Days Forgotten but Not Lost

This is the first chapter of an eight chapter series.

Thank you to GaiusPetronius for editing this series and for serving as a sounding board.

*****

In a therapist's office, Winter, February 2001:

Counselor:

I think it's a horrible idea. You understand that, right?

Patient:

Yeah, you've made that pretty clear. But I love her. I desperately love her and I want us to be together.

Counselor:

She doesn't even know you.

Patient:

Maybe it's better that way.

Counselor:

Better in some ways, but worse in others. Some secrets you just can't hide forever.

*******

I've seen him there before, and on more than one occasion I've caught him looking at me. I've only seen him from across the room, but he seems handsome. He sits alone at a booth, slowly working his way through a beer and a bite to eat. I'm usually at the bar on a stool, talking with Darla, the bartender and trying not to look too interested in the tired businessmen who tend to frequent the place. Darla doesn't know who he is- he's not a regular, but he has been stopping by pretty often in the past few months. Maybe I keep looking because he stands out- he doesn't seem to fit the scene. He's not here for drinks or to socialize. It's after 8 p.m. and he's starting his dinner. Alone. Like always.

I guess

I'm

in danger of becoming a regular here. OK, maybe not a regular like Zeke, who spends hours here after work every weeknight. He's about seven years past when he should have retired and he says he'll probably keep doing this until he dies- work, drink, sleep, repeat. And not like Julia, whom guys keep mistaking for a hooker. She's a real sweetheart who doesn't know how to say no. She doesn't ask for money, but she says sometimes guys leave it anyway. She doesn't stop them. Just like me, she's craving some connection, some kind of touch, and since her kids are with her ex-husband during the weekends, she spends those evenings mingling at the bar until someone invites her to leave with them.

I'm Amelia, and I guess this little bar is the extent of my social life. I come in here once or twice a month, usually on a weekend, trying to just feel a little more normal. It doesn't work, really, but until I have a better idea, this is what I do. About a year ago I convinced myself I needed to get out and make some friends, and I told myself a bar was a great place to meet people. But what I couldn't admit to myself was the reality that I just wanted to be close to someone, even if only physically. I was restless and craving something I couldn't name.

I met a guy that first night; I let him talk to me, I laughed at his jokes, and I only flinched the slightest bit when he put his hand on my knee. He was clearly older than my 33 years, but he had aged well. I was pleased that someone as handsome and as articulate as he took an interest in me.

We went back to my place because it was close. I hadn't consciously planned on hooking up with a stranger, so I hadn't made adequate preparations. He was clearly disappointed but was still courteous about it. After all, he hadn't come prepared, either. We spent a few hours on my couch, kissing and using our hands on each other to chase away the loneliness and whatever other demons haunted us. I didn't want him to spend the night and he didn't ask to. We didn't even bother exchanging numbers. I politely avoided any mention of the thin, white indentation around his empty ring finger.

Shortly before midnight, he wrapped his long coat around his body, gave me a friendly kiss on the cheek, and left just as his phone rang. His wife, I guessed. Overall, our affair was brief and forgettable, but it served its purpose... for a while, at least.

It had been my birthday.

*******

Since then, I've had condoms in my nightstand and in my purse. "Just in case," I said to myself when I bought them. Yeah, right. I've hardly missed a month- a different guy every month for almost a year, and none of them for more than one night. I still don't tell myself I'm going out to find a guy to have sex with. I still make believe I'm looking for something more, and at the root, maybe I am. Maybe I just give up too quickly. Conversation gets difficult and awkward and I just want someone to accept me and touch me and enjoy being near me. I know they are really just accepting, touching, and enjoying my

body

, but if that's all I have to offer, then I guess that has to be enough.

*******

The clock behind the bar showed 9 p.m. when a man in a dull gray suit sat down near me. He was near enough for conversation but not so close enough to look like he had any intentions towards me. It took me only a few seconds to size him up with my eyes and decide that, yes, unless his personality was offensive, I would probably take him home. We talked about the news report airing on the TV screen behind the bar- its audio not reaching us and our understanding of it pieced together from titles, pictures, and sidebars. He moved over to the stool next to mine and turned to face me. We talked about ourselves a little, mostly about him. I listened and smiled and asked appropriate questions about the business trip that had brought him to town.

