Muscle Memory

by Stylo Fantome

  “I don't know,” he mumbled.

  “What about the other ones? They don't mean anything?” she asked, touching the tattoo on his forearm. It was a sparrow, done old school style in heavy black ink that was a little faded.

  “Not a thing.”

  Under the bottom joint of his left thumb, stretching down to his wrist, was a detailed tattoo of a feather. The last tattoo was on his back, right below the base of his neck. Invisible when he was dressed, but the biggest of his tattoos. It was circle with a lot of smaller, geometric circles inside of it. He had no clue what it meant, but for some reason when he looked at in the mirror, he thought of the world. As best anyone could guess, the tattoo on his chest was his newest. The one on his forearm was his oldest. None of them got him any closer to figuring out who he was.

  “I don't have any tattoos,” she said, picking up his right hand and lifting it to her face. “I've never been with anyone who had them.”

  “I think if I could do it over, I wouldn't have gotten them at all,” he said, then sighed when she ran her tongue over the feather tattoo.

  “I'm glad you have them. They're sexy,” she told him, then she started unbuttoning his pants.

  “See? There you go again. You're just a bad ... naughty, naughty girl,” he informed her, faltering on the term. He didn't want a repeat of how he'd felt in the community center, when he'd called her a bad girl.

  “I think a guy like you could teach me what being naughty really is,” she whispered, laying back again.

  He took the hint and slowly peeled her panties away from her body. They were pink and had the word Wednesday on them. He laughed as he dropped them to the floor, then he went to take off his own pants. He didn't get very far before she suddenly folded her arms across her chest and looked away from him.

  “What's wrong?” he asked, freezing for a second.

  “It's probably silly to someone like you, but could you ... will you turn out the lights?” she asked. He smiled and leaned down to kiss her quickly.

  “It's not silly. Maybe I don't like the lights on, either, who knows?”

  He traipsed across her apartment and unplugged everything. He had to feel his way back – the only light now was coming from the main house, and it just barely provided a soft glow which was concentrated on the corner of the bed.

  “Thank you,” she breathed when he was back in front of her.

  “No, thank you. Merry Christmas, Kitty,” he whispered, shoving his pants and boxers down before stepping out of them. He immediately moved to kneel over her.

  They learned about each other in the dark, bodies like braille to their souls. She whined and mewled and sighed, still delicate even in a moment like that. Jon found it was getting harder and harder to hold himself in check. He wanted to dive into her and make sure his muscle memory wasn't lying about how good sex was going to feel. But he didn't want to rush her, so he took his time.

  “So pretty,” he sighed into her ear before slowly moving down her body.

  “You're pretty,” she replied, writhing around as he went back and forth, kissing the tip of each breast. “Your eyes. I feel like they look right through me.”

  “Maybe they can,” he whispered, kissing his way across her stomach.

  He only wanted to make her feel good. That was number one in his mind. And while his brain didn't have any actual memories to back up his feelings, he was pretty positive going down on a woman was one of the top most ways to make her feel amazing. That's what he had in mind as he sucked and licked and nipped his way along her hip, but then she stopped him.

  “No. Not that, not right now,” she said, pulling at his shoulders, urging him higher.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said quickly, pulling away from her.

  “Don't be sorry. I'm sorry. I just ... it's really intimate, don't you think?”

  He didn't think it was any more intimate than him putting one of his appendages inside of her anatomy, but he wasn't going to argue over something like that. Not when she was naked underneath him.

  “It's okay. We can do whatever you want. This is fine, too. We don't have to do anything else,” he told her, laying his weight down on top of her and kissing her face.

  “I want to do more,” she assured him. “Please. I want to feel you. I want to have sex with you.”

  He certainly wanted to have sex, too, but now it was a little awkward. He didn't want to scare her or hurt her, but he was pretty sure with her disposition, it couldn't be avoided.

  So he bit down on his bottom lip and tread carefully. She opened her legs for him and he laid down between them, ran his hand down to her center. He didn't dare tiptoe a finger inside of her, though, and when he felt how warm and wet she was, he figured that was good enough.

  “Are you sure?” he whispered, bracing himself over her. She stared up at him, moonlight and lamplight catching her eyes, and she smiled at him. He smiled back, gently rubbing his hand up and down her thigh.

  “I'm positive,” she whispered back.

  She was so tight, he almost wondered if she was lying about being a virgin. He had to go inch by painful inch. Her back arched up and she would whimper, then her body would turn into one giant muscle spasm, locking him out. So he laid down with his chest on hers and he whispered in her ear.

  “God, you feel so good, Kitty,” he breathed. “Just relax. I would never hurt you.”

  “I know,” she panted. “I know you wouldn't. You're just so ... so ...”

  “It's okay, you don't have to -”

  “Big,” she finally finished, then she cried out when he gained another inch. He chuckled and bit down on her earlobe.

  “That's a handy fact to know about myself,” he joked. She laughed as well, relaxing for a second, and he seized the moment. He thrust his hips forward and that was it. She was as full with him as she could possibly get.

  “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she said over and over again, pushing at his chest.

  “Too much?” he asked, starting to back off. Her arms wrapped around his neck and locked him in place.

