Madison Avenue Ch. 01

"I love you, Madison," I whispered, saying the words for the first time, smiling as I watched her eyes light up.

"You're just saying that because you think you're gonna get some," she said with a giggle, running her hands up my chest and resting them on my shoulders.

"No, I already know I'm going to get some," I laughed. "I'm saying it because it's true."

"I know. This wouldn't be happening if I didn't love you, Chris."

To this day she's the only one to call me Chris. And to this day, I've still been unable to wash my mind of the way she looked as I stood up, towering over her as she lie on the bed below me. I smiled, running my hands over my freshly shaved head, feeling my fingers shake as they raked over the stubble on my scalp, my body doing its best to betray the calm, collected aura I was trying to project. But then a man is capable of but so much, and any man in my position, looking down at a beautiful young woman whose eyes looked up at him with love and fear, passion and innocence, desire and tentativeness — all of it wrapped into one — he'd have to admit that his hands were shaking, too.

Her hair was splayed around the bed, soft golden streams of brown framing her delicate face, a face highlighted by that smile and an occasional biting of her lower lip. Her fingers traced over her stomach, toying with the buttons of the silky lavender blouse she wore, pulling it out from her jeans as she pressed her knee against mine.

"I'm ready," she whispered almost inaudibly, so quietly that had I not been able to read her lips, I might've wondered what she said.

"Me, too."

I know we're supposed to look back on important moments in our lives and think of how dignified we acted, how we talked so intelligently. But I didn't. Those two words were all that I could force out as I reached down and pulled the T-shirt I was wearing up over my head, grateful to feel the cooler air of the room on my bare chest as my skin had already started to flush, feeling so hot as though it might just melt off.

I reached down for the buckle on my jeans as she started to inch her way back on the bed, her eyes never leaving mine as she undid each button on her blouse slowly, starting from the bottom and snapping one after another free, revealing inch after inch of her stomach to me. I snapped the buckle free as she shook her head to the left and right, reaching up to motion with one finger for me to join her just as she popped the last button loose, the blouse lying lazily over her chest, stomach exposed, her lack of a bra apparent to my lusting eyes.

"You've already started to unwrap my present," I said with a wink as I climbed onto the bed between her legs, crawling up to draw her face even with mine. "I'll unwrap the rest if you aren't opposed."

I smiled, pressing my lips down against her forehead, feeling her skin warm and smooth against my lips, a shiver running from my neck all the way down my back as I felt her fingernails softly dragging against my bare chest. I pressed my forehead to hers, looking into her eyes, one hand cradling her neck as I felt both of us breathing heavy, the weight of the moment, the heat of one another's skin too much to ignore.

Without a word she ran one hand down my chest and over my stomach, looking into my eyes as she wrestled the belt free and undid the button and zipper of my jeans. I felt the cool air rushing into my pants, my body at once on fire and chilled by the moment. With one hand still cradling her neck, I traced the fingers of the other hand over her cheek and across her lips, feeling them press up against my touch, so soft and full, a gasp struggling out of them as she slid her hand inside of my jeans and gripped the base of my hardening cock. With a soft moan, I pressed my lips down, kissing her softly and tasting her again. I don't care what anyone says; a woman tastes beautiful — her lips, her tongue, the way she sighs into a kiss.

I reached down and pulled her hand up from between us, holding it above her head as I kissed her, deeper and more passionately, reaching down to brush her open blouse away from one breast, feeling her press up against my hand. The tiny nipple sitting atop her soft, warm breast was hard, and she groaned against my lips as she arched her back, pressing it into my waiting palm. And for a moment, I lost myself, kissing the woman I loved, feeling her express her desire for me, everything perfect and calm and patient, the way love ought to be, the way her first time should be — no clumsiness, no awkward moments, just two people awash in a breathless, exquisite moment.

It was Madison who broke the kiss, pulling her lips away from mine and looking up at me. I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting her vanilla lip gloss and her kiss and her love.

"Thank you," she whispered, her fingernails dragging up and down my bare back as I lowered myself, feeling her hard nipples raking against my bare chest. "Thank you for waiting, for showing me you think I'm worth it."

