These Battered Hands

by Laurel Ulen Curtis

  Bared to my sight, her already peaked nipples hardened further, and my cock had no problem reciprocating.

  It was the first time I’d seen her in all of her glory, so I took the desired time to appreciate her.

  Golden skin blurred by a thin layer of chalk stretched from head to toe, and the pink of her lips, nipples, and sex stood out against it. Her chocolate eyes appeared darker, fading into the pupil with an indistinct delineation, and her soft brown hair fanned out from the band of her ponytail at the top of her head.

  I reached over and removed the band, wanting to feel the movement of her loose hair as we came together.

  She said nothing as I did it and nothing as I continued my perusal. Instead, she used the time to study me in equal detail.

  One strip of perfectly neat, trimmed curls lined the top of her mound, and her clit and folds glistened with undisguised excitement.

  I wanted to taste and touch her and eat at each and every one of the exposed inches of skin, but, with one read of my face and a shake of her head, she told me no.

  “Inside, Nik,” she instructed. “I’m tired of waiting.”

  Knowing she’d be plenty tight on her own without the aid of a special position, I covered her body once more in the basic missionary position.

  But as my body molded to hers and my cock sank into the welcome of her outer folds, nothing felt basic about it.

  Ready and waiting, she coated me, lubricating me for entry and bowing off of the floor in anticipation as she did.

  “Look at me, Cal,” I directed softly, positioning myself and waiting for her eyes to come to me before slowly pushing my way in.

  Her tightness fought my intrusion, but as I watched her closely, I could see no signs of pain. Each inch solidified the moment and made my heart beat faster and faster.

  I could feel hers beating the same pace, but in an alternating rhythm.

  Together our hearts filled every moment of time, never allowing for an instant where one of them wasn’t alive and active.

  “Nik?” she called softly, her voice breathy but determined.

  “Yeah?” I asked as I seated myself fully within her.

  “I won’t ever forget this.”

  My eyes closed tight, and my forehead touched hers. I moved my hands up her arms and linked our hands again.

  When my eyes opened, I knew they were bright with affection.

  “Me either, Cal.”

  “Not ever,” she insisted.

  I shook my head and started to move my hips as I reiterated, “Not ever.”

  I knew it immediately. Her hot head and me, rational. The way she pushed when I pushed instead of shrinking back. The way she made me laugh and laughed for me like she wouldn’t anyone else. I knew the things that made her tick, and she knew how to hook me.

  This moment, this feeling, the way we moved in sync like we’d done it forever.

  We were better—

  Together.

  That’s how we always traveled to events in my parents gym, and the Olympic trials were no different. Most of the girls were traveling as spectators, or for a lucky few, as volunteers for the event. They’d act as runners for judges, communicating and shuffling scores, and getting water or other necessities. They’d help with the exchange of mats and equipment that needed to be moved, but mostly, they’d just get to live a childhood experience they’d never forget.

  But coaches and gymnasts traveled in the same van, the same plane, the same train—whatever. It was one of the rules of the gym. And it hadn’t changed even now, at twenty-six years old and two Olympics deep.

  But this time, it meant something different.

  It meant traveling with Nik.

  As I stood in line behind him at security in Atlanta International Airport a little less than two weeks after the first time we’d made love, my hands itched to touch him. Just to hold his hand and brush the ridiculous hair out of his face.

  The problem with affection had shifted, going from inexperience and insecurity with the newness of it to the inability to stop doing it in just the matter of that time. The scrutiny and limitations traveling with my parents imposed only enhanced that urge.

  He’d been wearing his hat all day, but with security regulations he’d begun the routine of stripping down. First went the shoes and belt, followed by the hat and sunglasses he had perched atop his head.

  His jeans still looked good, and the laughable plain white t-shirt party had yet to end. I guess it made his outfits easy to coordinate, and the switch from athletic wear to motorcycle garb seamless, but I couldn’t help but laugh about it.

  He heard me.

  “What?” he asked, as he stepped away from the conveyor belt and into the line for the scanner machine behind several of the younger girls within our party.

  They all laughed and giggled in front of him, too young to let the serious scrutiny of the TSA stop their antics for a second. My mom and dad had gone through first, so that they could be on the other end to keep track of everyone as they came though, and Nik and I were bringing up the rear to keep everyone together.

  I could tell they were crushing on Nik, checking out his many assets and wondering what it’d be like to be with a guy his age. They weren’t coached by him directly, as I took up all of his time, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary for them to romantically idolize him even if he was.

  After all, no one knew how attractive and talented he was better than I did.

  Cognizant of his tendency to poke fun at my expense, I nearly bounced on my toes at the prospect of getting back at him.

  “Oh nothing,” I said loudly enough that everyone in the nearby area could hear. I waved a hand in front of my nose like a flag and scrunched my face in distaste.

  “I was just imagining all the boys in the security office who just got a nice video shot of your fart.”

  “What?!”

  The girls behind him covered their mouths and giggled, bringing their free hands up to their noses to guard against the imaginary smell. They probably actually smelled it too, such was the power of persuasion.

