Annabelle’s cotton sheets have ducks on them. They’re not made of as nice of a material as the satin I’m laying on now, but the ducks are so cute and so her. I can imagine Annabelle’s face when she’d determined that I stood her up on New Year’s Eve. I feel so horrible and so cold.
We met three weeks ago. Annabelle kept glancing over at me in the coffee house, obvious and sweet.
She buried her nose in her book as I walked to her, suddenly shy. Her red oxford vest was rumpled and her white collars were uneven. Her tapered khakis were wrinkled and her clunky low heels were scuffed. Annabelle looked for all the world like the sweet-sexy literature grad student she was in her untidy — but flattering — clothes. She read Jane Austen, a Penguin paperback Emma. Adorable.
I tugged her high black ponytail as I passed her table, then grinned mischievously at her as she turned at my childish affront.
“I’m Lea. Are you going to ask me to sit, or just pout at me for teasing you?”
Annabelle smiled and gestured at the seat across the bistro table from her. I sat and took her IPhone from the tabletop, using it to dial and then hanging up at one ring.
“What was that?” She’s cute when she’s off kilter.
“I wanted your name and number. So now we can just enjoy the deep conversation we’re about to have without me worrying over contact information.” I smiled my best disarming smile.
“We’re about to have a deep conversation?” Annabelle can blush and sparkle at the same time.
“That depends.” I surveyed her dog-eared copy. She’d closed the book, but kept her page with her index finger. “How many times have you read Emma and why?”
“Every December. Just to help me get in the spirit.” She shrugged half-apologetically.
Three hours of conversation on cabbages and kings later- along with a few winks from me and not entirely innocent touches of her pretty hands – I was walking her home in the cool evening air.
I kissed her on the steps to her apartment. A soft, Vancouver-in-December snow dusted us with powder as my tongue slipped between her lips to bring my warm wetness into her pliant mouth.
“So, are you going to invite me up?” My hands pressed beneath her winter coat, beneath the silly white shirt tail, and beneath the oxford vest, to find the small of her back. My cold hands on her hot skin made her shiver and press closely into me. “It’s all cold and snowy out here. I wanna get inside.”
I hoped she’d ask me in. I’m charismatic and sexy with my long, dirty blonde hair, my large, perky breasts, and my undeniable sexual swagger. And I’m hella fun. More often than not, I’m invited up.
“Lea, we just met.” Sweet Annabelle looked doubtful. “Can we get to know each other a little more first?”
“Sure.” I kept my arms around her. “I’m a Libra. You?”
She slapped my shoulder playfully from inside my arms.
“You know what I mean. Can we wait until next time?”
I probably could have pushed my way in, but decided to wait. I wish I would have taken advantage of the opportunity.
“Of course.” I bent to nuzzle my cold cheek against hers, thinking. My choice for our next date needed to be uncontroversial and not in either of our wheelhouses, but still had to demonstrate taste, keenness, and sensitivity. Most importantly, by the social conventions of dating, whatever we did would need to be at least three wasted days away so I wouldn’t seem desperate. “There’s a showing of Planet Ant: Life Inside the Colony at the university theater on the 10th at 8:30. Interested?”
“Yeah. That sounds great.” She was lying. No one wants to watch ants for 90 minutes, but at least I knew she really wanted to see me again.
“Cool. I’ll meet you here at 8 on Friday.” I went back to kissing her slowly in the softly falling snow. Annabelle kissed me back, her tongue shyly darting into my mouth. As she gained confidence, her oral acrobatics thrilled me. We made out on the street like teenagers for the better part of an hour. Then my fingertips found the shell of her ear, and both felt nearly frost-bitten.
I broke our kiss. She whimpered, but one of us needed to be responsible.
“I may not be going up, Annabelle, but you have to get in out of this snow. I’ll see you Friday?” I took her hand and placed a courtly kiss on her dainty wrist.
“Okay.” Annabelle held on to my hand as she stepped backwards up the three entryway stairs to her foyer. She tripped on the top step, I guess expecting one more.
