Sweet Sweet Mess

Sweet, Sweet Mess

I'm getting annoyed. I've been ready to pay for my hot chocolate for ten minutes now, but still no waiter in sight. It's the first day with good weather during my vacation and I do not want to waste any more sunlight in this café, as cozy as it may be. I grab the empty mug in front of me that still exudes the aroma of delicious chocolate. I head towards the counter, done waiting for someone to come to my table. Well, they do have a lot of guests here right now, so maybe I could be more forgiving for the delay. Then, I freeze. I can't believe it. It's you.

I recognize you instantly - your posture, your head resting on your fist, the pen twirling between your fingers like always, caught mid-thought. Who writes on paper these days? Of course you do, or you wouldn't be you. A tear escapes my eye before I even notice that I am about to cry. I wipe it away quickly. You're no longer the remedy for my pain, nor are you the enemy I once perceived you to be. So why can't you just stay in my memory, where you belong?

I take a step closer, still watching you from a distance. You look older now. Not 17, like when we got together. Not 21, like when we broke up. The six years since I last saw you feel short in this moment. That boyish smile on your lips looks almost like a man's now. I wonder whether you're still trying to become a writer. 'Trying', as in you not having succeeded yet. Maybe you did? I never bothered to check.

I could just walk past you, ignore you. Instead, I stop behind the chair opposite you, observing you, waiting for you to notice me. It takes you a while. I see you make a note. Your handwriting has always been pretty, it still is. You called it the expression of a writer's soul back in the day - you pretentious little prick. And I was all over you for it. I see the ring on your finger. Then I catch your eye. Your gaze slowly wanders up my body as if you were hesitant to just stare at some random woman besieging your table. I can see the moment of recognition on your face.

"E... Elena?!"

I smile at you.

"Hi, Julian."

You look as baffled now as I did just a minute ago when I first saw you.

"Wha... What are you doing here?"

Your voice is curious and friendly, but you lack your usual composure. You're 27 now, but still unravel the same way you did at 17 when something catches you off guard. No matter how much we age, we remain the same at our core. I see you put the pen down. Your thumb is free now and it instinctively reaches for the ring on your finger as if it had to make sure it's still there.

"I'm on vacation. Just doing some sightseeing today. You too? Quite the coincidence, us meeting like this, huh?"

My casualness feels suspicious even to myself.

"Uhh, no... actually, I live here. I mean, not in the café, obviously. But there are apartments above it. Mine's on the fifth floor. Please, sit down."

You gesture towards the seat in front of me. I hesitate for a second, then sit down, setting the empty mug in front of me.

"But you're right, it is still a crazy coincidence. I never expected to see you like this again, just walking in here. Can I get you anything? My treat."

I twirl the small spoon inside the empty mug, tilt my head from left to right as if I'm contemplating the offer.

"Hmm... actually, I was just about to leave when I spotted you. I've been here for almost a week now, but this is the first day with decent weather since I arrived. So I still have a lot of sightseeing to do."

This wasn't a no -- and I wasn't standing up to leave either.

"I could tell you about some nice spots you won't read about in any tourist guide. I can't help you with the weather, though. I swear, it's better usually."

I hear you chuckle as you finish your sentence. I give the spoon a moment of rest, fold my hands in front of me, and rest my chin on their back. I look you in the eye, not shying away from your gaze for a moment.

"What's so funny?"

I ask with a smile on my face.

"Nothing, I was just thinking..."

Your voice carries a hint of amusement.

"... what would our 17 year old selves think if they could see us like this, talking about the weather?"

I agree with you, that is an amusing thought.

"Oh, our 17 year old selves were awkward idiots, too. They weren't just self-aware enough to notice that."

Are you now? You laugh at my remark. It doesn't sound fake.

"True that!... You sure you don't want anything?"

You ask me again. The ring on your finger, it's gold. It doesn't suit you.

-------------------------

You seem to be doing well for yourself. An apartment with a living room this big can't be cheap in a city like this.

"So? What can I get you? Coffee?"

I chuckle slightly at your question, brush a strand of hair behind my ear while doing so. Hands clasped together, you look at me with friendly eyes.