  I continued on with ruse, smirking more with every ounce of annoyance that coated his handsome face. “They’ve got an infrared camera, you know,” I explained with a smile. “It shows the cloud and everything.”

  “Cal!” he whispered, exasperated.

  I bit my lip to stop my smile.

  God, he was cute when he got annoyed. Maybe this was why he poked at me all the time.

  When the girls moved through the scanner and out of eye and earshot, I scooted up behind him and fit my body to his.

  “Sorry, dear,” I apologized insincerely.

  He smiled and shook his head, turning to look at me. “What the hell was that?”

  I shrugged and put both of my hands on his hips. “The girls have a little crush on you.”

  He scoffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure you can change that ‘have’ to past tense now.”

  My smiled through a facial shrug. “Probably. Good thing my crush is still very much present.”

  “Good thing, indeed,” he agreed, looking around before pecking me softly on the lips just one time.

  His feet moved into an easy jog when I shoved him gently at the prompting wave of the screener. He held my eyes until he couldn’t anymore.

  Hands above his head in the required position, the scanner scooted to one side and back again, and I used the brief window to admire the small strip of skin that had been exposed at the bottom of his t-shirt.

  The process moved quickly, and I stepped into the machine just as a female TSA agent stepped forward to read my scan. Everything came back clear, and given permission to move on, I stepped forward to the conveyor belt and retrieved my belongings. Flip flops slipped on easily and my cross body bag passed easily over my head to settle on the opposite shoulder.

  Nik was already halfway dressed, shoes on and his belt through the first three loops. My parents and the giggling set of girls stood ten feet away w
aiting.

  I looked up to find my dad’s eyes watching closely, so I didn’t linger, instead scooting by a still dressing Nik and over to the waiting group.

  One of the girls cleared her throat a couple of times after being pushed and prompted by the two others. I watched with curious disinterest until she finally got the courage to do what she intended.

  It just so happened, the thing she intended was talking to me.

  “Um, Calia?” she murmured timidly.

  My eyes snapped into focus, taking in her sweet preteen face and the confident and mature way she held her body. In some ways, gymnastics forced you to grow up fast. It took more discipline than most adults could manage.

  “Yeah…” I paused, hoping someone would fill in her name.

  “Amanda!” all three girls answered at once.

  I smiled. “You’re all named Amanda?”

  Panicked eyes flashed between them as they hurried to explain.

  “No!”

  “No, just me.”

  “She’s Amanda.”

  “Right. Got it. So, just the one Amanda…what’s up?”

  Her mouth curved up to frame her bright green eyes and a nervous hand reached up to twirl the end of her blond ponytail. “We were just wondering what it feels like to be in the Olympic trials.”

  “Yeah! Is it intense?” one of the others chimed in.

  “Are the other gymnasts nice?” Amanda added.

  I took a minute to think about it. “It’s kind of the same as every other meet,” I said. “Sure, there’s pressure, but there’s always pressure. And yeah, I’ve never met anybody there who isn’t nice.”

  As I spoke, I felt Nik come up behind me. He kept his distance, and all accounted for, the group started to walk. My dad started up a conversation with him, but I found it virtually impossible to pay attention to them and the girls at the same time.

  “But isn’t it weird not to have your teammates there yelling for you and stuff?” the final one asked, speaking for the first time.

  Almost at a loss, I tried to make the answer as upbeat as possible. “Well, I don’t know. I haven’t competed with a team there to root for me in a while. I guess it’s probably a little different.”

  “We’ll root for you!” Amanda promised immediately.

  “Yeah!”

  “Totally!”

  The others agreed. “We’ll make sure we yell real loud for you and everything,” Amanda promised.

  Overcome with emotion, my eyelashes fluttered with an unstoppable series of blinks and my throat tightened noticeably. Maybe because I hadn’t expected it or I’d grown accustomed to going without it, but for some reason, the feeling of not only acceptance but friendship was so overwhelming it nearly brought me to my knees. I couldn’t believe how wrong I’d been about everything and everyone and the way I related to them.

  And it kind of made me wonder what else I’d so strongly thought was right, was really all wrong.

  Somehow, I forced a smile. “Thanks, guys. That’s…Well, that’d be really great.”

  “You got it, Calia!”

  Finally to our gate, they settled into their seats and my dad ended his conversation with Nik on a handshake. My mom settled in next to the girls with a book, and my dad headed off to the bathroom or to get food or something.

  Nik came and sat next to me.

  “What did my dad say to you?”

  He could tell I was worried and shook his head. His voice was low. “He just told me that he sees a difference in your gymnastics. Thinks I’m doing a good job.”

  “Wow.” I frowned a little. “He didn’t say anything to me.”

  He usually didn’t though. He believed in punishment and critique but not so much in praise. I always kind of felt like it should be the other way around.

