Fifty First Times: A New Adult Anthology

by J. Lynn

  His hands landed on my shoulders and then slid down my arms. I reached up and touched his cheek. “I won’t tell anyone, Jack. I’m not like that.”

  “I know.” He turned me around slowly until our eyes locked. “The first time I sat in your father’s church, I prayed for someone to listen to me, to hear and not judge or try to piece things together. I don’t even know if I believe in God, but I prayed for something and I got it. What does that mean?”

  His eyes were clear, but I could hear the tears bubbling in his voice, and that was enough to cause tears to prickle at the corners of my own eyes. I shook my head. “I don’t know what it means.”

  He took a breath and gently laid his hands on my face, then leaned down to kiss me. I almost felt guilty for the blissful sigh that escaped my lips because the conversation had been so somber. But I think the positive charge fueled Jack to draw me closer and part my lips, his tongue sliding carefully inside my mouth, his strong arms holding me against him.

  We stood in my room like that, kissing for I don’t know how long, but eventually Jack pulled away and rested his forehead against mine. “I doubt your parents anticipated more than talking when they left us alone.”

  I bit down on my lower lip. “Probably not.”

  “I don’t want to lose their respect,” he said, more to himself than to me, it seemed. He released me and stepped back, holding out his hand for me to grab. “I’d like to take you out tomorrow night. If that’s all right with you?”

  My fingers landed in his palm. “I’d like that very much.”

  I REACH UP and loosen Jack’s tie. He’s smiling and it makes my heart grow bigger. “So tell me, Audrey, how good is the view from your telescope?” he says, knowing the mention of my own spying methods will make me blush.

  I tug his tie all the way off and loosen his top button. “Not very good. Unless you’re standing on the landing outside.”

  Comprehension fills his face. His closes his eyes and brushes a kiss across my lips. When Jack first moved in, for weeks he’d go on these long runs with nothing but running shoes and gym shorts. Probably ten or twelve miles. Then he’d return to his apartment and stand on the landing in the hot sun, a step away from his front door, not going inside for water or to cool off, like it was a form of punishment.

  “I was in a pretty bad place then,” he whispers against my mouth.

  I know that. Of course I know that. “And you’re not now?”

  A slow smile spreads across his face. “Right now, I’m so happy I can’t even think straight.”

  I suck in a breath and watch his expression turn into something so intense my hands freeze on his shirt. This is the moment we’ve both been waiting for. Something we’ve discussed on several occasions. My hesitation is only brief and then I’m working the buttons free on his shirt. After I reach the bottom, I slide my hands down his arms until the shirt falls to the floor. My fingers explore his bare chest, drifting over his skin so lightly, not committing to anything just yet. The line is gone, but I still remember the night it was drawn.

  Not only were we kissing with a newfound intensity, but we were also falling backward onto Jack’s couch, my body stretching out over his. All I could think in that moment when I lay on top of a man for the first time, though still fully clothed, was I’m not afraid . . . I’m not afraid . . . and that in itself scared me. My shy persona had protected me from making decisions like this one for so long. But Jack didn’t miss my conflicted actions.

  He pulled his mouth from mine and brushed the hair off my face, tucking it behind my ears. “I’m sorry. That was too fast. I wasn’t thinking.” He sat up, bringing me with him.

  My palm was still pressed on his chest, his heart thudding fast against my hand. I hadn’t missed the excitement pouring from him, the desire in his eyes. “I’m waiting, Jack.”

  His eyebrows pinched together. “For what?”

  “I’m waiting,” I repeated, emphasizing the last word despite my face already heating up with embarrassment.

  “Oh . . . You’re waiting.” He nodded. “Okay, that makes sense. I understand.”

  “You do?” I stared at him, trying to hide my disbelief. Of course waiting for marriage had hypothetically been my plan, but I couldn’t really make that choice until I found someone that I wanted to break that rule with. So, in all honesty, the only reason I spoke those words to Jack that night, the only reason I adopted that belief from that point on, was to test him. I thought if he couldn’t resist the temptation—and after seeing the desire in his eyes, I knew it would be a challenge—then maybe there was hope for us. There was hope that when the time came to go back to his work, to the dangerous mission he spoke of once, he’d push his need for revenge aside. He’d push his career aside and need me so badly he’d figure out how to come back home. I wanted to see him cave and have a moment of weakness.

