by A. J. Wynter
I find my place sandwiched in between Janet and Daryl and wait nervously for Marissa to locate her seat. She was seated diagonally across from me, a little bit to the right, and I watched nervously to see who would take their place next to her. I find myself horrified when I see my grandmother and Aunt Diana seat themselves next to her…they’re already offering her compliment after compliment, priming themselves for the attack.
I uncomfortably stab at a potato on my plate and try to listen in, but the conversation between Marissa and my grandmother is drowned out by the sound of my cousin’s baby yowling and our neighbor’s guttural laughter at every other thing that’s said. Aunt Diana and Grandma are already trying to win her trust and friendship, stroking her arms affectionately and pointing at her earrings, probably piling on the compliments. I had seen this routine go down with other girlfriends and boyfriends who had stepped into this house over the years…they would start with compliments and all of the polite and expected questions…how long have you lived here? Do you have a dog? Have you read that book? And then all of a sudden, the unfortunate victim would be asked about their plans for children or what kind of wedding they would like, and even worse, they would be compelled to answer.
I small talk with Daryl about his job and start eyeing the minutes passing on my watch. I was bored and separated from Marissa, and what was worse, she was at the mercy of my relatives. The table was big enough to prevent a universal conversation from going on, and instead we were stuck talking to our immediate neighbors, a flurry of words circling around my head.
Janet starts talking to Marissa across the table, asking her a series of questions that range from her opinions on Legos to her favorite kind of ice cream. Janet seems to be fascinated with her, like she’s a princess who has suddenly appeared at the table. It takes me a while to realize I have a dopey smile on my face, but I can’t help it. Seeing Marissa blend into the complicated woodwork of my family so seamlessly was an intoxicating thing to watch. Part of me never believed I could bring a girl home so lovely and so warm, someone who would enter my life as if she had always been a part of it. And Marissa, well, I guess in way she has.
I have to remind myself she’s not really mine.
The dinner slowly winds down into dessert, and we all move back into the living room to sit around and sample an assortment of pies my mother’s friends have spread out across the table. My mother emerged, according to ancient Atkins family tradition, from the closet with piles of different board games, some with boxes that looked like they were from the 60s and 70s and most of them missing pieces. But it wouldn’t be a Christmas potluck without them.
Marissa and I settle on a couch in front of a table where my grandmother and my mother’s friend Mrs. Burnett are setting up an ancient-looking Scrabble board. The fire has nearly burned out, and the room is a bit chilly. There’s an old crocheted blanket next to Marissa, and I watch as she drapes it over herself, and then over me, while my grandmother distributes Scrabble tiles with shaking hands.
While Mrs. Burnett puts her first tiles down, Marissa puts her head on my chest and cuddles into me underneath the blanket, a smile on her face like a contented cat. Something about the move startles me—it somehow doesn’t feel like part of the fake girlfriend act—and it feels genuine in a way that surprises me.
“Your go, my dear,” my grandmother says, as if afraid to wake Marissa up from her snooze on my shoulder. I watch as she stretches out and spells out ‘NEW’ on the board with her tiles, before returning her head to my chest to see what move I would make.
So strange, the hangman, the scrabble…with Marissa and I it always seemed to come back to word games…
…And yet all the important things could never quite be spelled out.
I look at the strange assemblage of consonants laid out before me and only one word stands out.
I reach forward and bisect Marissa’s ‘NEW’ with my tiles, spelling out ‘YES’ and then sinking back into my seat.
Marissa smiles up at me when she sees my word, and I smile back.
I don’t know exactly what I’m saying yes to, but hell yes, yes, yes, am I saying it.
Chapter 11-Marissa
It’s Christmas night and everyone has gone home. The house smells like sugar and pine and cleaning supplies. I don’t know why everyone talks of Christmas Eve like it’s the quietest night of the year, because it’s really not—it’s always filled with anticipation and quiet excitement. It’s the night of Christmas itself, when everything winds down to a halt, that is the true silent night. Not a creature stirring.
Except me.
I don’t know what I’m doing up, sitting at the base of the Christmas tree and watching the lights make a rainbow pattern across the wall. I’m drowsy from ham and too many cookies, and this odd feeling I’ve had in the pit of my stomach all day.
This feeling like a member of the family, a part of myself, was absent.
I knew exactly who he was.
I am walking on air.
There is no better feeling to a woman than walking into a room of people and having them desperately hope that you’ll join their family. There really isn’t. Kirk’s family had melted like butter in my presence, and admittedly, I was feeling pretty good about it. I felt pretty, and loved, and secure, and like I wanted to take a chance.
“It’s still early,” I say, practically twirling my way over to Kirk’s car. “Why don’t you come over? We can catch up without the old ladies crowding around us.”
Kirk looks surprised, and stammers as he opens the passenger door of the Jaguar for me. “Sure, uh,” he stammers. “Why not?”
