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Broken Up
Part 13


When she got home the day before Thanksgiving, Danielle was unsurprised to find David at her apartment. He often was. Nicole must have let him in; while they'd joked about giving him a key when they were friends, things were different now that they were dating. You didn't just give any old boyfriend the key to your apartment. Even if he was dating. "...Wouldn't believe how excited they were," Nicole was saying. "I was scared I—oh, hello, Danielle—wouldn't be able to keep control of the class."

"I don't blame you," said David. "A bunch of grade schoolers, and the day before a vacation? I'd be nervous about controlling them too."

"I'm not sure how I did it," Nicole professed. It was good to see her coming out of her shell. Constant exposure to David was probably helping; but Nicole said that she no longer felt the same pressure now that he was dating somebody else. He would have moved on, and would no longer feel the same interest in Nicole that he once had. Or so she claimed. The way he engaged her in conversation seemed to defy that idea. "Some of them are naturally calm, of course, but others... Sometimes I think it's a miracle just to make it through the day."

"I doubt it," said David, smiling. "I'm sure they respect you a lot more than you think."

"Maybe they do, but I don't think respect is quite what a six-year-old decides by," Nicole said. "Maybe if..."

"Nellie, where are you going?" said David as she stumped off to her room.

"Oh, don't let me interrupt your conversation," Danielle grumped. "Talk on, talk on!" She shut the door behind her and threw herself onto the bed.

Perhaps this she should have seen coming too. Hadn't it happened before? That was the whole point of David: he was polite, he was kind, he was the kind of guy you took home to meet your parents. He had been this way since time immemorial. Of course he would be kind to one's roommate, even if that roommate happened to be his ex-girlfriend. The simple fact was, David wasn't territorial. But Danielle was, and while it made her happy to see Nicole getting along with David again, sometimes a girl wanted to feel spoken for.

She wondered if flouncing in here had even had any effect. She knew she'd made her dramatic exit (and entrance, for that matter), and that any sane person would assume she wanted to be left alone and, well, leave her alone. But what she really wanted was for David to notice something was wrong, and pursue her in here, and ask her. David called this 'passive-aggressive behavior.' Danielle called passive-aggressive behavior 'a big fancy name for someone claiming to be my soul-mate but actually not knowing me all that well, the bastard.' " Would David cotton on? Would he see her and decide to let her stew in her own juices (the bastard)? Or would he actually take it at face value and decide she really did want to be left alone? With David, you never knew: he was so polite that way.

One thing she knew, though: she couldn't leave it hanging like this. David's family was flying east tomorrow morning to spend Thanksgiving with their relatives. At least, she would need to say good-bye. And if he didn't come in to talk to her before then...

It was a peevish and anxious half-hour. She checked her e-mail and Facebook profile and the other sites she frequented, but after that there was nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs and wish she could go outside and watch TV, or talk to Nicole, or even talk to David. She was on the verge of giving up when a knock came on her door. "Nellie?" came the muffled voice from the other side. "I have to leave in a bit, I wanted to talk to you at least a little. Is it okay if I come in?"

For a few minutes there were just pleasantries: how was work today; anything interesting happen; oh really?, was that the one you said was cheating on her husband?; maybe you'll get a promotion now. Normally Danielle was happy to hear about his day, but right now she was fidgety and on-edge; each banal question grated in her ears like a rusty hinge.

Finally David said, "So... What was all that about earlier? With the rushing in here and barely saying anything?"

"Oh," said Danielle, "noticed, did you?" It came out a little more acerbically than she'd intended.

"Well... Yes," said David, "but... You looked like you really wanted to be left alone."

"And that didn't make you concerned?"

"It did, but I decided I wasn't going to legitimize your habit of manipulating people instead of saying right-out what you actually want," said David.

"...Well, whatever," said Danielle, deciding not to start that argument. "You're here now; I suppose that's what matters."

David gave her an odd look; but evidently he decided not to pursue it, because he said, "So, now that I'm here: what did have you annoyed?"

"...Aren't you supposed to know?" she said. "Without asking? You're the one who's always going on about how well we know each other?"

"Look, let's not start that one," David said. "Not now."

"What had me annoyed?" Danielle said. "What had me annoyed was how you ignored me. I come in, and what do you keep doing? You keep talking to my roommate. I thought I was your girlfriend. I thought I was your girlfriend."

David passed a hand over his face. "Ugh, Nellie, let's not start that one either."

"Why not?" she said, "because you'd have to admit you were wrong for once?" It was a nasty thing, and she felt guilty almost immediately. ...Somewhat guilty.

"I was just being polite," David said. "The other day you said you liked that I'm polite to people. It's kind of hard for me to meet your approval when you keep changing your standards."

"Maybe so, but surely even politeness would allow you to interrupt for five seconds to acknowledge my presence."

"Look, Danielle, what do you want from me?" said David, impatient for the first time. "I have no idea anymore. So just tell me, straight out. What do you want from me?"

I want you to be perfect, was her first thought. Her second was, I want you to stop being perfect. "I... I wanna feel like your girlfriend."

"Despite the fact that, at your insistence, we aren't having sex. Hell, we're barely making out."

"I wanna feel like your girlfriend in other stuff too. I want to feel like I'm important. I wanna feel like I mean something to you."

"You do."