His hair was short and well-kept. His face was clean-shaven, probably thanks to a quick stop at his hotel room. His eyes were light brown, like his hair. He tried to tell amusing anecdotes from his job, but accounting isn't a particularly humorous profession. His body showed a physique that benefited from good genes but which was losing the vigor of youth. He was probably my age and had no ring or sign of a ring- not that it mattered greatly to me. About half the guys I had brought home from here wore wedding rings.

During a lull in our conversation, I looked across the room. The stranger was still there, receiving his bill from the waitress. He smiled at her and glanced in my direction. We both turned away when we made eye contact.

My conversation partner, Ben, was looking back at the TV, probably wondering if I was done with him, or maybe searching for a way to steer our conversation in a different direction. Sparing him the effort, I stirred my drink and asked, "So... do you have any plans for tonight?"

*******

He had paid for my drinks, which was to be expected. I offered dessert and coffee at my place down the road. A thin pretext, yes, but it helped us feel more civilized. Sitting at my kitchen table, we chatted over cheesecake and weak coffee. Ben seemed awkward. I guessed he wanted what I wanted but didn't know how to get us there. Again, I decided to help him.

After a sip of coffee, I casually said, "Ben, unless you have some objection, I'd like for us to move this to the bedroom."

He opened his mouth and blushed, then put his cup on the table. "Lead the way," he said.

I stood up and offered him my hand. He took it as he rose, and I walked him down the hallway and into my bedroom. I didn't bother turning on the light- the glow from the kitchen was enough for us to see our way around. Turning to face him, I unbuttoned my blouse. He loosened his tie and began working on his own buttons. Once we stood shirtless, facing each other, he wrapped his soft, solid arms around me. I moaned at the feeling of his skin on my back, and he sighed, rubbing a hand slowly up and down my spine.

Ben was a head taller than me, and I liked pressing my cheek against his soft chest. He lowered his head and nudged my forehead with his nose, wordlessly prodding me to tilt my head up and face him. When I did so, he pressed his lips to mine, and we slowly opened our mouths and touched tongues. I felt chemicals rushing through my body, urging me to move closer to him, telling me it would feel good to put my leg around his.

Ben pulled his head back and put his finger under my chin, raising my head to meet his gaze. He looked ready to speak but then changed his mind. He was nervous, maybe even scared. Though not quite virginal, he certainly seemed more innocent than most of the guys I brought back.

"Come," I said softly, nodding towards the pillows at the head of my bed. I walked around to my nightstand and pulled out a condom. Ben's eyes followed every motion of my hands. Setting the foil package next to my alarm clock, I unhooked my skirt and let it drop to the floor. Ben's eyes widened as he stared unabashedly at my nearly naked body. I knew I was fairly attractive. Statistically, I was about average in every way- average height, average weight, average bust. My skin looked permanently tanned- for which I could thank my Lebanese grandmother, I'm told. She also gave me the large curls that fell past my shoulders. I was past the age where my breasts stayed magically in place on my upper chest, but they nevertheless maintained a full and healthy look. And it was there that Ben's eyes came to rest.

He seemed hypnotized, and I smirked at the effect I was having on him. Oh, the thrill of being desired! With a hint of laughter in my voice, I said, "Hey. You too," and indicated the pants he was still wearing.

"Oh! Sorry," he stammered, quickly removing the offending garments. When he was done, he lay there on his back, still looking at my curves. I knelt next to him on the bed and pushed my panties past my hips. Rolling onto my back so we were side by side, I slipped the panties off and tossed them onto the floor.

Ben tentatively reached out his hand and stroked my thigh. He closed his eyes and breathed out softly. I watched his hard member twitch with excitement at the contact of our flesh. I ran my fingers through his hair until my palm was cupping the back of his head. With a firm but gentle pull, I guided his mouth to my breasts. He softly kissed the side of one breast, then my nipple. His hand moved up my body to cup my other breast, and I leaned my head back onto the pillow, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths. I rubbed my thighs together in anticipation. With my free hand, I gripped his bicep, lightly squeezing its firmness.

