Is This a Rollercoaster Ride?

"Due to a ruptured pipe, the quantitative biochemistry lab will not meet this Thursday (February 1st). We will update you with the makeup date next week."

I read that sign almost 30 years ago in the world of no cell phones, no social media, and very limited email. In many ways I miss those days, but it did create such inconveniences as standing in front of a door reading a sign to find out that one could have gone home two hours ago instead of sitting around the library studying. The lab was scheduled to start at six pm and run until nine so now I had a free three hours.

"Mia, why is the door closed?" I turn and see Jason walking up. His legs were walking up, but his eyes were walking up and down. I frown slightly, although he at least had the courtesy to stop when caught red handed.

"Really Jason? It's just a pair of baggy sweatpants and an oversized flannel shirt." Even as the words spill out of my mouth, I hear Claire's voice in my head explaining exactly why I don't have a boyfriend. Now, Claire might be my best friend and she has been my roomie for all four years of college, but she still doesn't get it. I had boyfriends in high school, and it was fun, a lot of fun, but it was also a lot of time. Claire is an art major and she has all the time in the world for parties and guys, and more parties, and more guys. Well, that is not completely fair. She has had a steady boyfriend, who has my approval, for almost a year.

However, I did not really want to be completely fair, because, well, yes, I was a bit bitter, which might explain my answer to Jason. As a dual major in chemistry and physics, I did not have time. Even a single science major is more than twice as much work as the liberal arts, and a dual major is almost impossible, but when it comes to academics, the impossible can be mundane, at least for me. However, mundane does not mean easy. Yes, I am very smart, but I also have an amazing work ethic, which is what allows me to survive and succeed. I know this narrative seems to be falling into the whole Asian academic cliche with me being Chinese, but I think of it as the immigrant story. I am born and bred in NYC, have never left, and have always been in the top classes and honors societies. Yes, there are a lot of Asians in those classes, but somehow all the other immigrants I have studied with, the Russians, Germans, people from all parts of Latin America and Africa are not talked about as much. We all had parents who expected perfection; we were the few who could truly deliver. A fair number of us broke; I did not. I was going to be a success and I was going to make damn sure my parents in their old age enjoyed the fruits of their labors..

Well, no Quantitative biochemistry lab and Jason was stupidly staring at me. . To his credit he at least blushed. He was not a bad sort, but not someone I would spend time on even if I had time to spend. "Uh, sorry, I uh..."

This is a typical conversation with Jason; I was bored already. I interrupted, "Well, I have work to do. Have a good night." He might have answered; I did not really notice. Leaving the Manhattan campus, I walked back to the apartment. It was a typical early February day, dark already, and cold. It may not be fashionable, but my clothing was warm, and snug. I love winter in NYC, the bite of cold air, and the click of my boots as I walk. The city I was walking through in 1990 was very different than it is today. It was a lot dirtier and a lot more dangerous, but it also was much cheaper.

Claire and I had a studio apartment, and it was a true studio, as in Claire's art studio. We could afford it. I had a generous scholarship and work study job; Claire's parents were pretty well off and she worked as a bartender. Back then that was enough. The apartment was cheap, and the seven flights I had to walk up to go home was a good reminder of that. However, once I was in the door it did not feel cheap. Between Claire's art skills and my interior design talent inherited from my mom, we had a lot of tasteful art on the walls and surprisingly well coordinated thrift store furniture, although not a lot of furniture..

As you walked in, a couch sat on the right along the door's wall. Then we had an open area, all purpose space maybe fifteen feet on a side. We had a deep comfy deep orange carpet remnant that we would lay out in the space for watching TV or lounging and a bunch of old pillows. That could all be pushed aside so Claire could lay tarps down to paint. In the back was a kitchenette and bathroom. We also had a loft (at least the seven floors got us higher ceilings) above the kitchenette and bathroom. The loft was our bedroom with two full beds and a little desk where I would work at home.

Lofts often sound cute, but climbing ladders can be tiresome. I grabbed 2 oranges and a grapefruit and climbed up into the loft. Grabbing my portable CD player, and a Judas Priest CD, I dug out my work for the night and got myself organized. Headphones on, volume up, fruit peeled and sectioned (yes, I peel and section grapefruit just like an orange Try it, you might like it), and I got to work.