"Oh, right! Yeah! I mean so much to you that when I walk in the room, you keep talking to Nicole!"

"Ever thought that I was showing you how much you meant to me with that? You're the one who said you wanted to see us being friends again."

"So if I didn't want you to be nice to her, you'd just ignore her."

"Of course not. Danielle, you know I'm not like that."

"That's my point! You're so tied up in being nice to other people that I get blown off!"

"You said you wanted to take it slow!"

"Taking it slow does not mean ignoring me!"

"Well, it doesn't mean dropping everything when you come in the room either!"

"So how about something in the middle, then! How about not ignoring me, and—"

"How about just accepting that this is who I am, Nellie? Every time it's always this. 'Why aren't you more this? Why aren't you more that?' I dunno, Nellie, why aren't you okay with the fact that I am what I am?"

"And how come it's always my job to change! If you're unhappy with me, I have to fix it, but if I'm unhappy, oh, it's because I'm an idiot and I can't appreciate you!"

They glared at each other across the silence.

David was the first to drop his gaze. The fierceness dribbled out of him all at once, leaving something ashamed and resentful on his face. "Look, I'll call you when I get back. I'll think while I'm gone. You should too. I don't like the way this is going."

She felt a dropping sensation under her. "You're not...?"

"No, I'm not," he said, though there was still iron in his voice. "Jesus Christ, Nellie, why do you always jump to conclusions. I don't want out. ...Well, maybe that's not true; I do want out. But so do you. I want out of the relationship where we're always fighting and we can never agree. I want back into the relationship where we get along and we can help each other. And I'm pretty sure you do too. And what I want us to think about, while we're gone from each other, is how to turn this relationship... into that one. Okay?"

"Okay," she said, though the fear remained. "Okay, Davey. I... I'll think hard."

"Good," he said. She could still see the anger in his body, but gruffly he stepped forward anyway and gave her a rough, brief hug. "I'll see you next week. I love you."

"I love you too," she said, glad he had said it first. Sometimes his perfectness was a burden, but every now and then...

So David left, and Danielle could go outside and spend some time with Nicole. Nicole, unfortunately, wasn't going anywhere. She had hoped that the advent of the holiday season would make her parents re-initiate contact, but so far there was nothing from them. Danielle was surprised at their coldness—they had seemed forgiving and big-hearted on the few occasions she met them—but mentioning this would only make Nicole feel worse, so she kept her mouth shut.

All in all it was a nice, relaxing night—more so than usual. Normally they would have to think about getting to bed at some reasonable hour, in order to wake up on time for work in the morning (or at least Danielle would; Nicole never seemed to have problems with being in bed by eleven). Plus, a lot of times David was over, and that could be stressful in its own way.

Dating David was, in some ways, exactly what she had needed and wanted for the past six years. He laughed at her jokes, and she at his; he understood why something upset her, sometimes before she did; and every time they kissed she remembered just how good at it he was. But these contretemps between them... Sometimes it seemed like nothing was going right.

The problems she had had with him over the years had not miraculously disappeared. He was still lazy, for instance; the firm he was at offered him very little opportunity for career advancement, and in fact had made it clear that they would need to lay him off eventually. David was completely unconcerned about this, even when she asked him how he planned to keep paying off his student loans—not to mention his rent and food bills. He claimed he'd worry about it when the time came. Danielle wasn't sure if this made him irresponsible or just stupid.

"I hope it wasn't me," Nicole said suddenly.

"What?" said Danielle, jerking out of her reverie. Something inconsequential was on the television; she had zoned out years ago. "What wasn't you?"

"What... What made you angry when you came in," said Nicole, not meeting her eyes. "I hope that I didn't—"

"Silly," said Danielle, smiling. "It wasn't you. He... Well, you know how he is. He would've been like that if anyone was in the room."

Nicole gave a timid smile. "I always liked that about him. I could tell, when my parents met him, that they were impressed, and I know they weren't expecting to be. When I told them I had met a boy in college, I know they were expecting someone... Scruffier." Danielle was glad her sister felt comfortable talking about her ex-boyfriend; in her experience, that was an important step towards closure. But at the same time, she wished her sister would talk about her ex-boyfriend to somebody else.

Of course, Nicole was coming to the Mayers' house for Thanksgiving; Danielle hadn't even thought twice about that. So she was a little concerned when she found herself preparing to leave at two that afternoon, and Nicole still padding around in her sweats. "Magpie, aren't you going to get ready?"

"Get ready for what," Nicole asked.

It was at this point that Danielle realized she might have forgotten to mention that Nicole was invited. After cursing herself for twelve kinds of idiot, she explained. Then it was another two or three minutes of hugging and sniffles and tearful smiles before Nicole could wipe her eyes and package herself off to the bathroom to take the world's quickest shower. Danielle, meanwhile, called Mom and asked her to guess what Danielle had done this time. Still, they were only out the door about an hour after they'd planned.

