Countdown

I know that I said that I was taking a break, but this idea came into my head one night, and it seemed silly not to post it. As with most of my recent stories, it is not particularly graphic.

"Do you remember the day we met?" I asked, gently brushing the blonde hair out of her eyes so that I could look at her dark blue irises in the dim light.

"I remember how annoyed I was," she responded.

"About the dress, right?"

"The dress, and everything. I hated having to wear that dress," she said, her face involuntarily mirroring the pout I remembered seeing exactly four years ago to the day.

"Well, you know, I wasn't that happy, either. I mean, when I heard that the family moving in next door had a kid my age, I was hoping for a boy to hang out with. Not some girl in a pink dress." At the mention of the dress, her nose wrinkled again, before relaxing and returning her face to its usual cuteness.

"I'm sure," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What thirteen year old boy wants a thirteen year old girl moving in next door?"

"I was almost fourteen," I reminded her.

"We were almost fourteen," she noted.

"True. I mean, what were the odds that you and I would have exactly the same birthday."

"It was strange, and if I recall, it gave us something to talk about."

"For a minute," I remembered.

"Yeah. At thirteen—"

"Almost fourteen," I interrupted. She rolled her eyes.

"O.K., at almost fourteen, it was so awkward. I mean, I just moved here. I didn't know anyone. And it was the day before my birthday." Her face clouded briefly with the memory.

"I never asked you—did you have a party planned?"

"I started to, but when I told my parents, they broke the news—"

"That you were moving?"

"Yeah. And that it had to be before my birthday."

"Why didn't you do something before you moved?"

"I asked, but Mom said there was too much to do. And you know how she is."

I nodded. "She is always so organized. Not like you," I said, smiling. She hit me playfully in the shoulder, but nodded sheepishly. When she turned to hit me, I could see her cleavage, that soft spot, and the gap between her just right sized breasts.

"I remember how you tried to teach me to play that awful video game that you loved, the one with all the killing—"

"And I remember how you kept dying."

"It was hard to learn how to use those controllers."

"I remember how frustrated you were. I was afraid you were going to throw it against the wall and break it."

"And you kept yelling at me, trying to tell me what button to push." She paused, and stroked my hair. I leaned forward and kissed her soft neck.

"When my mother asked me to invite you to my birthday party the next day, you looked like you were going to throw up."

"I was always shy meeting new people. Especially boys. And I was annoyed that you were getting the party that I didn't get."

"You sat there, silently, until your mother accepted the invitation on your behalf."

"Trust me, we fought about that after we went home, but Mom always got her way."

"Like making you wear that dress?"

"Ugh. I wanted to wear jeans, like I always did. But that day, but Mom was like, 'no, you have to dress like a lady to meet the new neighbors, blah, blah, blah,' and I was like, 'no way,' and—"

"And Mom won."

"Mom won."

"Well, I always thought you looked cute in it."

"You didn't say anything."

"I was a thirteen—"

"Almost fourteen—"

"Almost fourteen year old boy. Like I was going to say anything about a dress to a girl."

We paused, and kissed. I ran my hand down her smooth, soft back, and she pressed against me. I knew she could feel my hard cock against her. But it wasn't time.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice a bit huskier.

I looked at the clock. "11:30." She smiled.

"Almost."

"Almost," I replied. "You were so miserable at my party. Was it the dress?

"The dress. The fact that it was also my birthday, but no one cared—"

"My mom made you a special cupcake—"

"That was sweet. But you were getting all of the attention. And the presents. And I didn't know anyone. And it was all boys. And you spent most of the time playing that stupid video game."

"I guess. What did you do?"

"Mostly talked with your Mom."

"She always liked you."

"And why shouldn't she?"

"Fair point," I said, smiling, and leaned in for another kiss, which turned into more kisses.

"Somehow, I don't think that our parents going away this weekend together was a complete coincidence," she said, with that mischievous smile I remembered from that first day. When she didn't know I was watching.

"Yeah, probably not." I smiled. "Things didn't turn out so bad, though."

"True. I remember going to my first day of school, and being surprised at how nice the other girls were. I expected some sort of Mean Girls thing, but they were great."

