I Remember 27

He slides without warning onto the bench opposite, startling me. I look around to confirm that, yes, though the university cafeteria is echoing with noise, there are plenty of empty tables, and then look back to see his watery brown eyes boring with an unusual intensity into my own.

"Well hello Francesca! It's good to see you again!" He says it with a knowing, rather self-satisfied smirk, and an air of wholly unsupported confidence.

One thing is for sure: I do not know this man. While I like to think of myself as a nice, sympathetic girl without prejudices, I don't hang out with guys like this: pallid, rather overweight, with droopy hair that could do with an encounter with some conditioning product. When the best thing I can say about a man is that he doesn't smell nearly as bad as he looks, then there's not much likelihood that we'll be spending any time together, unless he's servicing my computer.

And this year, especially, I seem to have been the target for any number of basement dwellers who have spent too long reading websites called something like "how to make any chick dig you with one move!" It's probably a side "benefit" (heavy sarcasm) from an entire summer and fall of doing little other than concentrating hard on self-improvement. I put myself through dieting hell, I ramped up my exercise routine, I took my dress and makeup that bit more seriously, and last but not least, I changed my hairstyle to something short and blond that really frames my face.

I just fell in love for the first time, you see. My boyfriend, Richard, is such a lovely guy, and damn good looking too, so I decided to bring myself up a level or two to match him. There have been some side benefits - I feel fucking amazing, with real energy that gets me started in the gym first thing in the morning, and sustains me through my studies -- but mainly I love the look I sometimes catch him wearing, of mingled adoration and lust. It's wonderful. I slept with him for the first time this summer, having held off for months until the moment was just right, and it was just what I had hoped for -- loving and sweet. Now we cam whenever we get the chance, so I've been really motivated not to backslide, and I still look damn fine even in a loose tracksuit like today.

But when the losers slide out of the woodwork, it certainly takes some of the shine off.

This particular creep doesn't even seem to have a line prepared. I'm getting ready for some sort of sad attempt at negging, maybe even a good old fashioned pathetic chat up line, but all he's doing is staring unfocusedly at me. It's as though he's concentrating on the bridge of my nose rather than daring to properly meet my eyes.

I sigh and confront him straight on.

"Look, do I know you?"

I concentrate hard on getting my tone right -- too sarcastic or angry and I might have to put up with some sort of tirade about bitches not being properly grateful, but too kind and I might have to hear about how he's really nice when you get to know him. My best friend Karen fell into that trap and ended up dating the guy for three months until she finally found the way to dump the controlling piece of shit.

He smiles, wanly.

"Not yet, Francesca" -- using my name twice in thirty seconds is definitely a warning sign -- "but you will have done soon."

The future perfect tense throws me off balance just a little ("will have done"? What the hell?), as does his unblinking gaze, and something odd in his tone of voice. Maybe I do know him from somewhere? Is this some kind of joke I should be getting?

"I'm Damian," he offers. "You will have known that already, of course. In fact, you will have been quite familiar with all our memories."

Whatever this line is, biting on it might just get us to the end of the comedy quicker.

"Damian, nice to meet you," I say, my tone implying very much the opposite. "But I'm curious why you keep saying I 'will have' known you -- I mean, I either know you, or I don't. And I don't know you. I don't know you from Adam. Maybe we get to know each other in the future. Probably we don't, because, frankly, in the past 30 seconds all you've done is weirded me out."

Damn, but I'm proud of that little speech. A bit more cutting and poised than I usually manage. But if it hits home, it certainly doesn't seem to have shaken his confidence.

"Just to be clear, Francesca, you're very certain we have not met before?"

I'm now getting ready to leave. "Yes, I'm quite certain. I think I'll be going now."

"Wait!" he says, his voice suddenly shrill, "Let me remind you!"

Our eyes lock, just for a second, and I sense him making a tiny, peculiar motion with his hand. And, suddenly, I do recall.

"Wait - two months ago -- at Beth's party, right?" I sit back down abruptly. I don't know why I hadn't remembered before. It had been back in October. Beth, who had an apartment just off campus, had held a massive back to school get together. Anyone who was anyone in second year had been there. I wasn't on the booze at the time -- part of my diet -- and I'd ended up having long conversations in the kitchen with anyone not too drunk to speak. Damian had been one of those people, I knew, but damned if I can remember anything we'd talked about -- it can't have been that scintillating a chat. Probably I'd told him about how much I missed chocolate... and Richard... that was pretty much what I was telling everyone back then. I feel a bit guilty at having been so rude to him just now.

