I can’t speak for a minute. She literally takes my breath away, as fucking cheesy as I know that sounds. She looks even better now than she did when I had first laid eyes on her again. It appears that the feeling is mutual, because she just smiles shyly and waves at me, even though by now she’s just a foot or two away.
I realize I’m not being very gentlemanly, and so I stand up and say, “Well hello there,” while pulling out the bar stool next to me.
She nods and says, “Hello there yourself,” while sitting down.
We stare at each other like a couple of shy school kids— just like we used to be, I suppose— before both turning away, embarrassed.
She’s completely knocking me off my game, I think.
I feel uncomfortable about that, even though I’m glad she showed up. My emotions and thought processes are all over the place, as if a tornado entered the bar along with this girl who was the first and only one I’ve ever…
…liked, I finish, before I allow myself to think of any stronger word.
Luckily the bartender approaches and breaks our awkward silence.
“Another one?” he asks me, and I nod, and add, “And whatever the lady would like.”
“Ummm…. I’ll have a glass of merlot,” Emily says.
Not a big drinker, I note. We were just kids when I had last seen her, and she wasn’t the partying or rebellious type. But I had often wondered if she’d ever picked up drinking. Since I myself had picked up a lot of bad habits I’m not particularly proud of.
I look down at my empty whiskey glass. I realize with some sadness that she and I might not have a lot in common anymore.
“I didn’t think you were going to show up,” I tell her, more to break the ice than anything else.
I realize that I sound a big pathetic, and want to kick myself.
“I wasn’t sure that I was,” she says.
But then, as if reading the hurt in my eyes, she continues, “I mean, let me explain.”
She takes a deep breath. “My job prohibits this kind of thing. But now I have no job to prohibit me from doing anything, so, here I am.”
“I see,” I say.
She shrugs.
And then I add, “I’m sorry,” even though I know I had nothing to do with it.
“It’s okay.”
She bites the bottom of her lip— an old habit left over from way back then— which makes me want her very badly.
“It wasn’t that great of a job anyway,” she admits. “And I kind of deserved to lose it, since I was really late today. But I’ll have to find another one soon.”
“Yeah, as you could tell, my buddies were pretty hungry and disgruntled by the time you arrived,” I tell her, with a grin. “But you explained that you had something come up you weren’t expecting. I don’t know why people can’t just lighten up a bit.”
“It was something at school,” she says. “Not exactly a first class emergency, but I felt I needed to be there for it. I guess, according to my boss— I mean, former boss— I have my priorities askew. Of course, it’s a catch 22, since I need the job to be able to afford to go to school.”
“What do you go to school for?” I ask her, as the bartender brings our drinks. “Still social work?”
When we’d last been together, she had been really into getting a degree in it, and wanting to go to grad school after she finished undergrad.
“Yes,” she says, and I’m so glad she’s been pursuing her dreams.
I feel a deep sense of pride well inside me that I wasn’t expecting. I know I have even less to do with the fact that she’s been accomplishing what she always wanted to accomplish than I do about the fact that she just lost the job that helps her do it. But it’s incredible to think that the same girl I knew back then has become the kind of woman she always wanted to be.
“What kind of things are you studying?” I ask her. “Or, what are your interests in the field?”
“I’m working on a project right now that was actually my brain child,” she tells me, her eyes lighting up at the thought of it. “I mean, I don’t mean to brag…”
“No problem,” I tell her, thinking of all the times I’ve bragged about my accomplishments. It’s been a while, since I felt prouder of my Air Force achievements than the billions my company has made. It’s refreshing to talk to someone with a genuine interest in what she does. “Please, go ahead and tell me what the project is.”
I’m glad to have the focus off of myself, and to find out more about her. Every girl I “date”— and I use the term loosely— seems to want to know all about my company and how I’ve made so much money. That’s not at all what I ever want to talk about. And I know that Emily doesn’t care about any of that. She looks enthralled as she talks about her studying, and I just want to sit here and listen.
“It’s a grant to encourage and support girls and young women in education. It’s especially aimed at youth living in… poverty- stricken areas.”
She pauses, as if unsure whether to continue. This is obviously a big deal to her, and I don’t say anything for fear she will shut down.
“Our program will be for all females in all areas of the city, but different emphasis will be placed on different areas. For instance, in more working class areas without nannies and where people can’t afford child care, it will be aimed at after- school programs and tutoring. But everywhere will consist of a mentorship program and making sure the girls have basic educational needs met, which often co-exist with other needs such as physical and mental health, adequate housing, protection from abuse, etc. Another part of the program will be to provide the girls with different role models and careers they never even knew existed or that could be available to them. Whereas in areas of more affluence or privilege, girls can be told about advanced placement courses or early college education available to them, or different careers or fields they hadn’t thought of. Right now STEM fields are really big…”
She stops when she sees me smile.
“Of course,” I tell her. “Science, Technology, Engineering and Math. Just the kind of areas I’m involved in.”