"I know. I always thought our school was special that way. And I was glad that you and I became friends."

"As close as fourteen year olds of the opposite sex could become, I guess."

"I never thought you had cooties."

"I would hope not," she said, with mock indignation before smiling. "And 'cooties' was for younger kids, right?"

"I guess. But I can't remember any other boy or girl our age ever having a 'friend friend' of the opposite sex at that time."

She thought for a few seconds. "Probably not. Most of the boys didn't want to have anything to do with us then. Or they thought they wanted to do stuff that most of them weren't ready for. And we weren't, either."

"Except for Karen Blevins."

"Except for Karen Blevins," she agreed. "Whatever happened to her?"

"She moved away in like 10^th grade. We thought she was—"

"Pregnant, yeah, I know. But I think that was bullshit."

I shrugged. "No clue. But we all thought so."

"Did you ever do anything with her?"

"No. I'm sure I would have if I'd had the chance, but it never..." I trailed off, as I saw her eyes narrow with disapproval. I changed the subject. "Remember our fifteenth birthday party?"

"How could I forget our first real boy-girl party."

"It was cool that our parents let us do a joint party," I recalled.

"It made sense. Same birthday, and so many of the same friends."

"All I wanted was to kiss Isabelle Combs—"

"And she ended up with Tyler Brock."

"That asshole."

"He's your best friend," she said with surprise.

"That night, he was an asshole," I replied. "And what about you? You followed poor Andres Pagan around all night like a puppy."

"I most certainly did not," she said, indignantly, raising herself slightly off of the bed, and allowing me a brief view of her small, dark nipples, before she pulled the sheet up.

"Really? I remember you coming over to me, almost in tears, complaining that Andres was ignoring you."

"If I recall, your sage advice was to corner him and pull up my shirt."

"I did say that, didn't I? Pretty classy."

She smiled. "As if that would have made any difference back then."

"You really were flat as a board."

"And incredibly unhappy about it. I didn't need you, of all people, teasing me about it then."

"I'm sorry. I was fifteen. And you sprouted soon after that."

"Which was its own problem."

"I remember seeing you press your books against your chest to hide them. And all I wanted was to see them."

"You were always a breast man. I remember when you were drooling over Madison McCord."

"She had a great body." I saw her eyes narrow again. "But nothing like yours," I tried to recover, and stroked her side, feeling her generous, if not excessive, curves.

"Nice try," she said, but her smile gave away her true feelings. "I did notice you looking at me differently after."

"I did. I was a breast man, as you pointed out." I reached under the covers and felt her soft, beautiful breasts and enjoyed her small smile.

"Why didn't we start going out then?"

"I still thought of you as just a friend."

"A friend with breasts to stare at."

"Guilty." I pretended to be ashamed. "Anyway, that was about when you started going out with Allen."

"True. He asked me, and you didn't. And he was—is—a nice guy. And cute."

"Oh really?" I said, with my own mock indignation.

"Not like you, of course," she said, kissing me and slipping her tongue into my mouth.

I pulled away and looked at the clock. "11:44." She smiled.

"And you started going out with Annie."

"I did."

"How were you able to ask her out, but not me?"

"Well, I thought she would have sex with me, and I knew you wouldn't."

"You were right about me."

"I know. I knew you weren't going to. And I was wrong about Annie, anyway."

"Is that why you broke up?"

"In part. I mean, I didn't feel that strongly about her, and she wouldn't do it." I paused. "And there was someone else." She smiled. "But you were taken."

"Allen was a good boyfriend, but I know I frustrated him."

"Is that why you broke up?"

"Kind of. I got tired of having to say no. And, after a while, I realized he wasn't the one." She looked at me meaningfully.

"I remember running into you guys on our birthday. I was taking Annie to the movies, and for what I hoped would be a special present at the lookout after—"

"Allen and I had dinner at the pizza place next door. He had them bring me a piece of pizza with a candle." She smiled at the memory. "But I know that the night ended unsatisfactorily for both of us."

"And for me, too," I replied.

We cuddled quietly for a few seconds, and then she said, "I remember at the beginning of the next school year when my mother told me that you were at the door, and I couldn't figure out why you didn't text me, or call me, or just walk in, like you usually did."