The kitchen at Danielle's house was a scene of barely-controlled chaos. The family on her mother's side rotated what family they celebrated Thanksgiving with every year, and this year it was Bonnie Wells Mayer's turn to host. The end result was four families' worth of mothers and daughters bustling around and trying to get everything done, and only a few men—Dad, Uncle Anoop, and Uncle Walter and his son Roland—hanging around watching football. The Wells clan had always had more daughters than they knew what to do with. Mom and Sonya were in the thick of things, of course; and then Nicole found out that some sweet potatoes were available and insisted on breaking out an ancestral Smith family recipe. Of course, nobody knew who she was, but Danielle introduced her as her sister and no one said another word. (The funny thing was, nobody seemed to notice either: they only seemed to care that Nicole had a reason for being there, not what that reason was. Only Aunt Celia gave the appellation any thought: she gave Danielle a long look, and then Nicole, and then nodded to herself and got back to work.)

Despite the crowdedness of the facilities and the distinct lack of ovens (five or six would have been necessary for peak efficiency), all the food got on the table more-or-less on time and more-or-less properly cooked; Nicole was formally introduced, with Danielle giving a longer description, and welcomed without prejudice into the clan; and everyone sat down to eat. Danielle found herself sandwiched between Nicole on one side and Sonya on the other, who alternated between dropping snide comments into Danielle's conversation on her left and Cousin Roland's conversation on the right. From what Danielle could hear, Roland was having relationship troubles of his own; he was talking with Aunt Celia's daughter Heather about the proceedings, while Sonya did what she always did, which was pretend to be helpful but actually just snark her way around. About half the time Danielle couldn't pay much attention, though, as she would constantly be called on to run interference for Nicole, whose sweet potato recipe had turned out to be quite a hit. Nicole, of course, was completely unused to the attention, and turned red more times than Danielle could count. The real miracle was that Nicole felt comfortable getting plunged into a throng of strangers like this at all. The ghostly girl Danielle had met as a freshman would have fled to a bathroom by now.

After dinner was over, Roland and Heather were still psychoanalyzing Roland's girlfriend, who sounded like a fair piece of work; Danielle joined them, a little curious and wondering what she herself could learn. She was glad she did: Roland's fiancée, Sharon, was having much the same problems with him that Danielle was with David. She was pressuring Roland—unduly, as he saw it—to be more assertive about his talents and his success; his company, she claimed, was treating him as though he had half his experience, and paying him about that much as well. They were renting an apartment together and Sharon's financial means were limited, so that the larger burden of financial support necessarily came from him; even more than that, they were getting married, and Sharon felt nervous about the life she'd be able to lead (and, for that matter, the babies she'd be able to raise!) under a husband who was so willing to devalue himself.

Inevitably, the conversation turned towards Danielle's problems. At first she demurred, not wanting to distract from Roland's issues (it seemed impolite); but after a little prodding, she realized just how much she needed to talk about this. Who could she talk about it to?—Nicole was biased (through no fault of her own), and her other friend was David himself. So to Roland and Heather, whom she saw at most once a year, she spilled her heart out: the early years, the catastrophic break-up, the period of catatonic depression; the years at college, with him dating her best friend; and now her fears and concerns today. It took a little while.

She didn't realize Sonya was listening in until the snort of derision came from behind her. "Oh, God, is she going on about this again?" She made her voice a mocking sing-song. "Oh, boo-hoo is me, I had the perfect man and I messed up and now I'm gonna lose him, waaah. Bitch, you gotta stop whining about it and just do something."

Danielle let her voice go frosty. "I don't recall inviting you into this conversation."

"Yeah, and that's why you got problems," Sonya retorted. "You don't ask the right people for help."

"Fine, bitch," Danielle said. "What would you do, in your infinite haven't-even-gone-to-college-yet wisdom."

"Are you sleeping with him?" said Sonya.

"Oh, is that your advice. Just flash my titties at him and he'll be as meek as a lamb."

"It isn't, so answer the question," Sonya snarled. "Are you sleeping with him?"

"...No," said Danielle.

"Well, there's your problem," said Roland, without irony. "Danielle, I'm sure you're aware that guys are more docile when they're getting some."

"Why aren't you doing it with him?" Sonya said. "You were before, when you dated the first time."

Despite herself, Danielle was unnerved. "How did you know?" Had Sonya been spying on them? How had she even known to spy?—she and David had gone out together, to various places, all the time. What had tipped her off that today was the right particular day to follow them to the field?

"You were dating for years, you must have been," Sonya said. Danielle felt a wave of relief—followed immediately by a wave of alarm: Is that how Sonya thinks of men? "So, you did it with him before; no reason why you wouldn't be willing to do it again. Except that, you aren't. Why not?"

"With the way he's been acting, you think I should?" Danielle said. "He ignores me to talk to my roommate, he doesn't care that he's gonna be an unemployed bum, he barely kisses me, much less acts like he wants to go to bed with me—"

"That's just David being David," Sonya said with a dismissive toss of her head. "I bet you said you didn't wanna do it with him until later, right? Well, he's taking that seriously. He's waiting for you to give a sign that you're ready before he decides to do anything with you."

"Well, David being David is a prick!" Danielle said. "He does all that stuff, yeah, and I tell him to stop! But whenever I do that, he either complains that I'm not allowed to change my mind, or he tells me I need to just shut up and learn to live with it! Like he's already perfect! He's being a total jerkass, and you're saying I should reward him?"

"Do you love him?" Sonya asked.

Danielle was blindsided. "What?"

"You heard me," Sonya said. Her eyes were narrow slits, her face aggressive. "Do you love him?"

"Well... Yes," said Danielle.

