Stevo, the NC-17 version

Saturday, December 3, 2005

Using her considerable womanly charms, Lila drags me to her grandmother's sweltering, 100-degree tin can-sized apartment, with its dingy indoor-outdoor carpet and cloying hand-lotion smell. Throughout our visit, we make insufferable small talk, which I devote no more than 30% of my attention to, since the other 70% is preoccupied by Lila's tight green turtleneck, with the cuffs of her white shirt folded under her sweater sleeves.

I hate talking to old people. You have to scream your ass off just to get them to hear you, while at the same time choosing every word carefully, lest you shock them into a myocardial infarction.

I don't know why Lila needed me here; she is actually a great listener, maintaining steady eye contact, nodding or saying "mm-hmm" frequently, and smiling often. Maybe she didn't need me here at all; maybe this is just a ruse on her part to pull me back in. Then again, maybe I shouldn't flatter myself.

It's very picturesque looking out the 12th-floor window as the snow falls. It's especially gratifying, knowing that it gives Lila and I an excuse to make a beeline for the door.

I keep catching her looking at me as I struggle to maintain control of my little car on the snowy roads. She's definitely planning something. I'm sure she's going to ask me into her house. And then, she's going to let the chips fall where they may, just the way I would.

"Do you want to come inside until the snow stops?" she asks, in a soft whisper, as I pull into her driveway. It's not her little-girl voice; that would be too obvious. But it is sexy nonetheless, and she is careful not to plead with me. The pretext is that this is a friend helping a friend, and that it's no big deal either way.

I come inside, hang my coat, and sit on the far right-hand side of the blue couch in her TV room, just as I always did when we were together, and after turning on HBO, she plants herself beneath me on the floor, just as usual.

Each time the screen goes dark, I can see Lila's reflection, her leg folded under her, a strand of hair in her mouth. At one point, she reaches back without looking and takes the fingers of my right hand in hers, softly brushing her thumb across the back of my hand. And damned if it doesn't get me hard as hell.

"You want a drink?" she coos. It's the little-girl voice now. I know exactly what she's doing, I know that I should resist, that I should devote all my energy to getting Tim back, but I also know very well that I won't be able to fight it, that the pull of my infatuation is too strong to resist, and that when it comes to Lila, just about any excuse will do.

She returns from the kitchen, handing me a bottle of Evian, and sits down next to me on the couch. I don't look at her right away; I just sit, inhaling the green apple-scent of her hair and the sweet smell of her breath. But I can tell she is looking at me.

"Thank you for coming to nana's with me," she whispers, holding the last word for a second, letting it trail off.

"You're- you're welcome. Lila."

"Thank you for getting me my job."

"Welcome." My heart pounds uncontrollably. The water bottle trembles in my hand.

I'm not sure who kissed who first. But once we did, it was over.

I love watching her sweater come off, finally seeing the white shirt that was hidden underneath, getting a clear glimpse of the bra beneath it. I love the first glimpse of her black panties as she peels her jeans down. I love listening to the sound of my own breath quickening, and feeling my racing pulse.

I tremble harder on the touch of her firm legs to mine as she climbs on top of me, her knees flexing tightly on either side of my lap. She's more shaved than she used to be, I think, as I watch myself slide into her.

She grabs me behind the neck with a well-muscled arm, and tilts her head back, her hair brushing against the tops of my legs. The TV screen goes black for a second, and I can see her round ass bouncing slowly up and down. I can't believe we're actually doing it! The whole thing seemed so easy, so effortless.

Just like it used to.

She pulls my head to her, forcefully. "I love you baby, I love you so much," she says into my ear.

No way I'm saying it now. She has succeeded in revving my hormonal engine, but I know where this road leads, and it's a road best avoided. Part of me will always love Lila, but even I realize that getting with her long-term is bad news. So I kiss her instead.

I touch her concave stomach, firm and tense as she grinds her hips back and forth against mine. I look down for what seems like forever, admiring the sight of me penetrating her, remembering every detail like a favorite movie that I haven't seen in years.

She pulls my head to her again, kissing my ear, teasing it with her tongue, filling it with her hot breath.

"I want to feel your cum inside me," she says, so softly I can barely hear it. But I hold back, wishing against wish that I could watch her come.

Instinctively, I press a thumb against her swollen clitoris, gently, softly, letting the motion of her pelvis do the work. You're not calling an elevator here, guys, so go easy.

"Mmmm," she says, shifting her body this way and that, finding the perfect angle. She remembers how we used to do it, too; we've fallen back into our rhythm, just the way we fell into our work-relationship at the office: instinctively and without thinking.

Sex is often made into a dirty thing, but the only word that comes to mind while I watch Lila is beautiful. I can't help but cup her breasts in my hand, rubbing my palms against her firm nipples, softly kissing the spot where her rib cage comes together.

"Ugh," she moans, and then she is in the throes of it, pulling the back of my neck tighter, tensing her legs around me, freezing in place as the orgasm overcomes her.

She rides me harder now, with long, slow strokes, coaxing the climax out of me, and I feel myself slip away, grabbing her ass and pulling it hard against me as I explode inside her.

Just like I used to.