"Don't-," he said. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Be tempting."
"It's more than a good Christian boy can take, huh?" I said, crumpling my napkin and throwing it at him.
"You think you're safe here," he said, and blushed. "I'm sorry," he said.
I smiled gently. "It's really okay," I said. "You're not cheating."
"I feel like I am."
"You're not," I said. "You're divorced."
The electricity between us was highly charged. It was almost as if no time had passed. If it hadn't been for his apparent discomfort, it would have felt like those seven years had never come between us.
"Why haven't you gotten married?" he said with an attempt to lighten the conversation.
"Marriage? Who has time for that?" I said. "I feel like I've been married to work since I left college."
"That's a shame."
"That's a living."
"Tell me that you've at least been dating," he said.
"What is this fascination with my love life?" I said, teasing him.
"It's not like that. I just don't want you to be alone."
"I'm not alone. I'm sitting here with you," I said.
"You know what I mean," he said.
At that point, the check came, and we both put our hand on it at the same time.
"No," he said. "You know how this works."
"I'm not a poor college student anymore," I said.
"That's not the point."
I didn't fight him about it, even though I made a lot more than he did. I knew how he was about paying for everything. I didn't agree with it completely, but I let him do it. It made him happy, and he needed a little happiness in his life.
"Where are you staying?" he said, when we got up to leave.
"Sheraton," I said.
"Ooo- posh," he said. "Ah, you're an Esquire now," he said, nudging me playfully.
"You think you're safe here," I said, nudging him back.
We were both fairly quiet on the ride to the hotel. I got the impression that we were thinking the same thing. That is, what would happen when we actually got to the hotel? I had every intention of inviting him up to my room. I got the sense, however, that he was in deep conflict about it. I did understand, in a way. The fact is, we had been apart for seven years, and he spent most of those seven years married. I mean, I could fantasize about him as much as I wanted with no guilt. I imagined if he ever fantasized about me, then he felt that he was emotionally unfaithful to his wife. That's a huge amount of guilt to overcome. Sadly, Jeff was a pro at the guilt thing.
"Do you want to come up?" I said, when we pulled in front of the hotel.
"I'll help you with your bags," he said, quietly.
"Okay."
He dropped me off, and I checked in as he parked. He came in carrying my two bags just as the clerk was handing me the key to my room.
"Good timing," I said.
"Where are you?"
"Third floor," I said. We rode the elevator to the third floor in silence.
I unlocked the door and let us in. He put the bags on my bed.
"You don't have to leave," I said. "We don't have to do anything." I pointed at the TV. "We could watch a movie. Or just talk."
"If I stay, I'll want to-," he said, and looked down. "It too tempting."
"It's really okay," I said. "You're single, I'm single. It's okay."
"I just don't know if it's a good idea."
"The problem is that you're thinking too much," I said. "Here," I said, pulling out a chair. "Sit. I'm going to change."
I went into the bathroom and threw on a pair of sweatpants and a large tee shirt, purposefully skipping the undergarments. I wasn't the coy young college student anymore. I was a seasoned lawyer. When I wanted something, I went after it, and I usually got it. It was difficult to remember that this was Jeff I was dealing with. I paused at the bathroom door with my hand on the handle. This was Jeff. I couldn't just go in all wheeling and dealing in the DC fashion. For a moment I considered putting on undergarments, but decided against it.
I went back into the room. Jeff was watching football on television and glanced up at me with a nervous smile as I sat on the bed. He clicked off the television.
"Did you just turn off football?" I said, shocked. "Who are you?"
"I'm taping it," he said.
"Well, that's a relief. I thought I was going to have to find you a psychiatrist to deprogram all of that pussy whipping."
"Is that the kind of language they taught you at Georgetown?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said, innocently.
We sat in silence for a few moments.
"I should go," he said, quietly, standing up.
"No, please," I said, standing up with him. "Stay," I said. "Look, we don't have to hang around here. We could get coffee, see a movie, or whatever." I didn't realize at that moment how much I had missed his company. In retrospect, there had been a hole in my heart all of these years that I had filled with school and career and empty sex. I hadn't realized it until I was standing in that hotel room, pleading for him to stay, to keep me company a while longer. I wasn't sure if I could bear the thought of being alone, and I did, in a way, want a few drinks in me before I had to face the cold, empty hotel bed.