His smile is much broader this time. "You do remember."

"Yeah, sorry, I've usually got a better memory for faces. So, how have you been?" I say, somewhat by rote.

"Fine, fine. What did we talk about at Beth's party?" he asks, unexpectedly.

"I'm not sure," I confess. Though, really, there's nothing to be ashamed of in forgetting some random conversation from several weeks ago.

He locks on my eyes again, and, again, there's that odd little hand gesture. "Yes, you are," he says.

"Wait, no, I do remember." I say. And it's true, I am remembering now. Damian wasn't just one of the random people, was he? We'd talked to each other for a couple of hours while the party raged around us. He'd been quite a good listener, sympathetic when I told him of how hard it was to be back and trying to keep up with exercise and studies at the same time. And when it came time to pack up at the end of the night, he'd been one of the people who actually bothered to help. That's how I'd left him, actually -- elbows deep in suds, doing the washing up. Clearly, treating him like he was one of the campus creeps had been a dick move. I apologize, again.

"And I'm sure," he continues, still fidgeting his fingers, "That you remember how we laughed."

Shit, I had totally forgotten just how funny this guy had been! How he'd made me forget all my petty little troubles with loads of really well-done impressions of the drunker guests. How I'd come close to actually peeing myself at some of his routines. How I'd thought he would make a damn fine stand up, if he could do this stuff on stage. I can't believe it's the first time I've seen him since then! I smile happily and settle back in my seat, looking forward to catching up with this witty, clever guy.

"Did you find me attractive, back then?"

Oh, so that's what this interrogation is all about. Pity. He asks the question in an oddly neutral tone, though, so I don't feel too bad about letting him down. And I do have to let him down, because there's absolutely no chance of anything happening here. 'Good sense of humor' isn't going to beat 'true love,' is it?

"Hey, it was a great night, totally," I say. "And I'm really, really, happy to see you -- I've thought about you quite a bit since then, and hoped we'd meet again sooner or later. But, look, I've got my boyfriend Richard back home, and even if I didn't, well, to be honest, you're not quite my type. Please don't take this the wrong way, because you're so awesome. Really, really. And I'd totally like to be friends if we can get past this..."

I trail off. His fidgeting hands wave as though he's trying to erase the awkwardness.

"But - you did find me very attractive at the party." He states it baldly this time. I'm just about to get irritated with him when I have to admit to myself that, yes, there had definitely been a part of me that had watched him and loved that self-confidence. In fact, there had been something that night -- maybe the way the lights were set low, or the way his face lit up when he laughed. Whatever it was, I'd had this sudden revelation about how handsome he was. It was a kind of hidden good looks, if you see what I mean, which is why I hadn't noticed it immediately. Probably that was why I'd missed it again today. But once seen it's impossible to ignore the shape of his jaw, his subtle odor of confidence. I'd been overawed by this great-looking guy taking so much time out talking to me in the kitchen, when he could clearly have been out there being the life and soul of the party. I'm so happy, now, to have him opposite me again, his sexy deep brown eyes boring into my own in the same way they'd done back then. It's like he understands me down to my very core. I actually shiver, very slightly, just as I'd done back then, at his masculine energy.

"Sure." I might as well admit it, given that he's asked twice and clearly sees straight through my pathetic denials. I feel bad about my boyfriend, but it's not like anything has happened between this guy and me (as of now). Just for a millisecond, I allow myself to have a little fantasy about Damian asking me out. I imagine excusing myself for a moment, exiting the hall, phoning Richard, doing the right thing and breaking off with him, running to my room to change into something much tighter and hotter, then coming back in to say yes.

