Did it again, love..I got it all wrong but it felt so right

We did it.

And I know that convention and morality says I should regret all of this....my religion, my parents, my friends and all the things I see on talk shows tell me I should regret it, but I don't. I fucking don't.

The memory of it still makes my cheeks flame up hot and I can't shake the savory, wicked flashbacks of Saturday night.

I think what makes encounters like this so deliciously appetizing is the wait...the anticipation is a mother fucker. It makes me feel like I'm swimming in an ocean of yearning, desire and wanting...I want, want, want so bad...and the hours never hurry up...and I'm not paying attention to the movie I'm watching or really listening to what this stupid customer is saying...I'm just waiting and I can't be satisfied at least partly until the moment comes.

Christmas was lovely. I spent Christmas Eve with my family and it was great to be free from Dan for a whole day. I got to open all my presents at midnight and it was just great being a Salvadorian again. I spent Christmas Day with Dan's family and tried to make the best of it...we played some lousy board game until 11 pm...my mind was racing towards Edgar. I didn't want to be with these people with their loud, yapping dogs and annoying little kids. I hate having to censor my language and not being able to drink some alcohol...it's times like these that I really do admire my family. Dan's family wants to be too much like the Waltons, no matter how hip they think they may be.

Did I mention that Dan spent all of Christmas Day and Christmas dinner in ratty sweat pants, un-showered and barefoot? His feet were covered in filth. I wanted to wretch.

Finally, the 26th rolled around: a bright Saturday morning. I got up as late as I could, showered and got dressed. I hung out with Dan's family (again!) and got to see Sherlock Holmes for free, at least. All during the movie, my mind kept drifting back to Ed. Is he going to stand me up? Has he shaven his goatee? What will his lips taste like? It's almost a miracle I didn't rush to the bathroom and masturbate to calm the craving for him. My insides churned. The movie was great, though. It was quite enhanced.

I got my car's oil changed and a free wash. While in the restroom of the auto spa, I text Edgar:

What time is good for you tonight?

I shuttled Dan back and forth between my mom's house in Whittier and the Citadel shopping center.

It has now been a few hours since my initial text. Desperation and an unyielding libido set in. I decided to up the ante:

I hope you didn't forget about me. I've got a bottle of Johnnie Walker and an empty house with your name on it. I want you so fucking bad. What time can we meet up?

I stash my phone in my pocket but not before erasing the last two outbound messages. I need to cover up my tracks and get rid of any damaging evidence. My heart slams so hard. My panties feel drenched.

The crowds at Fry's were ghastly but we killed some time spending my gift card money at the Roxy store. Dan was bored, I could tell, but I didn't care. I secretly shopped for something to wear for Ed: a sexy new top, a cute purse...some sandals...a few thermals. Which one of these shirts would wind up balled up in a heap on the floor of my bedroom? Only time would tell.

As we get in my car to go home, I hear my phone finally vibrate with a text message. I pray to God it's him. And it is.

At dinner, I check my phone again. Edgar has replied with one word:

Where?


I breathe. I type.

Meet meet at the same Starbucks as last time. 9 pm sound good to you?

He quickly replies:

Sure.

I reel in excitement:

Good. See you at 9. Wear cologne again.

I manage to get rid of Dan right after dinner and then it's a race to my house where I tell my mom and cousins I want to get dressed up to go drinking with a few choice girlfriends. I keep things vague so no one suspects too much. My cousin Carmen does my hair and my normally straight as a stick black hair is now an inviting head full of long wavy curls with a cute flip. I smile as I apply my make up. I breeze on my way out the door, everyone remarks that I smell good. I laugh with happiness. It's a good laugh.

The normal 5 minute drive to the Starbucks at Beverly and Norwalk feels excruciating. But as I turn into the driveway of the coffee shop, a White Solara beats me to it. It's Edgar, who else?

I watch him pull up next to my car and tremble as he gets out. He has a slender build, standing at about 5 foot 6 inches, weighing 160 lbs. (so he says) but at that precise moment, he feels like a giant to me. I shiver because of the cold and a little because of fear. He smiles and we embrace in the freezing air. "Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday!” he says and with a kiss, I'm his again. "Same to you!" I exclaim. The fabric of his baby blue short sleeve button up feels so good...he's wearing jeans, a dark blue thermal underneath and black and white Cons, just like me. I take inventory in his clothing because I don't want to skip a single detail.