"I had been shooting the shit with Tyler, and a few of the guys. And of course we were talking about girls. And I think it was Colin who said that I finally needed to ask you out. And I said, 'no, I don't think of her that way," and they all got hysterical laughing. I was like, 'what," and Tyler said, 'it's fucking obvious. You like her. Ask her out.' And I went home, and sat in my room, and I was, like, 'they are right,' and I just ran out of my house and over to yours. Your mother must have thought I was crazy."

"She did. But I think she was happy we were together."

"Then why did you really break up with me?"

She paused. "Because I was an idiot."

"No argument here." She hit me. Hard. "No, really. You never told me."

She shook her head, but then started to speak. "You knew that I promised my parents that I wouldn't have sex until I was 18."

I smiled. "Yeah, I heard something about that."

She smiled back at me and rolled her eyes. "I never told you why. And you never asked."

"I knew you would have told me if you wanted to. And I knew you must have had a good reason to pass on all of this." I waved my hand up and down my body, which received the rare combination of both a slow head shake and an eye roll.

"At this point," she said, "it may not be important anymore, but my mom and I actually had that talk, and it was painful at the start, but they were so open, and so cool about it. Did I ever tell you that my mom got pregnant at 16 by some guy and had an abortion?"

"No, you didn't," I replied, a bit surprised.

"Yeah, and she was O.K. and all, but she just wanted me to wait. I really thought about it, and decided that I wanted to be old enough to really know that it was the right time. With the right guy."

"And I told you that I would wait with you."

"I know you said that, but I didn't want to make you."

"But I really was fine. I mean, we were doing everything but that—"

"Yeah, but I was afraid that you were getting frustrated—"

"I'm not Allen."

"No, you aren't. But I didn't think that it was fair to you. I loved you so much. And I felt myself weakening. I wanted to. But I had promised my parents, and you know I take promises seriously." I nodded. "I was afraid that if we stayed together, I'd either drive you away, or break my promise."

"So you broke up with me instead?"

"I didn't know what else to do."

"We could have talked about it."

She shrugged. "I guess so. I mean, you're right, but it seemed like the right thing to do. You know, 'if you love someone, set them free.'" She paused. "But I think I would have killed you if you actually went out and screwed someone else." She looked at me. "You didn't—"

I shook my head. "No. There was no one else I wanted to be with. I sulked. I stayed in my room and played video games. My parents were worried."

"I know our mothers talked."

"Of course they did."

"It was weird not speaking with you on our birthday that year."

"I know. I almost called, but chickened out. What did you do?"

"Not much. Hung out with the guys. Snuck a couple of beers. You?"

"Stayed home, actually. Had cake with my parents. Watched some chick flick."

I looked at her.

"Yeah, I cried a little." I pulled her close. The warmth of her body felt incredible.

I looked at the clock. "11:55." She smiled. "And that day, outside of the auditorium, when I was walking to my car, and you came up behind me."

"I thought you were going to have a heart attack."

"I was in my own world—"

"As usual."

"As usual. And you were the last person I expected to grab me."

"You weren't hoping for Madison?"

"No, although her boobs are great." She hit me again.

"Her boyfriend is the size of a refrigerator. A walk in, almost."

"Good point. But, no. I wasn't hoping for Madison. But I never dreamed it would be you. Because one thing that I have learned is that when you make a decision, you stick to it."

"I couldn't. I missed you."

"I missed you too." We kissed. I stole a look at the clock. 11:59. I let my hand slide down between her legs. She felt hotter and wetter than I ever remembered.

"Are you glad we waited?"

As I was trying to decide what to say, I heard the bell ringing from the church tower. "I guess it doesn't matter anymore. Happy Birthday." The bell rang again. I looked at the clock. 12:00.

"Happy Eighteenth Birthday," she purred, pulling me toward her.

I rolled on top, and she wrapped her long legs around me. I felt her hand guiding my hard cock into her. The warmth was nearly unbearable.

"I'm not sure if I'm glad that we waited," I whispered. "But I'm glad we stopped waiting."

"Shut up and make love to me, for god's sake," she panted, moving her hips under me.

She was, as usual, correct. The time for talking was over.