The Reunion

It felt funny coming back home for my thirtieth class reunion and checking into a hotel. It had been fifteen years since my parents left to retire in Myrtle Beach, and like me, my brother and sister moved on to live elsewhere. Even though the surroundings and landmarks all looked the same in the cab ride from the airport to the hotel, not having to see or stay with family made me feel like a tourist.

I picked a nicer hotel downtown that was close to the reunion. I was just in a mood to indulge myself to travel in comfort.It turned out that the hotel was better than nice. It was sleek, polished and modern.

But it felt a little funny staying at a place like this by myself. I had never traveled alone except to visit and stay with family. Places like this were reserved for vacations with my ex-husband. As the receptionist at the front desk checked me in, I had a hard time shaking the melancholy out of my head.

But as I turned to walk toward the elevator, there was an almost forgotten familiar smile that broke my sullen mood.

Allen Fitch was my best guy friend all through high school. We met in ninth-grade civics class and became fast study partners. We took driver’s training together in the tenth grade. If it wasn’t for him, I would have never passed the written test. In the summers, I spent many evenings in his parents’ garage while he worked in vain on his ’72 Mach II. He was seldom able to get out of his garage, but at least I learned how to drive and rebuild a manual transmission thanks to him.

“Jenny!” he cried as he grabbed me for a tight hug that lasted longer than a moment. We never hugged like this in high school.

And he didn’t look quite as good in high school as he did that day. His bright red hair had faded. He tamed the wild waves he used to have in a neat corporate crop. He was still tall and lean, but he wasn’t quite as lanky as he was then. He sure worked out on those arms he wrapped around me … and that chest that he pressed upon me … and that ass that I just wanted to grab when I reciprocated his embrace.

If I wasn’t wishing or imagining, I could swear that he got a quick body feel out of me, too.

I didn’t want him to pull away, but when he did, he gave me a very long, appreciative look and said, “Umm … remind me now. Is this our thirtieth or twentieth class reunion because there’s no way you can look this young.”

I was flattered but I had to admit that I took better care of myself than ever before. It started by getting some enhancements on my breasts and ass with when I got my divorce settlement. Then I found a fabulous gay hairdresser who loved sexing me up. Then I took on a job at Saks on the weekends so I could indulge my new bod in a thirty percent employee discount. I called my part-time earnings my Sven account to pay for for my hot early thirtysomething personal trainer.

“Tell you what,” he said, “I’m going to get my room and take a nap before the reunion. My flight wore the crap out of me. Want to share a cab with me to the reunion? Say pick you up at your room at 6:30?”

How could I say no?

I tried to sleep, too. The ride from Anaheim to LAX felt as long and exhausting as the flight, but I couldn’t sleep. My mind was hyperfocused on Allen. What has he been doing all this time? What was his life like? Was he married?

I hoped to god that he wasn’t married.

Three o’clock rolled into four and I still couldn’t sleep. I figured that some bath salts in the deep soaking tub might take the edge off my restless exhaustion and my restless imagination.

“I wonder how it would feel like if he touched me here?” I wondered as I let my hand slide down my ass and down the back of my thigh in the slippery, silky water.

I closed my eyes and thought of him touching me the way I touched myself … slow, and spending every moment reading the firm curves as if they were some kind of erotic body Braille.

“I wonder how it would feel if he touched me like this?” I wondered as my hand cupped my breasts.

I massaged and caressed them. I felt my nipples harden. It would be a shame not to pinch them.

And when I did, I felt the inner pink petals between my legs tingle. It would be a shame if they couldn’t be stroked and fondled and get really slick and moistened.

I leaned back and slid deeper in the tub while fingers prodded in and out of vagina. I tried to pretend that they weren’t my fingers, but the fingers that I wished took a license to roam down in the lobby.

The lavender steam from the tub filled my nostrils but it smelled more like the warm herbal scent I could smell on Allen’s body. The fingers started to delve deeper and faster inside of me. My thumb pressed harder and rolled around my clit faster and faster. I bent my knees to prop my hips up. They started to buck up and down making the water churn and splash out of the tub when I pinched my nipple harder and harder.

“Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me good and fuck me hard!” I cried as if I wasn’t the only person in the room. I closed my eyes so I could better imagine Allen standing directly in front of me pounding and thrusting away.