We hash out the game plan in the parking lot and decide that a drive to Reseda is in order. My apartment is empty and the bottle of JW Blue label awaits us.

I love a man who enjoys a long drive. We race up the 101 North, Los Angeles in the Christmas time looking so beautiful. We talk about everything under the sun: work...family, the holidays, money...the subject inevitably turns to relationships and our situation...I think tonight there is no room for feeling guilty. It's clear we're both here to indulge.

At my apartment, he struggles to keep warm and we make out on the couch in the living room. I take a shot of whisky, Edgar savors his on the rocks. It's not long before we both shake off the nervous chatter again and press our mouths together. I cover his entire face and neck with soft, wet kisses...he strokes my breasts through the thin fabric of my brand new Roxy blouse and looks at me with these intense, dark brown eyes...his eyelashes are so long and gorgeous...I feel like I’m dreaming again. The alcohol swirls in my veins, did I really need to drink that Smirnoff Ice right after the shot of JW? Is this real? I feel dizzy and hot as he presses my back against the counter top and starts whispering to me: "I love how direct you are. I just know you want to pounce on me. That smile of yours...."

I can hardly find an answer for him. I giggle and kiss him profoundly with eyes closed. He runs his fingers through my hair and I stammer in a whisper: "Sorry-sorry, I have so much hair; it probably gets in your way." He grins with those smoldering eyes: "No. I love your beautiful long dark hair." We take breaks from the kissing to sip our drinks. He quickly makes the JW disappear which leaves me speechless...I remember trying to drink it myself and finding it so hard. He remarks on how much he loves the taste, so smoky, you can taste the wood and it kicks like a mule. He looks like a real man with that drink in his hand. With his arms around my waist, I feel like a real woman...finally.

We flirt, nibble and tease each other in the kitchen, pressing pause in our game only to polish off our drinks. I can’t wipe that knowing grin off his face and I feel like my cheeks are permanently suffused with red warmth. I can’t keep my hands off him. Letting him kiss me and caress me between my legs is the only way I can tell this is all real.

I work the nerve to say something when he claims that he’s only just a nerd with a love for history working in a law office, as if that should dissuade me from wanting to be with him. He confesses his love for the T.V. show Scrubs and takes my compliments with a boyish charm that I find irresistible.

“Oh but you’re my type. You’ve always been spot on, with that spiky black hair. Those brown eyes...that mouth...that goatee that makes you look like Cortez…” I trail off and nuzzle close to his ear. “Dime en español” he murmurs. My eyes flutter open and I meet his stare. I swallow hard and find the words: “Ay, pero es que eres, tan, pero tan guapo.” He kisses me deeply and hard before answering: “Y tú eres mi Salvadoreña.” I am his Salvadorian girl, he breathes in Spanish and I believe him, if only for that moment. He has me pinned against the counter top again, like a tiger stalking his prey. I feel his erection against my hip and my hand (as if by its own) strokes it. He tries to lift me up and take me there but I resist and pull away. “Oh no no no, if you want those acrobatics, then let’s go over there” I laugh and point to the bedroom, “And finish that drink, too.” He accepts my challenge and drains the last bit of JW from the glass and takes me by the hand. No turning back now.

It all plays out like a dream…like some pornographic fantasy come true. I start taking off my bracelets and watch, he pulls his shirts off and drops his jeans. He notices Dan’s messy side of the room, while mine is spotless and orderly. I shrug, “That’s us in a nutshell.” But the best part is the fact that Dan and I have separate beds. We get naked and jump into mine. ROUND ONE: He has a nice body, slim and without a single blemish. His hands roam all over my body, settling at last in the spot between my legs. He finds my clit almost instantly and I’m so, so ready for him. It takes every single part of me to focus as I slip my tongue in his mouth, but he won’t let me think. He’s rubbing that stubborn little spot and it’s making me tremble uncontrollably. All that messing around in the kitchen and that big swig of Johnnie Walker has left me primed and ready to go. My pussy feels wet and hot and I know he’s having an easy time bringing me close to orgasm. But it can’t end so quickly. I want him to go first before I can. It doesn’t matter what my brain wants. His mouth takes turns suckling each of my breasts and I’m helpless, “Easy, easy….” I gasp but it’s useless. All my thoughts are hazy and coming in fragments, I’m losing every little bit of control to him. My body is telling him everything I want and he’s doing it. “How does it feel?” I moan as I look into his gorgeous brown eyes but I don’t need him to answer. My head is buzzing with heat and passion. I’m shaking. I plead for him to stop but my mouth and my hands and my dripping pussy say keep going: “I’m going to come all over your hand!” I cry but it’s too late. And he whispers he doesn’t care as I give in and let the wave come over me. “Oh God!” is all I can say when words finally don’t escape me. I hold onto him as he takes me again and again, each orgasm making me feel like I'm falling deeper and deeper under his spell. He is relentless and I beg for more, at one point asking him to tell me when he wants me to come. My only request is that he look me right in the eyes when I finally do succumb to the hot, intoxicating orgasm.

