by Shey Stahl
Your weight made it hard to take a full breath, but it seemed easier, this breathing under pressure. Then you were moving away, telling me you were going to be sick.
Removing yourself from me, you stumbled around to the dock, and I feared you’d fall in so I followed. You looked around, back at me, and then the dock. You didn’t get sick but sat on the edge of the dock, bare feet in the water with your face in your hands.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly.
You looked up. “I feel like shit.”
I sat down next to you, wrapped my arms around my legs, our shoulders touching. “What can I do?”
You shook your head like you didn’t know. “Just don’t leave me.”
I looked at the lake, our lake, the lights of the night shimmering in its tiny wakes as I relaxed against your chest. Even if we just had this moment to remember, I didn’t care. I’d take it even if it was just for the summer.
July 2006
Slowly you kissed my sun-kissed skin you said was sweet and salty, heating it to degrees I’d never felt. It was almost domineering the way you captivated my body and not something an eighteen-year-old boy should have known. It was a sense of strength, certainly provided by the liquid in our hands, teasing only acted upon with the sense of forgiveness you thought that red cup could supply us. If you knew the real consequences, the difference in our age would have mattered.
“Bensen …” It was a quiet and throaty whisper that you knew.
You knew what I wanted.
Sitting on the dock, feet hanging off the edge, you were behind me with your chin on my shoulder. You were telling me about your baseball season and how college scouts were at a few games. It was of no interest to you to go to college, but the idea of playing ball was there, something deep inside of you.
I know there was part of the year you left out. On purpose. It was the parts I couldn’t bear to ask or bring myself to care about.
When I got nervous about my dad finding me, you promised to have me back soon.
After you were done talking, we sat silent in the dark, listening to the water slap against the dock. Placing my bare feet on yours, you pulled me closer, onto your lap. Kissing the side of my neck, you told me mine was the taste you waited all winter for.
There was no more space between us, not even space for the night’s air—just us.
Slipping your hand under my shirt, your palm spread over my stomach, pinky teasing denim. “Do you remember last summer, Sophie?” you asked quietly.
I nodded, never forgetting.
With no hesitation, you slid your hand lower inside my panties. “Did it feel good?”
“Yes,” I whispered, my heartbeat speeding, stomach dropping, breath quick.
You rubbed over my center. “Can I do it again?”
There was no air for words so I nodded.
Removing your hand from my panties, your hand hooked around my knee, sliding me from your lap. Laying me back against the wood, you were at my side, hands on me slowly until my legs were open for you. Lips at my ear, your free hand wrapped around the back of my neck, your other hand dipping below again.
“So soft …” you said so quietly I barely heard you. Rubbing slowly, it built with intensity, a sweet, salty intensity. My eyes, so heavy, found the stars, my body arching into you. Gripping onto your t-shirt, I let you take me higher than those wishes about me.
“That’s it, sweet girl,” you said, your hardness pressing into my hip. “Do you want it? Is this what you wait for every winter? My touch …” Your voice was harsh, just as winded as I was.
My left hand moved from beside me, gripping the wood of the dock to over yours pushing it harder against me.
You chuckled, your breath catching. “Harder?”
Licking my lips, I nodded, my eyes finding the stars again. “I need more.”
“Do you know what you’re asking for?”
The problem was I didn’t know what I was asking for. I wasn’t sure I ever did. You moved then, your hardness pressed against me. “Just let me show you how good it can be.” You were breathless, even more than I was.
My mom always told me boys had wants at this age. Stephanie told me about blue balls, which I totally misunderstood, and Sadie, well, she told me horror stories.
My stomach flipped, and I was reminded of why I couldn’t. “Bensen, I can’t.”
You sighed, your hands on my hips moving me against you. “Come on, Sophie, just let me. I promise, I’ll be gentle with you.”
When I started to pull away you kept me there and slid your fingers lower. “Come on, Sophie.” Your fingers were at my hip, lower, at my thigh, over, and now between my legs dipping into my bikini bottom. “It’d be so fucking easy.”
I tried to push your hand against me, hoping maybe you would put your fingers inside of me instead. You groaned, wanting that, too, I assumed, and then you were on your back, and I was straddling you. You liked it, your body told me so, both pleasure and pain stirring between our legs.
“Like this,” you said, taking a firm grip on my hips, you motioned me back and forth, guiding me along you. My hands went to your chest, following your lead. My knees pressed into the old wood, lungs filling with the humid starry night air.
My mind knew none of this; just like everything else you provided me, new experiences, new thoughts, feelings, electricity shot through my body. Crying out, you sat up and covered my sounds with your lips.
My hips moved, needing, tingling, thrilling movements that you helped me to feel, guiding me to the edge where I fell. My face buried in your neck, every last sensation-soaked arc was followed through.
Things were changing for us. I knew that much. I had no title, probably never would, but our bond with one another was changing. A guy like you who did and said what he wanted wouldn’t willingly come to a lake for the summer with his family for no reason. So now that you graduated, would you have a reason anymore?
We really were two kids owning the night.