"You do realize we're just coming from a café, right?"

I tease you a little. The confidence you exude is a mask. You offering me coffee forgetting the context of our meeting is proof of that. It's just what you do when someone comes to visit. Without knowing what you are supposed to do, you flee into ritual. You are as nervous as I am with me standing in this living room I shouldn't be in. You point at me.

"Good point. So, what else can I offer you? Wine? Tea? Just water?"

You offer me wine, but not beer. Did you remember that I don't drink beer?

"Surprise me."

A small challenge for you. You nod with a forced smile on your lips.

"Alright, then make yourself comfortable while I'm in the kitchen."

You're asking me to stay in the living room, implicitly. I get it. You need a moment away from me. I don't mind the break either. I feel a little high just being near you, breathing you in. I can almost hear you sigh in relief as you disappear into the kitchen. I take the opportunity to look around a bit.

"So, uh, Elena, how much longer do you plan to stay here?"

I hear you call me. I like your living room. The bright furniture, the large windows, the view of the street below us, the cat tree in the corner. I spot a photo of you with a woman. Your wife or fiancée, I presume. Dark hair, no smile on her face, expressive eyes, the freckles make her look young, probably younger than she is.

"For another week."

I browse through your book shelves. A lot of fiction, obviously, then books about writing. So these are yours. Then a shelf with a lot of psychology, sociology and history. Are these her interests or is that you doing research for your stories?

"Are you still into photography? You always had a good eye for the perfect shot. There are some places nearby I'd love to see you capture with a camera."

Flattery. You always know what to say. Praising my skill, not my looks. Showing a real interest, showing that you remember, making me feel -- oh -- so -- seen. I wish I could say it didn't work.

"Uh, yeah, thanks... but I left my camera in my hotel room for today. But you could show me some of those places tomorrow, if you want to."

I get distracted from the book shelves by a sudden sound. The hiss of a cat. I look at the black ball of fur, sitting on its cat tree. It's glaring at me from a distance. Must be hers then.

You return. Wine it is. You come close to me, two glasses in hand.

"White wine for you, right?"

Of course you remember. I inspect the glasses for a moment, one red and one white. I look at the hand offering me my glass. You took your ring off. I might have believed that you sometimes take it off at home - if your hand wasn't shaking so much. I let you simmer in the heat of the moment a little longer, waiting a few more seconds than necessary before I take the glass out of your hand.

"Always, thanks."

You take a step back. With the glass in my hand, you seem to relax a little. We both take a quiet sip. I taste nothing. My raging heartbeat overshadows simple sensations like the taste of wine in this moment. You break the silence.

"So, six years, huh? What do you think? Do I look like how you expected?"

You raise your arms slightly, presenting yourself to me. You're so overeager that you almost spill some of your wine in the process. I always liked this playful side of yours.

"I don't know. What's with the goatee?"

You grin, then stroke your beard in an exaggerated manner.

"Yeah, I actually thought about shaving it off after I found a few gray hairs in it last week."

I take another sip from my wine.

"I like a little gray in a man's beard. It's hot."

You gulp. You flee for another sip, just like me.

"Heh, thanks! But still, I could do without the mirror reminding me I'm closer to thirty than twenty now. Today the hair's gray, tomorrow it's gone."

You ruffle your hair as if to make sure that it's all still there. Alright Julian, just for today, I'll remember you as you want me to.

Another moment of silence. Our glasses are getting emptier faster than you are supposed to drink wine.

"You look grea..."

"So, who is she?"

Fuck! I regret asking the question the moment the words leave my mouth. You look at the photo I nodded at. In the brief moment you don't see me, I gulp down the remaining wine in my glass. Why did I say this? Am I trying to give you an out just before it's too late? Too late for what? I don't know how to get out of this hole we're digging for ourselves here! More than that, I don't want to! What am I so scared of? When did the love I feel for you, still feel for you, start to frighten me?

"Uhh... That's... Mia. Mia... she's... m..."

I interrupt the silence that your hesitation offers me with the truth.

"I don't care."

-------------------------

"You kept this?"

