Carding

"Well, look at the time," he said, glancing at a silver, chunky watch, the kind so in fashion in middle school, "I should get out to the store; I forgot to get my mom a card for her birthday, how bad a son am I?"

("Not that bad," I would say. I would tilt my head to the side and let my ponytail brush my back, let it touch and tingle. I would take sexy steps towards him, make his eyes follow every sway of my hips. Lately, I found that I had been able to control my own destiny in these fantasies. If you think I could fantasize for months about one guy without being able to make them go the way I wanted, you're not thinking. I'm even sexier than usual in my dreams. I would walk over, basketball forgotten, and smile, grab his shoulder, and lean in for a kiss. He would bend his head down at an angle, his hair swishing over his forehead, and he would purse his lips. I would grab the back of his head and pull him down. We would cascade to the floor like two dominoes possessed of consciousness. But not conscience, that would be gone. I would pull his backpack off his back and free us of its weight. His books would spill out because the zipper wouldn't have been closed all the way. All those books, seriously, how much time did he spend on homework? He would look at it for a second, and then he would forget his remorse and lust would come into his eyes. We would writhe around like fish out of water, pressing our yearning bodies against each other. Then he would reel back and haul me up with an outstretched hand, and we would laugh, knowing how wicked we were about to be. We would scamper under the bleachers and he would push me against the wall and lift my leg around his waist. He would slip a hand under the elastic both up and down and play with my taught nipple with his left hand, and tease circles around my pussy-lips with his right. His right hand would become the focus of my being and I would squirm under it, yearning for some hard contact. He would slip a finger inside and I would gasp in pleasure, and he would slip another finger in and then his fingers would be everywhere inside of me, cleverly pushing and then pistoning, making me groan. I would feel the heat of my own juices flowing down his hand. This would go on interminably, and I would reach a shaking hand down to massage his cock through his pants. He would moan, and I would pant, and we would look into each other's flashing eyes. He would keep pushing and pushing and pushing and then I would arch my back, sending my head backwards, sliding over the wall. His hand would be the only thing holding me in this reality while pushing me out of it at the same time, the same way my muscles would be pushing him out with the force of their contractions. We would be breathing heavily, sitting on the dirty gym floor, and then we would break out into gales of shaking laughter.)

I grinned nervously as I trotted over to retrieve the basketball that was sitting motionless in the far corner. How long had I been standing there slackjawed? Out of chivalry or something, he also started towards the ball, and we kind of collided somewhere in the middle. We separated immediately, nervously. Had he known what I had been thinking? How could he? He couldn't have. Why did I feel something brush my leg then? Shit, I must have flashed him or something when we collided, when we were too close. But I still felt a flush of pride that I had given the school heartthrob a hard-on with no more than a sports bra...

I had been thrust into these more-real-than-life daydreams every week, and then every few days. There was a point when they were coming thick and fast, when it was almost every day. They were so wonderful that I never wanted them to end. It was almost every time I saw Richard. Well, no, wait, it never happened in history class. Sure I had daydreams about him, but I always knew that I was sitting at my desk. I always knew that I was taking notes, and the clock followed its orderly progression of second after second and minute after minute.

Then, suddenly, they stopped. I remembered the last one...

It was after school again, late. These dreams happened after school a lot; Rich seemed to wander the halls after hours, so I had started arranging to get picked up from school later and later. This afternoon I was sitting on a window-ledge in the sunlight, writing. There was a slam somewhere down the hallway and I looked up to see Rich coming out of a math room, heading my way. I turned back to my notebook and pretended to scribble something. He would probably pass right by. My stomach flipped over when I heard footsteps stop in front of me. I heard breathing. I took a breath. I looked up, pushing a strand of hair off my face.

"Hi Rich, what's up?"

"Hello Shelley. Not much. But look, did you see that? Mr. Floath is such a card."

("I wouldn't know, I haven't had him," I would say.

