This is largely just an introduction, told from the perspective of a typical high school/college kid. Naturally, there's less sex in this part. Other chapters, I promise, will have much more satisfactory material. Comments and suggestions are always welcome.
It wasn’t meant to last, right? Do such things really ever last? He placed his classmates into two categories. There were those, like himself, who found a love, or, more accurately, an infatuation early — coinciding neatly with that period in life in which one sheds their innocence of sex. And then there were what he now called the realists, who outwardly showed no signs of romance, but eagerly embraced the pleasures that came with high school. He supposed there was possibly a third group, the unlucky. But given all the heartache their more “lucky” classmates experienced, he didn’t know if that was the right term. Late bloomers, might be more precise.
He looked at the perfectly staged Facebook photographs of high school couples that had made it. Who had fallen in love early, and sustained that love through the many temptations and vices of college, to emerge victorious on the other side, with rings on their fingers. He could believe, without much thought other than that they seemed nobler, that the 65+ crowd might have more success with this sacred institution known as marriage. Black and white photos of old weddings, with men fresh from sacrificing their lives for a country, just seemed so much more pure. But, to him, the posturing, the precision, the unblemished portrait that Instagram and Facebook let these wundercouples present came across to him only as fakeness. Under all that, he thought, there was discord, distrust, jealousies, desires, boredom. Marriage was just a way to decide mutually not to let those feelings be known.
Daniel didn’t know why exactly he was so bitter. Well, he had a few ideas why, but they were so commonplace that he couldn’t imagine it was the real reason. The basic story was he had once fallen so hard for this girl, Alexa. Alexa, or Alex as she preferred, was far less interested in him it turned out. In fact, she didn’t know him. They were thirteen, and he was scrawny and covered in pimples and had bad posture. But he persisted, and he eventually learned the disappointments of the “friend zone”. And as the pimples receded and the weirdness of puberty passed into actual maleness, the future did take on a brighter hue. He calmed down on his borderline creepy obsession with Alex, and learned to mimic the tricks of his more advanced competitors. He spent his free time learning the rules of this strange game — it was not intuitive at all to him — where those with the most success, that is, teenage success, were the biggest assholes. He found it all rather inane and besides the point: having been an early adherent of masturbation, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to play games when you could just fuck. Right?
But, as these things go, it worked with Alex. Eventually. He still wasn’t sure whether it was his own maturing or the “game” that brought the relationship to fruition.
At any rate, toward the end of high school, as the daily pressure of soccer gave him more physicality and more time away from thinking about girls, he stopped treating Alex as if she were a princess and he was there to cater to her every wish. He stopped paying attention to her every word. He ignored her when he was busy. He openly flirted with others; he dated others. Generally, he just stopped being the perfectly nice best friend that accommodated her every whim, even if he still secretly adored her.
So perhaps it came as no surprise that Alex’s eye finally turned to what was right in front of her. It was their last year of high school, the culmination of five years of friendship and secret desire. On a grey and chilly Saturday morning, towards the end of a snowy New England winter, Daniel took a jog around their forested and rustic neighborhood outside of town. Unconsciously, his route led him right by Alex’s home. Perhaps it wasn’t that unconscious, he thought. He slowed as he saw the dark-brick two-story rise ahead of him. Alex’s room light was on. He was cold, having worn only jogging shorts and a Patriots hoodie. His own house was about a half mile away. He decided that he would stop his run at Alex’s. The perks of high school life is that all your friends’ homes become your second homes. Unlike college, that actually means free food and drinks and nice things.
He walked up the path to the house. He shivered as his body cooled down but the sheen of sweat remained on his skin. Alex’s light was on, so he figured she had to be awake, despite it being early. He rang. No answer. He was getting very cold and about to continue on to his own house when the door opened. Alex stood there, with a mix of annoyance and laughter.
“Get your ass in here, you freak, it’s forty degrees outside.”
“Took you long enough,” Daniel said as he stepped inside.