June 2007
It was the year 2007. Indianapolis won the Super Bowl, and Boston won the World Series. Dixie Chicks were quickly becoming frequently played on my iPod, but I never forgot the White Stripes, as my favorite song ever was released, “300 MPH.” You sent me a text when it came out saying you downloaded it. I smiled that I had some pull on your playlists.
Something happened when you lived for the summer. Time went by in a different way. It didn’t happen the way it ordinarily would. Hours, minutes, and days—it all went by slowly as if not passing at all. Seasons blended, and before you knew it, months had gone by, but you didn’t remember, because in your head, all you knew was that each day was spent wishing you were somewhere else.
We talked often that year, mostly on the phone and through text messaging. You were laying tile for a local tile company, something you said wasn’t for you, but paid for a place to live. When you left the lake last August, you moved out of your parents’ house and into an apartment.
Naturally, my dad found out, and I wasn’t allowed in Atlanta in fear I’d go see you. If only he knew everything else that had already happened. If only he knew Sadie spent most nights with her boyfriend, and I had come so close to losing my virginity last summer, he surely would have had a heart attack.
When school got out that year I headed west to Aunt Megs’s. This time I drove myself. Stephanie, who was now twenty-one, sold me her Toyota Celica. And because I had now been working at a Starbucks inside of our local Kroger store, I was able to buy it with just a little help from my dad.
Having a job was a good distraction, too.
But just when I would wonder what you were doing, or if you were thinking of me, and what next summer might bring, you would call or text. They were simple texts like: Missing you pretty girl, or, 61 days until summer.
They were gentle little reminders that though I didn’t have you fall, winter, and spring, I had a little bit of your mind during those times.
Aunt Megs wasn’t
home the day I got there, but after coming here so often, I had a key and let myself in. As I walked through her home, I didn’t have a chance to get comfortable before Ivey was there, waiting for me, towel and sunglasses ready.
I loved days like this. The first day at the lake—barbequing, steam rolling from the docks as water got splashed on the scorching planks, country music, suntan lotion, sneaking beer and rum, the laughter, the freedom, all of it. I lived for it.
Soaking up precious rays of light, my cup of mostly pirate rum was covered in condensation as we lay in the grass.
Brady sprayed sunblock in Ivey’s hair; she screamed and chased him as he ran away. It was the second time that day he’d done it. He was thirteen this year and full of piss and vinegar.
When Ivey returned, she was laughing. “Brady is a little fucker.” She laughed again, standing next to my towel, fixing her hair, out of breath. “And look at Bensen.” She pointed to you, gasping to gain some control, and I looked over my shoulder. “I don’t know who he’s fooling.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You had no shoes on and black and gray board shorts that hung low on your hips. Your shirt was off, your skin tanned and toned like always. The year had treated you well in regards to your appearance. You were leaning against the railing on the deck talking on your cell phone with a mischievous grin.
I took a drink from my cup and looked out at the lake instead of at you. I wondered if anything would change this summer.
Ivey sat down next to me, flipping from her butt to her stomach. “Have you thought anymore about UGA?”
I had thought about college a lot, and I wanted to go where my girl was going. At the time I had no idea where we were headed, or even if there was a we. So I made my plans.
I heard your footsteps before I could see you, and I knew you were behind me by the way my heart started to beat faster.
“When did you get here?” you asked, sitting beside me, your hair messy under your black baseball hat. Once again, you seemed older, not only in your looks but your attitude. The same careless edge that always attracted me was there. I knew it was crazy to be attracted to a quality like carelessness, but for some reason most girls were.
“Couple hours ago.” I looked over at you then, arms hung over your knees watching the lake.
My skin couldn’t take the heat anymore, and I had to get into the water. Ivey came with me and waded around on rafts until Grayden and Austin ran toward the dock, and we knew what was coming.
Sensing his chance, Grayden flipped Ivey off hers and said, “Get your own raft, short shit.”
Ivey screamed, flailing around for the dramatics of it all. She wasn’t fooling anyone, though; she loved this shit.
“I swear to God I’m going to cut your dick off and shove it up your ass!” she said, splashing water his direction. Austin took a hold of her, taking her under water with him.
Grayden only laughed. He’d graduated this last year, too, but had done nothing with his life other than mooch off his dad. He was, however, working for him so I guess it wasn’t exactly mooching.
When the commotion on the water calmed and the music was on a steady pace of the Top 40, we sipped our drinks and floated on the lake. By the third drink we were all a little lit. The music was louder, switching from the slower country tunes to the harder rock ones I preferred.
With the sun high in the sky, I loved every ray, dipping my toes over the edge of my raft and soaking my hair every so often. When we grew tired of that, we made our way back to our towels laid out in the grass.
Ivey was asleep next to me, but when I saw Austin and Grayden coming, I knew it wasn’t for long. “If you want to keep your dicks, I wouldn’t do that,” I advised, but they ignored me and dumped a cooler full of ice on her.
They dropped the cooler and started to laugh, especially Austin, who was only here for the day and then leaving for a summer job in Jacksonville.
You and I just sat there, staring, waiting for Ivey to react. And she did.
After screaming bloody murder, she shrieked out, “You fucking motherfuckers from hell!” Pushing herself onto her hands and knees, she took off after them.
