Party Time

Sarah was sitting outside, on the steps, huddled in the depths of her quilted parka.

I should have slapped him. I should have hit him. Why didn't I? Did I think I deserved that? Do I think he's right?

"How are you feeling?" Ben asked her.

"Shitty," she said. He smiled sadly and offered her his hand. She took it and pulled herself upright. They began to walk. Streetlights glittered off the snow. "What did you say to Richard?" Ben told her. "Oh my God!" she said. "That's exactly what happened the first time we slept together." She laughed. "You even got the little sigh right. How did you know?"

Ben said, "He knows a lot of reasons to hurt people, but the only reason he knows for being nice to them is to be in love."

Sarah looked at him. "I don't understand."

"It's training. It's socialisation. Hurting people is okay, so you learn how to do that. Being nice to people isn't okay unless you're in love, so you learn to be in love."

"Ben, you don't believe that."

"I don't know. I believe in hypocrisy. I believe some people can't admit that they're just horny, they've got to dress it up with love."

"Maybe."

Ben shrugged. "Maybe not. I was guessing. I do a lot of guessing. Might just be self-deluding bullshit on my part, too."

She said carefully, "I think he thought he loved me."

"Did you love him?"

"I don't know." She squeezed Ben's arm. "At least he won't be able to do that to Crista, he'll be too self-conscious."

"You're taking this awfully well."

"Am I?" she asked him. "I don't know. I never got dumped before."

"I've been dumped. Trust me; you're taking this well."

They walked in silence until they came to Sarah's door. She turned to face him.

"Do you want to come in?"

"Do you still want me to?"

"Oh, for God's sake," she said, and she kissed him. Her lips were cool, though her cheeks were still flushed by the beer. They kissed tentatively at first, as though the entire scene on the dance floor had been the show, and this was the first rehearsal.

Suddenly Sarah didn't want to wait any longer; she'd been so close before, and she was still hungry for the feel of him against her bare skin. She quickly slid her tongue into his mouth. His tongue felt hot. The nylon shells of their coats squeaked and rustled as they pressed against each other.

Ben said, "I have to take all your clothes off now, or I will die."

She tilted her head away so he couldn't kiss her on the mouth. He kissed from the base of her ear to the hollow of her neck, running his tongue along the portion of her collar bone that he could reach.

"Le petit mort?" she asked, giggling. Sarah quickly unzipped his coat and cupped her hand over his crotch in a gesture of promise. He had adjusted his cock sometime so it was pointing up now, not down his leg.

"No, sweetheart," he replied in his best Bogart. "The big sleep."

She giggled and stepped away from him to look through her knapsack for her keyring. Ben carefully made sure he wasn't blocking the light and unfastened her parka while she searched. The hallway was very cool, and she was sweaty. Her nipples hardened again.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm too young to die," he said simply. He slipped his hands into her coat and under her top, stroking his fingers along the swell of her breasts.

The keys jingled in her hand. "I can't--" she began and then he leaned down and tongued her ear again. "You're in the way. I can't get at the door."

"Oh," he said. "I'll move." He knelt in front of her so the keyhole was beside his head. She sucked in a cool breath and held it as he peeled up her top to expose her breasts. He kissed and licked her belly, but he couldn't quite reach her breasts. While his tongue explored her navel, he unfastened her jeans.

She had to lean past him to fit the key in the lock, and that brought her breasts near his mouth. He licked the left nipple, then the right. He opened his mouth and sucked in as much of her left breast as he could, sucking hard. Her nipple felt like it was going to explode, and she had to support herself on the doorknob.

"Ben, please--"

"Don't mind me," he said. With both hands, he tugged her jeans down to her knees and she squealed.

"Ben, we're in the hall!" At least her parka meant that no one would see anything...

"Okay," he said, and he leaned back against the door. "Take your time. I'll just look at you."

She felt the heat rise in her face. He said softly, "God, you're gorgeous." He put his hand over hers and turned the doorknob. The door swung inward and, hobbled by her jeans, she fell against him. He held her tight against him, the cold zipper of his parka scratching at her breasts and hips, and he kissed her again. His cock was an insistent lump in his jeans, pressing against her groin.

Ben rubbed his hands over her cool nylon parka, feeling her under it, feeling her against him. Her tongue slid over his. He caught her face between his hands and kissed her rapidly and hard on her mouth, her cheeks, her chin, her throat.

"Why are we standing here?" she asked him.

He slipped one arm under her legs and scooped her up. Cool air washed her skin as Ben carried her into her apartment. Sarah was worried he might drop her, she was scared she didn't want him enough, but she was also very excited. She caught the door with her hand and swung it shut as they left the hallway.

She started to relax; it didn't seem he was going to drop her, and she started to trace her finger along the rim of his ear. "Down the hall," she told him. "Second door."