It's been eight years, but I remember everything. The old bookbinder's patient smile as he walked me through the options - full-grain leather or buckram, gold embossing or simple print. Ten of your short stories, bound across two hundred and fifty pages, each one paired with its own illustration. Three hundred bucks I didn't really have, but I paid it anyway. It felt like so much money back then.

"Of course I did. How could I get rid of this?"

My fingers slide over the cover, feeling the texture of the leather. It feels familiar, just like your shoulder brushing against mine while we're sitting on your bed indulging ourselves in the nostalgia of our shared memories.

"I just thought... Never mind."

I let myself fall onto the bed, holding the book close to my chest with one hand, the other resting just above my head. I look up at you, still sitting on the edge. For the first time since I met you today, I can't tell what you're thinking. You don't look at me. And I don't know whether you can't or simply don't want to.

"It... It wasn't all bad,... was it?"

Now you give me a short glance before you look away again. So you can't. Are you asking me for permission to remember our time together fondly despite how it ended?

"No..."

I am unable to say more than that but I shake my head slightly as if to put more weight behind my words. But you don't see that. It would be so much easier if all of it had been bad. You stand up with a sigh.

"Sorry for bringing down the mood."

Somehow you manage to make even your back look apologetic as you throw up your hands in an attempt to dismiss the sincerity of what you just asked. I don't say anything, just look at you standing there.

"Anyway, let me put that back into its box. I made sure nothing would happen to..."

You stop mid-sentence as you turn around and truly see me for the first time today, lying there with your precious memory clutched to my beating heart. Could you articulate what made you stop if I put you on the spot to express your thoughts?

"... it."

I'm not handing you the book. You come closer, putting one knee onto the edge of the bed next to me, careful not to touch me in the process. You lean over me, slowly, as if you're still hoping that my hand will let go of the book on its own. It won't.

For the first time in six years, I feel your hand on mine. Our fingers interlock and you lift my hand off the cover that is now quaking with the rhythm of my heated breath. Your thumb briefly brushes over my knuckles before you put my hand down above my head next to the other. I am painfully aware of the weight of the book on my chest. You seem surprisingly calm in this moment. Your eyes slowly wander back to my heaving chest. You let your fingers slide beneath the trembling book, brushing them against my chest in the process.

"Julian...!"

I can't say more than that, but it's enough to make you pause for a moment. The gravity of our shared memories presses the back of your hand into the soft tissue of my breasts. You look into my crying eyes.

"I'm here."

Please, I'm begging you: don't look at me with those caring eyes that see me, and only me.

My shivering hands find your neck. I'm trembling. You reach for my face. You're about to wipe my tears: gently, carefully, lovingly, as if they were the most precious thing in the world. I know you. That is why I can't let you do this. I slightly shake my head, bite down on my lip, struggling for control over my emotions. You are about to touch me. Before you do, I pull your face towards mine with such force that our teeth almost collide as I kiss you. I won't submit to your performative empathy, not this time.

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You grow harder in my mouth. Your precum is sweet to the taste on my tongue and I lap it up eagerly. My body isn't different from yours, producing excess liquid so fast you can barely keep up licking it all away. I feel your smooth tongue parting my lips, circling my clit, lapping the little sensitive knob between my legs. And whenever you decide to plunge your tongue inside me I find myself wishing that it was just a little longer, that it would just reach a little deeper. Earlier I mocked you for your goatee, but now I love how it rubs against my clit. Have you gotten better at this? Or is my excitement making me easy to please? No matter, just don't stop eating me out and let me taste more of you, all of you.

Your cock muffles my moans and I don't complain. I tease the soft purple head with my tongue, squeeze the sweet nectar it's not willing to let go without a fight out of it with my lips. I enjoy the sensation of your unrelenting hardness, your musk thick with insatiable desire, your undisguised need for me. We're naked, but the feeling of your skin on mine is so hot that I wish I had more clothes to shed to cool myself. I am drenched in sweat and so are you. And then, a jolt goes through my body.

