**Sorry everyone – this is going to be long! The fun stuff is labeled at the bottom if you want to skip the rest.**
If you’re paranoid like me, you know that feeling you get when you hear a loud noise at night – especially if you’re home alone. That’s the feeling I got seeing his name pop up on the screen of my iPhone at 4am after getting off a marathon call with a close friend , except the usual terror accompanying the sudden rush of adrenaline was absent.aThe text came through at 12:50am, and it was Friday night. He was undoubtedly drunk – but why me? why now? Our only communication for years had been the annual “happy birthday” and occasional “congratulations” followed by 2-3 more mundane messages. We hadn’t seen each other or spoken consistently in 7 years, and we hadn’t seen each other regularly in 9. I squinted to be sure , unable to believe that my mind wasn’t playing a sick joke on me at this unpleasant hour of the morning. I opened the message, and the proof was right there in the blue and white iMessage text. “I thought of (our major) and it made me think of you. I miss you.” It was too late..too early..too far into a life that didn’t really include him to process that message at the moment. I didn’t reply and tried to go to bed, but sleep didn’t come easy that night despite how tired I truly was.
Two days later, my willpower broke and I got out my old laptop from college, and an old notebook I used to write in. I went down that rabbit hole of memories for hours I shouldn’t have wasted on this stuff, but did anyway. That’s when I found the first story about him – the one about the one and only time we hooked up, folded in the back flap of that same notebook, forgotten for 9 years. I read it and felt as if I was invading someone’s privacy, then posted here publicly for the world to read. I guess I thought it would matter less to me, or I would feel less detached from the person who wrote it, convince myself again that I have those memories somewhere locked away in my mind – it is my story, no matter how foreign it felt while reading it. Since I am still friends with another person in our old group, I sent her a text. I needed to know if he missed me, or if he was just thinking of everyone. Somehow I was not surprised to find out she never got a text. I won’t get into why, but I know now for certain that I’m the only one of the other 4 group members who he contacted.
After this, my willpower completely evaporates. I start typing a reply. “omg! So funny you messaged today. I was just going through some old stuff and came across this pic of all of us. I miss everyone too!” *sends pic* The truth is that picture is attached to his contact info in my phone and has been since 2012. He doesn’t need to know that though. It was taken a few days after we hooked up, but no one else in that picture knew. I was standing between him and the friend mentioned above, the other two people in the group were to my friend’s left. All of our arms around each other, three girls in the middle, two guys on the end, and it’s obvious I’m leaning into him. It’s also obvious he likes it. This little text exchange sparked a sporadic series of conversations over the past three months. We fell back into old habits easily. The banter was still there. The tension was still there. It felt as though I took a time machine to the spring of 2012… but it wasn’t going to be anything but texts. After all, he lives out of state. It’s not terribly far, and I actually have family nearby. Hell, I contemplated moving to that area (for reasons having nothing to do with him).
The distance was enough to keep us apart, keep us in check.. make us behave. Mostly. That is until two weeks ago when he dropped a bomb on me I never expected. “How far is [country club wedding venue] from you?” Confused, I replied, “15-20 minutes..why?” The little typing bubbles appeared.. then disappeared.. then reappeared again..it felt like an eternity before the reply came through. He was contemplating his words carefully “My cousin is getting married there next weekend. I guess his fiancé is from your area and I never knew. Anyway, I’ll be in Thursday night . Do you want to grab a drink and catch up?” I check my work schedule. I know I have that damn meeting Thursday afternoon, and I know it’s going to run late. I explain this to him, letting him know that by the time I finish work and get ready to go somewhere it will be a little later than I’d like on a work night, but I’d go for a little while. I was relieved to see my work schedule prevent me from making another poor life choice, but also disappointed because I really wanted to spend more than 1-2 hours with him after all these years. It’s for the best, I tell myself.