"You're missing a lot," he would say, putting down his bag and hopping up onto the ledge next to me.

These fantasies weren't all sexual. I wouldn't have a fantasy boyfriend and not have lengthy imaginary conversations with him. If you think otherwise, you're not thinking clearly. So anyway, he would hop up next to me and put his arm around my shoulder, all nice and protective. We would talk about school. I would tell him jokingly that we would have to stop meeting like this; maybe we should go to his house. I would cozy into him and then he would turn my chin sideways with one hand and kiss me. We would start alternating sentences and kisses.

"So really, my house?"

Kiss.

"Oh yeah. Or mine."

Kiss.

"What's wrong with school?"

Kiss.

"Well, I don't like the fact that someone could catch us."

Kiss.

"Maybe I like that."

Kiss.

"Maybe I don't."

Kiss.

"Why not?"

Kiss.

"Well, for one thing, everyone would hate me if someone found us."

Kiss.

"Why?"

"Well, I guess, it's the way...the way people see you."

He would sit back, scott back, put his legs up and bend them and put his hands around his knees.

"How do people see me? Well, actually," he would say, "how do you see me. You're the important one, what do you think of me?"

I would lean forwards and put folded arms on his knees and lay my head on my arms so that I would be looking up at him. Since this was just a fantasy, I would be completely honest. I would be brutally honest.

"Well, you're kind of like the guy in The 40 Year Old Virgin. You remember how they all thought he was a serial killer? Well, not really like that. Or maybe, I don't know. So you're like him, only more likely to be a virgin because of religion than shyness." He would look devastated, so I would rush on. "But you're really cute!" Even imaginary boyfriends need their ego's stroked, go figure. "That's the real reason everyone would hate me if they found out; because they think you're cute. Maybe a little weird, but cute."

"Weird? How?" He would swallow hard.

"Um, well, bizarre. Like, not quite all there. Prone to weird fits of fitting in and then strange shouting episodes. I mean, you must have noticed, they all talk about you at lunch. Or, um, I guess you wouldn't know about that. But maybe, like, well, you stop conversations with comments that, to you, I'm sure, are perfectly ordinary. But no one really knows how your mind works. Part of the mystique, I guess. But you're a really good kisser!" I would look back up at him as I finished and I would realize my error.

I would lean forwards and try to kiss him, but he would lean back, he would leap off the window, sending my head careening forwards, and he would run off down the hallway.)

My chin hurt, and I tasted blood. Richard was gone; he must have left while I was still lost in my own little world. I checked my watch; it was almost a good thing that fall had woken me up; my mom was supposed to be out back in three minutes. It was just like me to be late when I had been doing nothing...

It was also just like me to have a fight with my fantasy boyfriend, too. It was also just like me to be depressed by it, when I still had the real one to attend to. But the fantasies never came back. After a graduation ceremony during which I tried not to stare at him but couldn't manage it, I lost track of Richard as well as most of my graduating class. I expected to see him (and some of them) next at some distant reunion. But here we were, sitting next to each other.

And how do you work through relationship problems with your fantasy boyfriend when the real guy is sitting next to you and doesn't even know that you had a thing for each other--in your mind. How twisted is that?

I fell asleep for a few hours; I hadn't had enough the night before. When I woke up, the clock said 10:46 pm and the car was sitting in front of a house all lit up with faerie lights; Jill's family liked to get a jump on the holiday season. Blurry shapes moved around between the falling snow. I rubbed my eyes.

"Jill?"

One of the blurry shapes opened my door. "You're awake. Finally! This is my stop." In a lower voice, she continued "I'm sorry, you're gonna have to spend another night with the creep. He got a headache earlier so we had to stop for a few hours. I didn't want to wake you. We barely made it here in one piece with the snow, so you guys can't get home tonight. The little creep, it's like he planned it or something." Resuming a normal tone, she said "But anyway Shelley, I'll see you next week! Have a great Thanksgiving!" She leaned down into the car and gave me a squeeze.