He remembered that it took him awhile to formulate words. Alex had opened the door in dress more appropriate for the middle of summer. Her hair was mostly wet, not quite its usual lush and soft brown waves. But it was the tank top and the pajama shorts that caught his attention. A simple dark blue tank top and tiny black shorts was all that covered her body. He’d always found Alex to be perfect. She didn’t play sports anymore nor did she cheer or dance, which left her with a young voluptuousness that combined well with her indifference toward how she looked in comparison to fashion models in Vogue or the cheerleaders on the sidelines. Months of winter clothing had left Daniel with only teases and hints of Alex’s breasts and legs and curves. Now, it was all in front of him. The large and appealing slope of her breasts, with cleavage that took every ounce of will power to draw his eyes from. It left his blood boiling as he took in her smooth legs, as they led to the gentle and promising curve of her hips — and her butt, fuck, he thought, only barely contained in her tight shorts, when she turned to lead him inside the warmth of the home.
“I suppose you’ll want some water or Gatorade.”
“That’d be great.” Thank God she couldn’t see what his eyes were doing right now.
They reached the kitchen and she handed him a water bottle from the fridge and turned to face him.
“So what did I do?” Alex asked.
“What?” He said between gulping down the water and wiping sweat from my forehead.
“The one Saturday I have the house to myself, without my mom constantly interrupting me, or my dad asking me to do some chores – I was planning on having some quality time to do my nails and watch my shows instead of football, and now you show up. Thanks,” she said, though with less bitterness than amusement.
“Ah, well, I would hope I’m better company. But really, I was just getting cold and decided to stop early, and hey, maybe I wanted to get away from my own parents. Do you mind if I go to the restroom?”
“Do you really need to ask.”
He got up from the bar stool and walked passed her, giving her his best and most cloying smile on the way.
“You smell bad, too, by the way.”
He closed the door to the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face, still red with the cold and exertion, was attractive, he thought. This narcissism wasn’t a daily occurrence, as he felt he always had an off day or two during a week, in which his appearance paled in comparison with some of his teammates. But his face was slender, with good bones and a strong jaw. His brown eyes and messy brown hair gave him a normalness that he had long ago embraced. He took the hand towel and wiped off his sweat. He tried smelling himself and he decided Alex was just fucking with him: he’d only run about two miles.
He took a moment to breathe. He had that weird sensation in his stomach. It wasn’t from a lack of food, but rather anticipation. Expectation — a tension that could possibly be released — that his body sensed, or just his body reacting to the sight of Alex and desiring. Something in the way she spoke and looked at him, the glint in her eye, the tightening of a smile repressed. It suggested rather than offered, in the way he had learned long ago that women had mastered and that he had yet to ever read correctly. It was this inability to discern the intentions of women, when a look meant romantic interest rather than niceness, that left him the recipient of only an awkward — but weirdly nice if incomplete — hand job. Most of his teammates and friends had long ago moved onto bigger and better things than hand jobs and sexually unfulfilling relationships. He told himself that he just liked Alex a lot more than getting in the pants of someone else.
“Alex?” He had left the bathroom and returned to the kitchen, but no one was there. He drank the rest of his water and looked around the first floor, but it was all silent. He went back to the kitchen to refill, then headed up the stairs, where he could hear the blow dryer. He went to her bedroom instead.
Alex gave up sports for music. She sang with a band, less now, though, he recalled, as well as having plenty of talent with piano and guitar. Her bedroom, covered in posters and a bulletin board with concert tickets, made her tastes clear. And she had her own record player and sound system — he looked at the cover that was next to the spinning table, Yo La Tengo’s And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out. Appropriately down-tempo for a Saturday morning like this, he guessed. Daniel thought she was a little pretentious, a little snobby (something he never hesitated to rib her about), but he still found it cute in its own way, that she had such strong opinions about the evils of “corporate music” when most found no issue with Top 40, himself included. But, every now and then he appreciated her knowledge of music when she introduced him to a band that was actually listenable.
He sat on her unmade bed, eye drawn to an open magazine. Of course the girl who listens to Yo La Tengo on Saturday mornings would also read Cosmo, he thought to himself. The blow drying ended and Alex appeared in the doorway.
“Making yourself comfortable?”
