What Comes Back to Haunt You

Of course, it was Clarence who got there first.

So when Robin got a second chance with Nathan, to a certain extent she was more knowledgeable. But it didn't make her any more eager. For what had lovemaking with her husband been, if not boring? Well, it had been interesting too--interesting in a scientific sense. She had had plenty of time to learn about the physical mechanics: how a woman's vagina increased in size for intercourse, how a penis moved within it, what it felt like to have a man's semen inside her. The silly faces a man made during intercourse; the awkward way his body moved. Clarence had always taken the trouble to get her aroused enough to entertain penetration--probably for his own comfort; she could not imagine that a dry vagina was terribly pleasurable. But she had rarely been excited, rarely been passionate. Sex with Clarence had never been pleasurable for her--not painful, but not pleasurable; just another sensation. She had been able to view it with detachment. She now understood what the old books had meant when they said to "lie back and think of England." She wondered how many women had achieved it quite as well as she had.

With Nathan, then, was a whole new world of exploration, a whole new layer. The less-than-thrilling physical education was over. But Nathan's hands, Nathan's lips, Nathan's eyes: they awakened in her the idea of desire. He could touch her, or breathe on her, or even whisper her name, and suddenly her skin would be tingling, her heart racing. She would feel her nipples harden; she would feel a heat between her legs, and an ache, and a sense of need. These were the things Nathan showed her--and they were so different from her previous understanding of sex that she almost couldn't believe they were one and the same.

When they got back together, she was even more reticent about sex than before. Before, the idea of sex had been a nebulous, unformed shape tinged with curiosity and a little bit of desire; now she knew it in detail, and had no interest in it. Nathan saw this, and it got to him; she could see his impatience, and that he was gathering himself to give up and move on. But what could she do? So she told him. She sat him down and told him. It was one of the most painful conversations of her life--having to tell him what she had done with Clarence; having to relive those moments; having to see the revulsion on his face, mastered quickly but still there. "And the worst part isn't even all that. The worst part is... That I was wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"To wait. --Well, not to wait. To give. I wanted to wait because I only wanted to have sex with someone who loved me. And yet... When you wanted--you, who so clearly loved me--I turned you down. And then when Clarence... He didn't love me, and I think maybe I knew that, I knew that all the way to the beginning, but heseemedto, and that was... And after all I had done to you, all I had put you through, I lethimdo it to me, just becausehewanted to, and I thought that love was letting him do it. I made a fool out of me, and I made a fool out of you. I was so wrong. I was so wrong..."

One of the most painful nights of her life... And yet, one of the best nights too. Because, when she cried, he held her, and she knew that he still loved her. Despite all he had heard, he had not turned away from her. And when he held her as she wept, she knew.

At that moment, she knew something else too.I have to do it with him. As soon as possible. Even if he doesn't marry me first, even if he doesn't even propose to me first. I don't know how I'm going to make myself get through it, but I have to. I took away what should have been his; I have to give it back. He deserves no less from me.

And so she broke another rule that very night: the one about not touching under clothes. And she touched Nathan under his clothes, under his pants; and then over his pants, once she had fished him out. It was her first handjob, and she wasn't sure she did a very good job of it--though Nathan had no cause to complain. His cum was heavy on her skin, very different from what it felt like when it was deposited in her vagina, and as she looked at it draped in loops and coils over her fingers, she felt another resurgence of doubt. And another, when she looked at his face and saw how scared he was. But Nathan was Nathan: he buried his doubts, his fears, his confusion, and turned to what was more important to him than anything else: her. And as he kissed her, and thanked her, and told her how good she was, she saw something else in his eyes: gratitude. Intimacy. Love. And when she saw those things, she thought,Maybe I can do this. After all. After all.