I was about an hour and a half in, when my batteries died. Usually I like to listen to one album on repeat when I work. It has to be an album I know well and really like, so the music becomes almost a background mantra that puts me into my work zone where I could stay for hours. The batteries' dying brought me crashing out of the zone. I continued to work for a moment, and then I heard the rustle of movement from down below. Removing my headphones, I listened more carefully.

More rustling and then a sultry, "O yes, Jackson." It was Claire. She knew I had lab and just assumed I was not home. She sounded really into whatever was happening. I started to call out, but then I paused. I could say that I was curious, but it was more than that. In high school I had a bit of a sex life and I did miss it, really missed it. Back then there was no online porn, and no store I ever heard of that I would walk into with porn that would appeal to me. Yes, I fantasized, but there is fantasy, and then there is reality. When I heard Claire's words, I thought of Jackson's body, tall, taut, and lean. He ran track and his body was chiseled, lean muscle. His blue eyes are the kind you fall into and they are accented by strong cheekbones. Add to it that shoulder length tousled dirty blonde hair, and you have the perfect pale elven warrior from your favorite fantasy series.

Okay, I know some of you will judge me, but I haven't had sex for almost four years and you have never seen a picture of Jackson. Despite my morale code telling me otherwise, I lay down on the floor, and crept toward the edge. They were on the carpet/rug and were only fifteen feet or so from my vantage point. The track lights shined down on the deep orange plush carpet and I almost had a balcony view of a stage. Jackson was tall, probably six foot two or so. Claire, of average height, was nestled into his lap. Claire looked beautiful. I mean she always is beautiful in that Ohio farmer girl kind of way. Her broad round welcoming face with green eyes flecked with gold were pretty enough, but she had that rare broad smile that shows many teeth without looking false or terrifying. Her hair was similar in length and style to Jackson's, but the color was sunrise blonde.

However, at that moment she was pretty in a different way than her regular self. The Claire I was watching I had never really seen before Jackson showed up. Claire was always strong, decisive, and ready to respond. She was the kind of person you wanted next to you on a late night walk home, but she rarely seemed relaxed, at least until Jackson showed up. In Jackson's arms she melted, not in the besotted sense, but her muscles seemed to fully relax and her face almost seemed childlike, simply trusting and living in the present. She was dressed in a loose gray t-shirt and a pair of loose fitting, painted stained jeans.

His arms engulfed her torso, one hand casually stroking her right breast and the other stroking her stomach. She held her hair gathered over her left shoulder giving his lips full access to her neck which he kissed passionately. "So nice, Jackson," she whispered.

"At least the day is over, Claire, so just relax." He brought his hands up to massage her shoulders. She moaned and brought her smallish breasts forward as she rolled her shoulders underneath his working hands. She closed her eyes, letting her head roll, and relax. "Do you want a massage," he asked?

She gave a lazy nod, "We only have about an hour until Mia gets home, but, yes, that sounds nice." She unbuttoned her jeans and slid them off revealing the strong legs of a martial artist and soccer player. She let the t-shirt fall over her butt, and lay face down. Jackson stood and stripped out of his tracksuit jacket and pants. Beneath he had just a tight t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Even through boxers his firm and powerful butt was well displayed as he removed his pants.

He knelt above her, knees spread wide to either side of her and started on her shoulders. Shoulders massaged for Claire and shoulders to watch for me. His shoulders were perfect. Oh how I wished I was an artist like Claire; to be able to draw the lines and curves of his muscles showing how they rippled and flexed as he worked. His hands worked their way down her back and then slid under her t-shirt and slowly worked their way back up her back carrying the t-shirt up as they went. Her back was smooth and elegant.

As the t-shirt came over her head, she raised herself on to her elbows. Her breasts, not large, but not too small, were young and held their shape. She held herself there, inviting his hands, but he refused her, instead sliding his hands down her back. She shivered slightly and I thought I might have heard a slight moan. Now through her panties he worked her butt and then her thighs, sliding his body down to her ankles. She tried parting her legs, but could not part them very far due to his legs being in the way. Her moans were becoming frequent and audible. He slid off of her. "Flip over," he whispered. She did so.