Ben's lips and tongue bathed my breasts and his hand moved slowly around my body. He didn't act hurried, but his slow pace seemed born more out of timidity than confidence. When I was ready to progress, I used the hand I had on his head to guide him up towards my face. We kissed again and Ben's hips began instinctively thrusting, rubbing his cock along the smooth skin of my thighs.

"Wanna check to see if I'm ready?" I murmured playfully.

He looked at me with uncertainty. "Are... you ready?" he asked.

"Check and see," I replied with a smile, taking his hand and pushing it down between my thighs. His eyebrows rose with understanding and he rubbed around my slit. Gaining confidence, he slipped a finger past my folds. A distinct squishing sound told him what I had already known.

"Do that again," I rasped. Ben pulled his finger back and slowly pushed it back in. He continued to finger me languorously as I reached over for the condom. Opening the packet, I slid my hand between us and unrolled it onto him. Given how instinctively and how easily I performed that task without looking, I figure I must have put on a lot of condoms in my day. I briefly wondered how many, but my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Ben gasping as my fingers moved down his shaft. I became concerned that perhaps he was

too

ready. Perhaps I should have given him some release first. Oh well, it didn't matter much.

Once I had the condom rolled all the way down, I kept my hand on his shaft and eagerly pulled it towards me. The way his eyes closed in anticipation, the way his breath sped up as he neared my entrance, the almost inaudible whimper in my ear as his tip moved past my folds- this was why I did it. This was why I kept bringing strangers back here for a few hours every month. I felt wanted, I felt cared about only when my body was driving a man wild with lust. It was the only real connection I ever felt with another person.

Once the head of his tool was securely past my entrance, Ben shifted around, placing his elbows on either side of my rib cage and moving his knees forward.

"OK?" he asked.

"Yes," I whispered.

He began pushing softly, perhaps not expecting me to be as tight as I was. Then having pulled out a little, he pushed firmly and it was my turn to whimper. Another little push and I moaned. When he pushed a fourth time, I spread my legs a little more, humming my appreciation as he sank all the way in. At that point, Ben paused, as many men do, savoring the feeling of his cock being tightly gripped in a warm channel. For a moment, the only sound was our staggered breathing. Ben's lips moved over mine and touched lightly down. Then he said, almost to himself, "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever been with." Saying that, he moved a strand of hair away from my face and gently stroked my cheek. He was sweet.

Finally, he seemed unable to wait any longer and began moving slowly in and out. I was surprised that he could maintain such a languid pace and began to hope it might afford me the time I needed to ascend to own my peak. But gradually, almost imperceptibly, his pace quickened until he was gasping from exertion. Our angle wasn't quite right for me. I enjoyed the firmness inside me, and the rhythmic sliding along my walls was pleasant in its own way, but I knew there would be no release for me like that.

"Ben... can we roll over?" I asked as he continued huffing on top of me. He thrust a few more times before my question registered. Pulling out, he said, "Yeah. Yeah, sure," and got on his back. I quickly straddled him, pausing to observe how much firmer his abdomen looked from that angle. Ben reached between us, gripping his tool at the base and angling it up. I wiggled my hips until I found my mark, then I slid down and back.

"Ooohhhh yeah," Ben exhaled, sliding his hands up my sides and cupping my breasts as they began to sway. He was so gentle with me, which was a welcome change of pace. He didn't push or squeeze my boobs, he just held them up and cradled them close to my chest. I was able to move about until I found a good angle that gave my clit the right kind of pressure. I started grinding around, my senses already heightened from the past thirty minutes of physical contact. Ben started pushing up towards me, and I kept pushing down, not letting him break that contact between his pubic bone and my clit.

Suddenly, his hands left my chest and gripped my waist. His eyes clenched shut and he forced my hips to move back and forth a few times. I looked at his face and watched his jaw clench. When he held deep and still and forced me to stop moving, I knew he was finding his release. He grunted as he pushed up at me a couple more times, then his body relaxed.