From then on, the rules were off. Not that they broke them all at once; she still had her own insecurities to deal with, and Nathan had learned patience. Besides, it was one thing to want something you couldn't have, quite another to want something you could. A line had been crossed, and he understood that--if he wanted to--she would, indeed, yield up herself to his pleasure. He didn't want to. He didn't want her to do this out of obligation; he wanted her to want it. Obviously, it would please him more if she came to him willingly; but even more than that, he didn't want to keep to the old ways. Robin clearly didn't think of it as such, and Nathan never said anything, but to his mind, what she had endured was little better than rape. And if he, Nathan, exploited her sense of obligation to get his own way, then, in his own opinion, he, Nathan, would be no better. Never mind that she would be, technically, consenting; that was not the issue. It was herparticipationthat mattered. As far as he was concerned, anything less than full participation was non-consensual. And he would not be party to it. Her pleasurewashis pleasure now; nothing more, nothing less.

They still went on dates; they still went out with friends; they still watched movies together, or went to concerts, or went dancing. But, with much more regularity than in college, they might also find themselves at her place or his, arms about each other, lips entwined, learning about each other's bodies. It was a slow process, but rarely did an evening pass without some progress being made. In the end, it was easier than she expected. Nathan's body--handsome, strong, proud--she had no problem loving; Clarence had never tried to initiate her into the mysteries of the male form, and she had no memories there to contend with. Inreverse, yes, sometimes she did: sometimes she would flash back uncontrollably to that cocksure grin, to those eyes surveying their territory with grim pride, and she would need Nathan to back off for a little while so that she could breathe. But she always overcame these moments--and, to her surprise, there weren't as many of them as she expected. It was worst when she was lying down and Nathan was looming above her; they realized this, quickly, and started finding other configurations. And though it sometimes became inevitable--when Nathan went down on her, for instance--there was sometimes something to contend with it.

Explorations with Clarence had always been a little bit deadened by fear. She could never be sure he wasn't going to do something unexpected, or bend the rules to suit his needs. She could never be sure he wouldn't hurt her, and it was difficult under those circumstances to give herself up to pleasure. Gradually it stopped being pleasurable at all (or, at least, she learned to ignore it). With Nathan, she had none of these concerns. For one, therewereno rules; it was a tacit agreement between them. But for another, she knew--sheknew, deep in her heart of hearts in a place that conscious thought didn't reach--that he neverwouldhurt her, not intentionally. There was nothing to fear; there was nothing to fear. And so she could surrender herself to the sensations of her body--to his lips on her nipples, on the pale skin of her chest; to his arms around her, strong and supporting; to the dull red ache between her legs, begging for release. And so even though love play with Nathan was in some ways identical to what had happened with Clarence, in this one particular way it was not; it was completely different. Shewantedwhat happened with Nathan. And that was all the working distance she needed to overcome her old fears.

And then they had their lunch date with Clarence and she knew that it was past time.

It took a little bit of planning. It needed to be at his place, because she had a tiny apartment and a single-person bed. And she would need him to be alone, so that she wouldn't chicken out and lose her nerve. So she needed to do some checking around. Stacy proved invaluable in that regard, fishing for his weekend plans withjustthe right touch of casual disinterest. The first weekend she tried, he had a party on Saturday afternoon--stupid Robin, sheknewthat, he'd invited her to go. But the next weekend it was all clear. So she invited herself over, feeling the gentle breeze on her skin, feeling worried and not a little stupid, hoping not too many people would walk by before he answered the door.

Nathan, seeing her, thought she might have just woken up--though that couldn't be true; she was a grown woman and it was a Saturday afternoon. Her hair was a shapeless mass, her face without makeup, and she wore a long oversize button-down shirt. The simplicity of her garb highlighted the simplicity of her face--her clear skin, her guileless brown eyes. How could he have once thought she was unattractive?

"Umm... Is everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I... I just wanted to see you." She seemed nervous for some reason. "Mind if I come in?"

"Of course, of... Come on in."

He closed the door behind her and they traded kisses. From deeper in the apartment she could hear the sounds of a video game waiting for attendance.

"So... What's going on?" he said.

"I dunno, I... I just wanted to... Come spend some time with you," she said. "Remember, we used to do that in college? Not necessarily doing anything, just... Hanging out."