"Then no, you shouldn't reward him with sex," said Sonya. "You stupid bitch, you don't reward someone anything when you love them. You give it to them whether you like them or not. You show them that you love them even when they're being a total jerkass, and that you don't care and you're still there for them. And you know what? Then he's mellow, 'cuz you just fucked his brains out. And you know what?—then he's more willing to change for you, 'cuz you love him anyway! He knows you're not judging him, he knows you're not gonna dump him if he doesn't. He doesn't feel any pressure. And then he wants to change. To please you. Because you love him even though he's a bad person, and that's the only thing worth being a better person for."

There was a short silence after this, though muffled by the constant clatter of dishes being washed and cutlery being sorted and twenty people crammed into a space meant for ten.

"You have a smart sister," Roland said finally.

"So when he gets back, stop whining," Sonya said. "Just stop fucking whining and do something. Get his dick in your pussy, blow off some steam, and then talk. Tell him what you want. And don't expect him to deserve love. Love isn't what you buy. Love is what you buy with. And if you're not gonna spend love to buy him, then get the fuck out of the way so I can."

Roland laughed at that, as did Danielle. But Heather looked at Sonya and said, "You mean that, don't you. You wish you could be with him."

At that point Danielle did an auspicious thing: she performed the first double-take of her life. Because the fierce anger on Sonya's face was starting to dribble off, and in its place was a hopeless longing. And that was all she saw in the moment before Sonya wrenched herself free of the conversation and fled upstairs; but in that moment, Danielle realized that she didn't know her sister at all.

Sonya didn't come down for the rest of the evening; indeed, Danielle didn't see her again until Saturday afternoon, when she and some friends swung by to get drunk. Neither of them made any mention of what had passed between them on Thanksgiving night. But when Danielle opened the door for them, she greeted Sonya with a hug, which her younger sister returned; and when Danielle snapped at Sonya's friend Kim, who was continually tracking in dirt and mud, Sonya—for once—took Danielle's side.

It was a few weeks before Sonya would admit what had happened. "What I said about... About David," she said. "I shouldn't've said that."

Danielle shook her head. "You should've said it long ago. Now we have something in common." She smiled.

"I just... I mean, he's never looked at me twice," Sonya grumped. "And if... If I said anything, I figured you'd think I was going to try and steal him away from you—"

"Oh, I'm keeping my eye on you," said Danielle, giving her a broad wink. "But I'm not gonna be, like... What, 'Oh, no, my sister's here, a threat is happening.' I know that when you like someone, you can't necessarily do anything about it. It's beyond your control. It's only about whether you act on it."

"And I'm not gonna try and steal him," Sonya said. "I mean, you'd notice, and it wouldn't work. But... Well, fuck. Even I'm not that big a bitch."

"It's okay to be a bitch as long as you have some redeeming features," said Danielle. "For instance, being brave enough to tell your sister the truth about her boyfriend." She hugged Sonya. "Or, for that matter, the truth about herself."

In the end, this left only the prickly question of what to do about David—or, perhaps, how to deal with him. Danielle had to mull it over for a while, but eventually she came up with a plan she thought would work. Sonya, she thought with a wry smile, might even approve of it.

Just after lunch on Sunday she got the phone call. "Hey. It's me."

"Hey," she said, surprised at the ache in her throat. Surprised she had missed him that much. "Umm. Do you still wanna talk?"

"Umm... Yeah."

"What time do you get in?"

"Well, our flight lands at eight, but..."

"That should be fine. Why don't you come over once you're settled in."

"That could be, what, nine, ten o'clock."

"That's fine."

"Nellie, I'll be tired. I'll have just gotten back from flying, and we've both got work in the morning. Maybe this isn't the best time for..."

"Davey," she said quietly. "I wouldn't ask if it weren't important. Please. For me."

A pause. And then a sigh. "Okay."

Then it was waiting. The one thing she'd never been good at.

She was fairly sure this was all going to work; she couldn't see it going wrong. Men were pretty simple creatures at heart, after all. Her mistake had been in forgetting that. And in forgetting that she loved him, and shouldn't feel like she needed to withhold things in revenge. There was no revenge in love. It was time to get ahold of that ideal again.

Of course, part of the plan was that there was nothing she could do but wait. She paced in her room, checking her e-mail and her Facebook compulsively, certain that something was going to come through and reduce the whole thing to splinters. She even called Nicole to make sure her cellphone was working, leading to a few minutes' amused conversation. But time ticked on, and nothing arrived to suggest that David himself would not arrive at some point tonight.

Finally she heard the clacking of the door; she had left a post-it note telling him to come on in. She had asked Nicole to be in her room, so that the apartment would seem deserted... Save for the handwritten arrow signs on the floor, telling him where to go. It was dark, but she knew he'd see them. Soon the door to her bedroom was opening.

"Hi," she said. She was lying under the covers, looking up at him. "Come on in." (She prayed he'd had the brains to lock the front door behind him. The sign had said to, but who ever knew anymore.)

"Hi," he said. He sat down on the side of the bed, looking tired.

"Long flight?"

"Not too long. But... Aggravating. I think every single squalling six-month-old in America was on that airplane. I couldn't even listen to my iPod."

"Well, I'm glad you're back," she said, reaching out to take his hand.