  “Not enough,” she said, licking her lips. “This is amazing, Jon. Thank you.”

  He began pumping in and out of her. Gently at first, but then faster. He could feel her stretching more, accommodating his girth. Getting wetter, making it easier to move within her. The sensation was incredible – better than anything his brain stem had stored, that was for damn sure. He propped himself and began thrusting harder, clutching one of her breasts in his hand.

  “Holy shit, Kitty,” he groaned, rolling his head back.

  “Please, Jon. Please,” she whimpered, smoothing her hands across his chest.

  “What? What do you want?” he asked, looking down at her. Her head was thrust back, her silky blonde hair a halo around her face, and her eyes were squeezed shut.

  “This. Just this,” she replied, clawing her hands down her thighs.

  “Oh no, a naughty girl like you? I think you want more,” he said, moving his hand and grabbing her right leg behind the knee, forcing it higher. Wider.

  “I'm a naughty girl,” she repeated after him, her hands now on her breasts, pinching her nipples.

  “I think you like this,” he grunted, pushing harder still. The sounds of their pelvises slapping together filled the room.

  “I do, Jon. God, I love it,” she cried.

  “Of course you fucking do,” he growled, and began really pounding into her in earnest. The whole bed started creaking and squeaking. “You love getting fucked, you dirty fucking girl.”

  That caused her to lift her head, but he didn't notice.

  “Jon, maybe we should -” she started to say, but he put his hand down in the center of her chest, anchoring her to the bed so he could thrust even harder. She let out a startled shriek, followed by a moan.

  “You like this? Like how I'm fucking you hard? How I'm fucking you like a dirty slut?”

  “Stop.”

  The word registered instantly, and it was like
cold water was thrown on him. Like being yanked out of a dream. He stopped moving and looked around, trying to catch his breath. Fuck, what had just happened? It was like he hadn't even been there. The things he'd been doing to her, the words coming out of his mouth, it had been reflex. Just like he'd said – muscle memory. It was as if he'd gone into a trance, his body acting on autopilot.

  Jesus, my autopilot has a dirty fucking mouth.

  “Oh god,” he gasped, letting her go. “I'm sorry. I don't know ... I didn't know I was going to do that.”

  “It's okay,” she whispered, petting his sides. “Really, it's okay, Jon.”

  “No, it's not. Fuck, did I hurt you?” he asked, starting to pull away. She stopped him by leaning up a little and grabbing his arms, holding him in place.

  “No, not really,” she assured him. “I guess whoever you were before, he was a little too intense for a simple girl like me. It's okay.”

  “It's not okay,” he snapped, wishing she'd stop saying those words. “I don't want to be too intense. I want to be the kind of guy who makes love to you, not the kind who calls you names and tries to break your bed.”

  She started pulling on his arms, forcing him to lay down on top of her. It was an awkward position – his dick was still hard, twitching inside of her, begging for release. Pleading him to finish what he'd been starting.

  “You can be that kind of guy,” she whispered. “We can teach you how to be gentle. And who knows? Maybe you can teach me something. Maybe breaking my bed once in a while won't be such a bad thing.”

  God, she was too good for him. He should go back to his room. But she was so soft and supple, and he was still so very hard.

  It was gentle. He supposed they really were making love. She held him close and pumped her hips against him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he pumped, as well. He kept everything slow and steady, kissing her softly the whole time.

  It took him a long time to come doing it that way, but it seemed to make her happy. She had her orgasm first, then was halfway to another one before he was done. Then they took a shower together and he finished off her second orgasm with his fingers.

  They got dressed in the dark, laughing and giggling. At the door, she pointed out the mistletoe hanging above them and he kissed her. He pressed her against the door jam, letting his tongue do an in depth exploration of her mouth.

  “You better stop, or we'll be out here all night,” she breathed.

  “I'm okay with that,” he replied, then he kissed her again, rocking his pelvis hard against hers, letting her feel just how okay with it he was.

  “I'm serious. My dad gets up in a couple hours, and if he finds out you're not in your room, you'll be looking down the barrel of his shot gun,” she laughed, pushing him away gently.

  “But this was okay?” he asked, holding onto her hips. She nodded and kissed the base of his throat.

  “More than okay. This was fantastic. Best Christmas ever,” she told him.

  “Can I see you again?”

  “You'll see me tomorrow at breakfast, Jon.”

  “I mean outside. Away from family and the community center.”

  “You can see me anywhere you want,” she told him.

  A statement like that deserved another kiss, and he had his hand in her panties and was rubbing his crotch against her thigh when she became the voice of reason again. She shooed him down the stairs and watched after him till he was back inside the house.

  Back in the guest room, he laid in bed for a long time, trying to think his erection away. Before he realized it was happening, though, his hand had wandered down his body and was rubbing at the hard on through the sheets. He ground his teeth together and hissed as he stroked himself. But he wasn't fantasizing about his shower with Kitty, and he wasn't fantasizing about the beautiful sex they'd just finished having, either.

  No, he was fantasizing about how they'd started. About holding her down and fucking her hard and saying whatever the fuck he wanted.