“Oh yeah, just seeing how exactly you perform mind-blowing head. Did you know you’re supposed to eat some fruit right before, and then blow a dude? It’s all about that slight acid burn.”
“Oh shut up, that’s not anything worse than the ridiculous acts that porn and men call sex.”
“Sounds like you’ve been watching too much porn in addition to reading this trash.”
“Or maybe I’ve just been unlucky enough to be the recipient of that male education,” she responded.
Daniel felt his already tingly stomach do another turn: was she serious? As far as he knew, and he thought he knew well, she was also a virgin like him. But it’s not like he knew everything about her life. Five years of practicing being cooler than he was helped him avoided betraying his feelings.
“I can’t help that my fellow males haven’t got the skills.”
She laughed, and came to sit on the bed with him. “Right, because your no skills is better than some skills, even if misguided, is what you’re saying.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve never had any complaints.”
She looked at Daniel incredulously but didn’t respond. She looked away, towards the spinning record player. He took the opportunity to gaze at her body more — she hadn’t changed clothing, he thought to himself — feeling his heart beat faster at the thought of her naked skin, so close to him.
“You’re a virgin, right?” She spoke it softly, without looking at him. He swallowed hard, and felt his voice falter a bit. It’s not like the two of them didn’t discuss sex. It’s hard to be in high school and never have a conversation about sex, but it usually involved other people: who was doing it and who was not doing it. Should he lie?
“Yeah, I am.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” she said, “I am, too. I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of slut for saying that guys don’t know how to please me.”
As usual, Daniel’s first thought was to say something to break out of the more serious tone of the conversation had taken. That is, did she basically just tell him she watches porn by saying that she was inexperienced? But he resisted.
“Even if you weren’t a virgin, that doesn’t make you a slut for complaining that guys suck.”
“I just get nervous, I guess, that I will be bad, whenever that day comes. That I won’t live up to expectations.”
Daniel felt a weird mixture of horniness talking about sex like this and dismay, as the whole premise of the conversation was that they were friends. Not lovers.
“I really doubt that. You obviously need to learn something, and that is that there is nothing for you to learn.” He didn’t really know what he was saying or whether it was true. He just wanted to keep the conversation going, to see where it might lead.
“What does that mean?” The two were sitting across from each other on the bed, legs crossed, Daniel toward the headboard, Alex toward the foot. Daniel tried his best to keep his eyes from gluing to her exposed thighs and the tight shorts wrapped around her. Alex’s faced showed an eagerness.
“I mean, that, at least at this age, that guys are like an oven full of gas. You throw a match and it’s goin’ to light up faster than you want,” he said.
“You need work on your metaphors. For one, if anything is an oven, it’s a vagina.”
Daniel and Alex laughed at that.
“But you know what I mean,” he said, “Girls are just hot, their hotness is enough to make up for any undeveloped technique in performing acidic blowjobs for example.”
“I guess so. But that’s not really helpful. Nicole, for example. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. But anyway, so she goes on this date with this guy. You probably know who it is, but I’ll at least keep that to myself. So they’re on this date. Dinner, movie, blah, blah, blah. He drives her home, but she tells him to park at the park, a few blocks down from her home. Typical Nicole. They start making out in his back seat, lots of hands everywhere. She says that she put her hands down his pants and starts giving what she thinks is a hand job. She said he kept asking for more, but that was all she was going to do, so the guy settles for a hand job. And, you know, Nicole is hot. She said her shirt was off, and bra gave her some great cleavage for the guy to look at. But nothing happened. Nicole said she must’ve spent fifteen or twenty minutes stroking the dude, but nada. Eventually her hand got tired and she said, ‘Are you going to come?’ He responded that he probably couldn’t. Which of course only made her feel guiltier about saying no to more, which she assumes might have solved the problem. So they like kiss some more, but she said she could tell the guy was disappointed. And she was disappointed too, but she can’t just stroke him forever, and she wasn’t about to let him fuck her.”
“Well, it was a hand job.” Daniel didn’t pick up on much from her rambling story.
“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, Dan. Guys jerk off, right? Wouldn’t another hand feel even better?”
“Well, it’s not quite that simple,” he responded, not knowing quite what to say.