It's a comical picture, and I begin to smile, realizing how silly a daydream this is. If a god like this were interested in a girl like me, he wouldn't have waited such a long time to make it known. And I'm still in love with Richard, I think. No, I'm sure. I'll just have to keep this little schoolgirl crush to myself and stay in the friendzone with Damian. Though maybe after this talk I'll have to rush back to my bed and get out my vibrator. That's what I'd done on the night of the party, I recall. I'd tiptoed in, being careful not to wake my housemates, then thrown myself on my bed, peeled off my very wet panties and played with myself. After a few minutes of that, I'd fucked myself with the shaft of the vibrator as the little bunny ears buzzed hard on my clit, pretending Damian was on top of me, fucking me deeply. I'd come so hard that night, I remember, that I worried for days that my housemates had heard me. And that hadn't been the last night. I've even named my vibrator Damian as a private little joke -- not one I'm going to share with Richard, admittedly, especially as I'll probably picture Damian next time Richard's on top of me making that stupid sex face. Now, losing myself in those sexy eyes all over again, I can't wait to get back to my room, and his namesake.

"Remind me -- did we kiss?"

If I'm honest, I'm a bit insulted. He might be pant-wettingly dreamy to look at, and, let's be honest, just the funniest guy. But I don't cheat. Richard and I have been talking about marriage after we finish our studies -- I'm not throwing that away for the first hot guy I meet.

There's that hand gesture again. Sort of like he's pulling something out of thin air, and then pushing it towards me.

How had I forgotten, even for a moment? One moment we'd been laughing, and the next -- the next, his face had come close enough to mine that I could feel his breath, sense his lips just a fraction away from my own. It was hardly a kiss, though, much as I'd been tempted. I'd laughed it off then. I decide to laugh it off again now.

[His eyes don't leave mine, and the other hand is moving just a little, now.]

It's like I've been in denial ever since that night. It had been much, much more than just a flirtatious moment. His lips had come down on my own, so gently, so beautifully. And I had kissed him back, just a little butterfly kiss, just enough for a taste of something forbidden, something I longed for. The memory of that kiss has been the staple of my erotic imagination ever since. I've dreamed every night that we'd done something more, got myself off thinking about it again and again. Though, of course, I would never behave that way to Richard.

[I see in my peripheral vision his fingers, working furiously.]

The first touch of his tongue on my closed lips had been heavenly. It had been a struggle to force myself resist him, though resist him I did, backing off quickly, laughing it off as just a silly moment, though all the time I'd definitely wanted to --

[His fingers on both hands stretch out, hard and straining.]

In fact, now I think about it, I'd actually been the one to kiss him. I'd grabbed that sexy mop of hair and pulled his face towards my own, overcome in the heat of the moment. No sooner had our lips touched than I had aggressively invaded his mouth with my tongue, forcing my way in so there would be no mistaking my intention. It was the only moment of pure animalistic lust I'd experienced in my life, all my usual moral convictions set aside, not even caring if any of our friends saw as I twined my fingers round the back of his neck, our tongues dancing together. Luckily nobody had, and, once I'd got what I needed so desperately, I'd had the good sense to release him and hiss "That never happened!" at him. Damian, to be fair, had been a real gentleman about it. It spoke to what a nice guy he was that this was the first time he'd even mentioned it.

"Do you remember... what else we did?" It's impossible to escape his gaze. "What we did together?"

[His hands blur into action again in the corner of my vision].

The memories come rushing in. It had been the best night of my life, and the worst. Worst because, you know, I really am not a cheater, and that little morality bell in my head had never really let up through the whole thing. It was sort of like a warning, like my brain was trying to tell me to wake up, to get out of there, that this was wrong, that this wasn't like me at all. All through the night I remember this tiny voice telling me to desperately to stop, to push him away...

But at the same time it was the best, because oh my God. I'd kissed him hard on the mouth, snaked my hands into his back pockets, pulled his crotch hard against me. I'd pushed him down onto the chair in the kitchen, sat down on his lap, feeling his heat between my thighs, kissing him over and over again, so passionately that my mouth felt sore with kissing. I'd leaned in, my breasts pushing into his chest, and licked his neck, then taken his earlobe between my lips and gently nibbled it even as I felt the throb of his erection through his jeans. I'd rubbed myself hard against it, and my entire body had thrilled to the sensation of grinding on that hard lump.

I'd been the one, so out of character for me, to get to my feet, and, without caring about what anyone would think, to hold his hand and lead him up the stairs. Beth's hallways had been still full of chattering drinkers, I remembered, and I'd led Damian past the gamut of their stares, to the darkened corner bedroom, pulled him inside after me, and then turned to lock the door behind us.

