I struggled with the seemingly endless clasps of Carrie’s bra, until she mercifully removed it for me, tossing it onto the floor. There was some roundness to her stomach, some slackening of the skin at her neck, but her enormous breasts were still resilient. Those expensive bras, it turned out, had been worth the money.
I raised my arms and she peeled off my T-shirt shirt, exposing the patchy, lopsided hair on my chest. I lifted her off the ground and placed her on her back on the tiny standard-issue bed, the wire mesh creaking. I unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them off, removing her panties at the same time. Her pubic hair was neatly cropped and sculpted. She hadn’t done that when we were dating. Then again, nobody did that back then.
She grabbed my hips and pulled me towards her. I knew she wanted to make love right away, but I had learned the hard way what happens if you skip foreplay with Carrie. I went down on her, taking my time, and it wasn't until she had her second orgasm that I decided that it was safe to kiss my way back up her body. She wrapped her hand around my penis and it stiffened. Clearly, it was on its best behavior tonight.
“Wait. Do you have a condom?” she asked breathlessly.
“Better. A vasectomy.” She laughed.
We kissed deeply as we made love, her back arching, her breasts heaving, her nails scratching at my back, all those cliches. She came twice more before I finally succumbed.
It was strange. I had spent the past twenty-five years haunted by the ghost of sexual failure, so it was unclear why I escaped that feeling of embarrassment and frustration, that blood-draining tightness in my chest, when she had once again become flesh beneath me.
Perhaps it was because it all seemed so unreal, so disconnected from life as I understood it, that my usual fears didn’t apply. Perhaps it was a sense of stars aligning, the completion of a cosmic cycle. Perhaps it was the magic of single malt. It’s hard to know and I guess it doesn’t really matter.
“That was amazing,” she said, as I collapsed on top of her, my heart racing.
“Told ya,” I said, as if what she had just experienced was in any way a typical performance for me.
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Bad Sex & Good Scotch: A Reunion Story
Short Story#86 in Short Story (7/11/15) Remember your "first time?" Well, I wish I could forget mine. As a Freshman in college, I met Carrie and we fell in love. We thought we were the perfect couple. We thought we would always be together. But after we decide...
