A Hundred Miles from Anywhere

"Sorry--" we both said the word in the same moment. I laughed, and then covered my mouth as the sound became a cough. She looked back at me, wearing a similar kind of reserved smile that she had previously, in the living room.

"I broke your glass," I said--dumbly.

"I kissed you without asking," her shoulders lifted slightly, "Call it even?"

Maybe it was the kiss, but that wasn't it. Not entirely. That wasn't the reason I could feel a desperate kind of hunger beginning to gnaw at the bottom of my body. Diane being gorgeous might have also played a part. But mostly--it was the smile. The smile that, despite her buoyant, confident appearance, looked almost timid. Only the corners gave her away; the very edges of her eyes, the very corners of her lips. That was it. That was what made me reach out, grabbing the front of her sweater with my fingers and pulling her into me.

"Not even close," I replied, cutting her delighted laughter off with my mouth. This time, I kissed her properly. My hand wrapped around, cupping the back of her head where her neck met her hair. I had to reach up ever so slightly to do it. As my other hand slid from the front of her body to the back, pressing flat against the small of her spine, I felt the smallest of tremors go through her body. I felt it under my hands, against my lips, where the tip of my tongue touched the side of hers.

"Your place," I draw back slightly, raising my eyebrows, "--or mine?" I nod toward the truck that parked near the hill.

She glances at the truck and then back at me, letting out a quiet laugh. "Mine. Definitely mine."

With that she takes me by the hand and leads me back toward the cottage. Her steps are quick, her back held straight. For the first few feet, I almost have to jog to keep up with her. As we reach the porch, she sets her wine glass down on the fishing-gear cluttered table and holds open the screen door, beckoning me through.

"Ladies first," she smiles.

"In that case," I reach out and put my hand on the frame of the screen door, just below hers.

My other hand reaches out and palms one of the cheeks of her bum, pushing her forward gently. I can see a smile playing across her lips as she opens the main door and steps through. I follow her into the living room. To my surprise, instead of going toward the stairs on the far side, she gestures to the wooden ladder that's been secured to the wall. It stands out about six inches.

"This is me."

"The ladder?"

"Yep."

"You're not serious."

Instead of replying, she only gives me a wink and begins to climb. Standing below her, I watch the way her sweatpants hug the round cheeks of her bum as she climbs. How her long legs come up, taking the ladder two rungs at a time in a way that tells me she's done this a thousand times, that she could do it with her eyes closed. As I suspected, she climbs with the same deft athleticism as every other movement. Shaking my head, I begin to follow more slowly. By the time I've made it about half way, Diane's reached the top. She pushes up on a small door, which is nearly hidden in the ceiling between two thick wooden support beams. I watch the bottom of her feet disappear into the space beyond. A moment later, as I've just about reached the top, a light comes on.

Climbing into the attic, I realize that just like the cottage itself, and the young woman--I've misjudged. This isn't a dusty, box-filled attic. Not a forgotten storage space. Instead, two sloping roofs meet in the middle, creating a peak with more than enough roof for me to stand as I climb off the ladder and onto the floor. The entire space is white plaster, crossed along the walls by the same cedar beams that make up the rest of the cottage. A square window looks out over the forest beyond. From beside a desk, complete with a chair that matches the ones in the living-room, a standing lamp spills light out from under a pink lampshade. A mattress, large and at least a foot thick, lays on the wooden floor beneath the window. A collection of white pillows and sheets are tangled on top of it. A heavier comforter lies on the floor nearby, where it was obviously kicked off that morning.

"This is your room?" I ask, still slightly disbelieving. I know it is. It suits her. There's a painting; black and white squares which have been flicked-over by red paint. Most of the wooden floor is covered by an area rug, done in similar colours if a different pattern. A black beanbag, which I haven't seen in nearly a decade, pools on the side of the room opposite the bed. There's a laptop, closed on the desk, a stack of line paper, a collection of pencils, and a half-finished glass of what I suspect is more white wine sitting beside it.

"Yep."

"Okay," I nod appreciatively, "Good call. Your place is better."

"It could be a little bit busier. It's still missing a thing or two," Diane gives me a grin. This time, I don't have to guess at the meaningfulness of it. I know where she's headed, even before she continues, "The bed, especially..."

