by Elana Brooks
Adrian gulped and looked away, wishing he still had his glass in his hand to fiddle with, or stall by taking a drink while he thought of what to say. Without an excuse to take time to come up with a prevarication, he had to go with a version of the truth. “It was just—I mean, I’ve seen him flirt like that with lots of people, it’s all innocent—but it surprised me how I felt when he did it to you.”
She set her glass down next to his and leaned toward him. “How did you feel?”
He met her eyes. “I didn’t like it.”
“Why not?”
This time he shifted closer to her, until their legs touched and their faces were only inches apart. She was wearing some sort of bright, citrusy scent. His voice went soft and husky. “Because I want to be the only one who looks at you like this.”
He demonstrated, letting his gaze travel over her body with far more lingering attention than Steve had given it. Her shirt was a soft knit floral print. It clung to the curve of her breasts, low-cut enough to reveal their soft upper swells and the beginning of the deep valley between. Her jeans accentuated the dip of her waist and the beautifully round shape of her derriere.
Her breathing deepened as he took his time enjoying the sights. “Do you like what you see?”
“Very much.” He lifted his hand and traced her neckline, starting at one shoulder and moving slowly down, watching to see if she would pull away. Instead she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. Her skin was soft and smooth under his fingertips. As they moved over her breast and slipped into her cleavage to caress its inner curve, she made a soft, high sound of pleasure.
Heart thundering, Adrian leaned to kiss her. Her face tipped up to meet his, though she didn’t open her eyes. Her lips parted as his touched them, and her tongue met his with abandon.
All Adrian’s senses drowned in her touch. Even more than before, it consumed him. He didn’t know whether that was because last time it had been astral and this was physical, or if it was just that now that other kiss was only memory and this one was here, now. He didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight to his body, feeling her breasts press into his chest and her arms twine around his neck.
After a wonderfully long time, they mutually pulled back a little, drawing in deep breaths. Adrian gazed into Beverly’s eyes. He could almost see her soul there, just as when he’d driven his deep within her and bonded them together.
She flinched and darted her eyes to the side. Immediately he loosened his hold, ready to release her altogether if that’s what she needed. But she just shivered a little and moved her head to rest against his chest. “Sorry. But for a moment I couldn’t help but remember…”
He smoothed the fine, silky strands of her hair. “I hate that it was like that. The first time I saw the last Memory, I wondered if there would ever be someone I loved that much, trusted that much. I thought it would be the most amazing feeling, to touch someone’s soul. And instead I hurt you, and it was awful for both of us. But mostly for you.”
She shrugged, her shoulder moving in a wave against his chest. “I’d be dead now if you hadn’t.” She tilted her head to peer up at him. “And I’m not sure, but I seem to remember that somewhere in there I kneed you pretty good.”
He winced, and she laughed. “You did. Don’t remind me.”
She put her hands against his chest and pushed back, lifting her gaze to focus somewhere near his nose. “Can we try having you look in my eyes again? I don’t like being afraid of it. Just don’t get upset if I look away.”
“I won’t.” He held very still as she slowly lifted her chin until their eyes met. She immediately glanced away, then back, holding the contact a little longer this time. After a few seconds she closed her eyes for a longer break, then returned. He had time to study the soft grayish blue lines radiating around her irises, touched with yellow in a ring slightly out from the black pupils, separated from the whites by a smooth darker gray circle. She blinked, and the lines flexed, widening her pupils in the darkness, then tightening them again with the return of the light.
She sighed and laid her head on his chest again. “Still kind of hard, but it’ll be okay. Did you ever notice how you can really only focus on one eye at a time, not both? Or at least I can’t.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t notice. Next time I’ll pay better attention.”
“You’d better,” she said with mock severity. Then she leaned in to kiss him again.
