Hinged Eggs Break Easy

And everything became crystal.

It was a peck, barely anything. She withdrew, and once I saw her eyes and how she puckered herself for me, I was the one who pressed in. I felt her breathe out hotly as I deepened the next kiss. I brought her body closer to me with my forearm barred across her back and my hand clutching her side, my other arm cradled her and fingers buried into her hair.

We shared more, each kiss melting into another. She advanced forward, and I was forced to backstep until my back pressed against the wall. Her hands slid down my shirt, and pulled. She gave me ample space and soon my shirt was on the floor.

We separated, but barely. There was a mere inch between our mouths when we caught our breath, my exhales were her inhales, her exhales were my inhales. When I opened my eyes, her sparkling blue was the only thing I saw, and the only thing I cared to see. At this point my hands were under her shirt, firmly pressed against the warm skin of her wide hips. I felt her open mouth curl as best it could into the semblance of a grin, then I felt her press more of her weight into my chest as she balanced on one foot...and brought a knee to my crotch. Up and down, she teased. She got a shuddering whimper of hot breath between her teeth as a response.

She was the one who crashed forward then, and our kisses continued. Her tongue expertly slipped through the open fortifications of my lips, and I groaned. I brought my hands up and up and up her smooth back, finding the elastic of her brastrap. I made the motion to unclasp it, maybe try and partly pry her off so we could slip her out of her shirt, but she didn't bother separating, so we kept making out like that: her covered breasts pressing hotly against mine, her interlocked fingers tight against my neck as she swapped the taste of her saliva with mine.

I breathed in heavy huffs through my nostrils, and at this distance it was easy to smell the myrrh of her hair. She didn't want to stop slipping her tongue against mine, mashing our lips together in a heated, wet embrace, and I didn't either.

I don't know when it really stopped, but I was pinned without any intent of stopping her at that point. She controlled the pace, and I went along for the ride without any protest.

By the time she slipped out of my mouth, we were panting. She looked up at me with two small trails of our spittle running down the sides of her lips. She took one of the hands that clutched my shoulders and slid it against the front of my body before padding her fingers and running it up and down my erection.

In that moment I was aware of two things:

1. she had somehow slipped me out of my trousers without me noticing

2. my cock was so hard that its swollen head was pretty much almost peeking outside of the waistband of my boxers.

I almost tripped over the fabric pooled around my ankles when she took me by my hand and led me to my room. The fact that she knew it was a left turn down a short hallway in the second door to the right surprised me until I realized her apartment next door probably had an identical layout. I didn't have time to lament over the fact that my living space was a bit of a mess (including the several tissues that I didn't bother throwing away near my tub of Vaseline).

But she didn't care. She threw aside her shirt the moment I was seated on the bed. I barely finished casting aside my tank top when her arms reached behind and unclasped her bra. The sight of her breasts made the situation suddenly seem all too real and all too impossible.

Then she was on her knees, her fingers tugging, tugging at the waistband of my boxers. She moved fast, as fast as she had dragged me away from relaxing after another hell of tedium at the Wells Fargo, and before I knew it her lips were dragging against my cock, her nimble fingers pressed around its based as her tongue carpeted the bottom.

She was good, so fucking good that I couldn't help but tangle my fingers into her hair, and moan out her name as she sucked and sucked and kissed and licked until I was throbbing into my finish.

Cleanup was fast with the tissues next to my bed. I told her that I'd get a rubber from my wallet, but she fished out a few from the back pocket of her short shorts. The fact that she even had condoms on her suddenly sobered me up quick. Was she...really going to Barnes earlier today? Or was Barnes maybe just another guy? Did she always bring around Trojans...?

Of course, none of that mattered to me once she pushed aside her sky-blue panties after stroking me back to full mast and rolled the viscous plastic onto my cock. I had barely any time to process the sight of her pussy before You was riding me. Her fingernails dug into my stomach as hard as mine dug into her hips as she crashed down around me, over and over. I hadn't seen action in a few months and that lack of practice took its toll when I came after about ten minutes.