"I suppose it could use a frame," I tease.

"Not what I was thinking about," she steps forward, her body answering the tone of my voice.

This time, the kiss isn't stared by one of us. It's a mutual meeting. My hands find the sides of her face, one moving around her right ear as she walks us slowly backward toward the bed. As soon as I feel the mattress against the back of my feet, I break the kiss and let myself fall backward. Diane's still wearing her smile from earlier as she crawls across the mess of sheets to join me. I feel the front of her thighs against the back of mine, lifting my legs slightly as she leans over me. Our mouths join once more. I feel the slight damp heat of her breathing as her tongue searches for mine, slowly drawing it out. I let her find my wrists with her hands, bringing them slowly up above my head and holding them there. The back of my fingers rests against the closest pillowcase. It's warm, from the sun that's been coming through the window all afternoon.

For a while, I let the moment take us where it will. I can feel the deepening of Diane's breathing against my own chest. The tips of her fingers rest against my open palms. Slowly, I shift my hands down, until they've changed positions. My fingers wrap around her wrists; like I guessed, this brings a small break in the already unsteady breathing I can feel against my mouth. Tightening my grip slightly, I use my hips to roll us over against the mattress. I end up on top of her, my bent legs holding either side of her waist. Shifting my grip slightly so that I can hold both of her wrists in one hand, I let the fingers of my other one brush down against her cheek.

"Nowhere else," I let the words fall out of my mouth and into the one open an inch below it, "but when it comes to sex, I'm a bit of a control freak." Lifting the pointer finger of the hand around her wrists, I stroke it down her open palm. A small shudder goes through Diane's body at the touch. Taking it as a message, I turn my head slightly and find the side of her neck with my lips. Her breathing goes even further toward unsteadiness as I kiss slowly from the bottom of her ear down toward her collar.

"Thank God," she breathes. I can feel the vibration of the sound against my open lips.

Reaching down, I slip two fingers into the waistband of her sweatpants. I tug them gently upward. "These--off."

"My hands are a little occupied," she replies from above my head. My kisses have reached the neckline of her sweater, and I gently nudge her chin back with my forehead so that I can continue across the front of her neck. Letting my lowered hand move sideways, I find the knot of her sweatpants drawstring and pull it free. It takes a moment, but between my nails and fingers I manage to get it undone. Thankfully, the string is thick.

"There, now they're loose. Get creative."

For a moment, she goes still. I increase the pressure of my mouth slightly as I find her chin, her bottom lip, and finally her mouth. Diane moans softly, tilting her head upward at the bottom to bring our mouths together. For a moment I think I'll have to relent and take her pants off myself. Then, just as I'm getting ready to pull away from the kiss, she begins to move beneath me. Her body slides downward slightly, pushing down against the mattress and then back up, between my spread legs. She has to repeat the motion a couple of times, before her sweatpants pull down over her hips and onto her thighs. Behind me, I can feel her legs come up as she works the pants further down her legs and, finally, kicks them away with her feet. As soon as they're off, she begins the motion again. Below me, her body is a pulse of pressure; easing back and then pushing upward against me.

"Clever girl," I feel the quiver of her breathing against my lips as I pause our kiss to speak.

"Fuck, Vivian." Just like outside of the shed, hearing the slight breathlessness of her voice as she pronounces my name sends a hot spark of electricity up my back. "More of that, please?"

"Good girl," I breathe the words against the bottom of her ear, shifting upward slightly so that I can reach one hand through my legs and between hers.

She gasps as my fingers touch the front of her underwear. Even through the thin fabric, I can feel her wetness. How the flat front of her pelvis curves inward around the rise of her hipbones. For the moment, I ignore the underwear. My fingers trail from the slip of fabric down to the narrower string between her legs and then back up, moving slowly; part teasing, part caressing. Against my cheek, the sharp exhale of her breath is a hot whisper. Letting go of my grip on her wrists, I instead bring my hand into hers. Our fingers clasp, and I use them to hold her second hand down beneath them.

"Is this what you want, for being a good girl?"

"Yes. God, yes--" she breathes, "More."

"More?"