I was on my belly, and that belly ached for attention. I rolled over, and started caressing my thighs as Claire rolled over. Her nipples were swollen and full; her face flush, she smiled at him and stretched her arms out to her sides. He smiled softly and moved behind her head. As he stood, I could see his shaft firm and strong through his boxers. He knelt behind her, gently lifting his head on to her lap, laying it resting mostly on his left thigh. Underneath his boxers, his penis lay against the side of her face.

He was a patient man, more patient than me. My hands were working their way into my underwear as he was massaging her face and eyebrows. She squirmed, seemingly impatient. His fingers and hands worked cheeks, neck and then her breasts. Her back arched as he rubbed her nipples. One hand slid down her stomach, teased the edge of her panties and slid back up. She groaned, "Jackson, this is wonderful, but Mia will be home soon." He kissed her passionately and brought both hands down to slide off her panties. She raised hips and I watched as her unruly patch of pubic hair came into view. My fingers were busy in my neatly trimmed patch, rubbing just along the outside of my lips. My other hand was massaging my much smaller breasts.

Her lips playfully nibbled on the side of his shaft through the boxers as her other hand cradled and stroked his balls that rested on the side of her neck. He reached behind and got two pillows. He stood up and she playacted great sadness that her mouth was losing a tasty treat. Slipping a pillow beneath her head, he slid down and then between her legs, lifting her and placing the second pillow under her ass.

Then he stood. Claire smiled, "My favorite moment." He smiled back. He was good looking; he knew it; he was proud of it and he basked in her adoration. He slid his boxers off. His cock sprang free. Maybe not huge, but large, a good 7 inches with a long smooth shaft and a head shining. It twitched in anticipation. I licked my lips, remembering the salty-sweet sticky taste of precum. My fingers were inside myself, two of them now.

"I hate to rush!" he said smiling, as he knelt before her almost as if before an altar. She slid her knees around his legs almost as if hugging him. The tip of his cock slid up to her lips and it twitched again as it first touched her wetness. Then he slid inside. As he drove into her again and again, her back arched and she groaned. I was rapidly approaching my own climax as both of them worked their way toward their own. I quivered and shook as my body lost control. Shuddering I moaned.

Claire always was part cat, but to this day I am baffled by how she heard me. They were not being loud, but her wet pussy was not silent as he hammered her. However, the moment that moan passed my lips, her eyes flashed in my direction. The loft was a lot darker, so I didn't think she saw me. Regardless she turned her focus back on Jackson. "Jackson, let me see you come on me. I want to see it; finish on me!!" It came out in gasps.

The shock of Claire looking at me, or at least towards me, had ruined my orgasm, but I had to see the end. It came, he came, very soon. Maybe thirty more seconds and he pulled out. He kneeled before her, and she sat up on her knees, cradling his balls in a gentle caressing hand and stroking his shaft with the other and moments later cum splashed across her chest and neck, his cock pulsing in her hands.

I pulled back fully out of view. Their breathing slowed and they whispered softly to each other for a while. "Jackson, Mia should be home soon. Get dressed, I am going to get cleaned up. Say, do you want to go grab a bagel? I am craving a vegetable cream cheese onion bagel." When she said that, I thought I might have heard Mia emphasize the "should" in "should be home." Did she see me? She could not have. Am I just being paranoid?

Jackson chuckled. "Sure, but what is with your whole onion bagel thing? Are you going to expect me to kiss you after that?"

Claire laughed and I heard a kiss. "You cannot resist me, onion breath and all."

"You got that right, now hurry up and clean up. I would not want Mia walking in on us like this."

I heard the bathroom door close and Jackson cleaning up the rug. As they were leaving, Mia turned out the downstairs lights. Jackson paused at the door. "Should you get the light in the loft?"

"Nope, someone might need it." And with that Mia closed the door, or maybe slammed it a little bit.

