The Weekend Pt. 02

You shuck your pants down in a flash, you kick your briefs off your feet. You help me tug my own feet free. You rip my panties off with naughty destruction that slightly rips the fabric. Then you hoist me in the air, wrapping my legs around your hips. You balance my weight by pushing my butt against the edge of the countertop, and clap both hands over my ass. There is a bed in your apartment, but you don't seem to care. And then it happens. That hard cock slides into me like it was just yesterday that it took my virginity. We each gasp. We share a look that we can't believe how good it feels. How perfectly and completely you fill me up. How you are made for me, and I am made for you. I am putty in your hands when you begin to thrust. I'm clinging to you with both arms locked around your neck, muttering your name, praising God and more for the heaven that is this pleasure. Fuck me, I demand and keep fucking me until I am speechless. Until everyone in this shitty apartment complex knows that you fucked my brains out.

And you are loving this. You are chuckling and grinning. An actual smile. I mutter more filthy demands, I even cuss in Spanish. You get quiet, a fierce look in your eye that is frightening and thrilling, and I know you're close. I tell you I've got an IUD; I tell you I want you to come inside me. You give me a raise of your eyebrow, I nod in verification. You grin with lusty satisfaction and obey with pinioning thrusts that shake the flimsy countertop and rattle your cupboards. You grip me tightly, you lean into my neck, growling as the madness comes.

Oh, sweet lord. Thank you. I'm so thankful. It's not what I should be thankful for, but I am. The feel of you shuddering, emptying yourself. The way it feels to be covered in your love, to be dripping with it, reveling in the creamy mess we are. Setting me back down on my feet, you pant for air, speechless. You lock eyes with me and then the smile changes. An almost sadness. But I refuse to ruin this moment. I think I can still walk, I tease with a wink. But I'm trying to say something else. Please don't regret this. I wanted this. I want us.

You smile with cautious hope. I embrace you, resting my head against your chest, holding on until you put an arm around me. I can hear your heart beating, I can feel the current that connects my life to yours. And then we kiss again. I think we both want to say that we love each other, but we're too scared. Other sentiments will have to suffice for now, other acts will be done to prove said sentiments.

We shower and you clean me off. And then you kneel down, locking eyes with me. You run a hand up my thigh, planting light kisses, traveling up. I gasp when you flick out your tongue. I warn you might accidentally get a taste of yourself, but you don't seem to mind. Your eyes watch me with devious intent; you want your ninita to come again, you tease. But you're not teasing, you're tender and gentle, pleasuring me with the sweetest little smile on your face.

You've always enjoyed pleasing me. You've always been generous. I wish you believed that, and understood that's why I do the things I do for you. The reason I let you fuck me till it hurts. The reason I get on my knees for you. Because you do it for me. Because you would do anything for me. But I know it's hard when the grief and sadness try to deceive you. To get past the doubts that think you are nothing. But in this passionate moment, when I kiss your lips covered in my flavor, I want you to know what you are worth. I want you to know that you matter in this world, regardless of what job you have or how much money you make. You are worth something more than that, you are worthy of love.

After we get dressed, I finish making dinner. You even help- enjoying the manly task of cooking the steak for our fajitas. You eat it all, you even want seconds. You're helping me clean up the dishes, and just as I hang up the towel we've been using to dry each plate, you hug me. There in your little kitchen where just hours earlier you made me scream with pleasure, you surround me with your arms and take a deep breath. I pat your arm, and go to separate, but you resist. You keep holding me, your head tucked down by my ear. The last dish was cleaned, the last mundane errand to complete in your apartment before I would leave. You don't want me to go.

You haven't said it, but I can feel it. For once, you're not trying to push me away. Something I've wanted for so long. However, my son is with a friend, she wasn't intending to keep him overnight. If I stay, I'll have to make something up. You squeeze me with a playful grunt, trying to pretend you're just being greedy. But I know this isn't about sex, I can feel it just by the way you hold me. We've made it this far, but it's as fragile as glass. You need me. You need me here to keep this from becoming the superficial thing you fear. The fear that doubted my feelings, my love for the broken man you think you are. I need to stay and show you it's far more than that. All it takes is another kiss from you, a hand coiled around my waist. God, please forgive me for this lie.

My friend is understanding; she hopes I feel better, food poisoning is the worst. I'll text in the morning. You look guilty when I hang up, but not that guilty. You smile like a little kid, you whisper I can sleep in your grown-up bed; a sentimental reference to our long ago hotel tryst. We turn out the lights and go into your bedroom. I state that I don't have any night clothes. Your grin is a mile wide; I'll have to just sleep in the nude. After I give you a look that says that is not happening with your chilly threadbare sheets, you dig out an old t-shirt I can wear, and you keep your briefs on.