"So what's this about, Nellie? It's past ten; what's so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"Well... I..." she said, suddenly self-conscious. She had sort of bludgeoned him into coming here, and if he was tired, that would sort of defeat the purpose of the plan. "I just... I did some thinking over the weekend. And I realized that... I realized that we'd been approaching everything all wrong."

He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Just, in the... I mean, I'm here, wanting one thing but saying another, expecting you to figure it out. That's just lame, no matter how you look at it. And you're... Well, to a certain extent you're doing the same thing. You're so patient, and I thank you for that, but, you really should feel like it's okay to say, 'I want the relationship to go a certain way, Danielle, and I think that's a reasonable want. Let's talk and figure out how to get there, or why we can't.' Because it is okay to say that. Don't... Don't just keep it bottled in. That hurts you, and it hurts me."

He nodded. "Yeah. I guess... I guess you're right. I do want things to go in a certain way, but... You don't, and, I always figure..."

"That maybe I'll come around," she said. "And that's another thing. If we go at it like that, we're fighting each other."

He blinked. "I hadn't been aware that keeping silent was a form of conflict."

"But it is, baby," she said, stroking his face. "It's what we did wrong our first time, it's what you did wrong with Nicole, it's what's been going wrong now. Even if you don't admit you want something, you still want it. And you begin to feel resentful because you're not getting it. It's how human beings are. But the problem is that it changes the dynamic of the relationship. Instead of me being someone who helps you get what you want, I start being someone who stops you getting what you want. I become the enemy. Now you have to fight me in order to have the relationship your way."

"And vice versa."

"And vice versa. And that makes us both less willing to compromise. And that doesn't help things."

He nodded. "It's a good analysis. Did you talk to your parents or something?"

She gave a wry smile. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. But now that we've got this advice, let's use it. Let's not fight each other to get the relationship we want. Let's work together to get it."

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. I think... You're right about... About me feeling like I had to fight you. I didn't like it, but... There it was. But I just felt so... Attacked."

"I know," she said. "And I'm sorry. It just... It bugs me. When I see something going wrong, my impulse is to get in there and fix it."

He gave a wry smile. "And mine is to back off and figure out what's going wrong. And then do just the right thing to fix it. Again, Archimedes used to say, in the Doric speech of Syracuse: 'Give me a place to stand, and with a lever I will move the whole world.' "

"God, that can't be good," Danielle said. "...Our approaches, I mean. No wonder I feel like you're waffling. It's not that you're avoiding the problem, it's that you're trying to back off and get some distance."

"Yeah," he said. "And I feel like you're chasing me."

"...Which I kind of am."

"Yeah, but, not because you're, like... What, you're doing it just to be contrary. It's not personal—at least, I realize now. It's 'cuz that's how you solve problems. You get in and flip switches and press buttons and see what happens."

"Yeah. It's probably not the, umm, the smartest of methods, but, it gets things done."

"Well, don't worry, sweetie," he said, raising her hand to his lips. "That's what I'm here for: to remind you to hold back a little and think things through."

"And that's what I'm here for," she said to him: "to remind you that it's okay to step in sometimes."

She leaned up, and their lips met briefly in the moon-streaked dark. She was glad the blanket stayed on her chest.

"So," he said. "No more fighting?"

"No more fighting," she said. "From now on, we try to remember that we want the same thing, even if we want to accomplish it by different methods."

"And instead of being mad that the other person wants to hold us back, we should ask if they might have a good reason," he said.

"Yeah."

"I'm glad we had this talk, Nellie." He smiled. "I wasn't sure... I was scared you would have given up."

She shook her head. "I could never give up on this. I could never give up on you."

"I'm glad." He smiled.

After a bit of silence, he said, "Umm. I guess I should show myself out, then, because it looks like you're all settled in bed and don't want to leave. Should I ask Nicole to lock the door, or...?"

She shook her head. "Well. I can't really show you out, no." This was where it all hinged on. She sat up again, this time letting the covers fall away from her breasts. "I don't think it'd be a smart idea to go out in public like this."

His eyes were bulging, but he played along. "People might object. I understand there's laws on that sort of thing."

"But..." she said. "Why don't I not show you out? I mean, you're here; I'm here; and I'm like this. I'm sure we can think of better things to do than for you to just go home."

"Are..." His eyes left her breasts, met her face. "Are you sure?"

She felt her courage wilting under her. "Davey, I'm practically throwing myself at you. If that doesn't make it clear..."

"I'm just being careful," he said.

"Is it... Is it me?" she said. Unexpectedly she felt tears pricking at her eyes. "You never... It's like you're not interested in me at all. Not like before, when you were always..."

"Dani, you asked me not to do that back then," he said. "And you asked me not to do that this time, either, and—insofar as I am capable of holding back, now that I am older—I'm trying to do so."

She sighed, covering her face with her hands. "This is another one of those cases of me asking for one thing and actually wanting something else, isn't it."

"Hey." Gently, he pried her hands from her face. "Hey. It's okay to not know what you want. What's not okay is treating me like a doofus because I don't know either."

She laughed a little.

"So, Nellie, tell me," he said. "Now that you've made up your mind. What do you want?"

His face was inches from hers. There was only one way she could answer.

For a while they merely kissed, his lips soft against hers. She tilted her head to give him more access, letting his tongue reach for hers. Then, when he was done, she began to kiss her way around his lips, finding the old familiar features: the corners of his mouth, the groove on his upper lip leading down from his nose. There was so much she knew here, and not much had changed in her absence; in fact, it was her memory that was faulty, and she found herself recalling details again and again.