I raise my hand slightly, using the back of my fingers to lift her underwear. I feel her body stiffen beneath me as they begin to move downward. I can feel only the tiniest pricks of hair as my palm slides down over her pelvis. She's almost completely clean shaven, I notice; a fact that neither turns me off or on. Not that I could get much more turned on that I am, in this moment. My entire body feels like it's on fire. A radiating heat that surges as my fingers, on her bare skin, find her labia for the first time. My previous observation was right. She's wet--soaking wet. I can feel the slickness of her as my fingers part her, sliding against the smooth skin beneath. Diane shudders, her hips tensing slightly in a way that tells me she wants to press them upward and it's taking every ounce of determination she has not to.

"Or more... like this?" I curl my middle finger slightly, bringing it down and then straight upward. This time Diane's hips do rise; her breath a gasp as my finger slides inside of her. Around it, I can feel the tight walls of her pussy clench slight, hugging my finger with their wetness. Very slowly, I begin to bring my finger backward and forward. Below me, her body follows the motion of my wrist.

Suddenly, I sit up. Her eyes open wide as I sit backward slightly, keeping her body trapped between my bent legs. My finger's still inside of her, and my thumb begins a very intentional pattern further upward. Not quite touching her clit, but only rolling around it teasingly. As the pressure releases from her hands, Diane brings them down to her chest and instinctively over her left breast. Another cue.

"Sweater," I speak between movements of my finger, "Off."

Without a moment of hesitation, Diane reaches down and takes hold of the bottom of her sweater. I watch her arms come up, bringing the heavy flannel up over her head and shoulders. It made a crumpled heap as she tossed it away. Even before she is fully done with the motion, I bend down over her body. Taking her right breast in my now free hand, I bring my mouth to the left. Diane moaned more loudly as I caught her nipple between my lips, then opened my mouth slightly further so that I could roll it against my tongue.

"Yes!" Her voice reminds me of air escaping a tea kettle, just before it begins to whistle.

"Are you going be a good girl and cum for me?" I ask, drawing my mouth away from her nipple and kissing up the curve of her breast.

"Yes," she gasps, more breathlessly than before.

"Not yet."

I feel the catch in her breath at the words. Between her legs, I bring my finger outside of her; it elicits a small moan from Diane. Touching my pointer finger against my middle one, I press them gently against her entrance. I can feel her legs spread slightly, pressing against the inside of my thighs at the change in width. When my the back of my hand touches the bed, I realize that her wetness has spread down from her pussy over the curve of her bum and into the sheets below us. It makes me smile. With gentle pressure, I ease my fingers inside of her. This time, I do let my thumb stroke over her clit; little more than a passing brush, but enough to make her quiver.

"Not yet," I remind her.

When she whines in protest, I understand the sound. I understand it, because it's the same sound that my body has been making ever since she opened the door earlier this afternoon. Except now it's a real sound. The restrained sound of desperation. Now it's with us, in the room. Centering my thumb, I let the pattern become ever so slightly more focused--more insistent, more inviting. I can hear the rising of Diane's breathing, like the sound of somebody walking up a set of stairs; or climbing a ladder. Inside of her, the rhythm of my fingers comes a bit faster, matching the pace of her breathing.

"Vivian, I can't--" I can hear her losing the fight against her own body, by the sound of her voice.

"Okay, clever girl," I lean up to whisper the words against her ear, "Now you can cum."

Even I'm not quite prepared for the violence of the reaction to those words. I know in actual fact, for an observer separated by distance, it might not have been anything startling. But pressed against her, with my face beside hers, feeling the frenzied movement of her body against mine, it takes up my entire world. One hand reaches up, grabbing at the hair above her forehead and pulling it backward. Whether that's because it's something that she likes or because she simply needed to grab something, I make a mental note to ask later.

I feel it around my fingers first. A slow contracting of the muscles. Then I hear it--an inhale that seems to go on forever, until I can't believe the slim container of her body can hold so much air inside of it. For a moment, I can feel her hanging on the edge, waiting for the slightest push. And then, without any push at all, she falls free. I feel her legs jerks slightly, bending at the knee and pulling the tangle of sheets up against the back of my own legs. Against my fingers, her pussy clenches so hard that it very nearly forces my fingers out of her. All the air, which she'd previously been holding, leaves her in a single, explosive breath. In her hair, her hand tightens so hard I find myself wondering which will break fist--the threads of her blonde hair or the bones of her fingers.