  But he never did. I drew the line in the sand that night and he never once crossed it. And I felt him fighting it, struggling to hold on to control and winning every battle.

  Once, on the phone with Jack, needing to hear his voice while tucked into my bed before drifting off to sleep, I even admitted to touching myself. I admitted that I didn’t think it was wrong and I didn’t think premarital sex was wrong and I also truly believed that my parents wouldn’t condemn me if I chose to experience sex before marriage. My mother even told me one time that these choices were mine and the only thing that mattered was being sure I knew what I wanted and taking the time to consider all the options.

  After I got to the “touching myself” part Jack said he’d suffer all night long with that image etched in his mind and then he told me abruptly that he had to go, ending our chat. I remember snuggling into my pillows laughing at the idea of shy, quiet Audrey sending Jack off to take an icy cold shower.

  THE RECORD IS still playing and Jack’s still swaying us to the music, but now his fingers are playing with the zipper on my mother’s dress, tugging it down slowly. I give him a second in case he wants to shuck it off like I’d done with his shirt, but when he doesn’t, I lay my cheek against his broad, hard chest again. The zipper goes all the way past my butt. Jack slides his hand inside the opening, his fingers drifting over my bare lower back. I close my eyes and exhale, releasing all the pent-up nerves inside me.

  Breathe, Audrey. Enjoy this. Don’t waste precious moments.

  He moves up higher, taking a second to unhook my bra, and then both arms wrap tightly around me, his fingers inside my dress, molding themselves to my sides. “I’ve been thinking about this since the night I asked you to marry me.”

  I turn my head and kiss his chest. “I’ve been thinking about it even before then.”

  A rumble of laughter erupts in his chest, vibrating against my lips. “Well, okay then. I’ve been thinking about it without guilt since I proposed.”

  I hear him draw in a breath, then he lifts my chin so our gazes are locked together again. Slowly, his hands land on my shoulders, pushing the dress down my arms until it falls in a heap at my feet. Already my face and neck are flaming just imagining him looking at me naked. It’s probably more scary than thinking about sex and touching places that only my own hands have explored.

  Jack stares down at the dress, watches as my strapless bra joins it on the floor. Then his arms snake around my waist, lifting me up over the pile of clothes and placing me down beside them. He must know I’m not quite ready yet, because instead of allowing his eyes to graze up and down my nearly naked body, he pulls me to him again. My breasts press into his bare chest and we’re dancing again. He dips head down and plants kisses up and down my neck, on my shoulder, my collarbone until I’m breathing faster and my skin is on fire. There’s a throbbing between my legs that I’ve become all too familiar with over the last few months of kissing Jack, of hands that drifted up the back of my shirt but never the front. Never below my waist.

  His relentless discipline will be the death of him. His inability to allow himself to fail will be t
he death of him. Jack won’t come back home to me.

  More tears drip from the corners of my eyes, down my cheeks. His lips touch my ear lightly and he whispers, “Stay here with me, Audrey. Don’t fall into tomorrow. Not yet.”

  My gaze meets his again and I nod, understanding what he means. Jack takes my face in his hands and kisses me long and hard, then he drops down to his knees in front of me. I’m startled and my legs are shaking from nerves. The sun is now setting, casting long shadows over the apartment. I can see the image of me and Jack, his face level with my breasts. It’s beautiful and erotic and sends my head spinning.

  He must have sensed my lack of balance because he holds me steady around the waist with one arm. My hands are in his hair now, combing through it and hanging on tight for fear of my shaking legs collapsing. Warm lips move over my skin—my stomach, my sides, my breasts—until his mouth is completely covering a nipple. I hold my breath and tighten my grip around Jack’s hair.