You suddenly slapped my ass and the effect ripples through my body. Instinctively, I press my legs together, my naked tits jumping with the rest of my body. You force an involuntary moan out of my mouth directly onto your cock as if it's a microphone I'm supposed to scream my lust into. I'm on top of you but you just had to assert yourself in this moment, didn't you? I don't need to see the satisfied grin on your face. I can feel it with my pussy's lips while you keep frenching my overflowing cunt.

Careful, Julian. Don't forget who's in charge here. I drag my nails up your thigh, scraping over your balls, making sure you remember exactly who's in control. I let my teeth glide along your shaft, just to remind you of the position you're in. In response, you besiege my clit with your tongue and I bite back the moan you so desperately want to hear. I keep sucking you off with abandon until you groan in pleasure. I'm so wet, I can't imagine you'll ever forget what I taste like after today.

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You're on top of me, filling me. I love the slight curve in your cock. It makes you hit all the right spots, just like I remember. I watch the sweat drip from your face, trailing down your cheek, pooling at your jawline before it finally falls onto my skin. I expect each drop to evaporate in an instant, leaving only salt and heat behind.

The sound of your hips crashing into mine fills the room, each thrust shaping my love canal a little more in the image of your cock. I moan unapologetically, shamelessly demanding the attention of your neighbors. I can't stand the heat, and yet I pull you even closer to feel more of you, wrapping my legs around you, drawing you further in.

In this moment, I don't want you to stop fucking me, ever. Please, Julian, stay inside me like this forever. I have no intention of waiting for your orgasm before I surrender myself to my own. I'll be coming more than once before this is over.

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You're behind me, thrusting into me, reaching even deeper than before. Your cock squeezes the wet arousal out of my body, dripping from where you tear me open, drenching the fabric beneath us in more than just our sweat. My face grinds against the bed sheet every time you impale me on your cock. In between my excited moans and your ragged breathing I can hear the frantic scratching of her cat at the bedroom door. It doesn't approve of us.

Tell me, Julian - what's it like to pound your Ex's imprint deeper and deeper into the mattress you share with your wife every night, one desperate thrust at a time?

I come again, and I'm ecstatic that this doesn't get you to slow down for even a second.

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I'm on top of you, riding you. You've had your fun, you're my plaything now. I increase the speed. I'm close again and so are you. Your hand squeezes the breast above my heart. Can you feel it underneath? The heartbeat that's desperately trying to keep up with our rapid fire fucking? My cunt devours your cock.

"Ah... I'm... ha... close."

I love the desperation in your voice.

"I... mhm... know."

I put my hands on your chest, giving my body the leverage to drive down harder, increasing the intensity of my thrusts. You look at me as if you expected something else. Did you really think I'd let you pull out now just because we didn't have a condom at hand? We're making such a sweet, sweet mess here anyway, what does it matter? I see you still trying to hold on, but the increasing strength of your hand on my breast tells me how you are losing control.

"Come,... Julian!... Ah!... Come... inside me!"

And that is what sends you over the edge. You and me together.

-------------------------

I don't know how much time has passed since I laid my body to rest next to yours. Normal sensations are slowly asserting themselves in my mind again. My throat is dry, and my body screams for water to replace what it sacrificed for that session of seemingly never-ending fucking.

I place my hand on my heart. Good, it's still working and slowing down. I glance at you. I was on top of you in the end but you're just as much out of breath as I am. What sensations are returning to you? Lying naked and drenched in your sweat and mine, I'm actually starting to feel cold. I wonder, will this be the last time I feel you pouring out of me? Or the first time of many?

"Fuck... fuck, fuck, fuck...!"

The moment of realization hits you hard. I see you bury your face in your hands. It was about time you stopped acting like you don't care in this toxic love affair. What's done is done, Julian. Even the cat has given up at this point.

But the pain on your face tugs at my heartstrings. Do I have the right to comfort you after what we just did? Do you want me to? I'll be here for you, if that is what you want, but I won't let you hide from this moment. I roll onto my side and put my hand onto your shoulder.

"Julian...?"

I plant a tender kiss on your arm. My presence doesn't seem to reach you. I can't deny that this hurts me. Maybe what we did was a mistake. Maybe it was the best thing ever. But we did it together. Don't shut me out. I need you to own this, with me, together.