This time she moved forward and pushed him back, until they ended up with her mostly on top of him. Her hands roamed over his chest and shoulders, and his caressed her back. After a while she caught his hand and moved it to her breast. He sucked in his breath as the firm, soft weight filled his palm. She moaned and moved against him. He cupped and kneaded and moved his thumb across her nipple, eliciting a little gasp. His other hand rose to give equal attention to her other side, and she responded by writhing along the whole length of his body.
At length she broke away. He opened his eyes to find her regarding him. “Are we going to have sex?” she asked.
Her directness rendered him speechless for a moment. When his voice recovered, he asked, “Do you want to?”
“I don’t know,” she said giving her hips a longing wriggle that sent a fresh burst of desire coursing through him. “I do, but—it’s an awfully big step, you know?”
He raised a hand to stroke her cheek. “There’s lots of things we can do without going the whole way.”
“I know.” Her mouth twisted into a wry expression.
“I’d be fine with that.” He would. Anything she was willing to give him, he would welcome. If it wasn’t quite everything he wanted—well, it would leave more to look forward to later.
She pushed up and propped herself on her elbows. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Eventually. With you. Go all the way, I mean. I just—” She toyed with the buttons on his shirt. “I told you I’ve slept with guys before.”
“Yeah. It’s okay. I’m not a virgin, either.” Though he almost felt like one. The sensations she stirred in him went far beyond any he’d experienced before.
“Yeah, well, you know how I said it was good? I lied. Or, I mean, I didn’t lie, exactly, everything I said about my first time was true, but—it wasn’t good. It sucked.” She dropped her forehead to rest on his chest.
He tightened his arms around her. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged and spoke into his chest. “Water under the bridge. Nothing to do about it now.”
He brushed his fingers along the nape of her neck. She shivered. He wasn’t sure he should tell her what he was thinking, whether it would comfort her or just make things awkward. He’d never confessed it to anyone before. But he felt compelled to meet her honesty with his own.
He looked off to the side. “You know what? My first time sucked, too. I mean, big time. And I know what you mean. I can talk about it so it sounds fine, but it was awful.”
He looked back to find her gazing at him, her eyes big and curious. “Tell me about it?” She pushed herself a little higher. “Or even better, show me. Share your memory with me. We can do that, right?”
He drew back, scandalized. “You’d want to see?”
“Sure.” She brushed back a strand of hair from her face. Her eyes were a little wary, a little teasing, a little challenging. “Come on. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Really?” The idea of experiencing her memory of herself with another guy was both horrifying and weirdly appealing. He’d never have asked such candor of her, but now that she’d offered, his curiosity burned. And while he would never have imagined subjecting her to his own humiliating memory, her desire to see it touched something deep within him. Sharing their pasts this way seemed both far more dangerous and far more intimate than anything their bodies might do.
Some reckless, daring impulse prompted him to take up her challenge. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
“Yeah.�
� She licked her lips, her eyes not leaving his.
“Okay.” He rearranged himself on the sofa, stretching out to a more comfortable position and adjusting the cushion to support his head. Beverly lay against him; he cradled her head against his shoulder. “Just tell me if you want to stop.”
“I will. But I won’t.” She snuggled in and closed her eyes. He felt her mind open to his with perfect trust.
He hoped he wouldn’t regret this. But he wasn’t going to back out if she wasn’t. “All right. It was on my twenty-first birthday.” At her twitch, he gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah. I know. I promise, I felt like the oldest virgin in New York. That’s why…” He shrugged. “Just watch. My group of friends at Columbia had a tradition. When somebody turned twenty-one, we’d all go out to a liquor store…”
He shifted from speech to telepathy, opening his mind to share his memory of that night with her.
The clerk examined Adrian’s driver’s license skeptically while his friends kept adding bottles to the cluster on the counter. Vodka, tequila, rum. One of the guys wanted scotch, several of the girls demanded Bailey’s. Various mixers—Coke, orange juice, margarita mix. It was a good thing his parents had given him a generous gift of cash.
