No Worries

The steam was permeating the air around us, but the heat I felt most of all was that slick heat around my cock, the heat of the tight, wet pussy coiled around me. Achingly eager to get going, I pulled back and then slammed back in. There was a wet slap as my crotch collided with her ass, and I saw a brief but mesmerizing wave of motion jiggle through her cheeks from the force of it. Holding her hips all the while, I fucked her hard, slamming into her as I thrusted in and out.

It wasn't Mariska's first time anymore; I wasn't taking her virginity this time. I didn't need to be gentle. Showers were made for quickies, after all.

I grunted as I fucked her with hard, fierce thrusts. The sound of my hips slapping her ass got almost as loud as the spraying water. My hands roamed Mariska's body, enjoying one part of her one moment and then enjoying another the next. I reached around her and grabbed her swaying tits, kneading and squeezing them. Then I grabbed her shoulders and started pulling her into me, making her meet me halfway with every crashing thrust.

I drew quick, sharp breaths between my lips. The familiar, tingling pressure at the base of my cock was welling up fast. I wasn't going to last another minute. I considered where I wanted to finish, and then made my decision right away. It was an easy choice.

When that tingling pressure had built up to the very tip of my cock, I buried myself inside Mariska, slotting my cock to the hilt of her pussy one last time. Burning bliss exploded in my core as I fired off my load inside her. The pleasure of her tight pussy coiled around my cumming cock was so intense that I gasped before I groaned. This time, my orgasm was short-lived. It was so soon after her sucking me off, all I could muster this time was a few squirts. I was running dry. I looked up at Mariska and saw those sweet, hazel eyes watching me. I leaned over and kissed her, capturing her soft lips with mine.

About half an hour later, I was standing half-dressed in my bedroom when Mariska walked in stark naked, toweling down her hair. "I'm guessing your purse doesn't have clothes in it," I said as I looked over at it.

"I grabbed some clothes to wear ... but I left them at home. I wanted to get here quick."

"I'm glad you did," I said, smiling at her. Mariska smiled back. "You can just wear some stuff of mine." I went to my closet and opened up all the drawers of the big dresser inside. "Then you can change after we get my car and drive to your house."

Mariska walked over, hung the towel over the open closet door, and started sifting through the drawers, pushing things around. She picked a pair of tube socks, a pair of boxer briefs, and a pair of sweatpants. When it came time to find a top, she rifled around in the uppermost drawer. Then, to my surprise, she pulled out something from the back of it that I didn't even know was there. It was one of my silver, school sweatshirts. Across the back of it was a big '89,' my football number, and above that was my last name, 'Wolf,' in much smaller lettering.

"I thought I got rid of all those," I mumbled.

"Why would you get rid of them?" Mariska asked as she held it in front of herself.

"Because they make me remember what I don't have anymore."

Mariska gave me a caring look. There was so much love in those eyes. "But they're good memories, aren't they?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "All but the last one."

"I wanna wear it."

I sighed, relenting. "Okay. Go ahead."

Mariska pulled it down over herself. Without wearing the same one from yesterday, she'd have to be braless until we got to her house, but that would be impossible to notice with that huge, heavy hoodie over her. Mariska tugged on it and looked over her shoulder, so she could see the back of it. She grinned. "I like having your last name on me."

"I like it too."

- - - - -

I had offered to go get my car alone, but Mariska wanted to come.

I had dressed myself same as Mariska had, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. It was drizzling outside, so I'd grabbed an umbrella before we headed out. I held it over the both of us as we walked.

We made good pace. We were moving a lot more briskly than we had going home the day before. My mind wandered as we walked. "I can't believe you never had a boyfriend," I said, speaking quietly for some added privacy. The rain pelleting our umbrella made for plenty of white noise, and we only occasionally passed someone walking by, but some caution couldn't have hurt. "I mean ... you're so fuckin' pretty, and ... I know you have bad anxiety, but ..."

Mariska glanced over at me. She had a somber smile. "You think I'm prettier than I am."

I shrugged. "Maybe," I conceded. "But isn't it what I think about you that matters most? I'm your boyfriend. I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks, about either of us."

Mariska looked down. "I wish I could think like you do."

"What, not give a fuck what other people think of you? You just gotta practice it. You got the master right here. I'll teach you."

Mariska looked over to me. She was smiling again, and more happily this time. "I like knowing you're my boyfriend," she said.

I looked over at her. "I like knowing you're my girlfriend."

We were walking into the school parking lot then. There were a few parked cars there, but all were close to the school. My black Monte Carlo was in a huge open space all by itself, alone and awkward. I went to the passenger door and made sure Mariska was inside first, and that she got in without getting soaked. Once she was in, I folded up the umbrella, got into the driver's seat, and tossed the umbrella onto one of the rear seats behind me.

Mariska was already buckled in as I did so for myself. "How's your head?" she asked.