With gentle hands she began to divest him of his clothing, until he was as naked as she; then, curling her legs up under her, she drew him up until he lay beside her on the bed. She was glad she had sprung for the double-size, even though her mother had given her some sidelong glances. As she began to kiss her way down his body, he brought her to a halt with his hands.

"Last chance to back out," he said. "Or to declare limits on what's not acceptable."

"Well, the gal in the other bedroom asks that we keep it down," she told him. "Other than that, I'm yours."

"Don't say that unless you mean it," he said, smiling.

She kissed him. "I mean it. And, of course, the reverse is true: you're mine too. So, hush, my love. I want to have some fun with this new you I've just been given."

She resumed her voyage down his body, each kiss a return to old territory, each kiss a new discovery: the skin between his ribs, the lean planes of his pectorals, the little bumps along the outside rim of his areola, the sparse down of hair all across his chest. All this had been hers once; all hers, until she had lost it through her own stupidity, tossed it away. She had it back now... But the journey had been long.

She spent a little time on his nipples, but not much; she recalled that they had never been particularly sensitive, and his reactions now just confirmed it. He did enjoy tickling kisses around his navel, and even her tongue inside it, which she did, even though it tasted kind of sour in there. Then there was wiry pubic hair teasing her chin, and his cock, already mostly erect and ready for attention.

She knew how to roll his eyes back in his head, how to make him cum so fast he could barely protest. But today was her celebration; she wanted to enjoy this. She wanted him to enjoy this. And if so, a slower, more subtle approach was more appropriate.

She began by speckling light kisses all up and down his shaft, knowing that wouldn't do particularly much for him. Then she began to kiss her way around his head and its rim, keeping the contact light, teasing him with the promise of more. She placed a line of buttonhole kisses down the underside of his shaft, following that sensitive central ridge, before beginning to pepper adoration on his scrotum, her lips against the smooth, soft skin. Meanwhile his shaft became ever warmer and ever harder against the side of her face; when she breathed on it, it bucked under her, and when she finally slipped his head into her mouth, she could tell—from the tenseness of his body, from the look on his face, from the way his hips bucked under her—that he almost came.

Through it all he never made a sound.

She repeated the entire process, but this time with her tongue: running it over the surface of his cock, alternately smooth, wrinkled and bumpy; over the spongy surface of his head; down the thin underside ridge; and across the skin of his sack, now wrinkled and tense with the imminence of his orgasm. Slowly she smoothed the skin out with her lips and tongue, stretching the contracted sac, and then—ever so gently—brought one of his testicles into her mouth. She had hurt him doing this before, and she was out of practice—Tom had not enjoyed it, and with the others she had not been inclined to try—but she knew David would love it; and tonight was about him, far more than it was about her. She closed her lips around his testicle and massaged it with her tongue.

Through it all he never made a sound; but his hands were there, helping to keep her hair from her face, cupping her chin and jaw, stroking the side of her head; communicating his love just as clearly as his voice could.

She returned to the head of his cock, bringing it into her mouth. Forming a solid seal with her lips, she began to massage the underside of his shaft with her tongue. Finally, she added one more touch which she knew would bring him to his full: she began a quiet, almost subliminal hum, letting her lips vibrate around his shaft.

When he came it was explosive but silent; she had only the warning of his hands tightening on her head, and the next moment she could feel cum racing up his shaft and she had only a short time to adjust so that he wouldn't spurt straight down her throat. His head seemed to swell in her mouth momentarily; and then his cum burst against her tongue, wet and gooey and warm—salty, but with that vaguely bitter taste she had always associated with him. She kept rubbing his cock with her tongue, drawing a few more squirts from him, feeling his hips buck under her; and then it was over, and she swallowed it all with a smile of delight.

She knew girls who hated sucking cock. She wasn't one of them.

It must have been a strong orgasm for him; he came gallons, or so it seemed. (When was the last time he jacked off?) But through it all, he never made a sound. She hadn't realized that he was going to take the stricture to silence quite this literally; but, on balance, she decided she kind of liked it. It meant she had to be good enough to read only his reactions. It was a challenge she was equal to.

He drew her up to kiss her, his tongue in her mouth regardless of what had been in it previously; she wondered if he could taste himself. Then he began to kiss his way around her face, her neck, her shoulders, working his slow and inevitable way south. Now it was her turn to stretch out on the bed, and his to nestle in the thrown-back covers.

She tried to calm herself as his lips began to wander lower. It had been a while since anyone had done this to her, and even longer since anyone had done it well; Erik, for all his boasting, had not been very good with his lips. He did have marvelous hands, but hands weren't the same. So now, in the hands (in the mouth?) of a master, she lay back and reminded herself to enjoy it.

His lips were gentle on her skin, seeking out the soft, tender places where barely anything ever went: the hollows around her collarbones, the sides and undersides of her breasts, even the ticklish places of her ribs that made her jump when he touched them. Then he began to kiss up the soft cones of her breasts, circling around her nipples, threatening to touch them but never quite. She knew he was revenging himself for her treatment of his cock, and smiled to herself. Then finally his lips latched onto her nipple and began to suck—gently at first, but then with insistence—and she had to stifle a moan. Nicole needed her beauty sleep, after all, and if David had resisted waking her, she'd be damned if she folded.

