Just Human (10 page)

I unbutton his shirt and slip it onto the floor. He removes my cardigan and then sliding out of his jeans and boxers, he lifts my dress over my head. He moves back to kiss me tenderly, holding me close and guiding me down onto the bed. For a moment he pulls back, lifting away the covers so that I can shuffle into the centre of the bed. Then he gently lies beside me, but almost on top, so that the full length of his body is pressed against mine.

He slowly moves his hand into the lace of my knickers and slides a finger into me, moving in and out. I groan as a second finger enters me and the leisurely rhythm continues while he kisses me slowly and deeply. I feel his erection rubbing naked against my thigh and I reach around and grasp it while he thrusts slowly into my hand. I need to feel him inside me.

Releasing him for a moment, I hook my thumbs into my knickers. Danny gets the picture and helps me slide them down my legs. Stopping just short of my feet, he leaves them round my ankles then moves up to my bra. He expertly unhooks the clasp from under me and pulls the bra from my breasts. Taking one nipple in his mouth, he resumes his incredible fingering. I moan as his thumb circles my clit and his relentless fingers find their pace, moving in and out of me over and over again.

Minutes pass and he doesn’t stop, my body sings from the sensation. I feel myself building and so does he, so he slowly slips his fingers out of me. I groan in protest. But he moves over me and kisses me deeply, he’s perfectly lined up to give me what I want, but instead he begins to move himself against me, keeping our steady rhythm. He grinds on and on, his hands clasping my face as his tongue continues to dance with mine. I groan lazily into his mouth, the feeling is intense, our bodies pressed together head to toe, his mouth on mine, the slow grinding. My legs are held loosely together by my knickers, which, I now realise, were left in place deliberately.

It occurs to me that it’s odd to be performing this relatively chaste act as an adult. It’s more the stuff of teenage fumbling. I’ve done it before, with him, though we were fully clothed and inexperienced. But now, naked and confident in our sexuality, it is sensual. Once again I’m overcome with the urge to feel him inside me. I tilt my hips up to him, hoping he gets the message so that I don’t have to break our sultry kiss.

But he pulls away from my face and fixes me with a carnal stare. Damn, his lips have left me. But this gaze is so intense it burns away the disappointment I feel. Making the best of this brief hiatus, I reach across the bed above my head, to the drawer beside my bed. Yanking the drawer open, I hold his eye contact while I grope around inside and pull out a string of condom packets. He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise and I shrug innocently as I tear one off and hurl the rest at the drawer.

We linger, staring into each other’s eyes for a moment and then he grinds into me once more, bringing me back to the task at hand. I tear open the packet and reluctantly he breaks our body contact while I roll it on him. He sighs at my touch and presses himself back onto me. Moving his leg between mine, he pushes them apart until they strain lightly on my underwear. Settling himself between my thighs he enters me slowly, the feeling of fullness makes me gasp as he moves in and out.

He shifts up significantly and now his pelvis is rubbing directly on my clit as he works his way in and out of me.

“Oh, God!” I gasp at the sudden change of sensation. I realise he knows that I need this friction and I am briefly grateful for whatever experience taught him this precious fact.

Clasping the top of my head, he pushes himself as far into me as our bodies allow and with a slightly increased, though still deliciously easy pace, he keeps moving. I’m unable to really move my parted legs as they are kept somewhat straightened out, straining at my underwear and very much adding to my arousal. I begin to thrust my pelvis into his as he moves, taking control of my own gratification.

We increase the pace, both moaning at the pleasure we are creating. He shifts onto his elbows and thrusts harder and faster, while I meet him, keeping that luscious contact on my clit. Faster and faster we writhe, our bodies wrapped together, slick with sweat. Building and building towards a shared orgasm. I feel like I’ve waited all my life for this moment. I force my eyes open and find him looking straight into them. Nose to nose, we pant and gaze, then his lips engulf mine, tongues winding together, securing our complete bodily contact, sending us both over the edge.