I was close, but not close enough to finish with him. Ben seemed in a daze, so I decided to see if I could sprint to the finish line. He was still hard enough inside me that I could resume grinding. A minute of that steady motion and my movements became more frantic. I felt the tingles in my gut and leaned over the warm body below me. I curved my back, trying to keep the right pressure where I needed it while also retaining some skin contact with my chest.

Ben was getting back in the game, even as his cock softened a bit. Sweeping aside thoughts of needing to get the condom off before he softened, I put my hands under his ass and pulled him up towards me. As long as he held that position, I could stretch out on top of him and feel that glorious warmth of body contact all along my torso. The tingling sensation spread and I began to feel like I was walking through a field of bubbles. My skin was electric everywhere it touched him. A few more pushes along his crotch and...

Release. I cried out and squeezed his back with my arms. My walls clenched around his shaft and I wished he was still as hard as he had been a moment ago. Nevertheless, I floated up and up, shivering as colors flooded behind my closed eyelids. Oh, this was a good moment. I tried to hold onto it.

It ended too soon. I didn't even notice that Ben had reached down and pulled out of me. I was glad he had done so, for safety's sake. With some regret, I flopped onto the bed next to him. "Trash is in the bathroom under the sink," I said, still panting. He quickly returned and curled up next to me. I was a little sleepy, but I managed to stay awake. Ben ran his fingers up and down my arm, kissing my shoulder now and then.

"You're so beautiful," he said. I felt a little awkward, not sure if he was expecting a compliment in return. I thought about telling him how gentle and kind and sweet he was, but by the time I thought of it, the pause had been too long for the compliment to seem sincere.

After a few more minutes of silence, he asked, "Should I leave?"

I thought a moment, then answered, "If you want to. It doesn't matter." Only after I said that did I realize it was a bit of a rejection. It was true, but it still could be hurtful. Ben was probably the first guy who indicated a desire for anything more than a one-night stand. I wasn't sure what I would say if he asked to see me again.

More minutes passed. More silence. Then Ben spoke, his voice hesitant. "I

am

pretty tired. I'll leave if you want me to, but... it would be nice if I could just stay here for the night. There's nothing but a hotel room waiting for me." I don't think he was trying to sound pathetic, but that's what he accomplished.

I pulled down the covers and slipped my legs under them. "Like I said," I replied, trying to sound friendly, "it doesn't matter." Ben waited a moment, then joined me under the covers. I yawned as his arm wrapped around me. It wasn't long before my eyes were closed for the night.

*******

It was Saturday morning, which meant I slept until my body forced me awake. When I was finally persuaded to leave my bed, it was mostly my bladder doing the talking. The bed was empty when I got up, but some noise in the kitchen told me I wasn't alone. As I exited the bathroom, I put on a thick robe and headed to the kitchen. Ben was in there, wearing his suit pants and undershirt. He was quietly looking through the cupboards, and when he heard me come in, he turned and said, "I was hoping I could make you some coffee this morning." He looked bashful and awkward. I guessed he had never done this before- not sex, I mean, but a one-nighter.

"I'm out," I explained. "Last night I re-used the grounds from the morning. Thanks, though." I pulled out a kettle and filled it with water. "I can make you some tea before you go," I offered, hoping he took the hint that I wasn't planning to spend the day with him.

"That's alright," he said, putting on his watch and picking his shirt up from the chair where it was hanging. "I'll grab some breakfast on my walk back to my car." He was gaining confidence as he spoke. Perhaps knowing what the next steps would be made him more comfortable.

As he slipped on his coat and headed out of the kitchen, he asked, "Say, where was this picture taken?" He pointed to a framed picture on the wall near the door. It was a photo of me standing on a tropical beach at sunset, holding the paddle of a kayak. It looked like it had been taken when I was about ten years younger. There were beautiful rock formations in the background and a few monkeys at my feet. I looked happy in a way I couldn't ever remember feeling.

"I... don't really remember," I said awkwardly.

"What? You don't remember where this was?" He was almost laughing with disbelief.

"No idea."

"That's you, right? I mean, the hair's a little different and you're maybe a little younger, but... "

"I'm pretty sure that's me, but... I don't remember."