"It's okay," I said plainly. That was the truth, for once. The pain was thudding, but it wasn't bad. It was easy to ignore. I stuck my key into the ignition and revved it. With the engine going, I turned to Mariska. She was giving me this long look. She was hesitant to believe me about the pain. I couldn't blame her; I'd lied to her about the pain all the time before. "It's okay, really," I said. "I mean it. It's there, but it'll always be there. But I'm getting better at ignoring it."

Mariska leaned over and kissed me. I closed my eyes and sighed through my nose. That kiss wasn't any less sweet than our first. It felt like ... a burst of life. I wondered if that was what kissing your soulmate felt like.

The rain was pouring by the time I had us on the road. The raindrops shot up my windshield like a machinegun. The wipers were doing their best. As I drove, I got to thinking about my last thought: soulmate. That's what Mariska felt like. We meant so much to each other ... and ... someone like that ... you're supposed to tell them everything. The good and the bad. Even the things so bad I buried them six feet deep, so bad that they made me want to sleep all day long, so bad that I tried to never think about them. "I've never told you about that weekend, have I?"

Mariska looked over at me. She was smiling. That wouldn't last. "What weekend?" she asked.

"The weekend my life went to shit."

There it went; Mariska's smile slipped away. She gently shook her head. "You mean ... your mom?"

"Yeah."

"You don't have to tell me."

"You've probably figured some things out ... context, you know ... but ... I feel like I should say it all out loud. To you, at least. If there's ever gonna be anyone I should tell it to ... it's you."

Mariska nodded. I saw a big gulp move down her throat. "Okay."

I drew a deep breath ... held it ... then let it go. "Over the summer between freshman and sophomore year, my mom got diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer. That, um, basically means that hormonal treatments won't work, and that ... it can spread fast. But we were all confident. Her most of all. I don't think any of us were nervous at first. And even in the back of my head, when I thought of the worst case scenario, I thought, well, even if she doesn't beat it, I've probably got several more years with her. I'll have graduated by then, maybe even given her a grandkid. I, uh ... I wasn't ready for it, when it ... when it got so bad so fast. She was having chemo all the time ... she lost her hair, got really skinny ... I know that stuff fights it, but ... it just made her look really sick. I didn't wanna see her that way. So I focused on football.

I was close to the other guys on the team. We'd made the state playoffs the year before, but lost in the third round. We decided to work our asses off in preparation for the next season, so we could win it all. I was glad to. I needed something to focus on, and football was it. I'd played a little baseball and basketball before, but football was my thing. I loved it, I was obsessed with it, and I was damn good at it. I wasn't the fastest, or the strongest, but nobody else could catch like I could. No one had surer hands than me. 'No Worries' is what the guys called me, 'cause of my initials, and because when you threw the ball to me, it was a done deal. I was gonna catch it. So, like I was saying, even before the season started, the guys and I would be on the field or at the park, practicing. Even the guys who played basketball or track or something were there too. We were fuckin' committed. I was sweating, I was burning, I was sore, and I ... I was having the most fun of my life. When the season started, everything we worked on just clicked. We were rolling, just smoking teams. Then, um ... our last game of the season ... we were actually down towards the end. Losing, I mean. But on this last drive, we were flying down the field, getting first down after first down. One of the last plays was gonna be a pass to me. 'Singleback Ace Slants' was the play call. I got open, my quarterback threw the ball to me, and I jumped and caught it, but as I was coming down, as I was trying to protect the ball, to complete the pass ... two guys were shooting at me like bullets ... the first one knocked my helmet off ... and the second guy sent his shoulderpad into my head.

I got put in a medically induced coma. I was under for the whole weekend. The doctors said I had a severe concussion, that I had a brain bleed that they had to perform surgery on to repair. They opened up my fuckin' skull to stop the bleeding. I had this crazy scar on my head for a long time. That's actually why I grew my hair out longer at first, to hide it. I was told it was a miracle I'd survived and was back to normal. Only, I wasn't normal. When I finally woke up, everything was just ... different. And I mean everything. Mom was ... gone ... and I didn't even get to say goodbye. I almost couldn't believe it. I was almost sort of ... numb to it. But I wasn't numb to this pounding headache I had. And I still had that headache a few days later. The doctors said it was really common, that I had 'post-concussion syndrome,' and that it should gradually go away after a few weeks, or maybe a few months at the most. But then a few months passed, and it didn't go away. The pain just ... stayed. They did more brain scans, and they all came back normal. My brain looks healthy. So they diagnosed me with persistent post-concussion syndrome and sent me off to start seeing a pain management specialist. They said that's all they could do. They ... couldn't fix me. The pain doc gave me Vicodin at one point. That helped a little. More than the over-the-counter stuff. But a few months later she took me off it. Said I can't stay on it forever and that it would eventually make my pain worse. Ever since then I've just taken Tylenol and used 'coping skills.' That's what they call anything that takes your mind off the pain. Hobbies, habits, things like that. Running does it pretty well for me.