He has little time to celebrate my climaxes before I hastily grab a condom. ROUND TWO: He rips open the package and slips it on. Seconds later, I’m on top and riding him savagely. I love the look on his face. He’s fair skinned but now he’s redder than God knows what. It’s his turn now to suffer in ecstasy. His cock slips out a couple of times but we’re able to get him to fit right back in, nice and tight. It’s heaven and I can’t believe it’s real. I’m going to wake up soon, right? He slaps my ass and that only makes my hips undulate faster. I buck and throw my head back in wanton pleasure. I freeze when I feel that familiar feeling creep closer. I want to come again so bad. He looks so good laying there underneath me, his mouth straining to reach mine. My long hair cascades over us as we meet in an ardent kiss. We switch and he gets on top (with a brief pause to wait out the cramp in his right leg!). He slips in easily again and fucks me like a pro. My nails claw into his back as he thrusts me closer to another hot, shimmering orgasm. I hear him groan as my lips find the spot between his ear and neck. I can smell the cologne I asked him to wear. That just propels me even closer. I rub my hands over his arms as he holds himself up to fuck me; the muscles in his biceps are taut and strained. His face is red, wet with perspiration and knotted in sweet agony. I know that face. I know he’s going to come. I manage to choke out a barrage of filthy obscenities as the feeling takes over me. “Oh God, I’m going to come soon. Are you coming, too baby?” I say through gritted teeth. He reaches down to reward me with several feverish kisses and shakes his head urgently. Oh that sweet, torrential agony. I hook my left leg over his right shoulder and wrap my right leg around him. This tightens the sensation. We both struggle against one another, finally reaching that delicious release. “Oh fuck! Oh Edgar! Oh God! Oh Ed-Eddie!” I feel it wash over me again, my vagina contracting viciously on his dick. “Yeah, say my name!” he groans and I answer back with several expletives and his name over and over. He closes his eyes and collapses on me. My arms instantly wrap around his torso and hold him close. He buries his head on my shoulder and I sigh. I know he’s exhausted and so am I. We lay there for a bit, still connected. My hair is spread all over the pillow. I can feel the sweat covering my forehead. I want to stay like this forever but inevitably he has to pull out (my least favorite feeling in the world!) and dispose of the condom.

We cuddle in bed and get under my thick blankets to fend off the cold. I forget to turn the heating on…oh well! We talk and trade fervent kisses. I trace the scar above his left eyebrow with my index finger and ask him what happened. He sighs and says it’s the “one that got away.” Apparently, he slipped in a school bathroom and slammed his forehead on the edge of a urinal. But his parents didn’t bother to give it a second thought and to this day he regrets not seeking some sort of legal action. “Working in a law office and knowing what I know now, we could’ve made some serious money” he laughs. I tell him it’s a cute scar. “Chicks dig scars” he jokes and I reply with “And bones heal and the United States of America has the best doctor-to-daredevil ration in the world!” There’s nothing sexier than two people who can quote the Simpsons in bed.

We let our hands roam all over each other again. “Just give me a few minutes, I know I can get ready for another round” he says and I can hardly believe it. “You can come again?” I ask. He nods his head and gives me a smile. A short refractory period in a 25 year old man...fascinating!

I sit up on my elbow as he palms my breasts: “So I guess you’re not some three pump-”

“Chump?” He cuts in with a look of amusement on his face.

I laugh, “I was going to say champ but that works, too.”

