Date


I stood there, looking at Bobby. He was standing there in the doorway
to my apartment. Smiling from ear to ear, obviously happy to see me.
Suddenly he was practically on me, his arms around me.

"Bobby!?" My mind was racing.

"Let's go out! Right now!" He sounded like a little kid... so happy.
"I just *had* to see you right away--I *missed* you so much!"

It was so soon. How could he have gotten home and back here so
quickly? And his reaction to seeing me! He must have come straight
here from the airport. After being gone for a week! What was I going
to do? He obviously hadn't listened to my message. I thought, as
quickly as I could. Tell him right now? Just like this? "Bobby...," I
started. I couldn't go on.

"Come on!" Still enthusiastic. Pulling me out. I felt guilty. I hadn't
*planned* on my seeing him at *all*. And I realized that I was going
to have to face up to it. To tell him over dinner. It was only
decent--I know it had been a chicken to do it on the answering machine
while he was out of town, but I'd been beside myself worrying about
how and when I was going to do this, and I'd been possibly a little
drunk. Fortunately I'd been, well, *kind* in my choice of words, if
that is possible under the circumstances. But now here he was. And it
seemed like fate was going to make me do it properly. The door closed
behind us.

Suddenly he was kissing me there, in the corrider, in front of my
apartment door. He *can* kiss. *That* wasn't the problem, I realized.
Well if he'd kissed me like that more often, maybe things would have
been different. I felt trapped, being kissed right there, but I
realized a last kiss was only fair, I suppose. And I didn't mind
getting one more of those kisses. I gave in and started returning it.

And wondered. What was I doing? What was I doing kissing him like
this? Is this breaking up with him? I felt his body against mine. His
tongue. The way his hands moved across my back and through my hair.
"Let's skip dinner," he whispered in my ear.

I shouldn't. I couldn't, but I couldn't get out of it! It was either
tell him this instant or go along with it. But the moment was right
for only one thing. I unlocked my door as his body pressed against my
back. Then we were back in my apartment with the door shut behind us.

One last time. I wouldn't hate him in the future--I knew I wouldn't.
If only things had been just a little different. We were going to have
one more memory. He could be *so* good. Suddenly I was off my feet, in
his arms. And then on my couch. And my pants were undone.

I lay there. On the couch, staring at the ceiling. My fingers were in
his hair. He had me in heaven, his tongue, probing and dancing,
carrying me away.

My knees were raised, to each side of his head. I was about to faint,
I was breathing so fast. I didn't remember it like this before. Ever.

He was kissing my cheek. And my ear and my neck--I felt I must have
blacked out for a second, and then there he was, on top of me. Or
rather over me: he wasn't crushing me. "Did you like that?" he asked.
Stupid question! Then I felt him guiding himself into me. Well, not
quite: he rubbed it up and down my vulva. And his fingers on me. And
rubbed it again. I could tell it was so hard. I imagined the feel of
it entering me. He kissed me in the mouth. "Do you want me in you?" he
asked.

I didn't answer. "Do you?"

"Yes!"

He plunged into me. I was ready. I was so, so ready. He kissed me
again, on the mouth, not moving yet. "I love this so much," he
whispered in my ear. "With you."

Then he was moving. Harder and harder. I was gone again, I could tell,
no worries left in my mind. I looked up at his face--the desire was
written all over it. I briefly wondered what *I* was looking like,
overcome by desire, but I couldn't hold onto a thought like that for
long.

It was so *right*. But I wanted more--my body did its best to get him
into me faster, deeper. I wrapped my legs around him locking my feet.

I hope I didn't scream. I know I moaned--I get so embarrassed about
that though I guess it actually makes it even better for a guy. Who
wouldn't want to have someone moaning?

And then we spooned--in my bed. And did it again, but much more
slowly. I felt it was hours I was lying there, him inside of me. I
didn't want it to end--I wanted to go to sleep like that or something.
How could something feel so right?

I didn't dare turn the light on. He'd fallen asleep. I stared at the
ceiling, thinking about him, thinking about sex and love, and thinking
about the conversation we hadn't had. And thinking about the phone
message.

I found his keys in the dark and managed to get out without waking
him. The streets were completely deserted as I drove over--it must
have been 3AM. I got into his apartment. Something made me keep the
lights off while I crossed the room: guilt about sneaking around, I
suppose. I reached the phone machine, and then had to turn on a lamp
to see what I was doing.

I often wake up first in the morning and find myself staring at Bobby
while he sleeps. And after all these years, I still wonder: was the
phone machine working when I left that message?