For the Summer

by Shey Stahl

  “Why?” Never looking up, you watched your feet. It felt weird to hear you ask that. Why wouldn’t someone want to go to college? I knew your reasons.

  “Because I want to.” I was honest, as I mostly was with you these days. I waited for you to make any indication to me that what we had was actually going somewhere, and when you didn’t, when year after year it continued this way, I went about what I needed to do.

  “Okay,” you said, and we walked up the driveway. You were attempting to take me on a date since Ivey wasn’t in town yet. She had to run up to Gainesville to meet Wyatt.

  Yes, they were dating now.

  Did that weird me out? No. It didn’t because I wasn’t good for someone like Wyatt when I was stuck on someone like you. I actually hadn’t talked to Wyatt since prom when I told him we would never be what he wanted. I didn’t go to prom with him; I went with a few girls from my softball team, but I did dance with him, and that was when I broke the news to him.

  “Why didn’t you go to college?” I wanted to see if anything had changed.

  “Because my dad wants me to.” Nothing had changed.

  “So you won’t because he wants you to?”

  “It’s not for me.” You shrugged, opening the door to your truck, but I hadn’t gotten in yet. Instead I was leaned against the fender, teasing you.

  I wondered how much of anything wasn’t for you. Would someone like you ever define a relationship or marriage? I thought I knew the answer back then—no.

  “What are you going to do this fall?”

  “Well, certainly not college,” you answered, annoyed. No one was going to tell you what to do and that was especially the case for your dad. The more he pushed, the more you pushed, until there was a wall that no one could climb.

  “You like to break rules, don’t you?”

  A strange look crossed your face. “You like to break me.” Leaning against the side of your truck, you placed your hands on both sides of me and leaned in with a smile that heated every inch of my already sun-kissed skin. Your words were delivered slowly, your Southern drawl present, but they had a meaning I never understood.

  “What?”

  “Is that really what you think?” you asked, and I could hear the edge of anger in your voice. “That I don’t give a shit about anything?”

  I thought before I answered. “Yes, sometimes that’s what I think.”

  You swore softly, groaning. “People hear what they want.”

  “No, Bensen, people hear what you say. Listen to yourself,” I said, keeping my tone casual.

  You laughed, a hollow derisive sound I knew. “Jesus Christ, you think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you?”

  If I didn’t know any better, I would think I hurt your feelings, but then again, nobody could hurt Bensen Cole, right?

  “Why do you do this to me?”

  “Do what?”

  “Nothing.” You seemed to struggle with your choice of words, and then you moved on. “Don’t make me beg. I’m not good at it. Come with me tonight.”

  “Beg a little.” I leaned against the door, my hands rested on the edges, my feet crossed.

  Standing beside me, you did the same, only you crossed your arms over your chest, a faint grin tugging at your lips. “Fine, leave with me before I tell that stupid little boyfriend of yours what we did the night before prom in the back of my truck.” To get your point across you winked and tipped your head south.

  I blinked, barely keeping up with your bluntness as that night flashed in my head. It was the first time you had ever came to Savannah to see me. You snuck me out of the house, took me to The White Stripes concert, and then ended the night in the bed of your truck. The images were clear, so very clear.

  You between my legs. Me writhing against you. Your mouth in places no one had ever been before. Oh, I remembered all right. It was the reason why I told Wyatt I could never return the feelings he had for me.

  “Oh stop.” I swatted your hand away, trying to hide the flush of my cheeks by pretending to pick at nail polish I wasn’t wearing. “Wyatt is not my boyfriend, and you know that.”

  “No?” You arched an eyebrow, your position changed, and you leaned into my shoulder. “Then why were you with him at your prom?”

  Fuck.

  “Are you keeping an eye on me now?”

  “Sophie, I’m always looking after you,” you said, smiling again. “Does your dad know what we did that night?”

  “No … why would he?” I blushed again, more memories returning. Even though my dad knew I had been seeing you on occasion, it was fairly obvious it didn’t mean he approved of it one bit.

  “He doesn’t know you spend any time with me … does he?”

  “He knows we’re together sometimes, but he doesn’t know what I feel for you.”

  You drew in a whistled breath, shaking your head with your eyebrows raised as if to say I was screwed. “Lying to the warden. You’ll get ten-to-life for that.”

  “Shut up.” I grabbed you by the elbow, tucking my arm into yours. “Take me on a date, damn it.”

  August 2008

  This was the night that changed everything because it was also the night you left. But … before that night, I had no idea what was coming. Our parents were throwing Ivey and me a graduation party at your house. It was the first time since that first summer when I was thirteen that we were all together again, in the same house, aside from my sisters.

  How the party was, what I was wearing, what Ivey was doing, all that would be important if I was telling that story. The one about me. For this story, though, the one between you and me, those details weren’t important.

  Our story changed that summer and the night you took me on a date. And for as young as I was, eighteen, and you nearly twenty-one, I saw the way you looked at me. I wasn’t as naïve, no longer just a little pretty girl to you.

  Standing on the deck, I looked out at the lake watching Ivey and Wyatt wrestling around on rafts.