For a split second, she looked like she’d take a spill onto the cement sidewalk, but I caught Annabelle falling forward into my arms. I’ve never been more grateful for quick reflexes. Letting her go immediately wasn’t going to happen either.
I righted her and kissed her forehead.
“Little distracted were you?” I asked cheekily.
It brought that charming blush I wanted to see again. I put light kisses all over her flushed face and cinched my left arm firmly around her waist. Gripping the railing with my right hand, I walked/kissed her safely up the steps and opened her door for her before letting Annabelle go.
I strolled through the chill to the bus stop and paid more attention on the ride home to the Christmas lights and garlanding that changed the hues and mood of the city. Into the spirit and all.
Annabelle stood waiting for me on her step at 7:45 on Friday. Her face lit up when I handed her an eggnog latte, steaming in the cold winter air. She wore gloves and earmuffs, apparently prepared this time for some outdoor attention. She wore Uggs that crunched the snow under our feet.
We left our cold-weather gear on the racks just inside the theater door and found seats. I spent an hour and a half of my life sitting next to her, smelling the soft cinnamon of the latte mix with the undertones of her sweet-scented perfume, but learning about leafcutter ants. That’s an hour and a half of my life that I’ll never get back, and I could have been touching her.
The error was quickly corrected. We only half-hearted discussed ants on the way back to her apartment. This time I didn’t wait at the door for an invitation. I took her gloved hand (I know, less sexy, but what else could I do?) and led her upstairs to her apartment door.
I waited there expectantly, making inane small talk as Annabelle fumbled with her keys. I liked her nervousness.
Annabelle started to make the standard apologies made by all grad students living in tiny, crummy apartments while I removed my coat and scarf. I stopped her by starting the rather arduous challenge of getting all her clothes off.
The earmuffs, Uggs, and gloves came off quickly. Her knit sweater (Yes, with reindeer on it. Shut up. It’s cute.) lifted over her head to reveal firm porcelain flesh. I explored her shoulders with my mouth while my fingers went to unbutton and loose the fly of her jeans.
Her bra was simple white, unhooking in the back under the manipulation of my nimble fingers while my mouth continued to distract and confound her with its speed moving across her skin.
“Slow down, Lea, slow down.” She put my hands around her neck, but only after I’d gotten her bra completely off to free her plump breasts capped with candy nipples. “Let me get my bearings first.”
Annabelle’s gentle hands caressed my face and neck. Her soft lips found mine and stopped the earth turning for a few moments.
“Now you be still.” Annabelle wagged her finger at me with a smiling frown, causing her breasts to jiggle invitingly. I doubted authoritarian play from her would be in our future. It was fun to let her call a few shots though. Before I topped her, of course.
She knelt in front of me, raising one of my feet and then the other to take off my snow boots and knit socks. I watched entranced as she undid my fly and pulled down my jeans, leaving me oddly top heavy in a UofV sweat shirt and a periwinkle thong.
Correcting the problem, Annabelle stood and took off my shirt without taking off my periwinkle demi-cup bra. She stepped back to admire me.
“Lea, you’re femininity perfected.” Her eyes devoured my body. For the first time since my first time, I felt exposed and a little anxious myself. All my unaccustomed nervousness and pent up excitement seemed to funnel through my tummy and directly into my pussy.
Annabelle’s sexy stare continued to travel up and down the length of my body, without her moving to touch the breasts offered up to her or the sex that she set afire. She shimmied out of her jeans and cotton panties, but never stopped watching me twitch like a waiting racehorse.
“Come with me?”
I followed her dutifully into her bedroom, not even reaching out to goose her delightful ass. She turned to face me, abashed again. Her assertiveness capacity was apparently maxed.
“I just wanted to see you. Will you touch me again, now? Please?” Her tentative voice aroused the aggressor in me.
“Yes, Annabelle.” I walked behind her, played one hand across her bellybutton and over her hip, and groped one of her firm, full breasts with the other. “I’m about to touch you a lot,” I whispered to her in a voice lowered with mock-menace.
Annabelle shivered against me again.