"Bye bye, Jill. You have a great Thanksgiving too." I leaned back and promptly fell asleep again, but not before a little tingle went through me. Had he really planned for us to spend a night in the hotel alone? What did that mean? Did he like me or something? Because if he did, that would be a huge, stinking pile, wouldn't it? It would mean that this whole year of yearning was useless because I could have just reached out and kissed him the whole time. But no, he couldn't like me. Remember, it's all in your head.

He got back in the car and told me most of what Jill just told me. I nodded. We drove for about a half hour, listening to the radio. He said he was feeling like the road was getting dangerous and we should stop now. I nodded. When we pulled up to the Best Western I told him to go on in and get the room. I waited in the car. I didn't want the desk clerk to think we were involved or anything.

We trade off for the bathroom and then get into our separate beds. He tries to make conversation, but I'm having none of it. Finally, he says "Hey, look, I'm sorry about all that last night. Don't ignore me. We'll just go to sleep, and then, see, look, they even left this card out with local restaurants on it and we'll go have breakfast and then get you home, I promise."

Not again, not now, please not now! (I would look over at him, at his dark eyes burning into me from across the night. He would be sitting up, shirtless. I would sigh.

"I guess I can't fight this," I would say. "I've never been able to before. I don't know how this happens, but I guess, fantasy Richard, if you're ready to come back to me..." I would motion him to come hither to me.

"Aww," he would say, "I knew you liked me. I knew you wouldn't hold a grudge."

"Like I can help it," I would say, "You get me trapped in these fantasies and I can't get out of them until you let me. But you know all this." I would smile. "So you like me again? Last time we were together you ran away awful fast."

He would smile and mumble something about bygones being bygones and something about how I was too sexy to resist and he would slide into my bed. He would slide his hands down and soon we would be naked, skin on skin, face to face. He would be inside me and we would rock gently back and forth, burning exquisitely. I would turn away from his blank eyes and nuzzle into his smooth neck. He would have his hand on the small of my back and bring it up, lightly, sweeping from side to side and then playing it lightly over the area between my shoulder blades. His hand would caress my neck and then sweep back over my shoulders. I would gasp, tense, and start to pulse, leaning back into his hand, knowing that the soft touch was what brought pleasure but still craving the pressure, the finality of a real grasp. I would arch my chest, and he would take one of my nipples into his mouth. My climax would reach a crescendo and I would chop the air into my lungs, gasping and mewling, writhing and squirming on him. The wave would take me forwards again and I would bite his neck between the ear and the jaw and wrap my arms around his warm, wide back. His mouth would pull away from my breast as he starts his own climax and I twist my head up and kiss him full on the lips, bringing him down to the foot of the bed. He would groan and I would be able to feel his pulses start as mine die away. I would pull back for air and he would suddenly grab me around the middle and mash me down into him for another intense kiss. Finally, my hair spread out like a dark angel's halo, I would fall asleep. He would be half in me and I would be half on him, and we would clutch each other tightly.)

I yawned, stretched, and screamed.

"Richard, Richard what the FUCK?" He woke up smiling and then choked, feeling his morning hardness inside of me. "What the fuck is going on?" I hit his chest.

"Shelley? Shit shit shit! This wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Supposed? You're fucking inside me and you tell me this is an accident, a whoops? You KNOW how this happened, I know you do, now tell me!"

"I really don't know Shelley, I--" I saw him staring at my chest. I slugged him one, a right hook across that pretty face of his.

He moaned in pain and clutched at his face and I leaped off him, scampering for clothes.

"Look, Shelley--"

I cut him off when it dawned on me. "Oh God. Oh god, this isn't the first time, is it?"

"Shelley, I really don't think--"

"No, it's not. You've done something to me. This is all real, isn't it? There never were any fantasies, you just made me think they were. You screwed around with me all last year and...fucking hell, Richard, I liked you, too. You could have just fucking asked me and I probably would have done all that with you anyway. But fuck that, forget that, what the fuck did you think you were doing?"

