always rubbed in this firm, steady rhythm at first. I was just getting used to it, learning what to expect when he changed it up, slipping another finger inside me and making me gasp with pleasure. “I love how tight you are. I can’t wait to be inside you.” His words, whispered against my ear, made me shiver.

  I let him do what he wanted with me. He pushed my thighs further apart, massaging one with one hand while the other hand pushed still another finger inside my hole. Another press on that spot that made me gasp.

  “I love that,” he said, and he did it again.

  “I’m ready,” I said, reaching for his arm, feeling how strong he felt—muscles rippling as he focused all his attention on me. I wanted to make him feel good, too.

  But he said, “Not yet.”

  I arched my back again, his touch making my skin tingle all over. “Come on…”

  “Patience is a virtue...”

  “You’re making me crazy,” I moaned, crying out again when his fingers rubbed harder against that sensitive spot. He was so fucking good at this. I was actually whimpering.

  “Patience,” he repeated, even softer. He leaned down and licked the very tip of my cock, just to taste the pre-cum, and I moaned even louder. I would have been embarrassed, if he were anybody else in the world.

  “You are so sexy,” he said, staring down at me from where he leaned over me, propped up on one arm. “I love seeing how hard you get for me. I love hearing you beg for it.”

  “Oh, fuck, Jamie,” I said, pulling my legs up higher—willing them as high as they could go. “Please, I’m ready,” I babbled, feeling wild with his touch, impossibly needy.

  “Patience,” was his only answer, this time spoken with a commanding finality to it, and I looked up at him with as little patience as I’d ever felt. He was still calmly fucking me with his fingers and occasionally licking my cock. And he was watching me steadily, eyes dark. I could see how much he wanted me, how he licked his lips and enjoyed every movement I made, every sound, every involuntary shiver or gasp. Why was he making me wait—making us both wait? Couldn’t he see I was ready? I knew he was; his dick was rock hard, leaking slowly onto the towel beneath us, and just the sight of it made me almost on the precipice of orgasm, knowing I made him that hard.

  But still, he waited, increasing the anticipation more than I’d ever known was possible. Yet the more it grew, the better I knew it would be. And I did trust him. So I stopped trying to rush him, and just closed my eyes and let it happen. I heard him hum happily when I relaxed against the couch, and I felt his touch change, the firmness turning soft and the pressure still so, so good—but also slowing down. Spending more time on each stroke of his hand inside me, rubbing longer, fuller, deeper. I slowly began to understand him; he was in no hurry. We had as much time as we needed, and after this, whenever we wanted, we could do it again. After everything we’d been through, all the anger, the misunderstandings, the self-hatred, the bigotry. The obstacles, at times feeling miles high, that had seemed to work in unison to keep us apart, when all we’d ever wanted was, simply, to love each other. To be together, just like this. And the hatred hadn’t won; we had.

  “I love you,” I blurted out suddenly, eyes opening to look at him, almost choking on the words as they tumbled from my lips.

  He was closer to my face than I’d realized he was, needing only to lean forward inches to kiss my lips, his hand finally slipping out of me to trace a hot, wet path up my chest. He held my face in his hands, eyes locked onto mine, and I felt such thorough, world-rocking certainty that he loved me, too—that this person, the most important person in the world to me, thought I was just as important.

  He lifted my legs and said, “Is this okay?” as he propped them against his shoulders. I would never say no to him. He smiled at my eager nod, then slipped on the condom and finally, finally pushed inside me—one long, slow effort that left us both panting, eyes wet and locked on each other.

  “I love you, Paul,” he said, taking one more close, tender moment with his lips against mine before he leaned back up, using my legs as leverage, and started rocking into me. One slow, strong push after another. With one hand, he gripped my leg, and the other reached down to tweak my nipples, one after the other, with his thumb. They were hard as pebbles, standing to attention, while my dick bobbed onto my stomach with every one of Jamie’s thrusts, spilling pre-cum everywhere.

  I moaned again, this time feeling even more desperate than I had before, if that were possible, for his touch to bring me to climax, to give me what he knew I needed. I started to reach for my own cock, but he shook his head.

  “Put your hands up,” he panted, slowing down even more.

  “What?”

  “Over your head,” he said, nodding. The commanding tone was still there, the quiet certainty. I couldn’t refuse him. Slowly, I reached up over my head and gripped the arm of the couch, and was rewarded with the way his eyes grew even darker a
s he stared at my chest, licking his lips. “That’s it. Now don’t move a muscle.”

  I whimpered involuntarily, and he smiled.

  “Trust me,” he whispered.

  I nodded, closing my eyes again. It was too much, but at the same time, there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. If he wanted this, this slow, gradual, achingly intimate act, then I would give him all of me, every part, to make it right for him.

  When he started moving again, his motions were stronger than I expected. He ramped up slowly, but every stroke inside me was so purposeful. I felt him hitting that spot, over and over again, that made me gasp. I clenched my hands into fists, and he turned his head to kiss my bicep as he started pounding even harder. The pace changed so gradually that I didn’t realize the tempo was increasing until it was already there, until I could hardly breathe with the overwhelming sensations of his body inside me, over me, everywhere surrounding me. “Jamie,” I gasped, and I opened my eyes to see the passion, the need in his face. I knew this was important to him—to have a moment of release, to finally enjoy what we’d both waited for forever. So I let myself be his, completely. Just feeling his passion, his desperation for me, made me harder than I think I’d ever been, and the friction of his skin rubbing hard against me made me ache with need.

  The word “please” escaped my lips, hardly louder than a whisper, and his hand was instantly on my cock, the warmth and softness of it after the roughness of his chest hair giving me goosebumps. He leaned down and tugged on my earlobe with his teeth, then latched his lips onto my neck, still rocking hard and strong inside me. When he hit that spot again that I was always desperate for him to touch, my orgasm ripped through me so violently that I felt completely out of control, at his mercy to do whatever he wanted with me. I cried out his name, and then his lips were on mine, and his strokes inside me, deep and thorough, were calmer, more peaceful, sensitive to the shivers that were still running through me, aftershocks that made every part of my skin prickle.

  “I love you,” he gasped, just as he came deep inside me, holding me close against him while he shook, kissing my collarbone, stroking my thighs.