He shrugged. "Yeah." It was taking their relationship to another level--they had been together for fifteen months now, but still only spent time together on dates. But what could it hurt?

She watched him play video games for a little while; then he traded for a driving game, and she played too. It was fun, but she wasn't that good, and it was more fun to just lean against him and watch. And soon he turned off the machine and it was just them in a comfortable silence, his arm around her, his head resting on hers. It was nice.

"So," he said eventually. "Was there anything you wanted to talk about, like, specifically? Or did you really just come for the pleasure of my company?"

He sounded so sarcastic on that last one that she turned in surprise. "Honey, you know I like spending time with you. I wouldn't be your girlfriend if I didn't."

He gave a wry smile. "That makes you the only one. Most of the people I knew in college... This isn't their lifestyle. ...Well, and I guess I can't blame them--I mean, you know." He gestured around his shabby apartment. "I'm a digital geek. It's what I do. It's not for everyone. But it means not having too many friends."

She snuggled closer to him. "Well, I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

"What," he asked, "did you get evicted or something?"

"What?!" she said. "No! Where'd you get an idea likethat?"

"Well... You come here, unexpected, instead of calling ahead like you normally do. You look kind of frazzled. You don't wanna talk, you just wanna chill. And you don't seem to be wearing much. Normally you're careful about the way you dress, you don't just... toss anything on and wander over to a friend's house."

That much was true. "Okay... And?"

"And... Look, Robin, you're just... You're acting alotdifferent than you normally do. And that makes me curious."

"Am Ireallythat predictable?" she said.

"Well... Maybe notpredictable, per se. But you're very... Polite. You're aware of what the social norms are and you're always respectful of them."

"True." She sighed. "That's... probably why Clarence found me so easy to manipulate. I was so full of the idea of... What Ioughtto be. What a girlfriend ought to be, what a wife ought to be. And all I knew was that he was calling upon me to be those things, and..." Another sigh. "And look where it got me."

He drew her closer to him, not wanting to be far. He kissed the top of her head.

"And I think that's part of how I know that you're right for me, too," she said. "Because you... I mean, you could have done all of the same thing. You totally could have."

"No, I couldn't," he said. "I wouldn't've been able to live with myself."

"Yes, you could," she said. "Don't lie to yourself, Nathan: you could have, when we first dated, and I honestly might have let you. You could now, too. The opportunity is there. The difference is that youchoosenot to take it."

Put that way, he didn't sound like quite so bad a person.

"You don't... You don't expect me to be anything," she said.

"What? So I, like... I just think of you as being this personality-less, faceless--"

"No, not like that. Sheesh. I mean that you... You don't place expectations on me. You don't have this list of things that I'm supposed to do and say and be. Instead, you just... Accept me. As I am. For who I am."

He shrugged. "Well... I love you."

She raised her head to look at him. "I know. And that's what the difference is." And she leaned up to kiss him.

For a long, slow time they were entwined there, kissing, her arm around his chest, his around her shoulders. It was a strain for her to reach him, and eventually she sat up to get closer to him; and from there it evolved that she was lying back on the couch while he leaned down to kiss her. And what she had said was true: she felt no pressure. She knew what he wanted, but she didn't feel that looming sense of obligation--that it was her job to give him what he wanted, regardless of her own feelings. It was... freeing. She was on her back on a couch wearing almost nothing, and a man was over her, and she was more free than she had ever been in her life.

"You know I love you," she said.

He smiled. "I know."

For a long time they kissed, cuddling, whispering, simply enjoying the leisure of an afternoon together. But in her heart was a tense hope, a fear: what if he never tried to take it farther? Generally he was reliable, but what if?... And so it was a relief--a relief, of all things!--when he let his hand rest on her bare leg, and begin to rub up and down her thigh as they kissed. She knew he was searching, rising higher and higher, wondering where he would find that traditional barrier: the hem of her pants. She might be wearing really short shorts under the long-tailed button-down shirt, after all.

Except for how she wasn't.

She watched his eyes widen. "You... I havenoidea what you're thinking right now."

