Message Received

"You're absolutely incredible, Grace." I hear Thomas' voice come through the phone below my ear, "I'm so hard listening to you that it's almost painful. I want you wrapped around my body, those perfect hips coming down against mine. I want to feel you bouncing around my thick cock, that wet pussy tightening as I run my hands down your sides, and your thighs, and--"

"Fuck, Thomas!" I cry, feeling the passage of my vagina pull tight around my fingers, my skin almost burning as I buck my hips backward and forward against my hand, "I'm--I'm going to come."

"Cum for me, baby."

I do. My entire body spasms, and I have to shove my hand deeper between my legs to keep my fingers inside of myself as I arch backward. My hips rock and circle, my legs and arms tense. Arching my fingers, I push them into myself again and again. This time, I make absolutely no attempt to hold back the sound that comes from my mouth. I know he can hear it--not only through the speaker of the phone, but also through the wall that separates us. A series of high, quivering cries that end in what's very nearly a scream. Nobodies' made me make that sound before--not Deidrich, not either of the two men I slept with while we were on a break, not even myself. I feel like I'm being lit from below; as if my skin is parchment paper and something inside of my has clicked on. A bare lightbulb, glowing through expensive letterhead. Gasping for air, I fall back against the bed. For a moment, it's all I can do to hold the phone to my cheek, listening to the unsteady sound of my breathing filling the otherwise empty bedroom.

"That was... unbelievable," I hear Thomas' voice laughing from the other end of the phone line. I'm too exhausted to do anything than laugh in reply, letting the sound tell him exactly what I was feeling in that moment, "Hold on."

A second later, my phone dings. I hold it up, away from my face. Four words: Picture Message: Thomas Venquest. Lowering my thumb, I tap the message.

[One Year Later]

"Grace Schulze," the voice crackles slightly as it's broadcast over the open space of the graduation platform. I rise from my chair on the stage, smoothing my hands down the front of the pale blue graduation gown. I can see the small black bobble hanging down over the left side of my flat-topped cap; honors graduate. The principal of the University is standing in front of the microphone, on a black-clothed stage which has been erected on the green behind TWU University. About three hundred folding chairs stand in neat rows in front of the stage, each one filled with family members and friends of the graduates. It's a small sea of faces, perspiring and eager; each one applauding. It was a mosaic of arms and heads and shoulders.

As I walked forward, accepting the rolled-up paper of my degree and shaking the principal's hand, a sound catches my attention. It not quite as loud as the applause, but low and striking. Strange--how we can hear a persons' voice even in a sound. My head jerks upward, my eyes scanning the crowd.

And there he is. Thomas stands with his hands tucked into the pockets of his American-made jeans, leaning against a tree a few yards away from the rest of the onlookers. He's whistling loudly, clapping his hands just above his forehead. It's been six months since we returned to Canada, and eight since the end of his co-op in Zeuthen. He's grown a small beard, in the time that he's been away--I'd seen it, of course, in the pictures that we sent back and forth to each other every day. But it's something else entirely to see it--and him--in real life. I admit I'd forgotten just how tall he was. How the buttoned-up blue shirt hugged the top of his body, how his teeth shone dully as he smiled up at me. Taking the three steps down from the stage, I tried to stay composed as I walked to meet him. He was still smiling, still clapping. I gave up. Clutching the paper of my degree in one hand, I lost my hat as I ran toward him. He caught me mid-motion, swinging me around his body slightly as our mouths came together.

"I thought I was visiting you!" I laughed as he set me down, keep both arms wrapped around the back of my body.

"You are. But you didn't really think I was going to miss your graduation, did you?" He smiles, and I feel small tears welling in the corners of my eyes. He reaches up and wipes them away, tenderly, with the back of his fingers before continuing, "Besides, that last picture... Something about nothing but a time of arrival."

I laughed, knowing exactly what picture he meant. I'd finally found a chance to use that blue and beige lingerie. I knew he had each one that I'd sent him saved to his phone, just as I had every one that he'd sent in the time since we'd last seen each other. For those wonder--yeah, Deidrich had called me. Twice. He was all apologies and requests, but I hadn't really listening to a word of it, if I was being honest. I'd promised we'd talk again, two months ago. We haven't spoken since. I don't care. The only man I cared about was standing right in front of me, looking straight down into the bright, damp eyes that stared back at him from behind a pair of brown-rimmed glasses.

"You're perfect," he says, smoothing a stray hair back behind my ear, "Your parents here?" Somehow, his German has actually improved, in his time away.

I smiled, "They're excited to meet you. They've been hearing about nothing else, for the past eight months."

"Come on," he reaches down and takes my hand, "I think it's about time they did."

Message Received ---- THE END.