  When he was done, his arms fell limply to the bed. He stared at the ceiling for a second, breathing hard, when he realized something. He was on the right side of the bed. Not the center, but distinctly off to the right.

  He looked over to his left side, to the empty mattress next to him. Then he stretched his arm out, laying his hand palm down in the space.

  “Who were you?” he whispered. “And where are you now?”

  Before

  August was great. A crazy heat wave was blanketing the city, which was a good thing at night.

  They'd found an apartment building to squat in. A good location as far as abandoned buildings went, and full of lots of other squatters. For whatever reason, the electricity was still on. No heat and no water, but they could plug things in, and that was good enough for the two of them. Crash let them have one of his mattresses and they hauled it across town, laughing hard when they crammed it onto the subway.

  “I think me getting kicked out of my apartment was a good thing,” Delaney commented one day. Jayson glanced at her.

  She was sitting on the edge of the mattress, completely naked. He zeroed in on her tattoo first and smiled. It had healed well, and so had his own. Then his eyes wandered down her back and side, looking at her tiny waist and thin arms. He reached out a hand and scratched at her back.

  “How so?” he asked, rolling onto his side.

  “Look at this. Spacious apartment with a decent view, rent free! No utilities, no maintenance, quiet neighbors. It's awesome.”

  “Except we can't shower and we'll freeze to death in the winter – if the cops don't bust the place first.”

  “Such a negative nancy!” she laughed, looking over her shoulder at him. Then she grabbed his t-shirt off the floor and slipped it on. “We'll be out of here before it starts to get cold. I'm gonna get a raise, and you'll find a job.”

  So optimistic. She may had had a fiery temper, but depression was completely unknown to Delaney. She was always happy, and she always made the most out of anything. He loved that about her.

  I love her so much.

  They got up and shuffled around the kitchen. They'd somewhat furnished the place, using what they found for free on street corners and a couple Goodwill finds. A large chipped table with a loose leg was in the center of the kitchen, two mismatched chairs on either side. An old mini-fridge was on a kitchen counter, with a scratched up hot plate next to it. A futon mattress minus the frame served as their couch. Del had a laptop and in the evenings, they would set it on top of a milk crate and watch old movies and cartoons.

  They were some of the best days of his whole life.

  She got them bowls of cereal while he loaded his bong. In his opinion, waking and baking was highly underrated. After they'd both taken a couple hits, they settled in on the futon and laughed at more cartoons. Afterwards Del got ready for work, humming along to a tune in her head, then she headed out the door.

  Jay laid around for a couple hours, letting the high wear off. Using a jug of water, he took a hobo shower in the tub, then got dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a button down shirt. He tied his dreads back, forcing them into some semblance of order, then stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were clear – the high from the morning was long gone, which was good. He needed to be sober that day. He smiled at his reflection, then headed off to a job interview.

  He was a smart guy, he almost never had a problem getting hired. Showing up to interviews and actually keeping said job, though, was where the problems started. Del didn't seem to have a problem getting up in the morning after a hard night of partying, but maybe that's because she'd only turned twenty-two in May. He'd turned twenty-five in July, he didn't recover as fast anymore.

  He was offered a stocking position at a liquor wholesaler. He thanked the man profusely, then ran all the way to Del's work. He opened the door to the diner and didn't even wait to be seated, he just made his way to her section. A minute later she came bustling over.

  “What can I get – h
ey, you!” she exclaimed when she realized it was him. “What are you doing here?”

  Jay put down the menu he'd been looking at and clasped his hands together.

  “Hello, ma'am,” he said, using his professional voice. “I'd like to order the country fried steak with two eggs, and also the club sandwich with fries. A bowl of soup to start, a side of onion rings, and you might as well go ahead and write down my dessert. I want the ice cream sandwich.”

  “Are you insane?” she laughed, not writing anything down. “We can barely afford off-brand lunch meat. Your 'breakfast' would cost like fifty bucks.”

  “Well then, it's a good thing someone got a job this morning, so I can pay for -”

  Her scream cut him off and he let out a startled shout when she leapt on top of him. He fell back in the booth, knocking over a bunch of shakers and condiments.

  “I can't believe it! Oh god, Jay, I'm so proud of you! Didn't I tell you it would happen? I knew you could it, I had faith in you,” she said, hugging him tightly.

  “I couldn't have done it without,” he replied.

  He vaguely became aware that people around them were snickering, then someone was clearing their throat. Jay opened his eyes and her manager was standing at the end of the booth. His face was bright red.

  “Delaney!” the man hissed. “Delaney, stop it, right now!”

  Jay realized her short skirt had ridden up and the entire restaurant was getting an intimate look at her amazing ass. She laughed and slowly crawled off him, straightening herself out as she went.

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Feens,” she chuckled. “It's just my boyfriend here is celebrating because he got a -”

  “I'm sorry, Delaney, but I cannot tolerate any more of this,” Mr. Feens said, holding up his hand. Del's smile froze on her face.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You come in every day a mess, smelling like weed and looking hung over.”

  Del blushed a little, but Jay could see her steeling her nerves.

  “Well, I may come in like that, but I'm professional on the floor,” she insisted.