“But that’s exactly the opposite of what you just said! You said that girls don’t need to worry about anything cause they’re hot. But know you’re saying that there’s more to it.” Daniel got the feeling she’d been thinking about this for awhile.
She continued, “Look, I wouldn’t talk about his to anyone else, but we’re close you know, and you’re a guy, so I guess you’re more reliable than my girlfriends. I don’t know why I’m throwing all this at you.”
“It’s okay,” he responded. “I don’t mind. I mean, it’s all kind of a mystery right? That some people don’t have any figuring out and some people have a lot of different hang-ups for different reasons. I guess what I’m saying is that I can see that practice will make it better. I mean the first time I, well, nevermind, but like, in general, girls shouldn’t worry about disappointing guys because what idiot guy wouldn’t appreciate a hand job or whatever, even if it was less than stellar. He still got a hand job.”
“First time you jerked off?” She said with an amused smile.
“That’s all you got out of that?”
“You blushed a little. It’s okay, girls have needs too.”
He felt his blood drain from his head. First, a maybe insinuation that she watches porn, and now a suggestion that she touches herself. He tried to keep the image of her spread out on the bed, naked, out of his mind, aware that he had on tight athletic shorts that would not hide anything.
“Look, yeah, I mean middle school, all the guys talk about it. So you go home and you try it out for yourself. And you’re like what. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing happens. But you keep it up and learn what feels better, and well, the rest is history.”
“Thanks, I really needed the detail.”
“Whatever, you clearly were asking for it.”
The record stopped. The conversation paused.
“So,” she said, “You plan to stay here all day?”
“Hey, if you want me to leave, just say so, I know I ‘smell’.”
“I’m kidding, of course, I wouldn’t mind the company. But I do need to finish getting ready and put on clothing in which you’ll actually look me in the eye.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, unconvincingly. She rolled her eyes, got up, and went back to the bathroom. He heard objects being moved around. He lounged back against the headboard, thinking.
He couldn’t shake the strong feeling of arousal that had been building since he first walked inside the house. Everything about Alex screamed at him — demanding his attention, demanding that he do something about the desire that overwhelmed him. His heart thumped loudly. His stomach still felt tingly, tingling with the subtle flirtations and the eyes that looked him over in what he imagined was the same way he looked at her. He thought back to his last two “relationships” — both marred by his inability to make a move or pick up on signals. Was all this talk about sex been a signal? Or was it just her way comfortableness in their friendship?
He took a deep breath and decided to hell with it. He knew, or at least he felt, much more attractive than the days in which he had first fallen for Alex’s grace and her pale skin and wavy brown hair. He was fit, his muscles were defined. He was attractive, right? He also thought that it was near the end of their last year of high school — not quite prom or graduation, but getting close. It was time to start acting more like his age.
He stood up and thought through his plan. There wasn’t much of one, actually. He could still hear Alex doing something in the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar and he could look in without her seeing him. She actually wasn’t doing anything. She was just standing there, looking at herself, making sure everything looked right, he guessed. She looked beautiful.
With more confidence than he felt, Dan walked straight into the bathroom. Alex barely had time to react before Dan had pushed her up against the wall behind her, with one hand snaking behind her now-dry and soft hair, and the other wrapped around her waist and pulling her into him.
He didn’t kiss her immediately. He let his nose line up parallel to her nose, breathing quickly and with desire, eyes locked, eyes saying much more than words could express. He felt her tremble under his gaze. He could feel her body reacting to his, melding her lithe form to his. With all the desire he felt, he pushed her higher up the wall, closing his eyes and bringing her mouth to his, his hand lightly gripping her neck. He took her bottom lip between teeth, biting soft and then hard, before opening his mouth to allow their tongues to touch. From there, their passion fully ignited, a dance that had built to its climax for years. The intimacy of tasting each other for the first time was such a revelation of pure ecstasy that he hardly noticed how hard he was, and how desperately he was pushing his hardness into her.
She broke the kiss.
“Fuck,” she said, between deep breaths, as if she had just run a hundred meter dash.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” she continued.