  So this is what it’s like to have so much desire for something it clouds all fear and embarrassment. I lower my gaze as Jack releases my breast and moves his kisses south. It’s only then, watching his mouth move over my skin, that I realize we’re still swaying. Our dance has turned sexier and more explicit, but we’re still dancing. And under this cloak of movement, I feel comfortable, I feel at home.

  The song switches to “I Put a Spell on You” and suddenly all the movements happening between us take on the song’s rhythm. My hips swing to the tempo and Jack’s hands willingly follow them. His mouth covers all my naked skin one kiss at a time, not breaking tempo once.

  We’re a symphony—our limbs and lips and skin making up the instruments, working together to create a beautiful piece of music.

  I remove my hands from his hair and allow them to drift up my own body while I sing along with the lyrics. Jack sinks back on his heels, his eyes glued to me. I smile, feeling suddenly like the diva in the song, capturing him under my spell.

  Slowly, he rises from the floor and joins us together again, my throbbing middle pressing into his. He drags my arms around his neck and we kiss and grind together until I’m ready to explode. Finally, Jack’s hand slides down my stomach and pauses at the top of my panties. He takes one of my hands from around his neck and places it beside his other, lingering outside my only remaining piece of clothing.

  “Show me what you do,” he whispers, “When you touch yourself.”

  The embarrassment is still absent but I can’t help asking, “Why?” Isn’t he here to do this for me?

  “I want you to like it,” he says. “You have to tell me what you like.”

  My fingers brush his and eventually I grip onto them. “I do?”

  He smiles. “You don’t have to, but I want to know what you like.”

  I’m not sure I can do that in front of him so I say, “Why don’t you show me first? I should probably know what you like, right?”

  His smile turns to more of a smirk but he says, “Okay.” And before I can register what I’ve just ignited, Jack is releasing me, stepping back, unbuckling his pants, and standing in front of me wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. He takes my hand again, pulls me closer, and then slides my fingers inside his underwear. I had some idea of what might be in there, I’ve seen pictures and I understood about a man’s penis getting hard before sex and during sex. But feeling it . . . it’s something entirely different. I know with so much certainty that I couldn’t do this with anyone but Jack. I couldn’t do this with a stranger or even a friend.

  His hand covers mine as I wrap it around him. My other hand tugs at his underwear until it falls down by his ankles. I want to see what I’m doing. He moves us up and down him, stroking to a rhythm matching our dance tonight. I touch his lower back and bring us even closer so we can continue swaying.

  Jack’s fingers loosen, his forehead drops to my shoulder, and his breathing becomes erratic. Confidence floods through me—I must be doing something right—but just as quickly, he removes my hand and lifts his head to kiss me.

  “Can I touch you now?” he whispers against my lips.

  Shaking a bit, I take his hand in mine and slide it under my panties, guiding him. Jack squeezes my trembling hand. “I just want to see all of you, touch all of you. I don’t care what happens after that, okay? No pressure.”

  I take a deep breath and nod before removing my own panties so he can really see all of me. I guide his hand again, reaching the same spot. I drop my hand to my side, leaving him alone down there. The feeling is so intense I’m embarrassed to open my mouth for fear of strange sounds escaping. His index finger drifts even farther south; carefully, he slides it inside me.

  Now I’m the one breathing erratically.

  “Likes this?” he asks, almost playfully as my head falls against his shoulder.

  I kiss his neck several times before saying, “You’re better than me.”

  He laughs, hugs me tight with the arm wrapped around my waist. “I love you so much, Audrey. You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

  I tug his hand out from between my legs and lay it on my hip. “You’re perfect, too, Jack. But I don’t think I can . . . you know . . . let things happen with you like they do when I’m alone.”

  He pulls me against him, his hard penis pressing into me, his hands slide down over my butt, holding my cheeks firmly. “Why not?”

  “It’s embarrassing and I’m too distracted to concentrate and I have to concentrate or else—”

  He cuts off my nervous run on sentences with a kiss and then says, “I don’t think it’ll happen when I’m inside you. Not your first time. It might hurt too much.”