I easily pushed her face down onto the quilted covers on her bed. She gasped in surprise at the sudden transition, but voiced no other objection. Climbing over her, I kissed and fondled my way from the curve of her shoulder to the cleft of her ass. Reaching her flawless globes, I kissed and kneaded her asscheeks and spreading upper thighs until her moans changed in pitch from want to need.
My lips brushed hers, puffy and ready, begging for my attentions. Annabelle’s moans verged on musical. Silver bells tinkling for me.
I dipped my tongue into her depth for a taste of honey. And immediately wanted more.
My thumb sussed out Annabelle’s clit and attacked it with strokes and flicks while I tonguefucked her with short breaks to slurp up the large quantities of honey she produced. The pitch of her moans changed again; this time to something more animalistic than need.
When her moans became muffled and her hips began bouncing, I popped my head up to check in. She’d smushed the quilts together as a pillow for her to bite so as to dampen her sounds as she drew close to coming. I was having none of that.
I pinched her clit while nearly unhinging my tongue to jam it as deep into her pussy as I could physically manage. Her head went back and she screamed her climax aloud for all Vancouver – and certainly her wall-pounding neighbor — to hear.
I laid my head on her glorious ass, decidedly pleased with myself at bringing her off so hard and thinking we both deserved a break.
We stayed like that until I noticed goose-pimples on the asscheek I was facing. Reluctantly, I stood and pulled back the covers to lay her down under their warmth. I laughed aloud when I saw the cartoon duck sheets. Annabelle’s personality bursts out at odd moments.
I maneuvered her onto the sheet and crawled in next to her, pulling the covers up to our necks. I held the base of her ponytail and gently pulled the hairband off. Annabelle’s glossy black hair spilled all over her pillow. I cuddled up to her so that her soft breath rhythmically warmed my cheek.
Then I knew nothing until the heat of the sun’s rays woke me.
I stroked her smooth dark tresses where they fell on the pillow. She smiles in her sleep.
For a half hour or more, I pet her and watched her face as she slept curled up to me. I’m not sure if that woke Annabelle or if she woke naturally, but her smile widened when her eyes opened on me.
“Good morning, lovely Lea,” she intoned sleepily.
“Good morning, drowsy Annabelle.” My caresses now included her face and her neck.
“I fell asleep,” she commented rather stupidly, not awake enough yet for a real conversation.
“Yes. Yes, you did.” I smiled back at her indulgently. “You sleep like an angel.”
She answered me with a sloppy kiss to my cheek, then frowned slightly.
“I, I have to go…pee,” she whined, “but I’m so snug here.”
“Yeah, I’m glad you feel ‘snug,’ but you’d better get going.”
Annabelle rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Her mussed hair and sexy ass had my mind back on the same well worn track.
I stretched, staying under the heavy covers in her cold apartment. Someone needed to talk to the manager about the heating situation. If only for the weekend though, I took it upon myself to keep her body temperature up.
Gritting my teeth, I crept out of bed and into Annabelle’s kitchen to start a pot of coffee. My underwear was all still on. I don’t think I’ve ever spent a night in a girl’s bed without stripping out of my underwear before. I certainly never will again.
She returned from her mission in a thick robe, handing me one too.
“I’m sorry, Lea. This is the only other robe I have. And you’ll have to borrow my toothbrush. I don’t have guests over much.”
“Mmm, nice.” I felt immeasurably warmer and hugged her a proper good morning. “I brought a toothbrush. And enough clothes for the weekend. Seducing you wasn’t exactly a spontaneous decision, Annabelle,” I eyed her roguishly, “for either of us.”
She blushed, but didn’t and really couldn’t and wouldn’t dispute my assertion. This time I did goose her ass before walking toward the bathroom.
“Are you hungry?” Her tone was neutral, but I turned and my eyebrows rose of their own accord at her question. Occasionally, a dirty mind bleeds over onto a pretty face. Like mine.
“For food,” Annabelle stammered darlingly, “I’m offering you breakfast. Food. Ham, toast, hashbrowns, and eggs for breakfast.”
“You can cook, too? Score.” I retracted my eyebrows. “I’d absolutely love breakfast, but — yes — I’ll be eating you again later, too.”