That’s when another unexpected message from him appears. “Well I could just come by your place if you want. I can even stop by the liquor store and pick up a bottle and some mixers.. as long as you don’t still drink tequila like it’s water . lol”. I should say no. I should say it’s a bad idea, but I don’t. I said “No tequila for me, you know that’s like asking to blackout. I can’t black out on a work night! Too old of that lol” He immediately replies back “Thank God. I can’t drink tequila anymore. Rum and coke good?” Yes it’s good. Anything is good with him. I don’t say this though. Instead I reply “Sure. 7:30 at my place work for you? I ‘ll probably look like shit, it’s too hot to care.. just warning you.” Then I send my address. “You never look like shit. See you then.” Damn, the flirting, it’s starting already. How the hell am I going to do this? I didn’t give myself to think about what I was doing until after the conversation ended, but when it finally sank in, a pit in my stomach formed. I was nervous. I was excited. I was terrified.
Thursday came around, and I really didn’t put too much into my appearance. The messy bun wasn’t too messy – it was kinda cute, but definitely didn’t take effort. I wore tinted moisturizer and just enough concealer to make it look like I slept in the last decade. I did wear my standard mascara and black eyeliner, but nothing winged or over the top, and some slightly tinted Burts Bees chapstick – but only because I spent two hours on zoom in a meeting that included my Senior VP. I even left my bed to go to that meeting, which is saying something. My outfit was simple and only revealing in the sense that it was 93 degrees and I didn’t want to wear a lot of clothes – shorts and a tie-dye crop top I got from the boardwalk at my last beach vacation. I made the decision to have drinks on my back deck – smart, I thought. This will keep us outside. It will keep us out of my bedroom. The only flaw is I couldn’t wear jeans and the full-length tank like I planned to if we had gone out to a bar. But what does the outfit matter? My ass will remain firmly planted on my chair across the outdoor table. He will not go in past my kitchen and downstairs half bath. It will be fine, I tell myself. Deep down I know I’m lying.
When he arrived, he enveloped me in a long hug. “You don’t look a day over 22,” he says. He can’t be serious.. the self-critic in me starts thinking about all that went downhill with me, but I take the compliment. “Thanks.. I can say the same about you. It feels like nothing’s changed, doesn’t it?” He agrees.. but we both know plenty has changed. However, in the bubble of me and him alone together, it’s the truth, nothing changed. My strategy of staying outside worked for a couple hours. The deck is right off the kitchen, and the half bath is just off the kitchen as well. This made it easy to not venture far into the house.
Catching up was great – and I thought I had made it through the night. I thought he was getting up to leave, but instead, he says ” Well aren’t you going to give me the grand tour! You bought a house..alone.. in your 20s. That’s something to be proud of!” Truthfully, I was proud of myself, but the circumstances under which I bought my house overshadowed my pride. It felt like I was slinking away into hiding when I moved.. but I won’t get into that here. We are both a few drinks deep, and the last one was strong. It was my fault too, I made them that way… not on purpose , though. I just genuinely suck at mixing drinks because I can’t shut up long enough to concentrate (especially if I’m already a little bit drunk).
I take a deep breath and say “Of course you’re getting a tour! let’s go,” the feigned excitement in my voice hopefully covering for my nerves. I try to speed through the tour. It’s an open concept so he has already seen the main living area from the kitchen. He follows me upstairs and I show him my second bedroom/office which is rarely used, along with it’s attached full bath, then last but not least, we get to the hard part. My room. It’s massive with two large closets, a bathroom with two sinks and a jetted tub, and my favorite feature, the balcony.
I didn’t open the closets at first, but he made a joke, “If the balcony is your favorite, then I guess the closets must not be as big as I imagined.” He’s laughing at me. With me, really. He knows I’m high maintenance, but in a way he is too.. we’re both laughing now. “Yes they are big! This one especially!” I swing open the nearest closet door. “I just love the views off the balcony. Especially at sunset..or in the fall..you know me, I rarely post on Instagram, but when I do it’s a sunset pic..” But he’s no longer paying attention, he’s standing there with his mouth open. “Jesus Christ,” he says. “this is the size of your old bedroom.” He’s referring to the apartment I lived in when I was a junior in college. I called it my princess tower, as a joke. He’s right. It’s pretty close to that size. For whatever reason, we both step into the closet. I really don’t know what we’re doing now, but we’re both pretty drunk.