  I can tell by the way his forehead wrinkles that he hates this fact. He doesn’t want me to hurt. “It’s okay. I don’t have expectations.”

  Jack shakes his head. “It’s not okay with me.”

  It takes a second for me to understand what he’s trying to say, but eventually I do and then I take his hand and place it between my legs again. I force out all other thoughts besides Jack’s hands and the pleasure they’re making me feel.

  Jack holds me tight, his thumb circling over the throbbing spot and his index finger moving in and out like the slide on a trombone. My legs go weak and I grab hold of the first thing my hands can reach—Jack’s butt—which is firm and so utterly graspable. “I won’t let you fall,” he whispers.

  I bury my face in his neck, muffling my heavy breathing as everything builds inside me, the tingling spreading from my midsection outward. I bite down hard on my lower lip but a moan still escapes the second I tip over the edge, a sensation rushing through my body, a cry escaping my lips. Jack continues the circling for a few more seconds until my grip on him slackens, my limbs turning to Jell-O. He holds me close then lifts me off the ground, wrapping my legs around his waist.

  Eventually, Jack lays me across his bed then flops down beside me, his fingertips drawing slow circles over my stomach and thighs. “We can stop right here if you want? Or I can show you how my parts work.” He raises an eyebrow and I laugh really hard.

  I wait for my laughter to die down and then reach over to take hold of his face, gliding my fingers over his smooth cheeks. “I want you to make love to me. And I’m the bride so you have to do whatever I want, right?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Bride or princess?”

  “Both.” I tug on his face until his mouth meets mine. I give him a light kiss, then reach one hand below his waist again, wrapping my fingers around him. “Come on, honey, show me how this is supposed to fit inside me.”

  “Romantic.” He leans over me and his face turns serious again. “Sometimes people can’t make it work the first time.”

  “Like a musical rehearsal?” I say, teasing. “You work on sections of it and get the kinks out, but the whole thing doesn’t come together on the first try.”

  “Yeah, like that.” He grins. “Kinks. Interesting word choice.”

  His weight is almost completely on top of
me now. What comes next is all I can focus on—protection would be the next step, but I’ve got birth control covered. It’s terrible how bad I want this to come together, how much I’m aching for it, even though I know disappointment on the first try is normal. Jack leans down to kiss me, so soft and gentle, with the promise of forever. It makes me think of the day he proposed.

  “You want me to sing this out here?” My face had already begun to redden.

  Jack grinned and stretched out on the blanket we’d brought to our little haven amid the cornfields between my house and the church. “It’s the perfect place to rehearse. No one will hear or see you.”

  “Except you,” I reminded him.

  “Yes, and I’m secretly reviewing your performance for the church bulletin.” He thrust the sheet music for “On My Own” into my hand. “Go on, stand up. This is for your final exam grade, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” I scrambled to my feet and held the pages in my hands, making sure to cover my face at least halfway. With Jack lying down and me standing, I could look straight ahead at rows of corn instead of watching him, watch me.

  My pitch wavered on the first few lines and then I fell into that headspace and became this girl in love, the unrequited love and the despair she felt knowing he had already given his heart to someone else.

  When I reached the final line, a wave of embarrassment hit me, realizing I was coming out of the stage trance having no clue if I’d sounded decent or not. Jack’s gaze locked with mine for several heartbeats and then he dropped his eyes to the remaining pages in his hands.

  “What is BWA?”

  I sat back down on the blanket beside him and leaned in to see what he was looking at. “Oh, that’s an audition form. It’s a new school in New York City. A Broadway feeder program run by directors and Broadway show cast members.”

  “I didn’t know you were applying to new schools?”

  I snatched the paper from him and tucked it behind my sheet music. “I’m not applying. It’s just that my professor said if we participated in the local audition he’d count it as our final exam. He wants to make sure it’s well attended so that they come back here next year. One four-minute song in front of a handful of admissions people and my professor, or a long exam on musical theory plus essay questions, plus a sight reading test—of course I’ll choose the audition.”