I wanted to say something about waiting lifetimes, about her being worth decades and centuries and measures of time that I didn't even grasp, yet alone the six months we'd been dating. I wanted to tell her how I'd have waited so much longer, that the time was well worth it, that none of this even mattered. I didn't. The words got jumbled in my head. So I just nodded. I nodded and blinked, and tried to focus my eyes on hers as they sparkled up at me, and I hoped ... hoped that the words I couldn't say found themselves a way to her through the look in my eyes, the tenderness in my touch.

I'm not sure how long it was that we stayed like that, me lying atop her, staring into each other's eyes, silence the defining sound in the room, even if the thumping heart in my chest made it impossible to hear. But eventually I remembered where we were, why we were there, what both of us needed, and I brought my lips down, kissing gently along her jaw line to her chin, my lips fluttering across her soft, smooth skin as both hands came up to cradle her neck. I moved my lips lower, exhibiting patience I didn't think I had, putting on the impression of being an experienced lover that I knew I wasn't, as I kissed down her neck to her collarbone. It was strange to me at that moment how calm I had become, how willing I was to experience everything, each inch of her skin, when I'd waited for so long to be in a situation like this, where she'd given me the green light, where I was free to take what I so badly wanted and give what she so clearly desired. And yet there I was: lips dancing ever so softly along her collarbone, down lower, in no hurry to get to any place in particular, realizing that wherever I was at any given time, so long as it was with her, was exactly was where I was supposed to be.

And when I heard her gasp as my lips started to move over the considerable swell of one of her full breasts, it almost shook me out of that patience; the soft moan that came from above me as my lips encircled one impressively hard nipple nearly brought me right out of that calm patience — the need to hear more, to feel more almost too much for a young man of 18 to allow himself the prudence of tapping the brakes, of slowing down. Yet somehow I managed (to say I trudged on seems insincere of the situation, and yet that's what I was doing, forcing myself to fight off my hormonal outbursts to allow her to savor the moment of being fully, completed desired). So I steadied myself with strength I never knew I had, sucking that delicious, perfect nipple between my lips, gently pressing my teeth around it and sighing as I felt her hands running over my bare scalp, her breath growing ragged.

"Such a tease," she whispered, fingernails scratching against my head. "I'm supposed to be the tease."

I released the nipple from between my teeth, smiling up at her.

"You're not very good at it." I chuckled softly. "Just thought I'd give you a tip or ..."

I paused, moving my lips to her other nipple, circling it slowly with the tip of my tongue, dragging my lips back and forth across it as she giggled and whimpered beneath me.

"Or two."

We both said it at the same time and laughed together, the tension of such a weighty moment lifting almost automatically. I caught my breath, leaning back a little and holding myself up on my palms. She smiled up at me, biting her lower lip as she shrugged the blouse off her shoulders, tossing it aside.

"Don't tease me anymore, Chris." Her eyes smiled at me and her lips were pursed as she ran her tongue along the bottom lip, causing the lip gloss to sparkle even more. "If you don't take my jeans off — and yours — I'm going to have to hold you down and do it my damn self."

She always liked to joke about things like that, about being stronger than me.

"Well, on any other occasion, I might just hold you to that," I said with a smile, leaning back onto my knees and stepping back off the bed. "As things currently stand, let's skip that part and just get down to what you want."

I winked at her, reaching down to pull the zipper of my jeans down completely and let them fall to the floor at my ankles, her eyes momentarily dropping down to the tent in my boxers before looking back up into my eyes.

"Oh? What I want? I guess you don't want anything out of this situation."

I shrugged, hooking my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she saw me completely undressed, but I never got tired of the way her face would react.

"I'm just along for the ride," I said, smirking.

I slipped my boxers down, bending down to step out of them and my jeans, kicking them aside and rising back up, hands at my sides, my cock standing out proudly in front of me. I don't care what any man says; when a woman's eyes lock on to your erection and they widen and a smile crosses her lips, there's nothing in the world that feels better.