We kiss some more and chat about how stupid we were not to do this sooner. I try to keep the trash talking about Dan to a minimum. I know Edgar still harbors some feelings of resentment towards Dan because of all their playground rivalry back in middle school. Dan teased Ed because he was smaller (still is) and made fun of him when he got pantsed by another group of boys. Guys just can’t seem to let that shit go, huh? I sometimes wonder if Ed is seeking revenge on Dan by hooking up with me. I try and take my mind off of it. I know Ed wishes he could always have me like this and it bothers him that Dan thinks so little of me at times. “If I was him, I’d rush to get home just so I could fuck you every single night.” It’s the raging hard-on talking. I know it. I giggle and kiss my way down his chest and across his flat stomach. I kiss his sides, ribs and revel in the soft skin of his belly. I smile in smug satisfaction at my discovery. He’s hard again and ready for me. ROUND THREE: I instantly grab his cock and begin jerking him off. I’ve never actually been good at this and I feel clumsy. I know he senses it and helps me along. I blush and tell him I’m no good. We all know what I’m really gifted at: I take a deep breath, exhale and slip his cock in my mouth. I suck all the way to the root and inch by inch, he fills my throat. I can feel the involuntary tears start to come as I deep throat him. Oh but it’s good. He groans and reaches for me in desperation. He won’t last long now. I suckle him, my tongue running up the underside of his shaft, my lips caressing the head. He’s uncircumcised; I know...but it only really matters when he comes. I moan all over his dick, hoping he can feel the vibrations. He twists in that familiar way guys do when they’re going to erupt. It’s like he’s swallowed glass or something. I give him a muffled, “Almost?” and he shakes his head, “Yes, yes, almost there.” I suck and suck with all my might, my lips feel numb, I’m getting lightheaded. “Just a little bit more, almost, almost…” he struggles to say. I can’t stop now. I go faster and harder until I hear him gasp. Immediately my mouth is filled with a warm, salty liquid: semen. I moan in satisfaction and lick it all up. I rest my head on his chest and we bask in the post-coital glow. We struggle to keep our feet warm but they feel like blocks of ice. I blame my distaste for socks during sex, he blames his poor circulation. He remarks that if we go for another around, it will be quite hard to pry him out of bed and we might have to spend the night. But before we can get too cozy with the idea of sleeping in each other’s arms until morning, I feel a sharp pain in my vagina. I know what it is already: tons of air trapped in there because of all the thrusting. That’s our cue to start getting dressed. It’s a sad thing to do but it’s almost 2 am and we have a long drive home.

I re-make the bed and straighten out my sheets, Ed volunteers to wash the cups (thank you!) and we take out the trash with the condoms in it. It’s like nobody was ever here.

The drive home is nice. He puts the heater on and I feel sleepy almost instantly. We talk about music and family. He looks over at me and says I look content and satisfied. I stretch like a lazy cat and tell him that I am. We let our hands touch. “We can’t kid ourselves; there’s going to be a next time, isn’t there?” I ask. He nods, “I can’t keep saying there won’t be...I know it’s not true. Not after this.”

We reach Whittier and I find my car, again, thankfully not towed or impounded at the Starbucks. It’s been 5 hours since I was last here. Time flies.

“You know how to reach me,” he says as he leans over to kiss me sweetly.

“I know. But I don’t want to crowd your shit. I’ll find you,” I say and he smiles.

“Thank you, thank you, and thank you!” I whisper quickly as we kiss again and again. Saying goodbye to Ed is never an easy thing. I slip out the passenger side but not before pausing to look at him. I dare to say what I know he’s thinking:

“This could be every day of your life.”

He looks up at me and grips the steering wheel. He nods in agreement. I can tell the remark has registered somewhere in the confines of his mind. Among all the card games with the fellas, the law school applications, family engagements and work day commutes: my comment is now staked there in things for him to think about. He could really have it all with me. And it pains me to even consider it. I know the best revenge Dan could have on me is the dissolution of any real relationship with Edgar, or worse yet: falling in love with Ed and then having my heart broken.

It intrigues me and at the same time frightens me to remember a quote Ed gave me from Camus about how the best kind of love story is the one where the other person dies. Maybe happy endings aren’t for everybody.

We text each other the next day, remarking how sore we both are from the sex. The soreness in my abs, arms and legs are magnificent reminders, if only temporary, of what the body is capable of. I wish my heart would just stay out of it and not start to creep in, because after that, there is no way back.