As he suckled at her breast, her back arched, and he slipped an arm around her waist; she put her arms around him, cradling him to her, drawing him up to her nipple, kissing the top of his head. Then, almost abruptly, he switched to her other breast, and she let her head fall back, her mouth fall open, as pleasure swept through her—the deep pull as he suckled, a pull which seemed to reach all the way down into her body to her pussy where that old familiar ache, that ever-yawning need, was beginning to make itself known.

He began to kiss his way down the centerline of her body, past the ticklish places on her stomach and the shallow bowl of her navel. He did not stop to play with her belly button; he must have remembered that it would have been a waste of time. Instead, he went straight for the goal: a line of kisses trailed through her pubic hair, until finally she felt his breath warm on her nether lips. She must be pretty wet to feel it that strongly.

He began by kissing his way around her mound, her fleshy outer lips, the plane of flesh between her legs and her pussy, the little stretch down at the very bottom between her pussy and her butt. Then he began to kiss his way up and down her slit, adding to its moisture, causing its petals to open a little more; each kiss seemed to feel progressively deeper inside of her. Then his lips went away, leaving only his tongue, which began to trace its way around her folds, to leaf its way through her petals; she felt it in the little crevices between her outer and inner lips, caressing the hood of her clit, and then—to her surprise—slipping into her pussy itself, to lick her walls from the inside. That was a new technique for him; she wondered for a moment where he'd learned it, before deciding that reaping its benefits was quite enough.

Finally his tongue abandoned its deep probing and returned to her clit; he wrapped it around her nubbin and moved it up and down. It was almost impossible to bite back the moan—it was strong, too strong, and she had to push at his head a little before he got the message. If he kept this up she had no idea how she would remain silent. But keep silent she did, and gradually she realized that she was focusing so intensely on the sensations of his tongue and lips that she had no attention to spare for noise. Curiously, the way to keep from being overwhelmed was to dive in head-first.

She had time to wonder if that was a good thing to tell David before the end came.

Because, of course, her whole body was focused on what was going on below; her back arching, her legs wide, her hands entwined in his hair. Even if she had been inclined to deny herself that orgasm, it would have been beyond her power. His mouth and tongue were hard at work, his lips fastened around her clit and sucking, his tongue flicking over it like the wings of a butterfly; he had always known exactly how to send her over the edge. She felt the pressure mounting inside her, the ecstasy building—and then it was bursting, overflowing, her body shaking, her breath rushing, her pussy clenching in delirious joy as pleasure gushed through her and out of her in torrents of release, flowed out through her pussy and onto his tongue, as he obediently lapped at her cleft until her pussy gave its final gasp.

In the aftermath, she might have breathed his name.

Her breath was still coming fast as he made his way up her body, resting his head on her breast; she felt his cheek against her beating heart. She kissed the top of his head. "It's been too long," she whispered.

"Oh, are we talking again?" he murmured in reply. "I've missed doing that. I love doing it to anybody... But especially to you."

"Should we have been doing this from the start? Was it a mistake to wait?"

"I don't think so." He shoveled himself up further to see her eye-to-eye; he drew the covers up, and she turned on her side to let him spoon up to her. His head rested on hers in this position, the way it had since time immemorial. Was it possible that they were exactly as tall as they had been at sixteen? Of course not; she had grown several inches at least, and she knew he had too. Was it possible that they had grown so perfectly together that all the old proportions were still true? Of course not; preposterous. And yet she could not deny that everything still fit. His arm went here, hers there; his throat brushed her ear. It was all perfect, just as it always had been.

"I don't think so," he said, "it's not... Well, I mean, it's not a mistake to be careful before jumping into bed with somebody. Even now I'd say that it might have been too fast. Hon, sex changes things. We of all people should know that."

"I know," she said, "I know. It does. But... Not always in a bad way."

"It did us," he said.

"I know," she said again. "But wasn't that the whole point of doing this? To not make the mistakes we did last time?"

"I know," he said, "I know, I just..." He sighed. "I need you, Danielle. That's just the facts of life. I need you. And, the thought of messing up so badly that I can't have you ever again, that just..."

"We won't," she promised him. "We won't. And besides, like I said: sex doesn't just change things in a bad way. Honey, I needed this. So did you. We needed this. Both of us needed to know, needed to know for certain, that we were committed, that we weren't going anywhere, that... And yeah, there are other ways of showing that, but, this worked pretty well."

He laughed a little.

"I think that's why, back then, you were so insistent that we do it," she said. "I think I understand it better now. You wanted to feel certain that you were important to me. You wanted to, to just be able to know..."

"Yeah."

"And, the thing is... Well, I knew that. I knew that it meant more than just, you know, getting your rocks off... But I knew it was that too, and I think I felt... Under-appreciated. You know, here I am going through all the trouble to do a really good job on you with the other things we do, and you don't..."

"Yeah. But it was just that, too, to a certain extent. I just wanted to, you know... Well, I wanted to say that I had been there. That I'd actually done it. This on top of me wanting you to, what, to prove yourself to me. Which wasn't really fair in the first place."