We call out in mutual ecstasy as we come hard. My body wracked with wave after wave of blinding pleasure. I feel him juddering from his own release. We are both still panting, almost shouting, senseless, as we come down from the summit together. He buries his face in my neck and relaxes his weight onto me. We lie like this, breathless, for I don’t know how long.

As we recover, he lifts his face up to mine and kisses me as he pulls out, discarding the condom. He lays his head on my chest and sighs, stroking his fingers down my arm until he reaches my hand. He spreads his fingers through mine and squeezes lightly. I lift my other hand and stroke his hair. We lie like this, sated. For a while I think he has drifted off to sleep, then he moves, slipping my underwear off my feet and pulling the covers over us, returning to the comfort of my chest and once again finding my hand.

Running my fingers through his golden hair, I gaze down at him; he is looking at our fingers linked together. In the old days, I would have known what he was thinking, or maybe I would not have needed to, I’m not sure. Right now, I feel so uncertain, as if I am balanced on a knife-edge and I could fall either side. I can hardly believe it is him, he is the same in so many ways, but in some ways like a stranger.

I would give anything to know what he is thinking…

Six.

Danny.

I don’t befriend blue-headed people.

I sit back in my chair and rub my face. This has been a freaking long night; I‘ve been locked in for…shit, fourteen hours! It’s almost 7am. I need coffee and I need air. I hate this bullshit project. I’ve time still on the deadline, but the asshole I’m working for is driving me nuts and I really want him out of my hair. Plus I’m beginning to suspect that not everything about his business is entirely legal, that’s probably why the money’s so good. How do I get into these things? Well, I can’t worry about that, my intentions are honest and I’ve put up with this jerk for too long not to get paid. I’ll take my chances.

I need to get out. I grab my wallet and stuff it into the leg pocket of my cargo pants, pick up my Ray Bans and keys and head for the door. I’m still wrestling my shades onto my face as I open the door and the early morning sun blinds me. Shit! Shaking it off, I jump in my truck and head downtown. I grab a coffee and a bagel at a little place I like and sit outside, enjoying the cool morning. I have the life of a mole. I’m finishing this job, collecting my pay check and hitting the beach. I’ve nothing else lined up; maybe I should take a vacation? I need a vacation…. No, I need a shower. I glance at my reflection in the window beside me, I look like shit. I haven’t shaved all week and I’m in yesterday’s clothes. It’s not exactly a great look, but it comes with the territory.

I take a look at my cell, 8:49am. What day is it? Friday. The maid comes for an hour on Friday mornings, if I hang back ’til 10am she’ll be gone and I can shower and go straight to bed. Feeling guilty, I remind myself that having a maid is okay. I’m busy and would otherwise live in a pit. Plus, it’s not like I can’t afford it. Still, it feels weird and I’m always glad if I’m out when she comes. I check my emails to kill time; it’s the usual crap so I set about deleting. I’m just closing my email down when the blue box pops up on the screen.

You have 1 new message from Connie Wilcox.

Who? I think, shrugging to myself as I open Facebook. I only know of one Connie and I doubt she’d be on Facebook. For a start, I haven’t seen her in, like, twelve years and she’s not exactly Facebook’s target demographic. I mean, she would have to be at least seventy by now.

I check the signal as it takes its time loading; it seems to be fine, it’s just so slow. I hate that. The message finally opens up and the profile picture of Connie is the generic Facebook blue head. I hate that too, seriously! I don’t care who you are or what you think of yourself, get a photo. Even I have one and I hate photos of myself. Admittedly, it’s the one and only useable headshot from an excruciating shoot for my website a few years ago and I use it for everything, but at least I don’t have a blue head. It’s my one rule of Facebook…I do not befriend blue-headed people.

Connie Wilcox 23
^rd
March 2012

Dearest Danny,

It has been a long time! I hope you are well and life is good. I know this is out of the blue, but I think our darling girl Liv could do with an old friend right now. What do you think?

Forgive me if I have overstepped, I know I’m an interfering old bat! I have no idea what your situation is, but I suspect it could be the same as Liv’s and if so then maybe you’ll thank me for this one day. I only want what is best. You know that girl is my world and I always thought the world of you too.