I left Annabelle to chew on that while I performed my morning routine. I walked back into her kitchen to her quietly singing “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” as she fried breakfast.
Despite my threat/promise of more oral sex to come, we lingered over the breakfast table for four hours and two pots of coffee. We argued good-naturedly over Dickens, Tolkien, Baum, and Buck, with me repeatedly playing devil’s advocate to bait and get a rise out of the literary and opinionated Annabelle.
“Forget British authors and their cookie-cutter Christmas endings. Give me a Dane. Let Hans Christian Andersen tell of his little match girl and give the hope of the traditional Norse doomed hero.”
“You’re awful, Lea. The best Christmas story ever written is Dr. Seuss’s The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, because the spirit of Christmas makes everything and everyone come out alright. No more doom and gloom of 19th century fairy tales.”
Sensing the tenderhearted Annabelle’s discomfort and wanting to relieve and reward it, I left my chair and straddled her lap. I nibbled her earlobe and stole my hands into her robe to heft her lovely breasts.
“Guess what I like with my green eggs and ham?” My thumbs circled her nipples and pressed their centers. “‘Cause I’m hungry again.”
I ran my fingernails over the sensitive skin of the undersides of her generous boobs. My lips worked down her jaw and neck. My hands unwillingly released her breasts to loosen her belt and give my mouth access.
Candy nipples indeed. My mouth enveloped her left nipple, hard point pressing eagerly against the flat of my tongue as Annabelle thrust out her chest and pushed herself further into my mouth. Her right nipple was quickly pinched by thumb and index finger.
“Leeeea!” Her gasping my name is the most provocative sound I ever heard.
My right hand slipped between my legs and hers to find her dripping for me. I love a girl who’s effortlessly DTF. Two fingers importuned their way inside, drawing out her special sauce.
Still straddling Annabelle, I leaned back against the table. She licked her lips as I very hammily licked my fingers. She grabbed my wrist and wrapped her lips around the base of my fingers, slowly sucking off every last trace of moisture.
“Damn that’s hot.” She’d thoroughly cleaned them, but my fingers stayed in her mouth. “But I am moderately disappointed that you still haven’t gotten me naked yet.”
She tongueflicked my fingers playfully before releasing them.
“Let’s fix that.” Her hands rolled the robe off my shoulders easily as I hadn’t bothered to belt mine. Annabelle re-wet her lips as she unfettered my bouncing boobs. Her newly lubricated lips moved forward toward my enticing and excited nipples, but I stopped her physically with my hands on her shoulders.
“Not-uh, Miss Distractible. I’m still wearing a thong.” I stood with my hands capping her shoulders and she pulled my thong down over my hips. “And I’m hungry. Be a good hostess?”
I went to my knees before her, my head ducked under her robe. I put her knees over my shoulders and nibbled my way up the inside of her thigh until I nuzzled right up to her fragrant pussy.
“Lea…” Her sighing my name was pretty fucking good too.
My hands gripped the tops of her thighs and her pelvis was lifted slightly off her chair, so that she had to grip the seat with her hands to keep balanced.
I lunged blindly into her, lapping the length and breadth of her folds and her slit. Unrushed and unimpeded, my tongue swirled, twirled, and played within her.
Her thighs quaked. Her breath hitched. Annabelle called to me.
“Please, Lea? Please take me over? Ahhhh, ah, please?”
My mouth seized her clit, expelling my hot breath onto it, sucking, hugging it with the curl of my tongue, manipulating her most susceptible part of her self until I heard-
“Lea, fuck me! Oh Lea, Lea! Thank you!!!”
My “you’re welcome” may have been muffled by her thighs. It was purely reflexive. Who says “thank you” for an orgasm and during an orgasm? She’s totally lovable.
I stood back up, shook myself, and straddled her lap again while she tried to remember her name.
Cheek-to-cheek, I whispered to her. “I am totally wet for you. Take me to your bed?”
Annabelle gathered herself and me. We walked naked back to her bedroom.
She laid me down flat on my back on her bed, crawled between my legs, and proceeded to drive me wild.
