silenced by him stuffing himself atop my mouth, his legs shifting to either side of my head. After a few yanks of his sweatpants, finally, we fit together. This gave me an up-close view of his butt, which enticed me to explore that option. But before I could share more than a few playful rubs and finger-pokes, we were busy exploding.
The act of swallowing his bursts shocked me at first. Despite my attempt to move my hips away from his face, he was determined to do it to me. Besides, I would have otherwise left his bed splattered with evidence. Most important, he tasted pretty good, like glue, salt and sugar.
His appreciative gesture made me laugh with relief. Everett collapsed opposite me, then used his tongue to wipe his mouth. “Mmm. Cream of Reid.”
We were partially clothed, arms wrapped around each other, half-sleeping in a tingling bliss, the stereo already on to another LP (Steely Dan) by the time Helen knocked on the door to announce that she had his laundry. Everett calmed me with a shouted, “Leave it outside, please,” a cozy faux-yawn, and a sleepy smile, followed by a soft kiss.
I hastily dressed, then found my glasses, looked around for my boots before remembering they were downstairs in the doorway. The thought of facing his housekeeper, wondering if she would know or conjecture what had happened between us, worried me.
“So, stay for dinner?”
“Uh, no. Thanks.”
“So, then. Saturday?” Everett was already preparing to escort me downstairs, as if he’d known that enduring dinner with his family, or whatever there was of his family, would be preposterous. I longed to walk back through those woods and stomp in the snow for joy, to lick my lips with what, or whom, I’d eaten. I wanted to avoid contact with other people, to savor this sacrament, my belated holiday gift.
As if sensing my apprehension at more introductions or staff encounters, Everett quietly led me down the stairs and through the momentarily empty kitchen.
“Come to think of it,” he conjectured as I fumbled into my boots.
And then I stiffened inside, preparing for a rejection.
“I don’t think I want to wait that long.”
“Huh? I can’t just take my mom’s car. I have to … I can’t use that B.S. you said about a library sign-up sheet. I have to–”
“Shh. I was trying to–” Everett looked me up and down like a coach whose rookie player left him slightly disappointed. “I’ll come to visit you tonight. Helen’s cooking leftovers anyway.”
Perhaps it was the heat of being once again fully dressed in my parka, boots and all, but I melted again.
Yes, he would charm my parents. They, like me, would do their best, on the surface, to ignore the oddity of their bookish child having suddenly acquired the handsome son of the wealthiest family in our tiresome town as his friend.
That they were neither religious nor conservative assured a drama-free development as Stage Two of our friendship would be revealed. No, that would be the least of our problems.
Everett turned to the kitchen table, grabbed a paper plate of cellophane-covered tree cookies, handed them to me as a parting gift, turned his head both ways in a cartoonish sneaky gesture before planting a parting kiss on my cheek and whispered, as he ushered me out the door, “We’re gonna be great together.”
Chapter 4
When the phone rang, I was in the garage taking off my boots. Beside them were my muddy running shoes and a few pair of my parents’ winter boots. I’d been chastised a few times to clean mine, but when faced with the logical explanation that they’d only become muddy or wet again, Mom always gave in.
I sat on a small pile of cardboard boxes, cartons of maple syrup, probably. My father, once a lowly accountant before I was born, had gradually been elevated to district manager of Best Rite, a company that bought regional foods wholesale and resold them to grocery stores and shops throughout the county.
Despite our
The act of swallowing his bursts shocked me at first. Despite my attempt to move my hips away from his face, he was determined to do it to me. Besides, I would have otherwise left his bed splattered with evidence. Most important, he tasted pretty good, like glue, salt and sugar.
His appreciative gesture made me laugh with relief. Everett collapsed opposite me, then used his tongue to wipe his mouth. “Mmm. Cream of Reid.”
We were partially clothed, arms wrapped around each other, half-sleeping in a tingling bliss, the stereo already on to another LP (Steely Dan) by the time Helen knocked on the door to announce that she had his laundry. Everett calmed me with a shouted, “Leave it outside, please,” a cozy faux-yawn, and a sleepy smile, followed by a soft kiss.
I hastily dressed, then found my glasses, looked around for my boots before remembering they were downstairs in the doorway. The thought of facing his housekeeper, wondering if she would know or conjecture what had happened between us, worried me.
“So, stay for dinner?”
“Uh, no. Thanks.”
“So, then. Saturday?” Everett was already preparing to escort me downstairs, as if he’d known that enduring dinner with his family, or whatever there was of his family, would be preposterous. I longed to walk back through those woods and stomp in the snow for joy, to lick my lips with what, or whom, I’d eaten. I wanted to avoid contact with other people, to savor this sacrament, my belated holiday gift.
As if sensing my apprehension at more introductions or staff encounters, Everett quietly led me down the stairs and through the momentarily empty kitchen.
“Come to think of it,” he conjectured as I fumbled into my boots.
And then I stiffened inside, preparing for a rejection.
“I don’t think I want to wait that long.”
“Huh? I can’t just take my mom’s car. I have to … I can’t use that B.S. you said about a library sign-up sheet. I have to–”
“Shh. I was trying to–” Everett looked me up and down like a coach whose rookie player left him slightly disappointed. “I’ll come to visit you tonight. Helen’s cooking leftovers anyway.”
Perhaps it was the heat of being once again fully dressed in my parka, boots and all, but I melted again.
Yes, he would charm my parents. They, like me, would do their best, on the surface, to ignore the oddity of their bookish child having suddenly acquired the handsome son of the wealthiest family in our tiresome town as his friend.
That they were neither religious nor conservative assured a drama-free development as Stage Two of our friendship would be revealed. No, that would be the least of our problems.
Everett turned to the kitchen table, grabbed a paper plate of cellophane-covered tree cookies, handed them to me as a parting gift, turned his head both ways in a cartoonish sneaky gesture before planting a parting kiss on my cheek and whispered, as he ushered me out the door, “We’re gonna be great together.”
Chapter 4
When the phone rang, I was in the garage taking off my boots. Beside them were my muddy running shoes and a few pair of my parents’ winter boots. I’d been chastised a few times to clean mine, but when faced with the logical explanation that they’d only become muddy or wet again, Mom always gave in.
I sat on a small pile of cardboard boxes, cartons of maple syrup, probably. My father, once a lowly accountant before I was born, had gradually been elevated to district manager of Best Rite, a company that bought regional foods wholesale and resold them to grocery stores and shops throughout the county.
Despite our
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