by Ann Evans
All I know is that I have to talk to this boy, I have to know who he is. I have to know everything about him.
After Mr. Devlin excuses us, I'm one of the first people out of my seat and out the door of the hall. It almost feels like I’m running, but I want to be out in front of the hall when the boy comes out. I stand there watching my sleepy classmates shuffle out of the hall. Most of them have their eyes downcast, their thoughts on the day ahead, or filled with the idea of going back to their dorms and catching a few hours of extra sleep. A few of them chat about plans they have for the coming week, lots of chatter about sororities, fraternities, and other nonsense that I have no interest in. The hall looks like it is completely emptying out, just a few stragglers, kids who’ve obviously slept through the lecture, wiping the sleep from their eyes and boozily stumbling down the halls steps.
Where is he, did I miss him somehow among the throng? Or maybe he’s still inside speaking with Mr. Devlin or beating him to death? But finally he emerges, and I practically jump out of my skin. I start rehearsing my new mantra in my head as he walks toward me.
Hi, my name is Sara, what’s your name?
Hi, my name is Sara, what’s your name?
Hi, my name is Sara, what’s your name?
Hi, my name is Sara, what’s your name?
Finally he’s only a few feet away from me and I step in front of him and say:
“HI! MY NAME IS SARA! WHAT’S YOUR NAME!”
Oh. My. God.
I am such a dork. I am such a loser. I am such a freak of nature.
I’m positive he’s going to start laughing at me. And not your usual tittering ha-ha let’s make fun of the awkward girl laugh. But a full on fall to the ground and pee your pants laugh. A literal storm of laughter that will cause the entire school to come out and see what’s so funny, and then point and laugh at the weird girl for being so weird. But instead of laughing, he cocks his head like a dog would, narrows his eyes (Which are literally the most amazing shade of green I’ve ever seen.) and says:
“Hello, Sara. How are you, it is good to meet you.”
There’s something about his voice, it’s like Mr. Devlin’s, but it’s not full of fear and intimidation like Sawyer’s. Yes, it’s full of thunder and authority, but there’s a tenderness to it like it’s full of the wonders of the world. And he had some kind of accent that I’d never heard before. Maybe he was European of white African?
“I’m good,” I manage to stutter out. “I’m really good. I saw you and needed … I mean, I wanted to introduce myself. What did you say your name was again?”
“I did not say my name, but it is Sam-Ual.”
“Samuel?” I asked, a little confused over his pronunciation of the name.
“Yes, Samuel. Samuel is my name.”
“Are you from Arizona, Samuel? Because you sound like you’re not from around her.”
“No. No, I am not from here. I am from very far away.”
“From, like, where? Europe or Canada?”
“Canada, I am from Canada?
“What part?”
For a second, it seems like he blanks out for a second. Like he’s disappeared somewhere deep inside himself.
“Samuel?” I ask concern seeping into my voice.
“I am from Quebec.” He finally says.
“Quebec? So you must speak French?”
“Oui, it is my native language. Sometimes I have difficulty with English.”
“Really? Your English sounds perfect to me. I mean, except for your accent. Did you just start school today?”
“I did. Today is my first day.”
“Great! I’m new, too!! I mean, not new-new, I’ve been here since the beginning of the semester.”
“How do you like it so far?” He asked with a real curiosity in his voice. He was really listening to me, instead of just waiting for his turn to talk like so many people our age.
“I like it! Well, I kind of like it, the classes are alright. But, you know, I haven’t really met that many people.”
“You have met me.” He said, which caused me to blush and look away for some reason. “And now I have met you and that makes me happy.”
“I … Well, thanks, it makes me happy to meet you, too. Listen, if you don’t have another class to get to, I’d love to show you around campus. I mean, if you have the time?”
“I do not have another class today, and yes, it would be very nice to see the campus with you.”
“Okay! Great! Um, let’s go, I guess.”
We started walking and I just couldn’t hold it back anymore.
“Samuel, has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like Ben Affleck?”
“Ben Affleck is the Sexiest Man Alive,” He said with such seriousness that I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Yeah, I guess he is.”
Arizona State University is one of the largest state university’s in the western United States. Seriously, it’s absolutely enormous. I mean, it’s spread across three different cities in the Phoenix area and it’s one of the main reasons why I want to go to school here because you can study pretty much anything you want and because it doesn’t feel like a dinky little town. Don’t get me wrong, Tucson is far from a small town, it has over a million people living in it, but it feels like a small town, especially when you get on the campus of the University of Arizona campus.
Originally, my folks really wanted to go to UOfA so that I would be close to home (And because neither one of them could stand either Phoenix or Flagstaff), and for years I wanted the same thing. But once graduation started approaching I kind of re-thought my whole position about staying in Tucson. I mean, I had spent my entire life there, and I loved it and all, but the fact was I thought college was supposed to be about reinventing yourself. About becoming the person you would be as opposed to the person you always were. And I thought if I stayed in Tucson, I would be exactly the same person I had always been. I would just be mousy, shy little Sara, and I didn’t want to be mousy Sara anymore. I wanted to be big, beautiful Sara. Full of confidence and drive Sara. So, in my senior years, I applied to ASU and was accepted and I moved to the massive modern campus.