"Gonna be a fun ride," she said, looking back up into my eyes and then sitting up, crawling toward me on her hands and knees, her breasts swaying softly beneath her as her eyes locked onto my cock, staring hungrily. "I just need a quick sample before you get to riding, or I get to riding or ..."

She paused, looking up at me.

"I just need to put something in my mouth to keep me from rambling on," she said, reaching out with one hand and wrapping her fingers around the base of my shaft. Her eyes followed suit. "So thick."

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, facing the ceiling just as I felt her tongue flick out across the head of my cock. If there was one thing I knew, it was this: It took every ounce of willpower to last when she went down on me, and watching her do so made said willpower null and void. I heard her lick her lips, knowing she was tasting me, and I felt her lips open wide over the tip, locking on as she settled herself on the bed, balancing herself with one hand as she leaned forward, the other hand holding my shaft steady as her soft, wet lips glided up and down the first few inches, her tongue in constant motion, dragging back and forth along the underside of my shaft. She was passionate about it, fully intent on making me feel good, completely the opposite of a woman who does such a favor for a man because she feels she has to; she wanted to because she knew how much I enjoyed it, and she did so as though she enjoyed it, moaning and sighing as she took as much of me in her mouth as she could, coating the swollen, throbbing shaft with her saliva.

After a few long, deep breaths, I forced my eyes open, looking down at her, watching her work, so beautiful and passionate, so wonderfully involved in the act. It wasn't a chore; it was an act of love. And I could've gone on forever like that — well, not really — but the whole night had been too much of a buildup, and I really, really didn't want it to end like this.

I smiled, reaching down with one hand and brushing a few loose strands of hair from her forehead, placing my fingers along the side of her head and guiding her back, my cock exiting her mouth not on its own volition, but because of my need. My hand was shaking as I held her head and looked into her eyes.

"Somebody too excited?" Her eyes giggled up at me as she licked her lips.

"Can you blame me? Could anyone?"

She smiled a little wider and rose up on her knees, dragging her fingertips up my hips and my sides, causing goosebumps to rise up across every inch of my naked body.

"No blame, no worries," she whispered, leaning in to kiss my chest as her arms wrapped around me, her breasts pressing against my stomach. "It'll always be like this. Us wanting each other so much, loving each other so much."

Her tone was soft and yet matter-of-fact, like she just knew. And how could I have argued?

"Of course it will, Madison. What other way is there? How could I need anything else when I know what I can have with you?"

I've always found it funny to think of the way we spoke in that moment. I can't explain what she was thinking, but I can explain what I was thinking: I wasn't. I wasn't bullshitting or lying. I wasn't trying to hustle her. I didn't think. I said what I honestly felt.

"Now."

One word. Three letters. Two soft, brown eyes looking up at me. An eternity — that's the amount of time that passed between my heartbeats. Another nod. So much for being articulate.

She reached up behind her head and undid her ponytail, shaking the golden brown locks free and letting them cascade down her slightly freckled shoulders, and then she reached down between us, unsnapping her jeans and leaning back, pulling her jeans and panties down in one smooth motion, her actions trying to tell me that she wasn't as nervous as the look in her eyes. She kicked them free as she rested back on the bed with a deep breath, her head on the pillow as she looked up at me. My eyes made a slow, appreciating journey up and down her body, from her slightly parted lips down to the breasts rising and falling with each slow, unsteady breath, over her stomach, where both hands rested, fingertips brushing back and forth along the skin around her bellybutton, down to her hips and the neatly trimmed patch of brown hair and her thighs, which were slightly lifted up off the bed and pressed softly together all the way down to her knees, one leg stretched out toward me, the other slightly bent, both knees rocking back and forth ever-so-slightly.

I took a deep breath, exhaling loudly and swallowing hard. I'd had sex, but I wasn't sure I'd ever made love, and I knew for damn sure I was about to. It was a lot for an 18-year-old guy. I swallowed again, my mouth feeling dry as I leaned down, placing my knees on the bed at her feet and my hands on the outsides of her thighs. As I crawled forward, I couldn't look any place other than directly into her eyes; if I hadn't been able to feel her legs opening and her knees moving out alongside of me, I'd have never known. Then again, you could've set a bomb off in the living room and I'd have been none the wiser. I reminded myself over and over to breathe, reminders that fell on deaf ears as my face reached hers and she tilted her head upward, kissing me as her arms wrapped around me, my cock pressing against her stomach. It was the world's most perfect kiss taking place at the universe's most perfect time, and her tongue danced with mine in a way that made me lose track of time, place, setting, dialogue, everything but co-star.

