So Horrible

Annabelle got out of a taxi on the curb, so beautiful. She did her raven hair in a faux bob, with relatively few loose strands having to be constantly tucked behind her ears. Through our night of dining and dancing, her insubordinate hair kept not quite falling out of her careful styling.

Her dark green velvet dress was floor length, high collared, and sleeveless with a slit up the side to her mid-thigh. Her Mary Janes matched.

We waltzed to "Silent Night," "Silver Bells," "So This is Christmas," "Pretty Paper," and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." She danced wonderfully, moving fluidly across the floor in my arms. Her dress twirled and flirted against my legs. Annabelle smiled coyly when she felt my hardness against her leg. I wanted never to stop dancing with her in her gracefulness and suppleness, but the waiter served our supper.

After a traditional Christmas dinner of goose, roast potatoes, and veggies -- with bûche de Noël for dessert - we exchanged gifts. She bought me a bright pink tee-shirt that loudly proclaimed "Obnoxious is the New SEXY!" Perfect. I gave her a leather-bound edition of Jane Austen's collected works. She touched her new present in such a loving way that I was nearly jealous.

We took a cab through the snowy streets to her place, fairly running upstairs with the giddiness of the evening and the anticipation of pleasure to come.

Inside, I unzipped her dress, kissing every inch of her braless back as I exposed it to the cool air of her bedroom. I slipped the velvet fabric off her elegant shoulders, then reached around her to mold her breasts in my palms. The softness of her skin rivaled the velvet.

I let her dress fall down her hips, baring Annabelle's silken curls to the caresses of my tender fingers. I tickled her outer lips. I blew and cooed into her ear.

"Are you agreeable, my sweet?"

"Please?"

She reclined onto her bed, actually asking "come hither?" as though her look weren't enough. I stayed dressed, only removing my shoes. She deserves a gentleman after all. I unzipped myself as well and freed my strapon.

I topped her - thighs-to-thighs, hips-to-hips, breasts-to-breasts -- with only my slick silk suit between our hot skins.

My lips sought out hers. I intended to kiss her gently, reassuringly, but Annabelle's hunger overwhelmed me. The passion amplified. Our fingers interlocked above our heads as I held her arms down. Our kiss stopped in our mutual need for air.

Her legs opened to me.

My shoulders hunched and my hips pistoned. I gave her the thrusting of her life, sped by the lubrication of her succulent pussy.

Annabelle faced the ceiling. Her words were unintelligible and her tone was unmistakable. Her eyes remained closed in her bliss. Her angelic face and its every contour and pigment burned into my memory as she experienced the joy of maximum pleasure indulgence.

My head dropped to the pillow next to hers, my lips mere centimeters from her ear.

"Cum for me. Lose it, baby. Cum."

The tension that built through my thrusts and her counter-thrusts erupted out of her as her orgasm detonated. She ruined my pants. I cannot fully express how much I didn't care.

She went limp beneath me and I collapsed exhausted, thinking it was time for cuddle and sleep. Annabelle wasn't having it though.

After a few minutes, she wriggled out from under me and yanked my pants off me. My strapon followed and I was rolled onto my back. I felt cool air on my business, before she settled in between my legs and exhaled her hot breath into me. My senses jumbled in the mixed temperatures.

I marshaled the energy required to lift my head from the pillow and watch Annabelle at work. All I could see between my own legs was the tangled mop of her dark hair and intense glint of her determined eyes. I would be coming.

She kissed inside my firm thighs, turning back and forth between the two and ever upward. She ultimately nuzzled into my dark blonde curlies, her nose brushing directly against my clit. Her mouth frenched my pussy, tongue slipping deep into me and teeth grazing my enflamed labia.

Her kisses, her licks, her nibbles, and her nips loped up and down my slit, hitting all the hotspots and keeping me on edge but not allowing the free fall I so desperately needed.

"Please, Annabelle? Please bring me off?" She even had me begging politely.

The only answer I received was a bob of her head and a shift of her focus to my strained clit. Her mouth clamped on to my clit and her tongue dragged with tantalizing slowness up the underside before thwacking on the button. She repeated her craved abuse of my sexual nerve center until my vision blurred and I saw a white light screaming through my brain.

Annabelle finished undressing me and tucked me in facing her. I fell asleep to her gently playing with my nipples.

She left for her parents' house the next day. I didn't want to let her leave the bed. If only I hadn't let her go.

We video-chatted every day for hours. If anything, the lack of the physical distraction of sex (except the one night we had phone sex) gave us a chance to grow much closer, much faster.

Still, even with calls overseas to my parents and holiday parties and caroling, I couldn't burn through that week fast enough. The desire to be with Annabelle again was all-consuming.

I made dozens of New Year's resolutions each day. Some involved applying myself at school or working on friendships. Others included learning to play guitar and getting a bike for more exercise and fresh air. Most entailed putting her naked body in various positions to be exploited by my tongue, fingers, strapon, or a combination of all three.

We'd agreed to meet outside her place at 7:30 on New Year's Eve and walk down together to the party at Robson Square.

At around 6pm, my lonely friend David called, depressed at his lack of a New Year's date that night. I spent a half hour rhapsodizing over the redeeming and unexpected nature of love with an enthusiasm that's only mustered by the deeply infatuated. I'm not sure if he felt better after the call, but I felt great. Except then I was running late to get ready to meet Annabelle.

I wore the shirt Annabelle gave me, snow boots, jeans, and a warm, open jacket. I redid my hair and makeup four times. Everything had to be perfect for when I saw her again.

Walking to the bus stop, I couldn't have been happier.

But something hit me on the corner of 8th and Maple. Literally hit me. I never saw what it was. A car probably. Pain registered, but only fleetingly.

My finally promising life was ended enragingly by the randomness of the butterfly effect in all its horror. If I hadn't talked to David. If I had caught an earlier bus. If I hadn't stopped to redo my lipstick and mascara. If I'd walked faster or slower. If I just hadn't been on that city street corner, in that sleet, and at that exact moment. If, if, IF!

I didn't realize Annabelle would be at my funeral. No one else here knows her. I know she's here though, and so close.

They glued my eyes shut, but I can hear her sobs. I want so badly to go to her. To comfort her. I want to take my sweet Annabelle in my arms and tell her we'll be okay. Together and okay. But I can't. I can't move. My heart can't beat and I can't breathe. All I can do is lay in my casket and hear her cry.

I feel myself fading.

It could have been forever for us. That's the bitch of it. Three weeks is too short to know if we'd have grown old together in a loving relationship or flamed out in the new year. It felt like a forever thing though. Now I have to face whatever forever is, alone.