Her elbows rested on my jerking hips with her hands reaching up to my ribcage. She held me still as her zealous tongue plundered my sex, pushing me from wet to flooding. I lay torn between watching her at her art and closing my eyes to better concentrate on the feel of her lips and tongue.
Still trying to hold me pinned with one arm and attacking my clit with her agile tongue, Annabelle’s other hand fingered me. One finger, two, then three. Her fingers moved quickly and decisively in counterpoint to her mouth at my pearl.
After minutes at breakneck speed charged me to the point of rapture, she brought me to brilliant climax, moaning her name. Exquisite Annabelle.
We spent the weekend that way, in a cycle of sex, talking, and food. Most of the next two weeks of Christmas vacation too, although we mixed in a poetry night, two movies, an art gallery and a natural history museum, a stand-up comic, and four rounds of racquetball.
Before we’d met, Annabelle bought tickets to visit her parents for the last week of December. We decided on a late supper at Bacchus Restaurant & Lounge on the 22nd to celebrate Christmas, knowing we wouldn’t see each other in person again until New Year’s Eve.
I waited inside the Wedgewood for her arrival. The staff decorated hotel lobby and the restaurant in Old World Christmas and holiday musical standards drifted out into the street.
We’d wanted to dress up. I wore black pinstripe tight silk trousers, a matching silk waistcoat over a women’s white dress shirt, a dark green ascot, and black leather dancing pumps. A French twist kept my hair immaculate. I looked rather natty really, without sacrificing my alluring figure.
Annabelle got out of a taxi on the curb, so beautiful. She did her raven hair in a faux bob, with relatively few loose strands having to be constantly tucked behind her ears. Through our night of dining and dancing, her insubordinate hair kept not quite falling out of her careful styling.
Her dark green velvet dress was floor length, high collared, and sleeveless with a slit up the side to her mid-thigh. Her Mary Janes matched.
We waltzed to “Silent Night,” “Silver Bells,” “So This is Christmas,” “Pretty Paper,” and “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” She danced wonderfully, moving fluidly across the floor in my arms. Her dress twirled and flirted against my legs. Annabelle smiled coyly when she felt my hardness against her leg. I wanted never to stop dancing with her in her gracefulness and suppleness, but the waiter served our supper.
After a traditional Christmas dinner of goose, roast potatoes, and veggies — with bûche de Noël for dessert – we exchanged gifts. She bought me a bright pink tee-shirt that loudly proclaimed “Obnoxious is the New SEXY!” Perfect. I gave her a leather-bound edition of Jane Austen’s collected works. She touched her new present in such a loving way that I was nearly jealous.
We took a cab through the snowy streets to her place, fairly running upstairs with the giddiness of the evening and the anticipation of pleasure to come.
Inside, I unzipped her dress, kissing every inch of her braless back as I exposed it to the cool air of her bedroom. I slipped the velvet fabric off her elegant shoulders, then reached around her to mold her breasts in my palms. The softness of her skin rivaled the velvet.
I let her dress fall down her hips, baring Annabelle’s silken curls to the caresses of my tender fingers. I tickled her outer lips. I blew and cooed into her ear.
“Are you agreeable, my sweet?”
She reclined onto her bed, actually asking “come hither?” as though her look weren’t enough. I stayed dressed, only removing my shoes. She deserves a gentleman after all. I unzipped myself as well and freed my strapon.
I topped her – thighs-to-thighs, hips-to-hips, breasts-to-breasts — with only my slick silk suit between our hot skins.
My lips sought out hers. I intended to kiss her gently, reassuringly, but Annabelle’s hunger overwhelmed me. The passion amplified. Our fingers interlocked above our heads as I held her arms down. Our kiss stopped in our mutual need for air.
Her legs opened to me.
My shoulders hunched and my hips pistoned. I gave her the thrusting of her life, sped by the lubrication of her succulent pussy.
Annabelle faced the ceiling. Her words were unintelligible and her tone was unmistakable. Her eyes remained closed in her bliss. Her angelic face and its every contour and pigment burned into my memory as she experienced the joy of maximum pleasure indulgence.