I stayed where I was, laughing beside you.
As we watched them, you looked over at me with a sudden seriousness as you lay back on my towel, your weight supported by your elbows.
“Have you ever lied to anyone, Sophie?”
Something about the question told me you were holding back. My heart sunk speculating what this was leading to.
“I once lied about killing my sister’s hamster by accidentally putting him in the dryer.”
“How’d you do that?”
“I had the hamster on the floor, playing with it, when Shanna came home early from school. I was like six or seven and wasn’t supposed to be playing with it. I ended up putting him in the laundry basket beside my bed.”
“So what, he suffocated or something?”
“No,” I said, reaching for my cup in front of me. “I forgot about him and went downstairs.”
“And then he suffocated?” You were picking at the grass beside me now, acting as if this wasn’t where the conversation was meant to go, but following along despite that.
“No.” I was finding it hard to keep a straight face at how intently you were listening to me all of a sudden. “I put the laundry downstairs and baked him on accident.”
You scrunched your nose, brushing off your shorts where the grass pickings had fallen. “That’s disgusting.”
“Exactly. It was awful.”
“So where’s the lie?”
That’s when I laughed. “I told Shanna Mom did it.”
We sat there for another moment, and I thought for sure you’d leave the conversation at that. Actually I knew you would.
“Have you ever lied?”
Your smile faded. “Yeah.”
“When?”
“Too often to remember.”
It should have made sense. You smiled at me, sloppy and sweet. “I missed you.”
I leaned into your shoulder, kissing it softly. “I missed you, too.”
We were, once again, for the summer.
The sun set, and the bonfire lit our nights. You were on the other side of the flame, drinking. You hoodie was up, shoes on now as your eyes got heavier.
Pouring the clear liquor in the jars, you turned the radio up, Tim McGraw bellowing through the speakers. Summer sweet, drinking from mason jars, and eating tangy ribs, it was all memories I held true.
With the group around us, no one paid any attention to the two that liked to own the night. Crawling onto your lap in the chair, my hands went to your face, relishing the feeling of your hands on me. I wanted you, and not just in physical ways. I wanted you as stupid as that sounded, and I didn’t want you because you made me feel whole or defined me. No. Those reasons seemed insignificant for who you really were to someone like me. I wanted you because of who I was when I was with you and who you were with me. That was why.
With the Georgia sunset upon us, and the sticky heat covering me, I was frustrated and drunk. Very drunk. Everything felt numb, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I needed to be with you. I wanted to know and remember over those missed seasons that I hadn’t lost my summer.
I turned to face you, straddling your lap in the white plastic camping chair, wrapping my arms around you, my head just below your chin. My knees were shaking, my heart pounding as I breathed in your scent, all summer and lake water. I brought my lips to your jaw, your stubble scratchy on my skin.
“Did you really miss me?” you whispered softly. Your blue eyes stared at me.
I moved my hand to your face, stroking the rough bristles of your jaw. “Yes. Always.” Sighing softly, I put my lips at your neck and left a lingering kiss below your ear.
Your hands found the back of my head, pulling my roaming mouth from your neck, holding my face firmly. Grinning, you lowered your lips to mine, stopping just short of kissing me. “I miss
ed you, too.”
My face got hot, and I wanted to say so much to you. Your sister was here, your boys, and a few others, but I didn’t care. “Bensen …”
You smiled sweetly, avoiding my eyes. “Shhh …” You put your finger to your lips.
“But I—”
You placed your hand over my mouth. “Shhh …” Your eyes were bonfire-lit with sun-kissed cheeks, but your calmness was slowing fading. You wanted so much more. I knew it. “Please.”
I closed my eyes, doing my best to remain quiet. My hands trembled at the thought of you touching me again. Every year it felt like it was longer and longer until I felt your touch again. And when it was finally there, it felt like electricity and needles.
I had an ache for this. It burned bright like coals and ignited in the pit of my stomach anytime I was close to you. It was the ache that could start my heart and made it hard to think.
But was I ready?
I was.
You slouched your position in the chair, pushing between my legs with your hands on my knees. When I was centered right above where you wanted me, you lifted your hips just enough that I could feel you there, hard, teasing me. I wanted it, even though I knew it was wrong, and everyone could see the intimate position.
I held onto your biceps, arching into you as you curved more around me. “You’d let me?” you asked, your voice rough, thick.
The party around us was heating up, but no one saw us. They were all lost in their own summer sweet memories.
I didn’t answer. You pushed in more, your hardness so right, so hard, so wrong.
“Why?” I opened my eyes. “You’d let me because you think this is how I want it?” Your suddenly unmoving hips pushed again because you wanted it. Despite your words, you wanted it. Thrusting against me, hard and strong, your hands were in the grass beside my head, frustrated and denied need. “I don’t want teasing, Sophie,” you moaned. “I want all of you.”
“You do have me,” I said, knowing that wasn’t what you meant and knowing damn well, you never would truly have me, but that had nothing to do with me; that was on you. I clutched onto your moving hips, falling into those tingles of constricted muscles. I moved with you, rocking until the need was gone.
