Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Tiny Tale Tuesday: Memory

The five of us sat around the table, dealing out cards, sipping drinks mixed way too strong. But we were young. Everyone does that when they're young. You wouldn't know it looking at me now, but I was a looker, once. So was he. Long shaggy hair the same brown as burnt cream, full lips, bright, jade colored eyes. He was unshaven that night, the first signs of scruff showing through on a sharp chin and hollow cheekbones. The long hours of the night had left his eyes rimmed red.

He laid his hand out on the table. "Unless you can beat a flush, you're fucked, boys."

I locked gazes with him and spread my cards out in front of me. I had absolutely nothing, but it made him flinch for half a second. When he looked, he grinned at me. "Nothing."

I nodded. "Complete shit."


He was the last to leave. I still remember it sometimes, when I look at the door. Living in the same house, the memories are inescapable. He had a sandwich bag of change that he won from us and a big doofy grin on his face. We'd been there for half an hour, him leaving while all the bugs in the neighborhood came in for the afterparty.

And then he was on me. I can't recall every detail, can't say how he led into it, or if he led into it. But I remembered him against me, his lithe frame and long limbs wrapping around me. Slender fingers worked under my waistband and down around my dick. He stroked up and down. It wasn't some silly romance story. It wasn't how I imagined anything ever happening. It was simply sex, and I fell into it. I clawed into his ass, feeling rough denim over taut muscle. Still he stroked me, up and down, restrained by the tightness of my jeans. I tasted his lips, his tongue, his cheeks. Stubble scratched down my jawline. I smelled the shampoo and the sweat in his hair as we moved. He thrust my back against the wall with a smack, and sill his hand worked.

I pushed him back, hardly able to breathe. I couldn’t come up with anything poetic or lovely or life-changing. "You know where the bedroom is."

"I do unless you moved it."

I nodded and let him lead me backward. I stumbled and ran into my own door, leaned against it and almost fell again when he pushed the door open. We collapsed onto the bed. He undid my jeans and released me. I couldn't help but sigh. I'd wanted it for so long, so many poker games and parties and summer swims, watching him in nothing but trunks or a Speedo or a dripping wet towel barely hanging on around his waist.

But this was better than any of that. Better than I ever could have come up with.

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