He answered by kissing her more, moving his arm lower so that he could pick her up. Still devouring each other’s mouths, he hoisted her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist as he carried her to her bedroom. When he got close, he threw her down on the bed, and quickly got on top of her.
“I was tired of waiting,” he said simply.
She pulled him into her, as they continued making out. Feeling each other’s bodies, discovering the hope, the sheer joy, of finding someone whom you can surrender yourself, in whom everything is forgotten but Daniel and Alex.
“Stop,” she said. “If we’re going to do this …” She got up, went over to her record player, withdrew another vinyl: he saw two xx’s on the cover. Fitting, he thought. The scratchy warmth filled the room, as a soft guitar line and synthesizers filled the room, an undeniably sexy rhythm.
“Not bad,” he said. She merely raised her eyebrows as if she could do wrong.
And then she did what Daniel had only dreamed. In the method that all girls seem to understand intuitively, she crossed her arms along the bottom of her tank top, and lifted her tank top off. It left her only in a lacy black bra. He almost came then. The soft and pale curve of her undeniably perfect breasts left Daniel speechless. He had, after all, spent plenty of nights looking at the best the Internet had to offer: they looked underwhelming in comparison.
“You like,” she said, with a coy smile and not a hint of a question about the answer.
“You are the most stunning woman I have ever seen.” He was aware of how cheesy he sounded, but he felt completely sincere in saying it. She blushed.
“You’re just saying that because you’re about to touch them.”
“Oh, I am?”
“Yes, I want you to feel them. To touch them.” She was stepping closer to him. Where this sudden confidence and sexiness came from, who knew.
“I’ve been waiting for you to make a move,” she continued. “While I’m glad you waited until you got over your awkward stage, that awkward stage ended a long time ago.”
“I, uh, didn’t realize …”
“That’s because you’re a stupid boy, who’s been convinced that because I didn’t want to make out with you five years ago, means that I still don’t want to make out with you when you look like a man.”
“Well — “
“I do like the initiation you finally showed.” She was right up against the bed now, towering over him: her soft but flat stomach, her dark hair falling down over her large breasts, her impossible hips. “But you’ve made me wait for a very long time. I thought you might have lost interest in me. Every weekend, I have to endure stories of my girlfriends and their latest conquests, while I wait for you. Like I said, girls have needs too.”
Daniel could barely process what he was hearing. The sheer sex she exuded filled the entire room, suffocating him and any possibility of coherent thought. But it didn’t matter, because she immediately got back on top of him. She positioned her body so that her mound aligned perfectly with the bulge that stood out in his athletic shorts. She rubbed herself up and down on him, as she brought his mouth back to hers. The pleasure was intense, and he moaned into her mouth. His need for her was clear.
She stopped him for a moment. She pushed back off against him, her hands on his chest. The position on pushed her breasts closer together, making Daniel groan in joy. She smirked.
“We’re going to have a lot of fun together.”
Daniel played the beginning of their romantic relationship together often in his mind. Four years later, none of his subsequent experiences ever matched the sheer intensity of the passion and the breathtaking surprise of that first time together. He didn’t think it was possible to surpass: the long build-up, the first time emotions, the revelation that Alex liked him as much as he liked her. It was too perfect.
And they didn’t even have sex that first day. He fingered her and she touched him, briefly. But it was mostly just nonstop, full-fledged making out. Something that he certainly didn’t spend much time doing anymore, but at the time, it was all he wanted. The sex came later, and she fulfilled her promise a thousand times over. Only one word could describe their fucking and it was fun. Like all couples, they engaged in the occasional “lovemaking,” complete with candles and gentle movements and red wine on special nights.
But that, they came to realize, wasn’t really their style. First, Alex was just as perverted as he was, if not more so, and had little reservations about anything. Second, it turned out that despite her rather take charge attitude the first time, she was actually quite submissive. And finally, her drive was insatiable.
Maybe they could have been one of the Facebook couples, with the cheesy captions and the filtered perfection. He probably could have communicated better to her, and she probably could have done the same, and maybe, just maybe, they could have worked through their issues.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3nqmlc/the_one_who_got_away_pt_1_mf