Finally the guy huffed and accepted the proof of his age as legit. He took Adrian’s credit card and ran it, then piled the purchases into plastic bags. Many willing hands grabbed them, until all that was left for him to carry was a six-pack of Guinness.
The group traipsed through the streets, talking in loud voices and laughing, occasionally breaking into a phrase or two of the latest hit song. They’d been pretty tight since they were freshman. The core group had met at the African-American Student Association, but they’d picked up others, a roommate here, a boyfriend there.
They clattered up the stairs to Joe’s place. He was the only one of them who lived off-campus, so he was the designated party host. They piled into the tiny studio apartment. Most of them sprawled on the floor or the futon or the handful of chairs, but Joe and a few of the girls went to the kitchen counter and started mixing drinks. As the guest of honor, Adrian got his first. Joe made the screwdriver with only a splash of orange juice. Adrian had to force himself to take swigs instead of wimpy little sips.
Even after everyone had a glass or bottle in their hand, the girls kept fussing at the counter. Finally they called everyone to attention. Joe flipped off the lights, and to a rousing off-key chorus of “Happy Birthday,” an Italian cream cake from Adrian’s favorite bakery, blazing with twenty-one candles, was borne over to him. He didn’t know what to wish for—acceptance to law school, a 4.0 GPA, victory at the big karate tournament next month—so he just sent a vague nonspecific hope out into the universe and blew. All the candles winked out.
Joe rescued them from darkness with a flipped switch, and the girls cut up the cake and passed out the pieces. As Adrian dug into his and chugged a little more of his drink, Sylvia leaned over to him. “What did you wish for?”
Dana dug her elbow into Sylvia’s ribs. “He can’t tell! Then it won’t come true!”
Adrian shook his head. “I’m not telling.”
Sylvia pouted. “Tell us something else, then. Your biggest secret.”
Adrian took another drink. “No way.”
“Come on. We’ll make it a game.” She sipped her Bailey’s. “I’ll go first.” She glanced around as if someone might be eavesdropping. Everybody leaned forward, eager to hear whatever she might say. “Okay. Don’t anyone let this get back to my parents, or they’ll have a fit. They can’t find out until it’s too late to change it back.” She paused dramatically. “I’m changing my major from Business to Art.”
There was a general chorus of shocked approval. They all knew about Sylvia’s artistic talent, but Adrian had certainly never expected she’d get up the nerve to actually pursue it as a career.
Sylvia flushed in pleasure at their enthusiastic support. “Okay, someone else.”
The game went around the room. Various secrets were shared, from the stupid—who cared if Marvin had flunked Spanish in high school—to the obvious—everyone had known Dana was gay forever, and it was about time she and Tammy got together—to the touching—they all clustered around Bill and hugged him when he confessed his little sister was in the hospital being treated for leukemia. Adrian kept drinking, but the level in his glass never seemed to get any lower. He suspected someone kept adding more vodka when he wasn’t looking.
As it got later and they all got drunker, the secrets got darker. Aline, tears running down her face, told how her high school basketball coach had molested her. Bob talked about catching his dad cheating on his mom. Sandra admitted to a juvie record for shoplifting.
Eventually the game came back around to Adrian. He felt loose and lightheaded. The world was doing a pleasant little spin. Everybody else had opened up, and nobody had gotten laughed at or ragged on. He only had one thing none of them knew.
He took a swig of vodka for courage and enunciated his words carefully. “I’ve never been laid.”
They all blinked at him. “Really?” Joe said.
Adrian nodded solemnly. “I am twenty-one years old, and I am still a virgin.”
“Awww.” Sylvia came and hugged him, tears in her eyes. “You poor thing.” The other girls joined her with words and gestures of sympathy. If any of the guys had been inclined to mock, that shut them up.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Dana said. “Didn’t you say you were born at eleven-thirty at night?”
“Yeah.” Adrian glanced at the clock. “Fifteen more minutes.”
