Love to Love Her YAC (36 page)

I adjust the strap of my shoulder bag as I
look at her, surprised by the genuine concern I see in her
eyes.

“Yeah…I’ve just had a lot on my plate
recently.”

She looks at me intently before speaking
again. “I was on my way over to that coffee place that just opened
on Third Street. Have you been there yet?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Wanna come along?” she asks, smiling a
little. I contemplate her offer, but truthfully I’m not even sure
why I have to think about it. It’s time I crawled out from beneath
the rock I’ve been living under for the past three weeks.

“Sure, thanks,” I tell her.

We begin walking in the direction of Third
Street, and thankfully Alexandra seems to sense that I’m not in a
talkative mood, so she does enough talking for the both of us,
requiring nothing more than the occasional “hmm” or “wow” or
“really” on my part. It’s nice to listen to someone else for a
change instead of just my own dark thoughts.

The coffee place is called The Bean Shop, and
it’s your typical run-of-the-mill campus coffee shop, catering to
the collegiate masses with its comfy, overstuffed chairs and
abundant electrical outlets. I order a cup of their darkest blend
(black) while Alexandra waits on a soy latte. We choose a small
table towards the far corner of the seating area to sit and
continue our mostly one-sided conversation. Every so often Alex
pauses and looks at me, perhaps hoping I’ll seize the opportunity
to launch into a discourse of my own, but each time I just blink
back at her and sip at my coffee, waiting for her to go on
instead.

We’ve both finished our cups and are reaching
the end of our time together when Alexandra says, “Blake, listen,
this may be forward of me, but what are you doing Saturday
night?”

I’m flooded with guilt, thinking perhaps I’ve
misled her by coming here. I open my mouth to speak, but she cuts
me off before I can even begin. “I’m only asking because my
roommate and I have tickets to see Kings of Leon at Silver Legacy,
but now she can’t go, so I have an extra ticket. I’m not asking you
out on a date or anything—I just thought you might like the chance
to get out.”

I relax as relief washes over me. “Wow,
that’s really nice of you,” I tell her. I think for a moment, then
slowly I begin to nod. “Yeah, I’m game. What time should I pick you
up?”

Rhiannon – 5:45 PM

I
hate sticking
around on campus this late, especially in the fall when it’s
already beginning to get dark. My eyes adjust gradually to the
dimming light as I emerge from the undergraduate library, having
spent the last hour trolling for child psychology articles for a
project. I walk briskly to ward off the chill invading the thin
wool of my jacket, my hands buried deep in my pockets.

I’ve just turned the corner onto Third Street
when I spot a familiar looking figure walking several paces ahead
of me. My feet grind to a halt, causing the person behind me to
have to change directions quickly to avoid a collision. The man’s
height, his longish, honeyed brown hair and broad shoulders, are
reminiscent of Blake – and the faded canvas messenger bag slung
across his body is almost a dead giveaway.

He’s walking with someone else, a woman about
his age with jet black hair twisted up on the back of her head.
They stop at the entrance to the new coffee shop, and he steps back
to hold the door open for her. Seeing him in profile, grinning at
her as she walks past him, is enough to make my knees threaten to
buckle beneath me.

God, does this mean he’s dating someone else?
They sure seemed friendly…
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Hurt,
bitter tears sting the backs of my eyelids.

I decide to cross the street to keep from
being noticed as I walk past the glass front of the coffee shop.
I’ve just alit on the opposite curb when my phone vibrates in my
back pocket. The flashing envelope icon alerts me to a text message
from Andy:

Are you busy?

The hurt grabbing hold of me is slowly
mutating… Now I’m
furious
, as well as completely unprepared
to sort out why or whether this is a reasonable emotion. My fingers
stab at the keyboard, typing out a response:

No. Where are you?

Come to Sid’s

Thankful for the distraction, I veer left at
the next cross street and walk down one more block to Sid’s, a dive
bar with a jukebox and three pool tables. It’s pretty empty this
time of day; I immediately spot Andy sitting at a high top table
with three of his friends, including the two who dressed up as
fellow SNL Roxbury guys for Halloween. They’re sharing a basket of
chili fries.

