Love, Lust, and Other Mistakes (3 page)

Bobby slightly grunts into my ear and she chews on my earlobe. “Your pussy is the engine block,” she breathes.

“Wh-what?” I’m half surprised to hear her voice.

“Your pussy is the engine block,” she repeats, “and my fingers are the pistons.”  She pumps into me hard, bottoming out and forcing my breath to hitch. “Understand now?”

My eyes roll back when her thumb brushes against my clit. “Fuck, I love cars.”

+++++

WAITING

The
howling wind rattles my apartment windows, and large raindrops pelt against the glass.  I pull my cotton robe tighter around thin shoulders to ward off the chill of the stormy evening. It was turning into the kind of night where the only solace to be found resided in the arms of a lover. Something I currently don’t have.

Rummaging thro
ugh the barren kitchen pantry, I hunt for the last packet of powdered hot chocolate I know is hiding amongst the nearly empty boxes of cereal and Minute Rice. I seriously need to go grocery shopping soon. The freezer is barren beyond a few oven pizzas that better resemble Frisbees than actual food. I hum a wordless tune, pressing the microwave buttons and programming the dilapidated machine to heat up a mug of water.

While I wait for my water to heat up, I stare
out the window above the kitchen sink.  The sky appears darker than usual, as if the stars have refused to shine tonight; the Chicago skyline is faintly visible from the window of my elevated apartment.

Another gust of wind shakes
the single-paned windows of the modest apartment that I share with my younger sister. She’s out for the evening, however. She had made an easy transition to her new high school, and the sleepover party she’s at tonight is evidence of this. I smile, remembering the sleepovers I’d been invited to growing up. Sleeping was never on the agenda at those things.  Freezing people’s underwear and putting sleepers’ hands in warm water, however, was.

A tentative
knock at the front door pulls me from nostalgia. I reflexively pull my ratty terrycloth robe tighter around my frame.  I’m not expecting guests, so I’m wearing only an oversized t-shirt beneath my robe. I glance quickly at the clock on the microwave.  It’s late, and I can’t fathom who would be visiting at this hour and in this kind of weather.

I pad
over to the front door, feeling annoyed to have my quiet night disrupted.
“It had better not be Brad
,” I silently lament.
“I’m
so
not in the mood to keep dodging him
.”             

It’s not
that the tall, sandy-haired man doesn’t have his charms, but I promised myself not to get involved with neighbors.  Especially ones who remind me of every ex-boyfriend I’ve ever had.             

The front door rattles when another solid knock shakes
the door on its hinges. The loud noise is unnerving. Whoever’s in the hallway is getting impatient. I unlocked the deadbolt and, opening the door, peer into the apartment hallway beyond the gold-colored door chain.

“Y-you,”
I stammer, taking a step backwards away from the door.

Her voice i
s thick and raspy. “Yeah, me.”

“Can I come in?”
she asks after it’s clear I’m too taken-aback to speak. Her dark locks are plastered to the sides of her beautiful face and her heavy mascara is slightly smudged under her expressive eyes. She wears a dark denim jacket over a black tank top.

“O
h, uh. Y-yes.  Just a second,” I ramble, taking another step backwards. 

I close
the apartment door and breathe out shakily. My face feels suddenly hot and my mouth dry, yet my palms are damp and clammy. Why do I feel this way? It’s just Erin on the other side of the door. Erin, my closest college friend. Erin, with her dark hair and even darker eyes, who had stuck out at the small, liberal arts college we attended together. Erin, who has been missing for the past month. Erin, the woman I told I wouldn’t wait for.

It had been hard to bre
ak out of the college, partying mindset those first few months after graduation.  Despite landing a serious job, I still enjoyed being young. I’d been a cyclone of activity those early months – going out nearly every night to dance and drink.              Erin had been the only one who could keep up.  I suppose she had been swept up in Hurricane Me.  Night after night, we forsake adulthood in lieu of grinding with anonymous dance partners and partaking in the ancient art of Body Shots.