She giggled a little. "I can probably guess whatyou'rethinking."

"How many people got a look at you while you stood outside my door?" he said. "How many people noticed you weren't wearing a bra--assuming you aren't, but the fact that you aren't wearingunderwearwould set a precedent that..."

She giggled again.

"Robin,whatis going on? You come here to my place wearing nothing but a shirt?"

She pulled him down to kiss him, and then to whisper in her ear. "What's going on," she said, "is that I don't want to wait anymore. I came here so you could unwrap your present."

He was so still she could barely hear him breathing.

"I came here," she said, "to give myself to you."

He pulled back to stare at her with astonished eyes.

"Because I love you," she said. "And it's time to give you what should have been yours from the start."

"Are... Are you sure?" he said.

"Honey, I didn't drive all the way here with no bottoms on to be unsure."

"Then... Well... Then thefirstthing we gotta do is move to the bedroom," he said.

She beamed.

It was the first time she had ever been in his bedroom, she realized, at least this one here in this apartment. It was an old complex, beginning to fall into disrepair; and Nathan was not the neatest of people. Still, she liked the clutter. All of it said 'Nathan' to her.

While she was looking, Nathan was beginning to disrobe himself, for whatever reason--maybe he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable by being the only one in a state of undress. Whatever the case was, she stopped him with a gesture, and then finished the work herself. She wanted to do it. It was, after all, the first time that she would see him naked.

He was in good condition; hadn't it beenhisidea for her to start hitting the gym? He wasn't brawny, or particularly broad of chest, but he had more muscle definition than he seemed to when clothed. A narrow line of dark hair traced downward, its eventual terminus still hidden right now by his pants (though not for long). An appendectomy scar slanted between his ribs. His nipples were brown circles against his skin, so much darker than hers--probably for the best; imagine if hers were that color! He'd turn away in revulsion.

When the pants fell away, she could follow the thread of his chest hair down to his groin; and there was his cock, drooping out of the tangle of pubic hair, long and fat. By now she had seen it before, a fair number of times actually, and she could tell that he was already somewhat erect. She had handled him before, brought him to his orgasm with her hand; but today she did something she had never done before, not even with Clarence: she kissed it. She kissed his shaft where it emerged from his pubic thatch, and then again, lower down the shaft; and then again at his head.

She looked up at him. He looked stunned, almost transfixed; but even as she watched, he came to himself, and one of his hands came up to stroke hair from her face, cup her chin.

"Do you like?" she asked.

"Yeah," he breathed.

"Do you want?"

"Umm... Doyouwant?"

She thought about it. Honestly, she wanted everything--especially now, while her courage was with her. "What I want... Is to make love to you. To pull you on top of me and have you in me."

Under her chin, his cock twitched.

She ignored it; so did he. "Then, let's..." he said. "Let's do it your way."

She smiled. "Okay." But she gave him one more kiss before she left--and then, wanting to, wanting to see how he would react, encircled his head with her lips and gave him a slow, sensuous kiss, like licking a lollipop. She heard his groan, felt his hand tighten against her cheek, and knew that she was going to enjoy this. (At least, once she had a chance to do it.)

He drew her up and led her to the bed, laid her down on it. He was totally naked now, she clad (still) in only her oversized blue shirt. She didn't even remember where she'd gotten it; had it been Clarence's? Her father's? Whoever had owned it at first, it was hers now, broken in by countless wearings and claimed by the scent of her detergent. It was as comfortable to her now as Nathan's arms were. (Could it have been his? But how would she have gotten it?--they never traded clothes in college, and were never in a situation where she needed to borrow some from him. Perhaps she'd never know.)

Nathan leaned down to kiss her, and once again she felt a flash-panic memory of Clarence; but this time she closed her eyes against it and flung her arms around the man who was actually with her. Nathan. Nathan, her first; Nathan, her love; Nathan, whom she could not live without. She let the kiss heat up, let her passion mount; she wanted to excite him, to make him eager. She wanted to know if she could be his.