Then I heard my phone ring. If it wasn’t the front desk, there was only one person I knew it could be.

I ran out of the tub so I could pick it up before it stopped ringing.

“Hey, I hope I’m not disturbing you,” I heard Allen’s voice say.

“’Not at all,” I said, oblivious to the AC that should have been popping goose bumps over my dripping wet naked body.

“I can’t rest,” he said. “How about if we go down to the hotel bar and get a drink before we have to leave? How soon can you be ready?”

I wanted to say that I was ready 20 minutes ago, but that would have been pushing my fantasy a bit too hard.

“Give me forty-five minutes and I’ll be good to go,” I said.

I worried that the dress I packed might be a bit much for the reunion. I wanted to look nice, but I didn’t want to look as if I was trying too hard. It was a red and black print sleeveless choker style dress that was cut maybe a half inch too short above the knee. I pulled up my hair in a twist to show off my neck and my shoulders. The way the fabric draped off my breasts and hips didn’t leave much of my figure to the imagination. Paired with a neutral glimmery sandal, I felt I was ready to take on the world. When I saw myself put together, it was just the right balance of sexy and ladylike; the perfect thing to wear for a drink with a man, Allen specifically.

He came five minutes early. He stood outside the bathroom door while I finished putting on my makeup and we started talking about everything that happened in the past thirty years … from the point where we fell out of contact right before senior prom. He asked Lucy Elliot to go. She wasn’t too keen on him being friends with me.

“So whatever happened to her?” I asked.

“Last I saw her was on TV,” he said before pausing for effect. “At a Dyke March in Washington, D.C.”

I nearly poked my eye with my mascara wand. I didn’t know if he was laughing with me or at me.

Then he composed himself, smiled, and watched me intently as I put all my makeup back in my cosmetic bag. I could see his stare from out of the door in the mirror. I tried to be oblivious to his admiring glance, but it was hard.

“How come I didn’t notice you like this in high school?” he asked when I walked out of the bathroom.

“Maybe because I was flat as a board and skinny and straight as a rail,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh as I passed by him to pick up my purse and key card.

It took us two martinis to get through our college years and first jobs. I went to U of M for psychology but chose getting married over med school. He dabbled in electronic engineering at Case Western for a few years until he landed a summer internship in Silicon Valley. He never went back to school.

“I was working on color monitors when the few people that owned computers had black and whites,” he said. “I was working on flat screens when people started converting to color tubes. I started poking around with digital video before I even thought of investing in a little start-up called YouTube.”

“And now?” I asked.

“I surf, rock climb, travel when it doesn’t interfere with my time at my VC firm. It’s been a short but lucky career,” he said, tipping his almost empty martini glass for a toast. “And you?”

“Couples counseling,” I said.

“I bet that’s a lucrative line of work in So. Cal,” he said. “Does anyone stay married for long down there?”

I felt the confidence of liquid courage rise in me.

“Well,” I said. “Let’s say I help happy couples stay even happier.”

Allen got a quizzical look on his face that begged to tell him more.

I hoped he was ready for my set up.

“My subspecialty is sex therapy,” I said with a feigned bashfulness in my smile.

“Oh, really?” he asked, looking for our waiter to bring another round of cocktails.

His eyes locked on me. The tip of his shoe brushed over my toes.

He leaned across the table closer to me, lowered his voice, and asked, “Can I tell you something in doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“You’re my friend,” I said. “It goes without asking.”

“I was married for three years,” he said in a hushed voice. “Broke up seven years ago. It shouldn’t have lasted as long as it did.”

I wanted to say I was sorry to hear that, but I wasn’t. I didn’t take any glee in hearting that, but it made him a free agent.

“Divorced five years,” I said. “Obviously I couldn’t fix my own problem. This is my first vacation alone.”

“You need to change that,” he said.

Then there was a pause like he wanted to confess something. I placed a hand on top of his to assure him that it would be safe to tell me whatever was on his mind.

I wanted an excuse to touch him, too.

“We split up because she didn’t appreciate my adventurous side, whether it was jumping out of planes naked or wanting to have sex on a plane,” he said.