It wasn’t long into
our break from real life that we found ourselves in a passionate relationship that neither of us had expected.  Nights clubbing together merged into early morning awkwardness, picking up discarded clothes from the previous night, hiding naked bodies, despite knowing we had seen each other in a far more intimate state just a few hours prior. 

And each time
we promised that it had been a horrible, albeit mind-blowing, mistake. Yet, the following morning we would find ourselves in the same position once again, uselessly searching the bedroom floor for misplaced bras and underwear.  Eventually, the awkward fumbling to redress in the early morning sunlight had transformed into sleeping in.  The urgency to leave each other’s beds faded away and turned into gentle kisses and familiar caresses.  Neither of us really knew what was happening, but we both knew it felt good.  It felt right.

But when I decided I’d
had enough clubbing and needed to focus on my career, Erin had decided to leave Chicago. She explained that she needed to make amends with her past before she could truly move forward. I’d encouraged her to do what she had to do, but warned that I couldn’t wait for her forever.

We
had parted on good terms – one final night together – but when I woke up in the morning, I had found herself alone.  There was no note, no sign that Erin had even been there the previous night beyond the familiar, satisfied ache between my thighs.

During her absence, I
didn’t know what she was doing or when she’d be back.  She’d told her not to expect any phone calls, emails, or even a carrier pigeon. She’d justified the silence by explaining that talking to me would only make it harder for her to get done what she needed to do. So, I hadn’t heard from her since she had left, just over one month ago. Until now.

Taking a deep breath, I move
the chain across the latch and open the door.

“Come in,” I state solemnly.  I move
to one side to make room for her. Erin crosses the threshold and stamps her heavy boots on the welcome mat. Her shoes are thick with mud and she bends over to pull her footwear off.

I continue to stare at my unexpected visitor. I absently bring a hand to the side of my head and smooth
back a few errant, golden strands. I find myself relieved that I’d taken the time to shower today despite spending all day inside.

Erin steps
out of her boots and carefully sets them to the side.  She rights herself and looks around the slightly messy living room.  Opened mail is scattered on the small dining room table. Magazines are strewn on the coffee table amongst a small pile of dirty dishes.

“Where’s your little sis?”
she asks in a serious voice.

“Sleepover party,” I reveal
.

“Good.”

Suddenly, she’s on me, hungrily pressing an eager mouth to  unexpecting lips.  Rather than reject her abrupt advance, I groan, feeling a flood of lust rush through my body. Her wet clothes are cold and rough, but I ignore the clamminess knowing all-too-well the heat that resided beneath that layer of rain-soaked clothing.

Her
nimble fingers go quickly to the loose neckline of my short robe and she pulls the garment away, hastily dropping it to the carpeted ground. When her hands travel to the bottom hem of my oversized t-shirt, I pull away.

“Wait,”
I say breathlessly.

“No.”

Her mouth crushes back against my parted lips. Her tongue probes inside my warm mouth and I’m unable to stifle a moan. My hands slide up the sides of her face and entangle in her unruly and damp locks.  My nostrils are filled with the scent of fragrant shampoo, the rain having re-awoken the scent of her freshly washed hair. 

Her right hand slips beneath the short hem of my
large t-shirt.  Her fingertips stroke along the soft cotton material of my underwear.  I sigh into her mouth and perceptibly widen my stance, allowing her better access to my increasingly aroused sex.  Her talented fingers brush against the front of my soft panties, seeking out my hardening nub.  Her fingertips rub against my panty-covered clit pulling another encouraging sigh from me.

She pushes
the cotton material to the side and wiggles her fingers beneath the leg band. She slips just the tips of her fingers along my seeping slit. My fresh arousal coats the tops of her digits.

“N-not like this,” I nearly beg as my
knees go weak from Erin’s intimate touch. “Not here.”

She stills
the movements of her right hand.  “What’s wrong?” she asks in a raspy voice.  Her dark eyes search my troubled face.