“It’s not too late!” Dana exclaimed. She looked around at the other girls. “Come on, who’s going to help the guy out? I would, but—” She shrugged.
They all exchanged glances. Adrian’s face burned, and his stomach felt like it was somewhere around his ankles.
Finally Sylvia came over and grabbed Adrian’s hand. “Let’s go, big boy.” She called over to Joe, “Got condoms?”
“Over the sink,” he called back.
Everyone cheered and whistled as Sylvia dragged Adrian into the bathroom. He thought about refusing. But really, why not? It was time he saw for himself what sex was all about. Sylvia might not be eager, but she was willing, and he’d always thought she was hot. It’s not like he’d had any real reason for not going ahead long ago. It had just never been the right time, somehow.
Now it was.
Sylvia rubbed up against him and caught his mouth for a kiss. Adrian awkwardly put his hands on her breasts. His body responded, and suddenly his heart was thudding in both anticipation and terror.
Sylvia unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. She pushed them down to his knees. Then his boxers, too. Her hand on his penis was cool. A surge of lust shot through him.
“A little soft, still. Probably too much vodka,” she said wisely. “We’ll take care of that.” She dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth.
Oh, god. Hot, warm, wet. He was just getting into it when she popped back up. “Much better.” She ripped open a packet and rolled a condom into place. She pulled up her skirt, shucked her panties, and eyed their relative heights. “Here, sit.” She pushed him down onto the toilet lid.
Before he could really take in what was happening, she straddled him and guided him into her. She smiled triumphantly. “There you go. How do you like it?”
“It’s good,” he said hoarsely. The toilet handle cut into his back, the seat was cold on his butt, and he could barely move.
Sylvia bounced on him a little. “Hey, do you mind?” She grabbed his hand and put it between her legs. He rubbed where she indicated. She tensed, undulated against him, and pushed his hand into a faster rhythm. After a while she froze, then relaxed with a deep sigh. “Thanks.”
She moved up and down on him with more purpose. Adrian wanted to put his arms around her, but he had to use them to brace himself so he didn’t slide around too much. Warmth gathered, pretty much like when he
jerked off, but maybe a little better. Soon the familiar explosion rocked through him. He slumped, dropping his head to Sylvia’s chest.
She giggled, gave him a quick hug, then bounced up. She grabbed one of Joe’s washcloths and wiped herself off. She tossed it to him with a cheerful, “Happy Birthday!” A few quick tugs of underwear and skirt, and she was gone. The door closed behind her.
Adrian just sat there.
So that was sex. A drunken pity fuck in a bathroom.
Welcome to adulthood.
After a while he fumbled the condom off, dropped it in the trash, and cleaned up. When he bent to pull up his boxers, the world rocked sickeningly around him, and his stomach finally rebelled against all the vodka he’d been pouring into it. He barely got the toilet seat up in time.
When it was over, he rinsed his mouth out and managed to get himself dressed. He stumbled out of the bathroom.
His friends, laughing and calling congratulations, gave him a round of applause.
Adrian opened his eyes to find Beverly staring at him. He closed them again. “Oh, god, I’m sorry.” This had been a terrible idea. What possible good had he thought might come from letting her see that sordid bit of his history?
She laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him. He held her and buried his face in her hair. He mourned for dreams dashed, treasures proved counterfeit, lost innocence. His, and hers, because apparently she had a story just as miserable.
At length he felt her lift her head, and he looked up. She gave him a bleak smile, full of far too much understanding. “Did it ever get better?”
He shrugged. “I guess. Sylvia and I were friends-with-benefits for a while, until we graduated. Whenever she had guy troubles, or was just feeling lonely, she’d come to me. Later there were others. But no one” —Like you.— “that meant very much to me.” He shuddered. “God, that makes me sound like a jerk.”
“No, it doesn’t. Believe me, I’ve been with jerks.” She snuggled closer. “My turn. You’re going to find this way too familiar, I’m afraid.”