  The sky was painted purple, orange, and blue. Tiny white lights begin to twinkle around the house, igniting the party and everything around it. It smelled like summer—fried chicken, smoked ribs, Southern-fried macaroni and cheese. Kids jumped from boats and floated on tubes. The lake was alive, savoring the last few days of summer before everything changed again. I loved the sound but loved the feeling more. The night hung in the air. The anticipation of being alone with you was killing me. You had said you needed to talk to me, alone, in your room later. But for now, we were playing the part of who we had become.

  I would be leaving in a few days for Athens—for college. We didn’t speak of it, impending doom maybe, but since that conversation a few months ago, we hadn’t mentioned it. The thought of leaving and what that meant for us got to me.

  And then I said it. I said what I felt. What I thought I’d felt since I was thirteen but never said.

  “I love you.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them. Before I understood their impact. You didn’t look at me, no, your head was hung, elbows resting against the railing.

  Was that it? Was that the moment it changed?

  I had never said those three words to anyone other than family, and though the moment seemed wrong, misplaced, I meant them.

  “Sophie …” You breathed, staring at the bottom of your glass. My heart sunk at the sound.

  “I don’t need you to say it, Bensen,” I assured you, giving you an out and keeping my eyes on the lake. “I don’t. I just needed you to hear it.”

  You didn’t respond, and I didn’t need you to. Whether you said it or not, I felt it. I knew.

  I smiled, and you smiled again, this time a little shy. Your hat shadowed your eyes from me, but I could see the flushness to your cheeks, pink as the sky.

  Turning, you brought me to your chest, your arms wrapping around my waist. Your hand was gripping mine, fingers digging into my flesh as you pulled me tighter. Those hands, those lips, the ones that loved me so tenderly, even thoug
h you wouldn’t say it, held me in place.

  Maybe it was the beer you had. Maybe it was the third beer you had or the fifth. I didn’t care. I wanted to be brave and wild and free, everything you were and everything you made me feel without knowing.

  I closed my eyes, just for a second, letting my first memory of you sink in. You were fifteen, I was thirteen, and though that was four years ago, the memory was there, reminding me that if this was my first time, regardless of the way it was happening, I wanted it to be you.

  With our family near, we separated from each other after that. I knew later tonight, when the night was ours, we’d be able to be together.

  When that time came, a bunch of us decided to move down to the water for a bonfire. I had been looking forward to this all night because it was my chance to get you alone.

  I stood there under the deck searching for blankets when I felt you come up behind me, grabbing my hips from behind, your face nestled into my neck. You turned me around and stepped forward again.

  Resting your hand along my jaw, you moved it back slightly so that your fingers ran past my ear and through my hair. You leaned down and kissed me. Sighing, you pulled back, your mouth lingering over top of my ear. “Pretty girl …”

  When your breath passed over my ear, it registered with me what we were doing, what might happen.

  My mind was vaguely cognizant of the problems with the scenario—aware of the fact that my parents were upstairs, and aware of the fact that your family was up there, too. Anyone could walk down here at any minute. But I cared about none of that as much as I cared about the way you were responding to me and the way my body was responding to you.

  I gave up, and you must have, too, because desires took over. As I tilted my mouth to yours, inviting the kiss, my fingers worked their way to your temple, knocking your baseball cap away so I could run my fingers through your hair. A stifled moan worked its way from you at the gesture, and you tightened your grip on my hips and pressed your mouth more firmly against mine. My hands swept back down along your jaw. You hadn’t shaved in a while, and your stubble scratched me, but was exactly what I wanted.

  I gripped your neck, my hands fisting in your hair. You moaned quietly again, a noise that was barely heard over the loud music surrounding us. We were having trouble keeping still, our bodies tilting and swaying gently to the side and against one another, as the kissing grew impatient and full of intent. Our hands started to roam places, their motives clear.

  I found myself moving backward at your lead, guided to a resting point against the speakers. It was loud in my ear, the pulsations of Kings of Leon providing a gentle rhythm throughout my body. It seemed to echo the natural rhythm that was already coursing through me in response to your every touch.

  I felt things happening as you pressed against me, keeping me in place against the speaker with your hips, so strong and forceful I couldn’t move even if I wanted. The tingling in my stomach ached with need, my body arching against you in response. All of it was spurring me on, seeing just how far you were going to take this.

  You weren’t stopping. I had to keep repeating that part in my head. All signs were pointing to you continuing. Shaking, my body curved, bending around yours.

  Your mouth moved frantically from my ear to my neck and down my collarbone, before returning urgently to my mouth and with need to the next spot.

  I gave up trying to make sense of what was happening and just hoped I was fulfilling whatever it was that you were seeking from me. Your quiet groans as you moved around my body sounded like pure frustration.

  The combination of the heat of the day and the heat between us had taken over, on the verge of going two directions. I was sweating within a minute, and you seemed to be the same.

  Suddenly, you stepped back and yanked your shirt overhead and returned. I grabbed onto you anywhere I could, hands fisting in the band of your shorts, sweeping up over your arms, and grabbing your biceps, feeling them flex and tighten beneath my grasp. The way you were moving tempted me to trail my hands lower, but I didn’t, too nervous you would stop.

