Impressions Ch. 06

Gin walked down the sidewalk, groceries, sci-fi novels, and crayons in a bag under her arm, on the way to Aren's apartment enjoying the unseasonably warm sunny spring weather. It had been three months since they had returned from the beach.

The semester was so crazy and she and Aren were having so much fun, the time had flown by. She couldn't believe it was already spring break. She was happy to have some downtime to spend with Aren. Lately, the only time they had together was while sleeping, doing homework, or skipping class to toss a baseball around on the library lawn.

She reached his building, climbed the stairs to the third floor while struggling with the slightly unwieldy and heavy bag and finally got the key he had given her into the door.

He would be home from work in about an hour and she was planning on getting a picnic ready to go to the lake. The phone was ringing when she walked in the door.

She had just started getting things out to make cookies when the answering machine finally picked up. The overdone southern accent grated on her nerves.

"Hey darling. I miss you. If you're not going out with that little whore tonight, give me a call." Click.

What the fuck? I can't believe she called me that! Well, yes I can, but damn. That was just not necessary. I wonder who that was anyway.

She set about baking and sandwich making to occupy herself until Aren came home. She wanted a kiss.

* * *

Aren couldn't wait to get home. Gin would be there. And she would smell like vanilla and oranges. And she would be soft and warm and suntanned.

He hoped Lindsey hadn't stopped by. The evil witch. With her bleach blonde hair, fake tan, and claw-like nails. There was nothing real about that girl. Not even her personality. For some reason, she had decided she wanted to sleep with Aren. He had a feeling it was more about getting to Gin that actually liking him. Apparently she had stopped by the garage while he was out on a test drive and had felt it beneath her to wait for him to get back.

His boss laughed and told him she had stepped in grease with her little fancy heels and squealed about "ruining her Pradas," whatever the hell that meant. The general consensus around the garage was that Gin needed to come around more often and that little Barbie bitch needed to stay away.

He worked at scrubbing the grease from his hands, took one last look at the '69 Mustang he was rebuilding, and walked out the door.

Over the past month, he had begun to realize what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to tell Gin. Tonight.

* * *

Gin was taking cookies out of the oven when Aren walked through the door. Apparently nothing weird has happened, he thought. She looks happy enough to see me.

Gin set the cookies down on top of the oven and wrapped her arms around Aren. He bent to kiss her and picked her up off the floor a little as he spun her around.

"Someone's in a good mood," Gin giggled as she hung on to Aren. "Oh, you have a phone message."

"Damnit. From who? Eh, doesn't matter anyway. It isn't from you." He turned back to kissing her. He was beginning to work his way down her neck and his hands were finding their own way under her shirt. Her breathless purr and smile were more than enough to keep him going.

"Aww, come on baby, you know we'll do this later... let's just go to the lake before we get too..." His lips pressing into hers cut her off. She stopped protesting as his hand slid slowly down her stomach into the front of her jeans. She reached over and flipped the deadbolt. He just grinned as he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

He gently tossed her onto the bed and climbed over her, straddling her legs at first so he could remove her jeans. Hot as they were, they were in the way of more important things. That little spaghetti strap had to go too. So did the bra and panties. The tiny white thong was nice though, Aren thought.

He was on fire. He had been wanting Gin all day and he couldn't wait to be in her. Sometimes they had slow loving sex. This was not one of those times. This was hot, rip each other's close off, dripping wet, screaming, moaning, sweaty sex. And it was great.

Gin pulled her knees up to her chest and spread her legs as he put his arms around her back and plunged into her. She sighed and purred like a porn star and it only made it that much hotter. The sweet friction built quickly and with every one of Gin's pants and moans Aren came closer and closer to finishing. Fortunately Gin was getting it just as good as he was because she came barely a second before he wasn't able to hold off any longer. He finished with a growl against her neck and she with her teeth grazing his shoulder, her breath hot on his chest. Aren collapsed on top of Gin and managed to roll enough to the side so not to crush her. They lay together, Aren stroking Gin's hair, and let the sweat cool on their bodies.

"Ready to go to the lake now?"

"Whenever you are, Baby," Aren replied. "Who was the phone message from, anyway?"

"Dunno. Why don't you listen to it."

"Eh. Later."

"Shall we commence on our journey?"

"Are the sandwiches done?"

"You know it."

"Turkey or ham?"

"Grilled chicken."

"Even better."

* * *

They had a fantastic time at the lake. Gin spent most of the time sketching various things, including her favorite, the trees at sunset and reflections on the water. Aren played around, splashed water on Gin to tick her off, stole a bunch of kisses, and wrote. He was an artist, but he was also a writer. He liked poetry and nature inspired him. So did Gin. She was his muse. Sex was her muse. It entertained him greatly. One thing he could say for certain, was she had plenty of opportunity for inspiration.

It was getting dark. Gin was stretched out on a grassy bank near the shore. It was getting a little chilly out. He figured she would be ready to leave soon, but didn't look like she was to that point quite yet.

They had talked about having sex on the beach, but they had done that at the ocean and neither of them were crazy about where the sand ended up when you did that. He didn't mind waiting until they got home. One of the great things about Gin was that she wanted sex as much as he did. Or let him have it almost any time he wanted it even if she wasn't in the mood. She had no clue how much that meant to him.

He didn't know how he wanted to tell her what he was thinking about doing with the rest of his life. It really wasn't that big of a deal. They were only dating. Still, he couldn't help but hope that his future was inextricably linked with hers.

"Gin..." He said it so faintly he wasn't sure she even heard him. But she raised up on her elbows and turned to look at him.

"Yes, Baby?"

"Umm... There's something I've been meaning to tell you..."

"You sound nervous. Did you run down a clown on your way home?"

He couldn't help but laugh. Her randomness and abandon of all logic and sensibility always lightened the mood even if it confused him to no end. She knew she was illogical and strange. She was and artist and she embraced that fact.

"No, no clown hit and runs. Anyway, I think I've figured out what I'm going to do. Or at least what I want to do."

"With what?"

"Oh. My life."

"Ah. Then that means you've figured out what you're going to do. At least if I have anything to say about it. So what is it?"

"I'm going to open a custom car garage. Rebuild classics and that kind of thing. I know it's not some great promising career, but..."

She squealed. He was slightly taken aback by her enthusiasm.

"I hoped that's what you were going to say! I think that's great. You always are so passionate about your classic cars. It's the only thing I've ever seen you really passionate about except sex. And I was hoping you weren't taking up a career in pornography, so this is awesome! Anyway, I don't care what anyone says about a 'promising career,' passion is all that matters to me. Do whatever makes you happy, Baby."

He was relieved. He had known she would be ok with it. He had even thought she'd probably be happy about it. He hadn't, however, expected her to be so excited about it.

He couldn't find enough ways to show her how much she meant to him. Sometimes he felt so inadequate at expressing himself. He was an artist and a poet, after all. He could always see Gin's spirit and soul in everything she did. Could she see his? He needed to tell her how he really felt. How much he loved her. It was time. He owed her that much. He turned back toward the setting sun, put pencil to sketch pad, and began a love poem.