I grin as Kirk slides in next to me and turns on the heat and the radio. The radio is playing Christmas carols, and I smile excitedly. I’m warm from the blanket at Kirk’s parent’s house, the snuggling, all of the excitement, and maybe a bit of the punch. I’m warm from the sensation of half of the Atkins cousins undressing me constantly with their eyes, and Kirk’s positive responses to my advances. All of the positive attention and Christmas warmth is going to my head, and I kind of like it. I stretch out my legs in front of me and feel the expensive stretch of the leather seat under my hands.
I’m feeling extremely sexy.
I turn to Kirk and watch him drive through the Winter streets towards my apartment. He looks stunning, his jawline sharp against the glare of the headlights in traffic, his eyes staring intensely ahead. I wanted him to look at me with that intensity, to focus that energy on me and me alone.
“We’re here,” I say after a few minutes, and Kirk pulls into a space outside my apartment complex.
Kirk holds the door for me again and helps me out of the car, being the gentleman that he is. I can feel the sculpted muscle of his arms from under his coat, and I shiver…from the cold or the anticipation of possibly getting closer, I wouldn’t really know.
I wonder what exactly Kirk is thinking as we take the elevator up towards my apartment. He’s clearly no idiot, and must have noticed how much I was coming on to him earlier. If he really was following me up here, with that smile plastered on his face, did he assume I was going to take it further? Is that what he wanted?
Had he forgiven me?
I nervously turn the key into the door and push it open, reaching up to turn on the light. Kirk evaluates the room with his sharp eyes, never missing a beat. It almost makes me nervous.
“It’s nice,” he says, taking off his coat. “It’s very you.”
I wonder exactly what he means by this…I mean, how much of me does he really know anymore?
My apartment has a look that a nice person would view as minimalist, and a slightly more particular person would simply label as cheap. It’s a small apartment, for being expensive as the rent is, but I wanted to be as close to work as possible, and this was the best I could afford with my budget. There’s one big central area, with a kitchen off to the side, and a bedroom with a bathroom. I haven’t lived here long enough to really let my personality sh
ow in the space…the walls are still mostly bare. I have a few bookshelves up, most of them displaying knickknacks, old inherited vases and photographs that tell the story of my life in disjointed pieces. The plain, white and brown Ikea furniture is accented with some fuzzy blankets I picked out, giving the place a cozier feel than it would have otherwise. It’s not much, but for now, it’s my home.
“Sit down,” I tell Kirk, motioning to the couch in front of the television. “Can I make you some tea?”
“Sure,” Kirk says, sitting down. “Green, if you have it.”
“Coming right up,” I say, turning the kettle on. It would have been sexier to offer him some red wine but hey, you can’t be too obvious.
I look over at Kirk sitting on my couch as I wait for the tea to steep. I wasn’t sure exactly how I was going to go about this, but I knew I wanted to do it. God, did I want to do it.
I return to the couch with the two mugs of tea steaming in my hand and place them in front of Kirk. He’s been occupying himself with a page from the New York Times that had been left on the coffee table, one that, I realize with some embarrassment, was probably at least two weeks old. He looks smart, like a young professor with his argyle sweater, glasses, and dark jeans—the kind of professor girls would fantasize about having an illicit affair with.
I sit down on the couch close by him and take off my over the knee boots, leaving me in my tan sweater dress and thin black tights. I stretch out, feigning a yawn and making sure he sees my legs and my curves showing from underneath my sweater dress.
“I liked being your girlfriend this evening,” I say, and I see Kirk’s eyes light up with pleasant surprise.
“Really?” he says, grinning, and takes a sip of tea. “I thought you did a superb job of it, if I do say so myself.” His eyes are locked on mine with deliberate intensity.
“Well, I’m good at a lot of things,” I say, and I almost chide myself for being so forward, but then Kirk scooches closer and lays one of his large hands on the top of my thigh, and I nearly gasp.
“I bet you are,” he says, and smiles at me, moving his hand slowly up my thigh, farther up and farther in, and it takes a significant amount of effort not to cave in right there. We’re maintaining eye contact, staring at each other, a thousand invisible words passing between us, invisible questions. What is this? Is it sex? Is it something beginning? Are we pretending the past never happened? Can you believe it?
Us. After all these years, us.
I shiver and suddenly leap up off the couch, pacing in frantic circles around the room.
“Marissa?” Kirk asks, and he gets up to follow me. “I’m sorry, that was probably—”
“No, no,” I say, biting my lip and looking down at the floor. “It’s not that, and trust me, it’s not because I don’t want this, I just…”
“You just what?”
I walk up to Kirk and put my hand on his face, stroking his cheek softly, and he smiles. “Kirk, before anything happens, I need to know that you’ve forgiven me. I need to know…I need to know that you don’t have any…leftover resentment towards me, because occasionally it’s felt like you still did.”
Kirk sighed. “You did hurt me…a lot…” he started, and I felt my heart sink. “But that was a different world, and a different time, and we’re adults now. We know better. I know you know better. It doesn’t matter anymore. It was silly, and it’s in the past. I promise.” His eyes were warm with affection, and I believed him.
“Really?” I say, and I realize how much, after years and years, I have needed to hear him say those words.
“Really,” Kirk says. I’m backed up against the wall of the living room, and Kirk rests his forehead on mine and smiles. We breathe. The wound had mended, and we were at peace.