I climb into your basic full-size bed, watching you do the same. I attempt to stay platonically on my half of the bedside, but you roll onto your side, slinging an arm over me. It's too easy to huddle into your chest, feeling you nuzzle the crook of my neck. You tell me I smell like something from a panaderia. Something sweet.

I want to cry because this feels so good. This feels like my heart might burst. All I have ever wanted, coiled around me, holding me. Making me feel like I'm yours. And in that moment of bliss, I make a promise to myself. I'm going to make this work. I'll keep coming here and I'll keep making sure you eat. And then I'll get something I need too. I'll get your delicious body and your simmering eyes. I'll get your love. I'll make you never want to give me up.

*****

From that point on, every week I come by. Sometimes twice a week, if you have a doctor's appointment. But always at least every Friday. And the more often I come, the more things I change. You don't buy enough food for two people. You don't have a couch for two people to relax on. I bring over groceries, I make you buy a couch. And a TV. Your bed needs better sheets. You need more towels for when I'm over. Gradually, you make your apartment more habitable.

My boyfriend has officially moved out. The loan closed on his condo, and I am eager to get rid of his things. My son is a little sad, but he has never been that close with his dad. I hope that his separation from our household will force my Ex to expend more effort on the relationship with his son. And in his absence, I no longer lie to my son. I tell him I'm going to spend time with you. I drop him off at his friend's house for a sleepover and I tell him I will see him on Sunday. Even with his youthful eyes, my son understands that the solider man and I are more than friends now. He tells me he wants to go for another ride in your car. I can't help but sigh when I think of having another little gearhead in my life.

For the first time in my life, I feel almost content. We text throughout the week, a playful flirtation instead of just rote check-ins to make sure you're behaving yourself. I'm living independently, but not single. Each Friday night, I become yours again. Sometimes I bring a little outfit for you, if you've been good. Other times it's just the workout sports bra and leggings. Mostly, you just love being naked with me. Maybe it's all those years we spent in the back seat of a car. To be given the opportunity to just revel in the touch of our bare skin.

Which brings us back to our most recent visit that you documented in your story. After I suck you off, and after you try to fuck me into submission.

You like being a little rough when I'm being demanding. When I make you do the hard work of being sober. To allow you a little control when we're together. A trade-off for the one beer you get, is being your pretty girl when we go out. A reward for when you're good. A salve for when you're upset. You hate yourself for being angry, but I understand. I give you my body when your mind can't be calmed with words. I knew those teens were trouble, but I'm proud of you for walking away when you did.

The weekend was over too quickly. It was so good, each night sleeping in your arms. Cooking a breakfast for you, eating together. Feeding you fries with my fingers. Bathing with your hands washing me clean, lathering me up so you can get me dirty all over again. I knew you didn't want me to leave on Sunday. And I didn't want to leave either.

I could feel the melancholy as you watched me pack up my things. I could feel my heart breaking as I left you like it was no big deal. I cried in my car when I drove home, I cried when I texted you later to say I got home okay. I'm not sure how to tell you the truth about my ex-boyfriend. As much as I have wanted us to be together, I'm suddenly scared to make the next step. I'm terrified we'll ruin it again. I'm scared you'll get overwhelmed and relapse. But I want you to be with me. I want us to spend our lives together.

When you show up at my house, I'm nervous. But also hopeful. I can see you've been crying. I can see that you're anxious. And more importantly, I can tell you are 100% sober. You're finally confessing things without the need for liquid courage.

You say the sweetest things. You say how you want to take care of me. You want to make my life easier, and you want to make my son's life easier. And then you say the words that I have waited nearly a decade to hear. You love me. You love me more than anything.

I'm so overcome and happy that I'm at a loss for words. Mistakenly you think I'm going to turn you away when I can't speak. You march away like I'm not going be compelled by your stunning revelation. Once again, I have to tell that doubting boy that of course I want him. My aching heart has cried out for the missing piece of my soul, it demands that we are finally whole.

And I finally share with you my own confession.

I admit that my boyfriend is no longer my boyfriend. I explain how he moved out, I admit that I didn't love him, that I couldn't love him. Because I love you. Everything I've done, I've done because I have always loved you. And I will continue to love you. So, if you want to take me care of me, then you need to take care of my heart. That means you take care of yourself; no more binge drinks, no relapses. I won't let you walk away from me this time; I don't want a life with anyone else but you. Then I ask you a question; a humorous proposal to clarify our status of togetherness.

I ask, if we are together, will you make love to me seven days a week like you normally do for at least two of them?

There's that grin on your face, the one that knows how to make me ache in all the right places. Your answer is a simple one. A perfectly cocky and adorable reply. A reply that makes me love you just as much as the boy I ran into all those years ago.

Todo mi amor,

Your Ninita