I drop my bag on the floor next to the table,
remove my jacket and drape it over the empty barstool next to Andy
before taking a seat. I order an iced tea from the waiter and smile
and nod while Andy introduces me to the other guys. Their names are
Dennis, Will and Matt (or was it Mike?) – but I don’t catch which
name belongs to which person. My focus is pretty singular: I grasp
Andy’s thigh and slide my hand upward beneath the table, cutting my
eyes in his direction in a manner that’s none too subtle.

To his credit, it doesn’t take him long to
get the hint. He looks at me, curling his fingers through mine, and
clears his throat. “I think we’re gonna head out,” he says. He
gives my hand a squeeze before standing and tossing a five dollar
bill on the table. “See you guys later.”

“So nice to meet you all,” I say with a smile
and a toss of my head, oozing sweetness as I gather my jacket and
backpack. Andy presses his hand against the small of my back and
shepherds me to the door.

As soon as we’re outside he turns to face me;
his expression is pained, and I know he’s probably hoping he hasn’t
misread my intentions yet again. “So…” he says, “what do you want
to do?”

I chew on my lip, trying to think of a
pleasant, non-trampy way to say “take me somewhere and touch me.”
Right now I just need to feel
wanted
.

Finally I say, “Is there a place we can
go?...”

I leave the rest unsaid, but he seems to
understand. A hopeful smile creeps across his lips, and he clasps
my hand in his own and gestures back toward campus with a nod of
his head. “Come on,” he says.

6:15 PM

A
ndy is a
telecommunications major, but because of his interest in
audio/visual equipment he’s also minoring in theater. He does sound
production for a lot of the plays the theater majors put on, and
consequently, he has a key to the sound booth at the back of the
auditorium in the fine arts building.

The room is dark when we walk in, except for
a few blinking red and green lights and a dim yellow light that
streams in through the one-way glass from the theater. The floor is
covered in coarse gray carpet, and the left-hand side of the narrow
room is taken up with a console that boasts an assortment of knobs,
buttons and sliders.

Andy lets the door shut softly behind him
before grabbing me from behind and pulling me back against him. He
breathes heavily in my ear as he kisses the side of my neck. I melt
into him, reveling in the heated grip of his fingers and the
longing in his caresses.

I spin around within the confines of his arms
and kiss him back. After a few minutes of heavy kissing, I take the
initiative to step out of my ankle boots. He gets the idea, sucking
in his breath as I begin to unfasten his belt.

Suddenly he wraps his fingers around my
forearms and whispers, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He turns
and flees out the door, leaving me standing breathless and alone in
the small, dark room.

A moment later he returns with a pillow, a
sheet and a flashlight. I snicker in spite of myself. “Where did
you get all that? Do you keep a stash somewhere?”

“It’s a theater,” he says as he shuts the
door again, plunging us back into darkness. “There’s no shortage of
useful stuff in the prop closet.” I imagine him smiling as he says
it, although I can’t make out more than his silhouette – that is
until he clicks on the flashlight and sets it on the floor,
shooting a beam of white light around our feet.

He folds the sheet in half and lays it on the
floor, then tosses the pillow down at one end of it. Finished with
the arrangements, he turns back to me and plants his hands on the
sides of my face. “Now, where were we?” he says huskily as he leans
in and recaptures my lips.

My fingers return to his belt buckle. This
time I successfully unfasten it, then start on his button and
zipper. A guttural moan escapes him as I tug down on his jeans,
running my hands along his hips over the fine cotton of his boxer
shorts. He strokes his thumbs against my cheeks, apparently fearful
of removing his hands from my face – he’s probably remembering the
way I’ve frozen up on him the past two times he’s tried to push any
further.

In an effort to dismantle any uncertainty, I
pull up on the hem of my shirt, peeling it off my slightly
shivering body. Andy breathes out. He touches my shoulder, pushing
aside my bra strap, then goes directly for my left boob. He fondles
it in his right hand through my satin bra cup, but only for a
moment – then he suddenly drops to his knees on the sheet and pulls
me down beside him. Closer to the light, I can see his eyelids
droop with the weight of his want.

Next I strip off Andy’s shirt and help him
pull his pants the rest of the way off. His boxers strain
noticeably around his rigid length.
I do this to him
, I
remind myself.
He wants me
.