We meet eyes again, and then there’s really only one thing to do.
Kirk kisses me, and I feel myself melting into the wall as his mouth meets mine. His hands grip my waist as he pulls me against him, and the feel of my body pressed firm against him is already driving me insane. I can hardly believe I waited this long…and that I ever let him go.
I sigh as Kirk runs a long-fingered hand through my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck, sucking on it as he pushes me harder against the wall…the nerdy kid I knew in high school was clearly long gone…and the commanding, wealthy lawyer I knew from work at Torver had brought all those sensibilities into the bedroom with him.
I moaned as I felt Kirk reach under my dress and pull down my tights, and I shivered at the feeling of his hands on my bare legs. I pulled off my sweater dress and discarded it on the ground, leaving me in my favorite pair of bright red lace panties with the matching bra. I smirked as Kirk caught his breath…I know what days to pull out the expensive underwear.
“Marissa,” Kirk whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re absolutely…” he looked me up and down again. “You’re absolutely stunning.”
I smiled at him, running a hand up his chest, feeling the taut muscles quivering underneath. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Kirk lifts me up onto a nearby table and puts his lips to me again, tangling his fingers into my hair and intensifying his kisses by the second. He pulls me towards him by the small of my waist so I can feel the hardness of him between my legs, and I moan at the contact.
“Are we really doing this?” I asked, pulling away to take a breath as I laid down on the table. “Are you sure?”
Kirk grinned, his breath hot against my ear as he hovered over me. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see you naked and writhing underneath me like this?” He slipped a long finger underneath the hem of my panties, and I moaned as he stroked me. “Of course.”
I sighed, desperate to feel more of him. We kissed frantically on the table for a few more minutes, and I yelped in pleased surprise as Kirk picked me up and carried me into my bedroom, gently laying me down on the bed.
“Nice sheets,” Kirk said, examining the red silk sheets underneath me. They were the one thing in this house I had allowed myself to splurge on…they made me feel sexy.
I tried not to moan prematurely as I watched Kirk climb over me…just the sight of him and the anticipation was enough to make me shudder with pleasure. He smiled at me as he began to remove my underwear, leaving me lying completely naked underneath him. He ran his large hands over every inch of my skin, kissing and caressing me until I thought I might go insane.
This sex was different…yes, it was our first time together…we had never done anything more than kiss as teenagers…but there was an element of rediscovery in it that was unmistakable. As we touched each other, there was something almost scientific, almost reverent about the process. We noticed changes, we remembered little things. It was new, it was old, but it was altogether beautiful.
Kirk drew out our foreplay, making sure he knew and understood every inch of my body before he took things any further. He massaged my back and ran his hands up and down the smooth lengths of my legs until I was practically numb with relaxation. He kissed my breasts and neck until I was sighing. I could already tell that this was going to be incredible.
“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” I said. Earlier, the sight of Kirk hovering over my nakedness with his clothes still on was incredibly arousing, but now I was desperate to see what was underneath.
He kissed me again and laughed. “If you insist, darling.”
The word darling rung out like bells in my ears, and I smiled.
Kirk removed his sweater and my eyes widened. I could tell he had gotten ripped even with his clothes on, but damn. Kirk was as chiseled as any underwear model, sporting a six-pack and arms that looked like something you’d find on a Greek sculpture in an art museum.
“Dude,” I said, and Kirk laughed, running his hands over my breasts and kissing me again. I undid his belt and threw it to the side, and continued to undo his pants until he slid them down his legs.
I freed the large, hard length of him from his boxers and Kir
k sighed as I stroked it. He kissed me again, grinding against me, teasing me, and I could hardly bear it any longer.
“I need you inside me,” I whimpered. “Please.”
Kirk brought his fingers down to me and touched me until I was whimpering. “Maybe in a bit,” he said, and grinned.
“You’re evil,” I said. He slipped two fingers inside me, and that stopped my words pretty fast. I wondered if all those years of holding resentment towards me made Kirk enjoy teasing and controlling me in the bedroom even more. I certainly wasn’t complaining.
“Would you just hurry up and fuck me already?” I sighed, exasperated.
Kirk smiled. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”
“Please?”
Kirk got on top of me and lined up with my entrance, teasing me with the tip of his cock, rocking back and forth. “Again?”
“Please, Kirk, fuck me, please.”
He raised an eyebrow and kissed me again, long and deep. I had to say, his patience was incredible.
“If you insist,” he whispered in my ear, and I let out a moan as I felt him press inside of me. He was long and thick and already moving in quick, deep, thrusts that made me shiver. He buried his face in my neck as he moved, hitting me in all the right places. Kirk kept his hands moving across my body the whole time, moving from caressing my breasts to gripping the small of my hips. I had never felt myself come so close to finishing so fast.
Kirk pulled me up and turned me around so I was holding onto the headboard and then entered me again from behind. I turned around to my right and realized I could see us in the mirror of my dresser, and I nearly lost it. The sight of him, the chocolate skin of his thighs, contrasting against the paleness of my ass, his power pressing me against my headboard was almost too much to bear. I moaned as I felt myself coming apart around him.