When the kiss broke, my eyes stayed closed for a moment before fluttering open, finding her looking up at me, so much love in her eyes that a big, tough guy might've cried — well, if not for what he was about to do. My eyebrows raised, and she smiled, snaking one hand down between us. I lifted my hips slightly, allowing her to grasp my cock and place the tip at her entrance. I could feel the warmth and the wetness coming from between her lips, and it felt as though it would envelope my entire body the way it soaked through me. I stayed still, though, more patient than a man my age should've ever been for anything, especially his first time with a woman who looked like this, who loved him like she did, whom he loved as he did. And when she pulled me forward, slipping me so very slowly inside of her, my heart stopped, my breathing stopped, and all that existed in the world was her eyes on mine, and me inside of her.

And yes, she grimaced. And yes, it hurt. And even more yes, it broke my heart to hurt her in any way. But none of those details matter compared to the way she kept her eyes on mine as I pushed gently inside of her and as her body allowed me to, not fighting too much, as though a greater power knew that this needed to happen. I don't believe in fate and have no use for destiny — and don't even get me started on God, or any reason she might be interested in the coupling of two people — but it happened as it should, and it was complete, and I felt her body relax beneath mine, fully entwined with mine.

"I couldn't have fallen in love with some 5-foot-6 scrawny guy," she whispered with a soft laugh as I stayed still, allowing her to get used to me. "You don't have to be perfectly proportioned, you know."

"But then I wouldn't be so perfect in every way."

She laughed again. And I fell in love again.

"Make love to me, Christian."

I know. It's redundant. But I nodded again. Silently again. And I did exactly as I was asked. My hands came up to her cheeks, thumbs brushing back and forth across her lower lip as I slowly withdrew from within her. The tight, wet walls of her pussy gripped at my cock as I backed out, almost as if they didn't want me to leave, and they opened up for me as I returned, welcoming me back like an old friend, with a warm embrace. And it was the same over and over, her body regretting loss and needing return, and receiving both, as I made love to her in long, uneven strokes, pausing to kiss her, my rhythm certainly no metronome but perfect all the same, perfect because of who she was, of who we became.

She lied. We didn't "make love and then fuck and then make love again." We made love once, on that bed, and then I held her for hours, stroking her cheek and talking with her, joking and laughing, making plans and promises, falling deeper into love.

*********

-December 17, 2006-

"Hello, Madison."

The words came out easier than I would've thought; perhaps it was that they felt they had to.

"Christian." Her voice was almost too familiar.

She moved around from beside me and sat in the chair previously occupied by Damien, looking over at them curiously as they stood at the bar, pretending they weren't watching everything that was happening. My eyes stayed down, focusing on the label of the beer bottle in front of me.

"I suppose I shouldn't have expected them to thank me for buying a round." There wasn't the slightest hint of venom in her voice; it was that same matter-of-fact tone she always used. Sarcasm wasn't her thing. "I take it I'm still Public Enemy No. 1 in your circle."

She paused, her eyes coming over to my face.

"And with you?"

I looked up, shrugging, attempting to use diffidence as a shield.

"Water under the bridge." I knew nothing would piss her off more. She hated when I talked in clichés, because she knew I only did it when I was trying to be difficult.

She didn't react.

"You look good. I never imagined you with facial hair ... or such long hair, for that matter."

I raised an eyebrow, exhaling through my nose as I laughed.

"You know I hate John Lennon."

"Funny."

I took a long sip of the beer, emptying the bottle and setting it down quietly against the table, looking into her eyes.

"Something I can do for you?"

She smiled sweetly — not "almost too sweetly," not "wickedly sweet," just sweetly, just enough to bring up that dimple on her right cheek.