A second later, I've forgotten the question completely. Forgotten it, because the outburst has left her body and she's reaching upward. Her hands go through my hair, bringing my face down to meet hers and gasping into my mouth between deep breaths. It takes me a moment to discern between the wetness that covers my hand and the wetness that touches my cheeks. I sit up quickly, staring at Diane.

She's not crying--not properly. Her blue eyes blink up at me, bright and slightly damp. Even before she smiles, I can tell that they're not tears of sadness. Whether they're tears of pleasure, or joy, or simply another thing released as the last shudders of her orgasm run through her body--that I don't know. Looking slightly self conscious, Diane releases her grip on her hair and uses the back of her hand to wipe her eyes.

"Sorry," when her smile comes, it has the same not quite timid, not quite fragile quality that first drew me into her, "It's not... It happens, sometimes."

"That's okay," I reach up and gently take her hand in mine, "I understand."

"Good," her smile becomes a bit stronger. With her free hand, she reaches up and picks at the front of my sweater. I didn't even realize how sensitive my nipples have become until I feel the slightly scratchy fabric brush against the hard rises of them. I draw a breath through my nose. I can see Diane's noticed, because suddenly her eyes aren't just bright because of the tears--they're almost glittering.

"Oh yeah," she pushes herself up on her elbows. Not enough to dislodge me, but bringing us to nearly the same level, "Take that off. My turn."

"I think you mean your turn."

"No," Diane shakes her head. Suddenly, her hand pulls out of mine and wraps around my waist. I find myself rolled sideways, my legs wrapping around her waist for a moment and then slipping free as she ducks downward. She ends up in a slightly different position than the one I took; her legs not holding me down, but only sitting on folded knees behind my legs. Her smile is mischievous, "I mean my turn."

We work together to remove my clothing. I pull the sweater off and unclip my bra while she slowly pulls my jeans down my legs. As she draws them off, she bends down to kiss the top of my thighs. The touch of her mouth feels unbelievably light, like the wings of a butterfly against my skin. The feeling becomes slightly more urgent as she manages to get my feet out of the jean legs and toss them away, returning her mouth to my thighs. This time, she kisses slowly up the inside of them. I feel my already racing heartbeat falter slightly as she reaches the crease between my thigh and my waist, her cheek brushing against my vulva. The contact is nearly enough to make me squirm.

When her mouth touches the outside of my pussy, her tongue stroking upward through the folds of my labia, my body reacts with such desperation that it almost feels like vertigo. I place my hands flat on the bed to steady myself, pressing them down into the sheets. As her tongue continues to move, the sensation changes slightly; no longer the sickening dizziness of vertigo, but a kind of breathless weightlessness. Like I've stepped off a ledge into thin air. Inside of me, heat floods outward--whether from between my legs or from my stomach, I don't know--but it rushes through my down to the tips of my toes and fingers. Diane's hands move against the side of my body, her fingers trailing over my hipbones.

How much of the wetness between my legs comes from myself and how much of it comes from her mouth, I don't know. I can't concentrate on anything except the slight pressure that comes from her mouth as she thrusts her tongue inside of me. How it draws a slow, wet path upward around my clit before sliding back down. My clit pulses in time with my heart; I wonder briefly if Diane can feel the heat of my need from her position between my legs. I feel like it should be radiating from my pussy, like the thrown-open doors of a forge.

I almost feel bad for what I put Diane through earlier--almost. A quick flick of her tongue causes me to gasp. The light from the window, which hadn't been noticeable earlier, now felt like fire against my bare skin. I'm close--I know, because I can feel my fingers fighting to tighten in the sheets below me.

"Diane--" I gasp her name. Between my legs, she smiles.

It's the smile that pushes me, finally and completely, over the edge. A less intense version of the earlier vertigo comes back as my body lifts off the mattress. Tries to. Diane's hands press down on my hips, holding me in place; her mouth continuing to move even as I strain away from it. The slightest touch of her tongue against my clit is enough to rock my body upward once more. I'm no stranger to a good orgasm, but this--my hands pull the sheets up against my chest, holding them there as fire races through my body. When it finally ebbs, the feeling leaves me gasping.