  Nik tried to comfort me, doing so without touching me because of all of the prying eyes. “Hey.” I looked back to him. “He noticed, right? And now I’m telling you what a good job you’re doing. You don’t need him to say it to you.” He pushed his hands down the line of his thighs and sat back. “In fact, you don’t need me to say it to you either. All you need is to say it to yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Besides,” he smirked. “I hear you got yourself an enthusiastic cheering section of eleven and twelve year old girls.”

  “You heard what they said?”

  “Couldn’t have tuned them out if I tried,” he laughed. “High pitched.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, that’s a twelve year old thing too.”

  He pretended to ring his ear with a shaking middle finger.

  My dad moved to his seat beside my mom as our conversation came to a close, and with it came a change in our interaction. He kept his body angled away from me and the topic turned strictly to business.

  He reminded me of all the skills I’d been doing really well with and what he thought to be the reasons, and I picked his brain on the things that seemed to give me trouble. My tumbling had been making steady improvements since I’d started tumbling with him at night. He had the best pointers and did a great job of explaining.

  And when I was open to suggestion, he became endlessly patient. He didn’t expect me to get it in one go, and he didn’t get mad when I messed up.

  He only did that when I stopped remembering who I was talking to and foolishly thought I knew better.

  The sound of the gate check agent starting boarding forty-five minutes later was like music to my ears. I’d played it down with the girls, but the truth was, I was nervous. Big time.

  People had expectations of me, and I had plenty of myself. This was my last shot at everything. My last Olympic trials, my last chance to do the best I possibly could.

  I wasn’t eighty, but my time was up. My body didn’t have four more years to give, and more importantly, I didn’t want it to.

  Once on the plane with Nik seated next to me, I relaxed. My dad was on the other side of the cabin several rows back, and I finally felt like I had some time to decompress. I wanted to be able to lean on Nik physically and emotionally, and for now, I had to do it in secret.

  Nik leaned forward and reached into his bag, pulling out a smaller brown paper bag from inside. When he sat back in his seat, he turned to me and smiled his most boyish smile.

  “What?” I asked, knowing something was up by the way he was acting.

  “I got you something. Just…for a little extra good luck.”

  My face pinked with excitement, and the bag landed in my lap with a thump as he dropped it there. “It’s not much, so I don’t want you to get overly excited.”

  “Shush,” I demanded, unrolling the top of the bag and digging around until I came out with one of the items.

  Bandaids. All purple.

  Skepticism ripened my face and puffed the very tops of my cheeks as I dug around for the next item.

  A keychain with miniature grips.

  I smiled, thinking they were cute, but not knowing the reasoning behind them and good luck.

  I shook the bag and still heard a rattle, and he nodded in confirmation that something was left, so I reached inside one last time and pulled it out.

  A tiny bottle of New Skin Liquid Bandage.

  My eyebrows pulled together in question.

  He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just stuff for your battered hands.”

  My eyes met his as he socked me with one of the most powerful gifts anyone had ever given me.

  “So you can keep fighting and clawing and scratching. That stuff—and I—will be here to take care of you when you’re through.”

  “Nik,” I breathed out in a heartfelt whisper.

  “Oh, wait,” he called as if he’d just remembered. “There’s something else too.”

  Confusion clouded my face. The bag had been empty after the New Skin. I knew it had.

  Reaching over and grabbing that very item out of my hands, he twisted off the cap, and pulled out the handy little brush that was attached.


  “Turn over your hand,” he instructed, waiting for me to place my palm up in front of him. I did as he asked, smiling at the feel of his hand as it cradled the back of mine, and the precision with which he painted the thin layer of clear coating onto my skin.

  But when I looked down, it wasn’t clear—at least not entirely—a pretty purple glitter glinting out of the coating and off of my hands as the bandage dried.

  “What…” I started unable to finish.

  He shrugged both of his broad shoulders and pressed his palm to the still tacky surface of mine. When he pulled it away, the a shiny, glittery layer of new skin covered both of our palms.

  “Just a little extra magic.”

  And better yet, when I looked at it, I could imagine his hand on—

  Mine.

  She was mine, and I was hers. The way she’d looked at me thanks to a few stupid gag gifts had nearly blown my mind.

  So much so, it had made the trip to Michael’s first thing that morning to buy purple glitter more than worth it.

  But I had to be on my very best behavior now. She’d been through five or six press interviews before this and was finally finishing up her last one. They all asked her the same stupid questions about being too old and too greedy, and at the repetition of them all, it wasn’t hard to see why she’d formed such a skewed view of herself in the first place.

  Finally, one of them asked a different question, but I wasn’t certain it was better.

  “Word is that you were outstanding in practice yesterday. That you’ve always been talented but taken it to a whole new level. If that’s the case, what do you think has helped you reach such an unlikely peak at an age that’s largely considered too old for the sport?”

  Arms crossed on my chest and feet shoulder width apart behind the guy asking the questions, I rolled my eyes.

  Callie’s eyes came to me.

  “My new coach. He’s really helped me look at things in a different way lately.”

  My chest squeezed double the amount I considered comfortable, both affection and panic exerting their grip simultaneously.

  Just as I suspected it would, the reporter’s interest skyrocketed. “And who is your new coach?”