I was different after the concussion. That's what everyone at school told me, and I know they're right. I couldn't play football anymore, and that made me ... really bitter. Not really at anyone else, but just at life, at what had happened. Some of the guys tried their hardest to keep me in their circle, but I was ... hostile. I pushed them away. I didn't want their sympathy. I didn't even want their friendship anymore. I guess I just ... wanted to suffer. I was standoffish, to everyone, all the time, and eventually I'd burned every bridge there was. No one would come near me. No one was gonna try anymore. No one who knew me, at least. That's why you sat with me at lunch that first day: you didn't know me. When you sat across me from that first time, I was this close to standing up and walking outside. Damn am I glad I didn't.

It drives me fuckin' crazy not being able to play football anymore, and the pain can be damn near unbearable sometimes, but ... honestly ... I can deal with that stuff. I can cope with all that. It's Mom being gone that really hits me. It's the never saying goodbye to her. It's the thinking I'd have her, and then just ... losing her. She didn't want me to be like this, you know. She wanted me to be strong. When it got bad, she had me promise her I'd be okay when she was gone. I guess I've broken that promise. After she died, every single day was hard to get through ... to just get from morning to night ... it was just this grind ... 'til I met you."

On cue, I pulled us into the driveway of Mariska's house. I turned and looked towards her. To my shock, she was silently crying. Her hazel eyes were reddened, and tears were running down her cheeks.

"Don't cry," I said. I reached over and wiped some of the tears from her face. "I hate seeing you sad."

"I'm sorry," Mariska whimpered as she wiped away the rest of her tears on her sleeve. She sniffled. "It's just ... really messed up. No one should have to go through that."

"People have gone through worse."

"That doesn't make it okay."

"I know." I grabbed one of Mariska's hands and squeezed it. "But I'm here. I'm still going. And I don't plan on stopping."

Mariska's tears had dried up by the time we were walking into her bedroom. She still had some sniffles left, but she was smiling again. That was what I wanted to see. Her room was a lot more colorful than mine. Lots of pink, her favorite color. She was a little ashamed of that, on account of it being such a stereotypically girly choice, but it didn't bother me. She didn't have many framed pictures -- there was a recent one with her parents and one with her grandmother back in the Netherlands -- but it was still more than I had.

I sat on Mariska's bed while she put together piles of folded clothes. She neatly sorted them all into their own stacks; sweatshirts, tee shirts, pajama tops, bras, sweatpants, baggy jeans, pajama bottoms, panties. While she was busy doing that, I just sat there, thinking and wondering. I did something I'd been stuck in the habit of doing. I let dark feelings creep into the back of my mind. Sadness ... dread ... doubt. Feelings that I'd been struggling to shake off for two years. I knew I shouldn't have been sad in that moment, but ... I guess I'd gotten too used to it. I didn't know how to be anything else.

Mariska turned and looked at me, holding a stack of shirts in hand. She noticed. She could read me like a book. "What's wrong?" she asked. She set down the stack of shirts.

I stayed silent for a moment. I wasn't sure what to say. "I'm really fucked up, aren't I?"

Mariska walked over to me. "So am I," she said, shrugging, like it didn't matter.

I shook my head, dejected. "I'll never be normal."

Mariska shook her head too, but differently. Resiliently. "We don't have to be," she said. She went over to her desk, grabbed a notebook and pencil, and then came back, sitting beside me. She opened the notebook and flipped through the pages until she arrived at a blank one. She scribbled something and then handed the notebook to me. I looked down at what she wrote. It was a list. A short one.

1. Go to Senior Prom

2. Go to Golden Gardens beach

3. Go to a Seahawks game

"What is this?" I asked.

"Stuff I wanna do with you," Mariska said. "It's not enough to fill a whole year, but it's a start."

I turned and looked at her. She was smiling from ear to ear. That happiness was infectious, and I couldn't help but chuckle. I glanced over the notebook again. "I haven't been to a Seahawks game in a long time," I mused.

"All the more reason to go."

I gave Mariska a long look, gazing into her hazel eyes. "There's gonna be a lot of people in these places, you know."

Mariska nodded, still smiling. "I know." Then, after a long pause, she added, "I wanna get better."

"Me too."

Mariska leaned over and kissed me. "I love you," she said before pulling away, her lips still close to mine.

"I love you too."

Mariska handed me the pencil and flipped the notebook to the next page. "Here, you start," she said. "Write something you wanna do next year."

I readied the pencil over the notebook and took a moment to think ... but I didn't have to think for long. Ideas started flooding my mind. A big grin spread around my lips as the thoughts came one after the other. It was crazy how different the world suddenly seemed in that moment, with that girl -- my girl -- sitting beside me. Every thought I dreamt up, it all seemed so ... doable. Not easy, but ... doable. I lowered my hand and brought the pencil to the paper.

- - - - -

Author's note: This story was an immense amount of effort that I labored over on-and-off for more than a year, so any and all readers who read to the end have my sincere thanks. Alas, I have only one pair of eyes, and despite many rereads, there may be some mistakes. I regret any that are there.