Of course, I hadn’t really become any of those things quite yet, but I was working on it.
So, my tour of ASU with Samuel only took about an hour-and-a-half before I was fully tired out from the walk and wanted to go back to my dorm room for a nap. But, I really didn’t want to leave him, so I suggested that we could maybe go and get a cup of coffee in town. He simply nodded his head and we began wandering into Tempe.
In the month since my first semester of college had begun, I hadn’t spoken this much in the entire time. In fact, I don’t think I had spoken this much in my entire life. There was just something about Jarred that made me want to spill my guts. I told him about what a hard time I was having with being away from home and with adapting to college life. I told him about high school and how miserable and out of place I felt, while going there. I told him about Lesley and Mal, and about how much I missed them and about how disappointed I was that they weren’t up here with me. I told him about Mom and Dad—and I mean I told him everything about them, including the story of how they first met on a blind date, and how by the end of that date, Dad was down on one knee proposing to Mom—I told him about my Grandma and about how sad and lonely I felt when she died.
But what I talked about the most was about what I really wanted out of life, my true dreams and aspirations. Things that I really didn’t know I wanted until they came out of my mouth. I told him that what I really wanted was to become a writer, and not someone who churns out web copy and listicles like my dad does because all of the good journalism jobs are now gone. I told him I wanted to write books. Books about everything, about love, about hate, about social inequality, about art, about music, about whatever pops into my head and I think is important. No, I know being a writer isn’t a solid career decision. I know this because I’ve watched my dad struggle and wor
k his butt off his entire life, and it’s been nothing but headaches and heartbreak for him, but I don’t care. I just want my voice to be heard.
I told him this over our fifth cup of coffee at a local place that I’d always wanted to try but was too intimidated to go into because of all the artists types who I saw hanging out inside. We’d come in at around 3:00 pm and now the sky was full dark, and the coffee shop employees were stacking chairs on top of tables and mopping the floors. Where had the time gone? I took a final swig of my cold espresso and gave Jarred a wan smile.
“God, I’m so sorry … I’ve been chewing your ear off all day and I haven’t asked you a single question about yourself. I feel so bad about that.” I said, shaking my head while playing with the rim of my coffee cup.
Then Samuel did something I wasn’t expecting at all. He reached across the table and took my right hand in both of his, squeezing it. I looked up at him timidly, and he smiled.
“No, it’s perfectly okay, Sara,” He said, continuing massage my hand. His mere touch seemed to drain all of the tension out of my body. “I like listening to you. I liked hearing about your family and your friends. I especially liked hearing about your dreams. Your dreams are important, and you should never discount them, you should never think they’re too small or aren’t meaningful. Dreams are what make you who you are and they matter. Your happiness matters.”
This guy couldn’t be real, he just couldn’t be! I kept thinking maybe out of my loneliness I had created him, like an imaginary friend, and that I was rambling on and on to nothing but thin air. But I knew he was real when the manager of the coffee shop came to our table and asked if we could leave because the rest of the staff was ready to go home.
“Yes, of course,” He said. “I’m sorry we’ve kept you this long.”
Yes, he was real, very real. But there was something new about him, about his voice. His accent seemed to have completely disappeared. It was a little weird, but maybe it was because he was just picking up on my accent from listening to me for so long?
We stepped out of the coffee shop and stood out on the street. Kids streamed around us, heading out for a night of drinking with their friends, but they were nothing but ghosts to us, spirits in the night.
“Would you mind walking me to my dorm?” I asked. I wanted to kiss him so bad. Right there in the middle of the street and melt into his arms. “It’s just, ya know, kind of late and all, and I’m a little scared to walk home on my own.”
“Of course, I will. Let’s get going.”
We’re silent as we walk across campus. We’re practically shoulder-to-shoulder, and I want to reach over and hold his hand, but I’m scared of what his reaction will be. Will he turn to me and say he only wants to be friends? Will he shrug off my advances and be disgusted with me. I know all of these worries sound silly, especially considering that we’ve more or less spent all day together, but it’s just how my mind works. I’m so scared of rejection—I mean, who isn’t?—and of being hurt that I’ve never really put myself out there to be hurt. I know I’ll have to face my fears sooner or later, but I don’t know if I’m ready just yet or not?
We reach my dorm and we turn and face one another. We’re very close, and I can smell his scent. It’s very clean and woodsy like his skin is odored with cedar or pine sap. I stare up into his eyes again, fall into their lustrous blue again, and without thinking, I pull his face to mine and I kiss him long and hard. He pulls me tight against his chest, his arms around my back, mine around his neck. His breath tastes like licorice and something much sweeter, like cinnamon or sugar cane. We finally pull away, and he begins tracing my face with his fingers, their soft like newborns.