The friend side of me wanted to say, “Did you ever take that leap onto a nude beach?” but he wasn’t setting a joking around mood. His fingers interlocked with mine as if they were joined for a slow dance.

He locked his eyes into mine and asked, “Does that scare you?”

All I could do was utter a very quiet, “No.”

He didn’t say a word. He kept his eyes on me as he let go of my fingers and let his fingertips trickle down the inside of my arm like a slow moving stream of water.

“What would you say if I said, ‘Let’s skip the reunion and go up to my room?’” he asked.

I didn’t say, “Yes.” I just slipped out of my hi-top chair until he said, “Wait.”

He put a $100 bill on the table and said, “Stay here until the waiter comes to collect the cash. Wait for the change and leave an appropriate tip. When you come to the door of my room, take off your dress and leave it on the floor.”

He didn’t give me chance to say, “Yes,” or “No.” He wrote his room number on a cocktail napkin, got up, sucked hard on my lower lip when he kissed me, and groped my ass before he walked away.

I was a flustered mess. A wash of hot redness spread across my chest, up my neck and all over my face. I broke out in a cold sweat. When I got up to walk to the elevator, my legs were shaking. They were shaking the way they do after exceptionally wild sex. I couldn’t remember the last time that happened. I felt like a disheveled mess and I had only been dressed for the evening for a couple of hours.

I tried in vain to catch my breath standing in the elevator to the top floor. I tried my best to wipe the dewiness off my skin with my bare hands, but even my palms were sweaty.

The elevator door opened. I tried to fan myself and hoped I could pull myself and my composure together before I got to his door. I prayed hard that no one was in the hall.

There was the room number that was on the napkin: 1435. I took one last deep breath before I pulled the zipper down at the back of my dress and let it fall to the ground. I stepped out of it quickly and struck a pose – one knee bent and the other straight – and quickly knocked on the door before anyone could see me. If anyone did, at least they could tell that I had good taste in lingerie.

He opened the door, pulled me in, and pinned me against the foyer wall before I had a chance to think or say anything.

His mouth devoured me as if he didn’t have food or drink for days. His hands clamored all over my body as if he was trying to touch every inch of me at once. I tried my best to undress him as quickly as I could, but my fingers couldn’t pull away from his ass, his shoulders, the back of his neck. His hardness pressed against me, but I didn’t want to break free from the tight grip we had on each other. I could feel his chest pound deep and rapidly as he pressed it against my breasts.

He pulled away slightly to pin my hands against the wall while our lips remained locked together. Above the maddening echoes of our heavy breaths, the sound of a zipper screeched above it all. The sound of his belt buckle made a powerful thud as it hit the carpet. I desperately wanted to feel the flesh of his ass and his cock, but instead I had to grab hold of his shoulders when he lifted me by the ass to pull my feet off the floor.

“Fuck me now! Fuck me please!” I begged as I felt his bare manhood rub against me.

I wrapped my legs around the bottom of his back tightly as he slipped the white silk aside to expose my pussy. He rubbed the tip of his cock up and down, getting it slick against my moistness.

“Please! Now! Please!” I cried, wanting and needing more than a tease.

His cock pushed its way inside of me, slowly at first, and then deeper when he could feel my tight and wet inside welcoming him in for more. He slid in and out faster and faster. Our cries grew louder and louder. I clenched his dick tight so that he wouldn’t come. He tried pulling back, but I could feel his excitement in knowing that he couldn’t do so freely.

It sounded like another woman’s voice that screamed, “Do this forever! Do this forever!” as he pounded into me deeper and more forcefully. I didn’t know how I could say that. Orgasms were taking over my capacity to think and verbalize. All I could feel was my internal buzz and him pressing on me like an oncoming freight train at full speed.

I gushed all over him, making his body tighten up for the final collision.

We finally collapsed on the floor of his suite. We stayed there for about an hour without saying a word, only touching each other until we finally got up.

“Are you sorry that you came out all this way and missed the reunion?” he asked when words could finally come out of his mouth.

All we could do was laugh. Hard.

Since then, I have learned a lot of new lessons that I teach the couples that I see like pursuing shared adventures and risk taking. There was even one couple in their early 60’s that I hardly had to convince to try naked skydiving together after I told them I did it and loved it.

And I’m still learning more lessons like that. I have the best study partner ever in Allen.