  I slid slightly against the speaker, losing my footing. That shifted our position, my knees parted, and you pressed into me more firmly, the gravel beneath our feet crunching at the change.

  I could feel it then, the hardness between your legs. Moaning, that prompted a shift in your position again, and you reached and grasped the backs of my legs, lifting me to wrap around your waist.

  Without breaking the kiss, your mouth was back to my neck when your hips moved against mine. There was no denying what was going on when you rubbed against me.

  My heart hammered against my breastbone, breathing escaping me entirely. I couldn’t help myself, my hips moved, making more direct, persistent contact with yours.

  You groaned in my ear, a noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan, as your body answered mine. “I can’t wait any longer …” you said, moving your hips once more, and I clenched my eyes shut at the heightening of every sensation I was already feeling.

  Supporting my weight against the speaker, your hands crept to my breasts, fondling them with need and desire. It seemed our bodies were asking questions, not knowing how to make sense of this or what the other was willing to do. My hips pushed against yours again, savoring the feeling should you stop.

  You were begging me without words, pleading eyes and shaking hands. It was hard to resist and even harder when I knew I didn’t want to. I wanted to be with you like this. I wanted you to be my first, and I was sure you finally knew it.

  You pressed your lips to mine, drowning me in everything you were, trouble and tortured.

  I could barely get it out, the words I needed so desperately to say. “I’ve never …” It hung there, waiting, my innocence and your decision.

  You nodded, you knew.

  With heavy breaths from the both of us, gently letting go of my legs you pulled back, your hands on your belt buckle. And though my eyes never left yours, I heard the jangling of your buckle, your zipper, and the crinkle of the condom wrapper, and then my jean shorts were taken off. All the while, your mouth on mine, hungry and determined.

  I’d read a lot of romance novels, and they were all the same for the most part when it came to having sex or even losing your virginity. Most even did it against the wall, much like us. Let me tell you, in case you had some kind of misconception, the idea of you fucking me against the wall, totally sexy, yes. The fantasy that you would do anything just to have me and couldn’t wait was hot, yeah.

  The reality, though, it was fucking hard and so completely uncomfortable.

  Pressed against the speaker again, we struggled to find footing, but we were in the moment, nothing was going to stop us now.

  You pulled back, your face flushed, gasping, your breath quick and words rushed. “Sophie … I—” One hand moved from my legs to the side of my face, your thumb tracing over my swollen lips. Again, you let go of my legs, trying to pull back a little.

  “I know what you’re going to say to me,” I whispered, not knowing if that was really what you were going to say. Climbing your body, you gave me a lift, hands low, holding me there. My mind didn’t bother trying to make sense of any of it. For once. I just wanted it. You. Me. All of it.

  You didn’t answer right away, but drew me closer, your arms so strong, so right. You kissed me again. “Then let me say it.”

  “No, not right now.”

  And there was no hesitation this time, no gentle teasing. You were finally taking it, not waiting for me to stop you.

  You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t make sure, because any other time, I stopped when we got to this point. This wasn’t something you were going to just take from me. Especially under your parents’ deck, outside, against a fucking speaker.

  “Say it, Sophie,” you begged, your breathing heavy as your hands wrapped tightly around my hair, tugging so my head was angled toward you, eyes locked. “You have to fucking say it. Tell me what you want. I ca
n—” You paused, swallowing with a regretful shake to your head. “I can stop.”

  Sometimes you had to ask for something you wanted, and you were determined to make me do just that.

  “I want you.”

  “Sophie. Sophie. Sophie.” It was more like a prayer, spoken against my lips, as if you were worshiping me, devoured and loved.

  Your hands moved, running up my thighs, hips, until they reached my ribcage. You stopped, the moment catching you. “You sure?”

  You didn’t need an answer when I lowered myself, allowing you to glide inside me, both of us gasping.

  And then it happened. I lost my virginity.

  Once you were inside of me, it was fast and desperate. I wanted to slow it down, but I knew we couldn’t, you wouldn’t. My sounds mixed with your sounds was all it took to get lost for me, and with every thrust, every moan, we changed and fought for that desire, my youth tossed along the way.

  Was it good? Was it everything girls said it was?

  If I were honest? No. Ivey was right. It was awful. Anyone who told you differently was lying. Or their beaver damns were better built.

  It was burning and aching. There were all sorts of sensations; I couldn’t decipher if they were good or if some actual harm was being done to my body. I wasn’t going to stop you, though. Not this time.

  I was holding onto your shoulders, but my legs kept slipping, and the more they slipped, the farther down the speaker we went.

  Had you ever tried to squat and have sex? Didn’t work.

  It wasn’t comfortable at all. My arms were shaking from exertion of holding on, and I thought for sure any minute I would slip completely out of your iron grip and break your shit off.

  So many thoughts were going through me. Why here? Why now? I wanted it. I shouldn’t have been complaining because this had been a long time coming for us. I wanted the pain, the ache, I wanted to feel you moving inside me and feel us as one. I wanted you to come and know the feeling of what that felt like, to have you that way with me, your pretty girl.