I go for broke and ask: “Would you like to come up to my room?”
He nods and I lead him by the hand through the entrance and then upstairs.
I’m one of the lucky few in my dorm to have a single. Most of the rooms are doubles, but my parents paid a little bit more because they know how much I value my privacy, and right now I’m thanking my lucky stars that I don’t have to deal with a roommate. We step inside my room and start kissing again. My body is so ready for him and I press myself against him, grinding my hips against his, feeling the steeliness of his erection pushing against me. But all we do is stand there and kiss.
Could Samuel be a virgin?
I mean, it’s not unheard of. He’s a really young guy and a little shy—far shier than I am—so it’s a possibility. Not that I’m a sexual dynamo by any means. I had sex once when I was 14 with Shelly’s 16-year-old brother, and when it happened I was really scared, but he was gentle and incredibly quick. After that first time, my overall attitude towards sex was, what’s the big deal? But obviously I never thought I would meet someone like Samuel in a million years.
So I decide to take the lead, and pull him over to my narrow double bed and lay him down on top of it, pulling his shirt off as we go. My God, his chest was massive and so well defined, the same with his abs. I stratal him and run my hands down his chest and stomach, the touch sends a bolt of excitement through me and I feel myself go loose and wet. I tug off my blouse shyly. I’ve always been a bit shy about my body, particularly my tummy. True enough, I worked extremely hard to tighten it up over the summer, but I still have a bit of a muffin top. Jarred doesn’t seem to mind, though, and he runs his hands over my stomach. I take off my bra, and his eyes practically pop out of his head. Oh, yeah, he’s definitely a virgin.
His hands gently explore my breast, his thumbs tracing small circles around my nipples. I lean forward and have him suck at my nipples. He flicks them with his tongue, his teeth nibble at them gently. I’m almost 100% certain that he’s a virgin, so if I want him to last longer than five minutes—and I want him lasting for hours—I’m going to have to take care of his initial excitement. I start kissing down his chest and stomach, and then unbutton his pants and then tug them down around his ankles. My breath catches in my throat for a second, his penis absolutely enormous, and I start to worry about him actually fitting inside of me?
I take him into my mouth and begin stroking the shaft as I suck and tease the head with my tongue and lips. He seems frozen with shock, his body tense, but not uncomfortable. As my mouth becomes accustomed to his size, I take it further down my throat, gagging a bit. Suddenly, I can feel him erupting in my mouth. I’ve never had a boy cum in my mouth before—considering that this is only the third blowjob I’ve ever given (Yes, all of them to Shelly’s brother when I wouldn’t let him have sex with me again) so I don’t exactly know the etiquette of how to deal with sperm. So I take the easy route and swallow it. It’s not entirely unpleasant, it’s thick and coats my mouth; it tastes a little like his mouth, cloyingly sweet.
I continue stroking him as I pulled off my skirt and panties. His size is still so intimidating, but I feel so wet that I’m pretty sure I can take him all inside of me without it hurting too much. I Hover over him, his still rock hard member clenched in my fist, and I guide him inside my sopping vagina. I practically scream as he slides into me halfway. It feels like he’s tearing me wide open, but not in a bad way. I take a couple of seconds to catch my breath, rocking back and forth, letting myself widen and get used to his size. Finally, I slowly push the rest of him inside of me with a shrill moan that I can hardly believe is coming out of my throat.
As I rock back and forth, feeling him pull in and out of me, it feels like he’s filling every square inch of me. As I start to feel my orgasm building, I have him fill his hands with my breasts, and having him tweak and pinch at them ever so gently, and I began rubbing my clitoris and slamming my hips against his. So close…. so close … and then my insides turn to jelly, and my orgasm pulses through my body. Wave after wave of pleasure sweeps through me. I want it again, so I keep grinding on top of Jarred, his cock pulsing inside of me, and as I come a second time, I feel him erupt deep inside of me. I’m on the pill so I’m not worried about getting pregnant, but at this moment, I wouldn’t care one bit i
f I did. Because at this moment, I love him more than I’ve loved anyone in my life.
After that first night, our life together has been wonderful. Samuel stays in my dorm room most nights, and every morning we make love with the same intensity and desire as we did the first time. We’ve started experimenting with a few different positions. Him on top, from behind—which I like the most because it feels like he can push deeper inside of me—but our favorite position is still me on top, riding him. But it’s, of course, not all about the sex. Most days after our classes are done, we talk for hours, sometimes walking around town, sometimes just in my room, whispering quietly to one another, telling each other about our deepest hopes and dreams. Okay, mostly it’s me talking about my deepest hopes and dreams. Which is great, I love having such an attentive boyfriend, but I was starting to wonder about him.