“Yeah,” she continues. “The good jobs are in these fields, although many women shy away from them, thinking they don’t have the skills or can’t compete. Our program will sponsor math and science competitions, and inventions and experiments and the like.”
“I see,” I tell her. I decide not to expand on how much money I myself have been able to earn thanks to these fields. Both of us grew up poor and I know she places an emphasis on wanting underprivileged kids to have similar opportunities as more privileged kids. I think that’s noble of her.
She looks at me as if wondering if she should go on, but then she does.
“Not all of the girls our program will work with will be interested in college, nor will all of them be able to go to college, and that’s just fine. College is so expensive these days that it’s outside the reality of many of our girls, and to be honest I think it’s to the point where colleges and even government student loans prey on poor people.”
I nod, although I don’t have much to add since I myself didn’t even go to college. Instead I joined the Air Force and then when I could no longer serve, I had to do something to make a living so I went to a different kind of “boot camp”— an intensive computer programming course that trained me in all the different types of computer languages for three months straight.
“I’ve amassed a huge amount of student loan debt in pursuing my chosen field, which I’m really passionate about but which doesn’t pay enough to ever make a big dent in the student loans,” Emily continues. She’s so sexy when she speaks so seriously and passionate like this. “Some of the current fields that pay well and are very fulfilling, such as computer programming and coding and web development, don’t require a college degree. And then of course there are women interested in military careers, such as the one that you went into, or other outside, nature- based and action- packed jobs like forest ranger or fire fighter, etc.”
Women aren’t allowed to do what I did, I think, but I don’t mention it. Or at least not yet.
In fact, there’s talk that the Pararescue division will be open to women for the first time in history, which most of my fellow service members are none too thrilled about. It’s almost a running joke among my buddies. But I’m not about to tell this woman that there’s a field the girls in the program she’s so passionate about aren’t welcome in— in spirit, even if not, soon, technically.
“Your project sounds very exciting,” I tell her.
And I’m excited in more ways than one. Yes, sexually she’s done it for me since high school and I knew nothing had changed the moment I saw her again, which is why I invited her here for drinks. But emotionally, there’s still an attraction to her that I can’t deny. It excites me to hear about the things she’s so passionate about. It takes me back to a time when I first joined the military and was in love with life. In love with her.
Sure, things weren’t perfect and there were issues between her and me—mostly, the fact that I had to leave— but I loved serving with my unit and being a pararescueman. All the joy was sucked out of me during what happened when I was deployed, and I don’t think much of it returned until right now.
Sure, I’m glad I’m alive and I’m glad I recently acquired so much money unexpectedly. I’ve been blessed beyond measure but I haven’t felt truly alive or excited about life until right this second. I was just going through the motions, trying to convince myself I’d escaped the trauma of my past. Seeing Emily against makes me want to actually deal with life head on. I can’t even explain the effect she still has on me, or why.
I find myself completely losing my head, and I need to get back on track. Get her into bed, get her into bed, I urge myself. Then you can forget about her and move on, just like with all the rest.
She and I did everything but It. And now I want to go all the way with her, to claim what I should have taken long ago.
“I’m enjoying this conversation,” I say, leaning in close so that my nose is barely touching her nose. She doesn’t move an inch. I’m just daring her to let me kiss her. “But it’s not very private here. How about we continue it at my place?”
She recoils, and I realize I just totally scared her off.
“I can’t,” she says, looking around as if she’s going to be spotted by her old boss.
So at first I think it’s about that. The work thing. Maybe she hopes to get her job back and doesn’t want to be seen “fraternizing.” But then I realize it’d make it easier for her if we get out of here.
“I just can’t…” she purses her lovely lips and I can tell that I’ve hit on a personal topic without meaning to.
“What have you been up to, anyway?” she asks me, suddenly, changing the subject.
“Oh, a lot,” I tell her.
She looks at me with interest but I can’t bring myself to continue. I realize what the problem is— the reason she doesn’t want to sleep with me. It’s because I had hurt her in the past, and she’s afraid of being hurt again. And rightfully so, I suppose.
There’s no way I can admit to her how I kept on fucking up my life after I fucked up our relationship. And the only good thing to come out of it is something she’d never understand. So I decide to stick to the obvious.
“I started a company,” I tell her. “Made lots of money. Became fucking filthy rich.”
She scrunches her cute nose at me in visible disgust. I’ve obviously said the wrong thing in my quest to keep things on a surface level.
“You know, I don’t get you,” she says, gulping down her drink as if she needs the liquid courage to speak her mind. “I really don’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Now I’m offended.
“In high school you were so gung ho about helping other people,” she says. “You joined the military telling me you were going to save the world. What happened to that guy?”
I look at her. I can see how she thinks about things this way. But I’m not ready to say what I would need to say to get her to try to understand me.