We were sweaty by then, but just as hungry as we were at the start of all of this, and I peeled off the ballooned condom around me to replace it. Nothing else really registered for me other than the fact that You Watanabe was now naked and bare for me only half a day or so after meeting with her after almost ten years of no contact. Her panties were thrown aside, leaving both of us just in our socks as I ate her out. She squealed and called out my name that made me feel light-headed. I wondered if the alcohol in her system was spurting out of her snatch; I swear nothing else was on my mind other than her body, as if all of my hormonal fantasies from my teenage years had manifested for me to devour.

It went on like that for a while, and by the time we burned through her supply of condoms, too tired to get up and find the condoms I had stashed in my wallet, her naked body was draped over mine, skin hot and sticky. We kissed a few pecks, my hands roaming up and down her back...then we shared a laugh, more kisses, another chuckle that shuddered down her thighs and her breasts through my entire body.

good friday.

Dark chocolate of unconsciousness soon overtook me, and I fell asleep with a smile. My dreams were filled with her. I replayed how her body was pliable and open for my touch. By the end of my sleep, my lips were swollen with things I wanted to say, my mind suddenly racing with the implications; it was an onset of emotions and confessions I had no place in feeling at my age. But I wanted to tell her, I needed to tell her.

Fortunately for my pride, I woke up under my blanket alone, still naked and covered in evidence that last night wasn't just an epic wet dream. Soreness pulsed in my legs as another testament to that.

I lay there to gather myself, playing back highlights from the night before. The sun began to creep up onto the side of my face through the blinds before I had the sense to look at my clock.

10:36

Shit, I was already late as hell.

I took another good ten minutes or so debating on whether or not to even show up before finally sliding off the bed and heading straight into the shower. By the time I was toweling myself in the swirling steam of the bathroom, I noticed it: I was smiling, grinning like a doofus the whole time. I didn't know how long I had been doing that before the shower, but I assumed I had that stupid grin plastered onto my face since I woke up.

I chuckled to myself as I got dressed; You had folded my clothes onto my nightstand, and had left a note hastily written in Sharpie on our receipt from Del Taco.

Tailor!!

I shook my head, feeling the grin merely firm itself harder. Right before I left my room, I noticed something nestled at the foot of my bed: a pair of yellow socks.

It was around noon when I walked out of my apartment door. With socks in hand, I made one stride over to You's apartment, and rang the doorbell. I was late anyway, and I guess I just... really wanted to see her again.

She took a couple minutes, but eventually I heard the patter of her bare feet against the hardwood. The lock clicked open and she swung the door wide open.

"Mownin, Tffpht!" she said as best she could through her toothbrush. She gave me a tired smile, and her eyes drooped behind her glasses. I wanted to run my hand through the frizzled mess of her grey hair.

"Hey, I just uh, came to drop these puppies off." I raised the socks.

She made the motion to come in, so I did. The door shut behind me and I just noticed the fact that below her baggy navy blue shirt, she wasn't wearing pants. My eyes shot back upwards, but she was already strutting her way back to the bathroom. It was hard as shit to keep my eyes off the jiggle of her ass, especially since now I could really appreciate every detail of the skin of her legs while I was sober.

She led me to her bathroom and wordlessly pointed to the hamper next to her toilet. After spitting out the remnants of her toothpaste, she said she'd be right out and that I could help myself to some oj.

Her living room was a lot more cluttered than mine. I could see she wasn't kidding about the design gig; near the patio were at least four mannequins in various stages of design, the living room table was draped with different fabrics and littered with pins and strings and such, her couch had several different dresses, along with pants I assumed she bought for reference.

I was halfway done with my glass of orange juice by the time she came out, giving me another tired smile. She still only wore a shirt and a pair of panties. God, they hugged her hips so tight.

"Looks like someone's late to work," she yawned, taking a seat next to me and pouring herself a glass.

I smirked, wryly.

"No thanks to you."

She smiled against the rim of her glass as she raised it to her lips.

"Yeah...thanks for the drinks, I'll pay you back later."

That wasn't really what I was insinuating, but I took it anyway.