Think about it…that’s all I ask.

All my love,

Connie.

I blow out a long breath. I hadn’t realised I was holding and rubbing the deep furrow on my brow. It takes a moment to sink in. It is
that
Connie. Our darling girl…she used to say that. I slowly shake my head in disbelief. What is this all about? It
is
out of the blue, she’s damned right.

Keeping control of my thoughts I try to process her message. Then, deliberately and carefully, I allow her to enter my head…Liv. It’s been such a long time since I’ve allowed myself to think about her that I’ve no idea where to begin.

I stare at my cell for a while and then an idea strikes. Connie’s friends…I click on Connie’s name and find her basic info. I select friends; it’s a very short list. Maybe she is new to Facebook? But there she’s and my insides contract from just reading her name, Olivia Harper…still Harper. Shaking the emerging thought from my head, I select her name and wait. A small photo of my first love appears on my screen and my stomach lurches.

It’s her.

I try to enlarge her face, but the resolution is too low and I lose her details. I need to do this at home really, but the maid will still be there. Picking up my keys, I shove my cell in my pocket and head back in to get two more coffees. I know what to do.

I pull up six blocks away behind the store and collect the coffees from the passenger seat. I try the door handle and am relieved to find it unlocked.

“Jen?” I call out. “Jen?”

“I’m here,” Jen responds from where she’s kneeling on the floor under the counter.

She emerges with an arm full of bags and stands blowing hair from her face. She dumps the bags on the counter top and turns to me.

“What is my favourite hermit doing here at this hour?”

“I bought you coffee,” I smile.

Jen’s parents are my parents’ best friends. When we moved back here in 2000, they were quick to reconnect and Jen was encouraged to look out for me. We were the same age and although we had no recollection of it, we were reliably informed that we played together as small children. It was unbelievably awkward to begin with; I felt so sorry for her, having to cart me round out of a sense of duty. But slowly we became friends and when we both went to school and the social scene picked up, we often mixed our groups to hang out, as we attended nearby campuses.

Eventually, we became best friends and I looked out for her as much as she did for me. She’s attractive, blonde, petite and girly; she often attracted the wrong type of guy. I’d be her ‘boyfriend’ when she needed to ward off sleaze bags, but nothing ever happened between us. We were just friends. Besides, I was in no fit state to be in a relationship. I was broken.

When we first became friends, I was a wreck. It was so good to have a girl to talk to; she really helped me get myself together. I made friends with guys too, but being close to a girl really helped me fill the void. Something about the nature of our friendship comforted me and, slowly, I pieced things back together. She was my rock and when I did finally start getting back out there, Jen was a great wingman.

Our friends and families couldn’t understand why we never got it together. But we just didn’t want it to be that way. We talked honestly about that stuff and it was mutual that there was no attraction between us. When we graduated and were both in the market for a roommate, we took the conscious decision not to live together. Although it would’ve been great to live with her, I didn’t want to be constantly defending myself to jealous boyfriends, it was already a problem I had, even at separate addresses. She’d have also been a threat to any potential girlfriend, had there been many. So she moved in with her girlfriends and I moved in with my buddy, Scott.

We stayed close though and formed a small, tight group. I’d briefly dated one of Jen’s friends and it didn’t end well, so for a while, we had a rule that we wouldn’t date each other’s friends. Things changed, however, when I came home and discovered her and Scott asleep together in his bed. It turned out that they’d been carrying on for a while and it was serious. They were just waiting for the right time to tell me, worried I would be mad. I was anything but mad, it was great to see my two best friends together and the rule was just to protect our friendship against casual flings. This was something different. They were clearly in love and before long Jen was my roommate after all.

We lived happily together for a year and then, one night, Jen’s birthday, when we were out celebrating, Scott popped the question and Jen said yes! I knew it was time to move out and let them be together. I’d been freelancing since graduation, making a name for myself. So I took the plunge, got my own place and set up my own software development company, working from home. Scott and Jen married a year later and I was best man.