He bent over set her on the bed with a small grunt of effort. While his arms were still pinned under her, she grabbed his coat and pulled him down onto her. The bed thumped and the old springs whined. Ben started to say something but she silenced him with huge devouring kisses.

Ben moved so he was entirely on the bed, partly on her, partly beside her. She sat up suddenly, pushing him down on his back, and shucked off her coat before straddling his hips and leaning her hands on his shoulders. She rocked her pelvis against the length of his cock. His shirt was open, he'd never buttoned it up again, and when she looked down she could see the tip of his cock peeking from his waistband.

Now that she'd got a peek at it, it didn't seem so premeditated to undress him.

Light came through the window from a streetlight, and Ben watched her in chiaroscuro. Her bangs hid her face now as she looked down at where their hips met. With each rock of her hips, her breasts seemed to swell and recede beneath her bunched top, swaying into and out of the light. She lifted her head in urgent pleasure, eyes closed and lower lip caught in her teeth, and when he saw her face, Ben's heart caught in his throat.

He couldn't say he loved her, not after his pompous little speech about Richard; he didn't even know if he did. Instead, he murmured, "You're beautiful."

Sarah opened her eyes and looked down. His face was hidden in shadow, and if she wanted, she could pretend he was Richard. She discovered she didn't want to.

Ben reached up and stroked her stomach and her breasts. He pinched and squeezed her nipples with the same rhythm she was using. She closed her eyes and lifted her head again. He pulled off her top, manoeuvring it over her head and down her arms. She didn't lift her hands, so he went back to fondling her breasts.

Her panties were soaked. Sarah thought she was ready, she had to be ready. If she let him enter her now, an orgasm was practically guaranteed. She tried to ease herself back to undo his jeans and found that she was tangled in her jeans. She rolled onto her back and found she couldn't slip her jeans over her boots. She kicked her legs in frustration, suddenly feeling unsexy, unglamorous: an almost-naked girl doing the frog kick in her underpants to the sprung-spring whine of the old boxspring. And as simply as that, the edge of orgasm was gone. It was enough to cry.

Ben chuckled but she looked at him with such hurt that he knew she'd shifted from fever to frustration. "Shhh," he whispered, and sat up, laying her legs across his lap. He could untie her boots with one hand while he untied his with the other. It was only a minute before he had dropped all four boots heavily on the floor and skinned off her socks. He pulled her jeans off her legs and left them, inside out, on the floor.

Sarah's legs were shaking, so he stroked them gently with his hands, then kneaded the jumping muscles. She gave two convulsive sobs and he lay down beside her, holding her and stroking her head.

Hot tears began to leak from her eyes and because the frustration was too big for words, she wailed, hoarse and inarticulate as a donkey brays, and the awfulness of that sound made her cry more. Ben held her close, cradling her against his chest. She wrapped her arms clumsily about him like clubs, too tired and angry for fingers and hands, pulling him close to her.

"That's it, honey," he said, over and over. "Cry it out. Cry it out."

They lay like that for some time, and finally her arms softened and her hands pressed against him as the shuddering sobs slowed. She leaned away from him and said, slowly and sloppily, "I need a Kleenex."

"I'll get one," he said. He looked around. "As soon as you tell me where they are."

"The dresser," she told him, and snuffled.

After she took a half-dozen tissues, he made a sour-funny face and made a big show of wiping his chest clean as he lay next to her. She laughed once, more like a bark, and said, "Ben, I'm sorry."

"What for?"

She waved her arm around. "This." Then she blew her nose. "And this."

"Enhh," he said, and shrugged, and waited.

"You deserve an explanation," she said carefully. "He said-- He said--" With a sudden hitching of breath, the tears started to flow again and she rolled forward into Ben's embrace.

"Slow, baby, slow. Richard-the-dick said?"

"He stopped wanting to-- wanting to-- He said"--she swallowed a large lump-- "I was frigid. And he said I wasn't sexy. I couldn't turn him on. I wanted to prove I wasn't-- wasn't--"

"Frigid?"

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against him, hairs on his chest brushing her eyelids.

"Honey, you're about as frigid as, I don't know, a propane torch. Frigid means sexually unresponsive, and you are definitely responsive." He sat up. "Did you enjoy what we did in the bathroom?"

She sat up and faced him. His shadow cut her in half: he could see one arm, one shoulder, one breast, one eye. She ducked her head so the light wasn't in her eyes. "Yes," she said shyly.

"Then you're not frigid. I doubt you're even non-orgasmic. Sarah, listen to me: you're sexy. I look at you, especially like this, and ductless glands go to work. Erectile tissues erect. Hormones moan."

She giggled.

"Didn't you feel all those guys watching while you danced? They sure weren't looking at me."

She placed a forefinger on his lips. "Stop talking and kiss me."