We made small talk for a bit, mostly initiated by me. Through the lenses of her glasses, I watched her tired eyes gradually, slowly light up to their usual luster.

"Well, I've really gotta go now, but I'll see you later," I said, putting on my blazer and giving her a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Bring home that bacon, T."

She dismissed me with a gropeless smack on my ass as I walked out, and gave me one last wide smile that I reciprocated before her door closed in my face.

I kept that smile as I walked down the block to the Wells Fargo, and tried my best to keep it as the rest of the day went by, but something kept nagging at me. My boss gave me a quick little spiel about my lateness when I clocked out (it didn't seem that she cared too much at all), and on the walk home, I still got that strange tugging feeling.

It only got worse a few days later, when I realized exactly what was bothering me so much: everything was too normal.

Just a few days before I was shacking up with You Watanabe, the girl I had had more than a few indecent thoughts about, the girl who definitely grew more than just well into her body after graduation. She was a friend, of course, and I guess we were a little drunk, but there was no way her judgment was that clouded; for God's sake, we burned through at least 4 trojans until we fell asleep.

And yet, my life was back to normal. As normal as it could be having You as my neighbor. We'd interchangeably pay each other visits. Sharing breakfasts and such, or I'd drop in and plop onto her couch after work. But no matter how subtly or even bluntly I referred to our night together, I'd get nothing. As if she was intentionally just steering clear of the subject.

Yeah, of course it was still fun to talk to her. Her smile was pretty much a guarantee that I'd smile too, her laughs at my jokes encouraged me to keep spitting out stupider ones. It was all as perfect as it was the night before the sex.

It just...bothered me that for You, the sex was just an extension of that, instead of stepping over a boundary into something a little...more. Was sex that flippant and normal for her?

The nag itched and itched. I grew more tense as the weeklong mark went by, and more tense as more days tacked onto that. But You went on as normal, as if the night had never happened. Hell, with our stains washed off my body, my bedsheets and blankets washed, there wasn't anymore evidence that the night ever did happen.

That self-induced torture continued on until Friday night, a week and a half after the fact, when You showed up heaving a cooler full of Bud Light. She used all of her weight to press the cooler against the doorframe.

Breathlessly she said,

"Thought of you when I saw this cooler at Vons, so I just loaded it up with three six-packs."

"...you thought of me when you saw a cooler? Are you implying I'm an alcoholic?"

"No idiot, it's Friday night, let's pop in Roger Rabbit and get fucking wasted! Here," she shoved the cooler towards me, forcing me to quickly reach out and catch it. I reeled before crashing into the wall.

"You, Jesus-"

"Sorry!" she said with a smile, and that shut me up quick. She proceeded to let herself in, squeezing herself between me and the door before bouncing over to my couch. "Now let's pop this bad boy in and get started."

I followed her with a sigh. My hands were too full with the heavy-ass cooler (there must have been at least two bags of ice in that thing...) to lock the door that I slammed shut with my foot behind me. I could only handle a few strides before smashing the cooler onto the floor in front of the couch.

"How the hell did you-" I started, but You had just cast aside her oversized Mariners windbreaker, and my mouth stayed open at how her skin practically glowed in the light of my living room. She curled up on my couch, a flimsy a tank top and a pair of short shorts that was probably a size or two too small. She looked at me then, raising her hands behind her head, and I was oh-so-very tempted to determine whether or not she was wearing bra.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," I sighed. I was hopeless around her. And she probably knew it too.

A few minutes later, and we were set. What I had planned as just a mindless night of Netflix binging was now dedicated to Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, cleaning out these six-packs, and acting as a breathing body-sized pillow for You to lean on.

I didn't mind the last one of those things in the slightest, and I especially loved it when she would laugh or point out one of her favorite parts. I had seen the film dozens of times, but God it was like watching it afresh with her.

We never got wasted.

By the middle of the second act, we were both feeling warm and pleasant. I crushed four cans, she crushed three; the movie was warming her up more than the booze. It only took one little flicker of eye contact.

My hand made the first move after that, warily sliding onto her thigh. She responded by placing her half-empty fourth can onto my coffee table and pushing her mouth against mine.