My head dropped to the pillow next to hers, my lips mere centimeters from her ear.
“Cum for me. Lose it, baby. Cum.”
The tension that built through my thrusts and her counter-thrusts erupted out of her as her orgasm detonated. She ruined my pants. I cannot fully express how much I didn’t care.
She went limp beneath me and I collapsed exhausted, thinking it was time for cuddle and sleep. Annabelle wasn’t having it though.
After a few minutes, she wriggled out from under me and yanked my pants off me. My strapon followed and I was rolled onto my back. I felt cool air on my business, before she settled in between my legs and exhaled her hot breath into me. My senses jumbled in the mixed temperatures.
I marshaled the energy required to lift my head from the pillow and watch Annabelle at work. All I could see between my own legs was the tangled mop of her dark hair and intense glint of her determined eyes. I would be coming.
She kissed inside my firm thighs, turning back and forth between the two and ever upward. She ultimately nuzzled into my dark blonde curlies, her nose brushing directly against my clit. Her mouth frenched my pussy, tongue slipping deep into me and teeth grazing my enflamed labia.
Her kisses, her licks, her nibbles, and her nips loped up and down my slit, hitting all the hotspots and keeping me on edge but not allowing the free fall I so desperately needed.
“Please, Annabelle? Please bring me off?” She even had me begging politely.
The only answer I received was a bob of her head and a shift of her focus to my strained clit. Her mouth clamped on to my clit and her tongue dragged with tantalizing slowness up the underside before thwacking on the button. She repeated her craved abuse of my sexual nerve center until my vision blurred and I saw a white light screaming through my brain.
Annabelle finished undressing me and tucked me in facing her. I fell asleep to her gently playing with my nipples.
She left for her parents’ house the next day. I didn’t want to let her leave the bed. If only I hadn’t let her go.
We video-chatted every day for hours. If anything, the lack of the physical distraction of sex (except the one night we had phone sex) gave us a chance to grow much closer, much faster.
Still, even with calls overseas to my parents and holiday parties and caroling, I couldn’t burn through that week fast enough. The desire to be with Annabelle again was all-consuming.
I made dozens of New Year’s resolutions each day. Some involved applying myself at school or working on friendships. Others included learning to play guitar and getting a bike for more exercise and fresh air. Most entailed putting her naked body in various positions to be exploited by my tongue, fingers, strapon, or a combination of all three.
We’d agreed to meet outside her place at 7:30 on New Year’s Eve and walk down together to the party at Robson Square.
At around 6pm, my lonely friend David called, depressed at his lack of a New Year’s date that night. I spent a half hour rhapsodizing over the redeeming and unexpected nature of love with an enthusiasm that’s only mustered by the deeply infatuated. I’m not sure if he felt better after the call, but I felt great. Except then I was running late to get ready to meet Annabelle.
I wore the shirt Annabelle gave me, snow boots, jeans, and a warm, open jacket. I redid my hair and makeup four times. Everything had to be perfect for when I saw her again.
Walking to the bus stop, I couldn’t have been happier.
But something hit me on the corner of 8th and Maple. Literally hit me. I never saw what it was. A car probably. Pain registered, but only fleetingly.
My finally promising life was ended enragingly by the randomness of the butterfly effect in all its horror. If I hadn’t talked to David. If I had caught an earlier bus. If I hadn’t stopped to redo my lipstick and mascara. If I’d walked faster or slower. If I just hadn’t been on that city street corner, in that sleet, and at that exact moment. If, if, IF!
I didn’t realize Annabelle would be at my funeral. No one else here knows her. I know she’s here though, and so close.
They glued my eyes shut, but I can hear her sobs. I want so badly to go to her. To comfort her. I want to take my sweet Annabelle in my arms and tell her we’ll be okay. Together and okay. But I can’t. I can’t move. My heart can’t beat and I can’t breathe. All I can do is lay in my casket and hear her cry.
I feel myself fading.
It could have been forever for us. That’s the bitch of it. Three weeks is too short to know if we’d have grown old together in a loving relationship or flamed out in the new year. It felt like a forever thing though. Now I have to face whatever forever is, alone.