I
bite my bottom lip. “It’s just that I’ve been imagining what it would be like when you finally came back,” I quietly admit. “And you’re supposed to carry me back into the bedroom.”

A small smirk crosses her
generous lips. “You’ve been fantasizing about this moment?”

I flash a defiant look at my
college friend. “Don’t be getting a big head or anything,” I scowl, resting my hands on boyishly narrow hips. “They were just silly dreams.”

She purses
her lips, looking thoughtful and then abruptly dips, her hands reaching for my thighs and backside.  She scoops me into her arms and adeptly lifts me from the ground.  “Is this what you had in mind?” she murmurs quietly.  She nuzzles her nose into the side of my head.

“
Uh huh,” I reveal in a slightly husky tone. “This is good so far.”

She mak
es her way toward the back of the apartment with me in her arms. She nudges my bedroom door open with her foot and carries me toward my bed in the center of the room.  I half expect to be unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the bed – that seems more like Erin’s style. I certainly don’t expect to be laid down gently, as if my skin were constructed from the most fragile porcelain.

When I
meet her dark eyes with a look of confusion, Erin smiles. “I don’t have to be rough all the time,” she admits with a small shrug.

I watch
, hoping I’m not drooling too much, as she shrugs out of her damp jean jacket and pulls off her dark tank top to reveal an off-pink lace bra.  It’s not quite pink, but it’s not quite beige either.  It’s just sexy as hell against her olive-toned skin.  Her rounded flesh heaves with every deep breath, threatening to spill from the flimsy undergarment.

Her hipbones rise from the top
of her dangerously low straight-legged jeans.  The bulky men’s belt, cinched around her waist, further accentuates the feminine curves of her hips and waist.  Her abdomen looks slightly more taut since the last time I feasted on that part of her body; I suspect that while back in her hometown, New York, she had fallen back into her regime of eating only when she could afford it.

She gives
me a small smirk. “What you looking at?” she leers playfully.

I prop myself up on my elbows and lick
my lips.  “Take off your pants,” I instruct in a low voice.

Her hands go
to her belt buckle and she jerks the leather strap from the fastening.  Her nimble fingers pop open the top button of her faded jeans, and she yanks the front zipper down, conscious that I continue to stare at her as she undresses.  But she shows no the shame or hesitation.  She knows what she wants, and she’ll only get it when both of us are completely undressed.  She tugs her jeans down her curvy hips, pulling down the small scrap of material that dares to call itself underwear as well. I bite my bottom lip hard; it’s literally painful just looking at her nearly naked body.  Painful because I haven’t gotten to touch her yet.  But that will soon be remedied.

She steps out of the jeans that had gathered around her ankles, clad only in her lacy, demi-bra. She crawls
up the end of the bed on her hands and knees, giving me more than an eyeful of cleavage. Her bra struggles to continue to encase her ample breasts.  Finally, I get what I want when she’s straddling me between two powerful thighs.

Her hair i
s still damp from the rainstorm, and the wet tendrils tickle my face as she leans over me.  With one deft movement, she reaches behind her back and unfastens her bra.  She shrugs out of the shoulder straps and the lacy garment falls from her torso. I have a sudden urge to bury my face in her cleavage, to nuzzle my face deep between the pert breasts slightly swaying before me, and inhale the perfumed scent of her skin.

Instead, I awkwardly yank off my
over-sized t-shirt, rendering me naked.  My wildly flailing elbows narrowly miss her head. 

“Careful there,”
she chuckles.  “If you give me a concussion, then I won’t be able to do stuff like this.” She ducks her head and takes a stiff nipple into her warm mouth.  I gasp and my hands instantly weave among her wild locks.  Erin tongues my responsive nipples, the tiny pebbles surging to meet her mouth. I squirm in my place and rock my head back and forth.  The pressure applied to my nipples is causing the aftereffects of a small monsoon to gather between my thighs.