With the movie still going, we made out. It felt a long time coming, and I tried my best to hold back my smile. I knew we were both sober, so it kind of felt like we were having this kind of intimacy for the first time. The shirt I wore was effortlessly cast off in between the intervals of our liplocks, and her tank top was cast off just as easily, leaving her breasts bare for my touch (to my very happy surprise).

Instantly I felt that nagging itch well up in me again. My tongue loosened.

"You..." I said, almost in a whimper. "I need to-"

But I never got the chance. Her mouth was on mine again, and it would take more than the energy that I had to break from her. It was futile. I sank bank into the couch and let her wet lips take me into her deeper, and I kissed her back as if I hadn't seen her for years.

She grinded onto my lap with a precision that was something she could only have gained from practice. I was hard as a rock by the time she cast off the green of her short shorts, and I lifted my own ass to shove off my joggers onto my ankles.

There wasn't any time for foreplay. I wanted her on me, she wanted me inside her.

I grit my teeth as You's tight flesh sunk onto me in a tight wet grip. She shuddered in a gasp, keeping herself at arm's length once she had sucked me in completely. I shuddered in kind, and let out little high-pitched grunts as she rolled her hips towards me. My couch creaked with us, my bare ass scooting the cushion I sat on with every thrust.

I was spellbound. With the lamplight bathing her skin in gold and the LED of my TV outlining the shapely linework of her body, I saw everything You had to offer me, everything I couldn't see when we first fucked in the darkness of my room, drunk. Her breasts swayed and shook in luscious jiggles when she established a rhythm, her pert nipples pink and pebbly with arousal. My eyes traveled further down her curves. I eagerly drank in how different colors danced and vague splotches of shapes projected onto the small rolls of her skin, like a fleshy projector screen. Her body was just as easy to the touch as they were on the eyes, and my hands kept shifting and squeezing, my nails raking softly in small lines with her body's bouncing directing their movement, while my thumbs made small circles in the marshmallow folds of her tummy.

I was in the middle of watching how her adorable belly button seemed to wink at me every time she brought her thighs down onto mine in wet, fleshy smacks when I caught something peeking above the hand I had clasping her hip. She clenched around me then, and I could feel her starting to reach a climax. In the midst of her moans, I brought the hand at her hip down a bit, revealing a small, dark blue tattoo, right above her hipbone.

It shone with a small film of perspiration, it shape matching up with the pendant she always wore-I made a quick check, comparing its outline with the form of the gold bouncing over and over onto her skin. The main difference was the year beneath the bottom curve of the anchor; it was the year of our graduation. More importantly, it was the year she was shipped off to the Great Lakes for naval basic training.

The significance of the tattoo sunk into my chest right when You's body began to tremble as waves of release crashed through her nerves. She had gotten it probably right before she left. That blue icon of ink was the dream she had clutched, the dream she had inherited from the father she loved so much, the father swallowed up by the ocean before he got to see her grow up.

Now, it lay forlorn, and as You moaned, shuddering out my name as she leaned forward against my shoulder, I saw that blue promise of a forgotten dream covered up by my hand. You's hand made sure it stayed covered, whether intentionally or not, as her hips began moving again, splattering more of her hot quim between our legs.

She kissed me, slipping in satisfactory moans between my lips, and I started to wonder how many hands had veiled that tattoo before me. How many coolers had she brought over to ease the ache of a sunken pipe dream? How many hands had gripped and smothered that anchor's luster in favor of the quick release of frivolous intimacy? How many men had she used to dull the aching pang of realizing her dream would never come true?

These were things that I shouldn't have been thinking about. Hell, even if they were true, I had no place to even feel anything. She had her own life. I had mine.

But it was hard not to thrust into her harder after that. Difficult not to grimace at her when I turned her onto her stomach and began pounding into her ass with all I had, just so I could vent the bullshit in favor of orgasm.

Maybe You had the right idea. Maybe I should stifle whatever that was nagging and scratching me from the inside of my chest with how tight her pussy smothered my dick.