It was, truly, not the sort of thing I would ever have imagined myself doing. That little inner voice had been so loud, almost a scream. Even now, I can hear it in my ears, an almost physical fight back from what remained of my demure, focused, good little girl self...

[But his fingers, moving on the table, tapping out a rhythm...]

Triumphantly, I had pushed him down onto Beth's low, white, double bed. He'd looked up at me neutrally, just as he's doing now. Impatient to make him as horny as myself, my legs shaking with desire, I'd held his gaze, just as he's holding my gaze now, and slowly reached for the zip of my tracksuit top. I'd pulled it down, revealing my red bra. As he drank in the sight, I remember thanking the gods that I was wearing my lucky underwear, not to mention that I was in the best shape of my life. My boobs may not be the biggest, but they're firm and I had no doubt just how good I looked.

His eyes hadn't left mine once as I removed the top, but his hands had snaked out to rest warmly on my hips. His thumbs had crooked into the waistband of my leggings and knickers, and he'd gently pulled them down at the same time. If he'd looked he'd have seen how wet I was, how much I needed his touch. Certainly, given that the low bed put his face level with my crotch, he would have been able to smell just how turned on I was. I had stepped out of my pooled clothes, reached behind my back and undid my bra, then straddled his still clothed lap.

We'd kissed hungrily again, then he'd turned us over, his tongue still in my mouth, moving my body with his own, until I was flat on my back with him looming over me. His fingers had reached down between us and found my hard clit, rubbing it gently, causing me to writhe with the force of my desire. I remember comparing his soft fingers with my boyfriend's hands, calloused all over from workouts and gardening, and thinking how nice such softness was. Frantically, I'd pulled his T-shirt over his head, and then he was moving down my body, kissing me all over. His lips and then his teeth had found my nipples, carefully teasing their already erect nubs, while his fingers sank lower, down into the wetness between my legs. I had never been so turned on in my life. Damian just possessed this raw animal energy that chimed with something deep within me, something I'd barely known was there until that moment. I'd surrendered myself to him fully, pushing my hips impatiently up against that hand, wanting more, more, more.

What I hadn't expected, what I'd had no reason to expect, was that he would release my aching nipple and begin kissing his way further down my body. Nobody had ever done anything like this to me. My toned stomach reacted to each soft, slow kiss as though it were a red hot poker, my body squirming with pleasure as he unhurriedly made his way down. His hands had held my hips, keeping me firmly in place, even as I'd begun to realize that he was not coming back up any time soon. He had placed a kiss on the soft bump of my mons, then turned his head to kiss his way up my thighs, first one, then the other, all the while coming closer and closer to my burning, sopping, eager pussy.

Yes, my pussy. I'd never called it that before -- I'd made do with all sorts of coy euphemisms. And Richard, who is just as inexperienced as me, had taken my lead. But now, desperate, all of my pretense at being a good girl stripped away from me, my hips grinding at his face as though I were already in the throes of orgasm, I'd begged him, actually begged him to "please, please, just do it, please, lick me, lick my... my pussy... please..." And he'd obliged, dipping his face between my thighs and snaking out his tongue in one long lick that went deep into the trench between my pussy lips and all the way up to tease my throbbing clitoris. Then there had been a pause, during which I had sobbed out every bad word I knew, dirty talk I never would have thought possible coming from my mouth, before his mouth closed over my clitoris and he began to gently lash it with his soft, fast-moving tongue.

I had reached down with one hand and held the back of his head, forcing it harder between my legs, dying for him to be firmer with me, my other hand over my eyes, blocking the glare from the light. He had held off for as long as he could, but eventually his tongue had become firmer with me, harder, faster, rising in pressure in just the way I needed, rising along with the orgasm building inside me. Every inch of my skin had blazed with pleasure, from my ankles locked around his back, to my fingers pulling hard at his hair. I raised my hips again and again, desperate for release, and he had followed my wild bucking relentlessly, never releasing my clit from his mouth. I had screamed his name, or my name, or something unintelligible, and had felt myself come in a way I had never come before, over and over again, my juices flooding into his mouth. He'd moved down, his tongue softly penetrating my hole, and I had impaled myself on it over and over again, my body continuing to come, my brain almost blacked out with the intensity of it.