"Please Shelley!" He slid off the bed, falling to his knees. "I like you, a lot. I didn't at first, but then I did, and then I didn't know how to stop, I thought you would think I was weird if I just asked you out, and this was easy."

"Men and their easy ways out! Oh," I moaned, falling to my knees with an armful of mismatched clothes, "Why do I still like you?"

He crawled over to me and tried to put an arm around me but I hauled off and punched him again through my tears. "All real...it's all real...all real..."

I pretended to fall asleep after a while because I had no idea how to deal with this situation. He had dressed me, put me and the stuff in his car, checked out, and started driving us home. Goddamn, why did he have to be so tender? I think I fell asleep for real after a few minutes in the car, because I woke around noon and we were entering Rhode Island.

He smiled nervously at me. I was still mad at him. I wouldn't speak to him. We sat in silence, until he cleared his throat. He spoke.

"Look, I'm really sorry. You were pretty awful to me on that project and I wanted revenge, so I gave you that card. It didn't do anything major to you, just gave you some triggers. It made you think you were in a daydream every time I said it, it didn't do anything else. You lowered your own inhibitions, I guess, because you thought you were just fantasizing. But I was new at the whole thing, and I fell for you. I'm sorry, I should have told you then. But we had built this whole relationship already, in your dreams, we were together. We had jokes, we had signs, little things...it was a perfect relationship and I just, I didn't want to have to start over because it might not be perfect. I knew it couldn't be the same, and I also didn't know how much you actually remembered afterwards."

"Everything," I said, "Always."

He looked at me for a long minute, and continued. "Well, it would have been pretty strange for everything from your dreams to suddenly start happening in real life."

"It would have been wonderfully fucking magical, Richard."

"I fucked up. I really fucked up, ok? I mean, you see why I couldn't tell you. The best thing would have been to tell you though; tell you and hope that you would forgive me and really like me and then we could keep everything we had, everything we already shared. I'm just, so, so sorry." The tears started pouring out of his one good eye and dripping out of the shiner I gave his other one. "I mean, I should never even have done it. But it brought us together, right? And then when you told me you thought I was a serial killer? That really hurt me. I couldn't face you anymore, knowing what you really thought of me. So I started giving the cards to other people. I gave one to Jill after I slept with her. Hers also made her slightly more compliant. Most of the others I gave out did that, after the first one at college kind of backfired. I never knew what went wrong. I guess I do now...it was because you really liked me, wasn't it? Oh god, you're so beautiful and I, I just, oh god I'm so sorry!" he wailed.

I took a deep breath, and put my hand on his shoulder. He swung his head around and a sharp intake of breath when he felt my touch. "Richard. You, you still like me?"

"Yes, more than anything. A lot."

"Well, I still like you. And I know I'll never be able to forget how perfect that all was. So I want to be with you. As long as you're honest, as long as we always know. You'll take back those other cards, not use them ever again. I hate that I can't hate you, but I'm not gonna be stupid about it. And the serial killer thing? I wasn't very eloquent that day, but I never thought you were a serial killer. Just strange. Which means different, which is good. All those high school guys are all the same, but you were different. It was mysterious." He sniffed and looked a lot better. I offered him a tissue. "I want you," I said, a rush going through my body.

He grinned, and said, "Look over there! That billboard is like a giant Christmas card!"

(I would look over and laugh because there was no billboard. He would pull over into the runaway truck lane and stop the car. He would unclick my seatbelt with one hand and reach the other around my neck and he would pull me to him. Before he would kiss me, I would realize, I would say, "Hey! You're doing it to me again, aren't you?")

He smiled and nuzzled my neck.

"You don't need it anymore," I said. "My fantasy boyfriend was great, but I have a feeling that my reality boyfriend is going to be much more...substantial." I grinned and reached down for something very important. He gasped.