**[Fun starts below]**
This is when I realize – we have been alone in an empty house/apartment exactly twice ever. That sticky-hot day we hooked up in 2012, and now. Back then, he had 3 roommates that could have walked in at any time. This time, on this equally hot and sticky day, we are 100% alone with no chance of interruption. This sudden realization nearly takes my breath away, and he reads me like a book. He knows, he knows I know he knows.. and we’re too close together to think before we act. He’s turning and my body responds to his as instinctively as it did 9 years ago. His forehead on mine, almost asking for permission. My inability to peel away, his answer. Yes.
His lips touch mine for the first time since that day after our final exam, but much softer this time. Slower..his tongue grazing my lips instead of hungrily parting them. I don’t know anything. I can’t think. I don’t know I’m supposed to pull away or pull his shirt off. He lifts me off the ground, my legs wrapping around him. He’s strong and I’m light, so he holds me with one arm as he reaches somewhere with the other. I think he’s going for door I think he’s going to close it and pin me to it, but no, he hits the light switch and his arm is back on me like a magnet. He’s lowering me to the floor. Fuck, I’m done for. This man is my Kryptonite.
Once again, I melt for him entirely. The kissing becomes more frantic as our tongues finally meet again. Whatever this feeling is, I haven’t felt it since. I don’t understand it, but I can’t fight it. I let myself feel him all over me again, flashes of memory passing in my head behind my closed eyes. I knew I’d remember every article of clothing he took from my body, and subconsciously I’m memorizing them again, I know it, I’ll remember it in 9 years, I’ll remember this outfit forever… Now his lips are on my neck, and my body is shaking. I pull his t-shirt over his head and pull him to me, skin to skin. This is everything.
Moments ago, I could smell the mixed scents of my Armani Code and his cologne over a hint of my vanilla birch room scent. But now the present has completely faded away and all I smell is weed and incense and sweat lazily wafting in through open windows. My windows are not open, and my room is kept cold enough to compete with the Arctic Circle, but the present no longer exists. We’re back to 2012 and it’s 90 degrees in a college apartment and his hands are all over me, his mouth on my shoulder. All I can do is pull him into me and respond to his lead.All those years ago, it was quick and passionate and hungry, but this time he took his time as he moved his lips from my mouth to my earlobe to my neck, tracing down to my collar bone as goose bumps form on my arms and legs. He pulled his mouth from my shoulder and made eye contact through the darkness. Only a floor lamp on the dimmest setting lit my room, and the half-open closet door was partially blocking it. Despite the darkness, my eyes focused on his perfectly. I couldn’t move or think, but managed to nod my head very slightly.. down and back up .. and he peeled his eyes from mine to continue kissing down my body.
He found his way to my waist band and pulled my shorts and thong down in one swift motion I anticipated, lifting my hips slightly to allow them to be free of my body. Next thing I feel is something new. We didn’t get to do this before, but it was worth the 9 year wait. I will never know if he was any good at back then, but now his tongue is circling my clit expertly as he pushes one finger inside my soaking wet slit. Then he adds a second and pushes them both against my g spot. He once said he knows how to make girls squirt – but I never have. I don’t believe he’s lying, but I don’t think anyone could do that to me…yet I begin to feel the type of build up I never felt before. I can’t lie and say he made me squirt all over, but I did feel a small rush of liquid as I came harder than I could ever remember. What did that take, 40 seconds? I’m difficult. I don’t cum this fast.. what is happening to me?
As the earthquake that rattled my body began to calm, I try to move him. I want to return the favor. He gets the hint, despite my arms still being wobbly like jello and barely able to move. He shakes his head and before I could protest, his lips find mine again as he hovers over my body sliding a hand under my head to cushion my head from the hardwood floors. I feel him rock-hard rubbing against my wetness. His boxers are still on, but I need him inside of me. I don’t want to break the seal of our makeout session, so I try to maneuver his boxers down without disrupting our rhythm. It’s not working and he gets the hint and removes them himself.