"It wasn't, but I shouldn't've been all, you know, 'Well, because it's unfair, I don't have to do it at all.' I should have been looking for ways to prove it to you besides sex. Just because I disagreed with the method, doesn't mean I should disagree with the cause."

"Just... Total insecurities, the whole time," he said. "That's all it was for me, total insecurities."

"Not just for you," she said. "For both of us."

"God, and you know what's craziest?" he said. "I'd be in bed, and I'd have just jerked off or something. And I'd wish you were there. But it wasn't the sex that I missed. It was having you there. Having someone to talk to, and to share all my thoughts with. Having someone to be next to in the morning. Ask any man on the street what the best part of having a girlfriend stay over is, and I guarantee you, he will not say it's the cuddling."

"I missed it too," she said. "On that topic, I hope you don't think you're going home tonight."

"Hmm, well," he said, and she heard the teasing quality in his voice. "Perhaps I need something to entice me to stay."

She turned her head, looked over her shoulder, saw his smiling face. "Buddy, you're pushing it. I just gave you the blowjob of a lifetime, and still you want more?"

"I've got you in my clutches," he said. "That's only happened once before in my life. You expect me to hold back now?"

She turned in his arms so that she could face him, run her hands over his chest, kiss his lips. "I can guarantee you that this time, it won't be the last."

"Good," he said, unexpectedly deadpan. "Because if I had to labor for six years every time I wanted to get into your pants, I'd drop you in a second."

She swatted him—the old familiar gesture—and then leaned up to kiss him.

Though their hands roamed each other's bodies, neither of them spent much time detouring; it was obvious what he wanted. And, to be fair, she wanted it too. Her hand dipped between them to stroke him to full erection; his went between her legs until she was wet and wanting. He knew exactly where to stroke, where to press, what to rub; she marveled at it even as her head came back in lust. And when she rolled to her back and pulled him over her, she silenced him with a finger across his lips. "Let's just feel," she told him, and he smiled.

Then she reached between them and guided him to her pussy.

She saw herself suddenly in that frozen moment, with him hovering above her. She had been here once before, just once; it had been years ago, and hours earlier, and in a different month; out under a bright summer sky, surrounded by fragrant, pillow-soft grasses, in the gnarled embrace of an old oak tree. Many things were different now: she was in her own apartment, in her own bed, and her skin and heart had grown toughened by scar tissue. But one thing was the same: she was here, her legs spread to welcome him home, her arms around him, his face suspended above hers, poised to enter her... And this was where she was meant to be.

Then he began to enter her, inch by inch, and her thoughts were elsewhere.

She felt every bump and ridge and vein of his length, felt them with her pussy lips and with her passage itself. She felt the pressure of his cock against her walls, spreading them wide, tunneling into her; felt his head pressing her open. She felt his pubic hair tangle with her own, felt his buttocks squeeze as he flexed into her, felt his balls come to rest against her butt, felt his pelvis come to rest against her clit. She felt him fill her, fill her perfectly, open her every inch and fraction. How had she not noticed, the first time, that he was exactly the right length for her? How had she not realized that he was perfect for her, and she for him?

When she looked up, his eyes were open, wide on hers, fragile with impending orgasm. She leaned up to kiss him, drew her down on her; wrapped her legs around his torso, tilted up her hips; and gestured with her hands for him to go on until he came.

As he began to move, the room was almost silent. There was the rustle of the sheets around them, and their breathing, but neither was very loud; she thought she could hear the shift of skin on skin as he brushed against her thighs, and the crinkle of their meshing hair, and even the small wet sounds his cock made as it moved in and out of her. She could see his eyes, so wide, so green, and the pleasure in them that her body gave him; and she could feel. She could feel everything: his heart hammering in his chest, the strength in his arms as he held himself suspended above her; the ridge of the head of his cock against her inner walls as he pushed in and out, the bumps and veins rubbing against the top of her pussy; the pressure of his body against her clit every time he thrust. Each movement sent new eddies of pleasure through her, jumps and shivers that ran through her body; she could feel herself getting close, feel her pussy clenching with every particular jolt, and wondered if she might actually cum before he finished. (She didn't, but it was a pretty close thing.) And finally she closed his eyes with the tip of her finger, and then drew him down to kiss her—eschewing sight entirely, letting only touch and tongue and breath guide them.

She knew when it happened: his breathing stilled, and his tongue against hers, and his body against hers as well, and she felt the twinge between her thighs; then he thrust one more time, and she felt him swelling within him, his cock seeming to grow to enormous proportions, before his cum exploded inside her: warmth and wetness and heaviness, like liquid gold. She felt his hips flexing involuntarily, his butt clenching with each squirt, his breath gusting into her mouth, the warm rumble of his almost inaudible moans; her pussy seemed to jump and clench each time she felt a new wave of cum, filling her, trickling into every little crevice, setting her afire with its warm light. And finally it was over, and he gave one last little press and then let his mouth leave hers, his head descending into her hair, his body subsiding down against her, and she sighed her pleasure in his ear, stroking his back and shoulders and head, welcoming him home.

After a few minutes, he murmured, "I must be heavy."

"I could sleep like this," she answered. "Stay. I don't want you to leave."

He stayed; a moment later, his breathing had fallen to the slow rhythms of slumber. And not long after, Danielle Mayer, still intertwined with her lover, fell asleep as well, knowing that he would still be there in the morning.

He was.



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