“You don’t even know,” she continues, shaking her head. “I guess that’s what real life does to some people. Because you became a dick. You were a dick to everyone, even me.”
“You’re right,” I say, because there’s nothing else to say about that except to man up to it. Sure, I have excuses, which didn’t come into existence before it was far too late to save us, but it’s too late to give them now. I should never have asked her to come for a drink with me. I already fucked up her life enough and all I have to give her is even more burdens and issues. “I was a dick to you. I’ve always wanted to tell you I’m sorry. So I guess I invited you here today to tell you I’m sorry.”
“I see,” she says, looking disappointed. “You’re sorry. And yet you became some rich douchebag who only cares about money.”
Ouch.
Her words hurt, and I think she realizes that even though I kind of deserve it, she’s being cruel. Her face softens.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just don’t know how someone could go from… the person I used to know and… like… to the person you are now.”
She carefully chose the word “like” out loud just like I had done in my head a little bit ago. Back then, we used the other “l” word. She’s the only one I had ever used it with. But clearly it didn’t work out so I don’t know what I’m even doing here. Sure, I’m sorry for the past, and I’m glad I got to tell her that. But I’m not going to sit here and be berated. I’m not that much of a glutton for punishment.
“How do you know what kind of person I am now?” I ask her. “Maybe it’s a mix of good and bad, just like pretty much every one else on the planet is.”
She looks at me like she’s considering this, but she clearly doesn’t want to consider it too much. And I can’t really blame her.
“You’re right,” she says, standing up to go. “But all I see is some rich asshole who left his values behind somewhere along the way.”
I look up at her.
“I know you’ve always distrusted people who have money,” I tell her. “And I get that. But that’s really painting everyone with a very broad brush. And things aren’t always what they seem on the surface level.”
She stares back at me, then nods.
“It was nice seeing you again, Wade.”
Something about her is hard and closed off, reminding me of just how much I’ve hurt her. Making me feel like the asshole I am.
No wonder she’s mad at me. No wonder she’s being rather cruel.
The best thing I can do for her right now is let her go for good.
But as she turns back to look at me one more time before leaving, I can’t help but second guess myself. Should I run after her? Beg her to forgive me and for one more chance?
No, I can’t. I’m just a rich asshole who broke her heart. That’s all she’ll ever see me as, no matter what I do. But, once she’s gone for good, a thought strikes me. I might as well do what I can to make it up to her.
Chapter 6 – Emily
As I leave the bar, I can’t help but look back one more time at Wade. He’s talking to the bartender, undoubtedly paying our tab.
Look back at me, I urge him, knowing it’s an unfair and selfish request. I’m the one who got up and left, even though he’s the one who deserved it.
He doesn’t look back at me. And I realize it’s better off that way.
So much for re-ignited chemistry. I should have known to leave the past in the past.
There was a reason I walked away the first time. But I still can't think straight now that his perfect abs, huge cock and tempting touch are back in my life.
As soon as I’m back home, I can’t stop thinking about him. I run a bath and hope to relax and read a good book to keep my mind off of him. But soon I’m back to what I do best—fantasizing about my high school boyfriend.
It’s pathetic, after all these years. But I have never been able to resist. And now that I’ve seen him face to face, he’s on my mind more than ever. I’m burning with lust for him and I’m actually quite proud of myself for not giving into his request to go home with him. I’ve got to do something to get him out of my system.
I lay my head back on the edge of the tub and spread my legs open underneath the bubbles, touching my clit the way that Wade used to touch it back in high school.
I had never let him go all the way. I wanted to wait for marriage. I honestly thought I’d be marrying him so I didn’t know I’d be giving up any opportunities. Now, I often regret that I didn’t give into him because at least I would have had the sweet release I’ve been wanting— needing— all these years.
I rub my clit in the same way that Wade used to, but he was better at it. And I finger myself, wishing it was Wade’s cock instead.
My slow fingering and rubbing of myself becomes more intense as I think about all the things Wade used to do to me. He would play with my nipples, suck on them, eat my pussy out like it was his job, and other times he’d bring me to climax just with his hand. He’s also shove his big cock down my throat and make me take all of it. He’d leave me a quivering mess and I couldn’t wait until we actually got married so he could fuck me.
But that never happened. He left for training and I stayed behind because I still had one more year of high school left before graduation and I also knew I wanted to go to college here since it was more affordable than going out of state. The plan was to have a long distance relationship until at some point we could get married.
But he turned into a real dick. Every time I asked him a question on the phone, it was met with a rude and curt reply. It’s like he didn’t want me to know anything about what was going on with his life, but he became increasingly jealous about mine.
I’d never given him any reason not to trust me and I didn’t appreciate the fact that it seemed as if he didn’t. I tried to talk to him about it but it was like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall. And any time I brought anyone up— a teacher, a classmate— he’d become instantly suspicious and pepper me with questions he demanded answers to, even though he never answered any of my otherwise innocuous questions.
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