Moving more quickly now, I unbutton my own
jeans and sit back on my butt to slide them down. Once I have them
bunched around my knees, Andy grabs the ankles and snaps them the
rest of the way off. He bears down on top of me, seemingly unsure
of where to touch me first. Finally he goes for my breasts, tugging
aside my bra to rub his fingers over my hard nipples. I lift up on
my heels, thrusting my hips into his, and he quickly forgets about
my breasts and moves one hand down to my panties while using the
other to brace himself above me.

He moves his hand between us and pushes the
fabric of my underwear aside, stroking me with two fingers. I watch
as his eyes widen; still touching me, he draws back, an impish grin
on his face, and he thrusts two more fingers inside my panties,
swiping his hand over the smooth, slick skin. “You shave?” he asks
huskily, his eyebrow cocked.

“Wax,” I whisper, gripping his shoulders and
pulling him down against me, willing him to keep rubbing me.

He shakes his head, still grinning. “So
fucking sexy,” he murmurs, then inserts one of his fingers. I gasp
as he caresses the inside of me and wait for the familiar surge of
brilliant, prickling warmth to engulf me.

More sure of himself now, Andy stops
momentarily to reach inside his boxers and pull out his cock. He
presses himself back down over my body, hooking his finger in the
wet crotch of my panties. “I want to taste you,” he whispers in my
ear.

All my senses go on high alert, and a faint
trace of nausea twists inside me.
Shit.
I guarantee it isn’t
because Andy is doing anything wrong – it’s me. Or perhaps more
accurately, it’s
Blake
. Damn him.

I fight stubbornly against the influx of
unwelcome mental images by shouldering out from beneath Andy and
flipping him on his back. I palm his erection, working my hand up
and down. He sucks in on his bottom lip and bites down while
leaning back on one elbow and keeping his other hand wrapped around
the back of my hip, clutching my butt; his eyes are on fire,
trained on the persistent stroking of my fingers.

A minute later he forcefully grabs my hips
and pulls my panties down to my knees. I quiver as he swirls a
finger inside my wetness. He licks his lips, leering up at me
seductively, but the alter ego perched on my shoulder (and now I
can’t tell if it’s an angel or a demon dictating my decision path)
tells me I can’t go there – at least not yet. The last person to
taste me down there was Blake, and regardless of the fact he may
have let me go for someone else, I’m not ready to part with that
memory of him, or to share this part of myself with Andy.

Instead, I wiggle downward until I’m face to
face with Andy’s erection. I take him in my mouth, licking the drop
of pearly fluid from his head as I raise and lower my lips.

“Ahh, God, Rhiannon,” he says in a hushed
tone, wrapping his fingers around the back of my neck to drive me
down deeper. “Yes…fuck.”

A little while later he tries to pull me off
of him, but I vehemently stay the course, afraid of what he’ll try
to do if I back off. I continue until he’s close to finishing, then
pull back just as he’s about to come. He grabs one of his socks and
covers himself with it, shooting off into the ribbed cotton while
his face scrunches in pleasure.

I wrap my arms around my chest and fold my
knees up, suddenly feeling enormously exposed. I wait, completely
at a loss for words, as he cleans himself up. He leans forward and
curls his fingers around my forearm, but doesn’t try to move my
arms away from my breasts. I’m sure the shift in my demeanor is
abundantly clear.

“That was… Wow.” He grins as he strokes my
arm, and I smile feebly in response. “Will you let me return the
favor?” he asks, his tone imploring. He bows his head, attempting
to look into my eyes, which are threatening to betray my sudden
sense of emptiness – the tears are gathering, a wall of them dammed
up behind my tear ducts. I take a deep breath and glance away to
keep them from spilling over.

“You don’t need to do that,” I tell him. “I
should get home anyway.”

Immediately I wish I could have come up with
something better to say. I’m acutely aware of the situation I’ve
found myself in – both of us naked, sitting in such a confined
space, while I take a worthless crack at forgetting the person I’d
rather
be doing this with. I’m appalled at the way I’ve
treated the man sitting across from me. I can’t imagine he’ll
tolerate my fickle behavior much longer.