**********************************************************

Damn it. She must know. But how? She is going to be so pissed. We are close, but I had really crossed a line. What the hell was I thinking? I thought it was guys who only thought with the brain below their belt. What the hell should I say? Should I even be home when she gets back? I found new batteries for my CD player and sat at my desk, but I could not even begin the process of working. The orange and grapefruit in my stomach started to feel acidic and I felt nauseous. Stay or go? And what should I say when I see her? I will have to see her. Should I pretend nothing happened unless she says something?

She came in about an hour or so later. I was waiting on the couch. She was my friend, maybe my best friend. Neither lies and deceit nor hiding from my sins should be part of our relationship.

I had made tea, her favorite and the pot was sitting in a cute little tea cozy that my mom made fun of. She rolled through the door with no vestige of the totally relaxed Claire who lay in Jackson's arms earlier this evening. As she turned to hang her coat on one of the hooks she saw me and simply froze. I had all these words ready, but I cowered back, broke her gaze and looked down into my half empty teacup, hands wrapped around it seeking the last of its warmth.

The silence stretched from uncomfortable to hostile. Finally, I looked up. "Claire, I am so...."

"WHAT...THE...FUCK!! Really?!?!? What do you have to say for yourself?" Claire stood looking down on me, confident and righteous with her blond hair cascading about her face; angelic almost, but Archangel Michael with sword in hand more than fluttery wings and tiny harps.

As I have mentioned, I am plenty smart, and well spoken. I had planned all sorts of things to say. I paused, meeting her eyes full of anger, and promptly burst into tears. Her eyes softened a bit, but she did not move. If my tears were a ploy to try to put the ball back in her court, she was not going to let it work. However, the tears were not any ploy at all, just simple tears. After a few minutes they slowed and I found my voice, "I didn't plan it or anything, it just sort of happened." Even as the words tumbled out, I knew how stupid and insulting it was to suggest it was not my full responsibility and choice. She looked ready to interject, but I leapt forward with my words :"I did not mean it that way. I ....my lab was canceled, so I came home to study. I had my music blasting and I never heard you come in, and then my batteries died and I heard and I didn't want to interrupt and you sounded so happy...so content and I wanted that too and...

I stopped to breathe. "You both looked so good and so happy, and I was just so tempted. I am so sorry; I know it was fucked up, and stupid and thoughtless. If there is anything I can do? Do you want me to leave for the weekend to give you some space? I can go back to my parent's place." My parents had an apartment in Queens. I had tried being a commuter in my first year, but the travel time was far too long.

She sighed. She noticed the pot and an extra cup waiting for her. She poured herself a cup, shaking her head slowly, and sat down next to me. "Mia, what am I going to do with you? After me having to put up for three and a half years with your self-enforced, self-flagellating celibacy, despite me constantly telling you that it would eventually crash down on you, you knock it over on me?"

"Claire, I am so sorry. I don't know why. I usually have more common sense." I looked into her eyes which seemed a bit calmer and maybe amused. I might survive the night.

"Mia you are so horny you cannot help yourself. What? Three or four times a week I hear you in your bed and you are never able to satisfy yourself." That made me break eye contact with her. She was right, but I did not know she kept count. I wondered if she kept a little scoresheet near her bed.

"I really don't want to deal with any distractions, I just have a few more months until graduation; I am so close." I looked up again, my eyes pleading.

She gave a wry smile. "Well distractions are part of life. I was getting really close tonight and despite one hell of a distraction I got to where I wanted to go, no?"

I laughed a little despite myself, "Umm...yeah, point taken I guess., Look, it won't happen again. It is not like that kind of temptation will happen again anyways, and I am not known for making the same mistake twice." I took a sip of my tea, regretting how my words sounded defensive, but they were also true.

Claire shrugged. "I am sitting here thinking about all the boys I have tried to set you up with, and the one guy you can't resist seeing naked is my boyfriend." She shakes her head. "I might be having a few trust issues you know."

"I can see that, but it wasn't really like that. It just happened and it was happening right there. A lot of those guys were nice and wanted relationships and I don't have time for that. Some of the others just seemed crass and the cute boy toy types were kind of tempting, but a one night stand just seems so much effort with a real possibility it will just suck. So I kept saying no. And no, Claire, I won't try to steal your boyfriend. We both know that wouldn't happen anyways. He worships you and for good reason."