Now the thin layer of fabric separating us is gone and he quickly retakes his position on top of me. He doesn’t enter me immediately, but my normal wetness mixed with the rush of cum from minutes ago have me soaking and slippery. He knows this as he is sliding back and forth just waiting for me to accept him inside. It only take a few seconds before all 8 inches slide into me slowly while our eyes lock. It’s been awhile, and his size is a shock just as it was the first time. I gasp as he pushes the last bit in. It doesn’t hurt, though – the wetness made sure of that. I feel so full and warm as a wave of deep pleasure fills my body. It’s different than the sharp and intense pleasure from before. The feeling has already taken over my whole body, but it’s not another orgasm, just a very deep, all encompassing, sense of pleasure. I have never felt this before. Even now, writing this, using the word” pleasure” doesn’t seem to be enough. it cheapens it in a way, but there’s really no other word. It’s as if the entirety of the sex was an orgasm, like the one I just had, but instead of being a “peak” ” it was continuing to build towards something more intense than an orgasm. I don’t mean like the rush of liquid from before. At least I don’t think so. I may never know.As amazing as it felt to have him inside of me, I knew he wasn’t going to last. Between the intensity and the alcohol, not to mention the 9 year wait, I could hear his breathing quicken after 5 minutes. I guess 5 minutes. I have no conception of time from this night.
He slowed down to prolong the experience, not wanting it to end. I could feel the build up inside of me continuing, my eyes watered, and I held my breath – not sure why. I wanted to get there before it was over and explore this new territory of my pleasure, but I can’t pretend we came together. We didn’t deserve that. He came just before I could reach my peak, staying inside of me as the new feeling waned slowly from my body. He buried his head in my shoulder, disappointed that I hadn’t cum again. Likely disappointed in himself… but that thought wasn’t crossing my mind at this moment. There wasn’t room for her in this moment.
Just as I had accepted the end to our encounter, just shy of a second climax, he picked his head up from my shoulder and quickly but purposefully kissed back down my body before reaching his destination once again. He wanted me to cum again, badly, and I was in no position to stop him as his two fingers slid back into me and his tongue massaged my clit. The pleasure started to build again, not like when he was inside of me, but like when he used his mouth before. My thoughts faded away again, and even though it took a little longer than the first time, a little more effort.. I came again. This was such a rarity for me, I figured he would eventually stop, defeated, unable to complete the mission again, but that wasn’t necessary this time. The rush was smaller this time, but the feeling was the same.
Before my shaking subsided, he was back on top of me kissing me again, with as much passion as the beginning of our encounter. His tongue met mine, and a taste similar to chlorine hit my lips. I had forgotten he came inside of me (stupid. so stupid). The realization that he had gone down on me immediately after filing me with cum, without hesitation, made my cheeks heat up again. Wow. Something about this was so hot to me, specifically because it was with him. After one last steamy kiss, he collapsed beside me, exhausted. Physically, mentally, and emotionally spent. Instead of suggesting the bed, or speaking at all, I curled up into him as he pulled me closer. As soon as I decided to close my eyes for a minute to rest them, the room became completely illuminated for a split second…but it wasn’t storming. Heat lighting. That’s right.. it is 90 degrees out. I had forgotten, just as I had forgotten the existence of just about everything else outside of my closet.I knew at this moment he would have to spend the night. The experience had temporarily sobered us, but he was still too drunk. We we’re going to have to live with this decision until morning.. and somehow that seemed more of a reward than a sentence. We fucked up. Again. And I don’t regret it.
“I’ve genuinely missed you.” he said, breaking cur long silence. The cold was starting to register on my skin again. We really needed to get dressed, or under a blanket.
I guess I’m not bad for a second choice, right?” I reply with a small, forced laugh. It was supposed to lighten the mood..a mood that should have needed lightened, but surprisingly didn’t. How were we so calm? Where was the guilt? I wanted to put the words back in my mouth as soon as they came out. I really did not need to say that….
“That’s the thing..” he took a deep breath, and paused before continuing.
“You were never my second choice.” and all at once, it hits me like an avalanche. For 9 years, I had it all wrong.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/oy75ny/the_one_that_got_away_an_unexpected_sequel_mf