"I'm afraid," he said, looking towards the door. "If I stay another minute, I'll grab hold of you, and I'll never let go."
"Why is that a bad thing?" I said, quietly.
We stood in the middle of the room, with my hand on his upper arm. I was consciously trying to keep my grip loose, but I felt that if he moved a muscle, I would grip like a desperate vice. Me, the woman who scoffed at all of women who "needed" men. Me, the proud feminist who fought her way through law school and through the bitter career track. Now I was on top, and fundamentally empty, seeking fulfillment from a newly divorced ex-boyfriend. Who was I? If I had looked in the mirror at that moment, I would not have known who was looking back at me.
"If you go, I'll find out where you live and make your kid and Alabama fan," I said, trying to lighten the moment.
"Sacrilege," he said, smiling weakly. "You really do want a spanking, don't you?"
I relaxed my grip a bit. My father had been a University of Alabama football fan because that was his alma mater, and also where he grew up. Jeff, however, being born and bred in Georgia, was naturally a University of Georgia (Bulldogs) fan. He used to say that was the one tension in our relationship, and I was never sure how much of that was a joke and how much of it was serious. If you spend any amount of time with Southern men, you learn that the three most important things to them are God, family, and football. Not necessarily in that order. I saw it in my father and I saw it in Jeff. However frustrating the darn football was at times, it was also comforting. And as we stood together in the hotel room, it was all too painfully comforting.
"What do you think?" I said, not necessarily in a sarcastic way.
He hugged me suddenly, and I stiffed. As I melted into his arms, I started to cry.
"Shh-," he said, stroking my hair. I couldn't take it. I really started bawling at that point. His smell, his touch, everything was flooding, tidal wave upon tidal wave. All those empty sexual encounters. All those nights alone with a mechanical device. Why had I chosen a career? Fuck that. Why couldn't I have them both? Why was love subverted for my dreams? I was crying so hard that my head was starting to hurt.
"I'm sorry," I sobbed.
"What for?" he said, quietly.
"I don't know. For everything."
Of course we went to bed. How could we not? As I've explained before, there is an electricity, a magnetism that draws us to each other like a moth to a flame. We go in deep, often without realizing how deep we are until we are over our heads.
I pulled off his tee shirt as he started to kiss my neck. As we kissed and undressed, we worked our way over to the light switch and cut it off. I was fumbling with the button on his khaki pants as we fell into the bed. His skin was as baby soft as I remember it, which started another flood of tears. He wanted to stop and hold me, but I kissed him forcefully, pushing his pants to his knees. He kicked them off, and I started to push down his boxers.
"Ally, Ally," he said, quietly, "Slow down."
I was ravishing, like a starving man at a banquet, and I didn't want to stop. I pushed his boxers to his knees, and as he kicked them off, I lowered my sweatpants. It was an awkward moment as I was trying to kick off my sweatpants completely, as he was kissing my neck and cupping my breast, putting me in an awkward position. As soon as I finally got the damn things off, I straddled his hips. At that moment, everything slowed to a snails pace as he eased inside of me. His eyes were closed and he was moaning. He was not thrusting yet. That would come later. For now, we were both savoring the sorely missed feeling of him throbbing gently inside of me. We were suddenly impetuous youths, disregarding responsibility and condoms in one swift moment. We weren't even this careless in college, but at the moment, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the fact that I was sobbing over all the love lost in the past seven years and that he was deep inside of me, as if holding me on the inside as well as out.
"I want you on top," I whispered, and as we rolled over, he slid out of me. For some reason, I felt safest with him on top. He eased back into me, slowly and gently, and began thrusting. I dug my fingernails into his shoulders as he found that spot deep inside me that made me tremble.
"I love you, I love you," I moaned.
"I love you," he said, quietly. "I always have. I always will."
I started crying again in the midst of ecstasy. How did pleasure and pain become one? He climaxed a moment before I did, which didn't matter, as we were both in a state of bliss at the same time. I think I screamed, but I can't be sure. It might have been him. For that moment, I thought we were the same person, so whomever it was who screamed at the moment of climax was irrelevant. We might as well both have screamed.
He eased out of me, slowly, and lay by my side, holding me tight in his arms. I put my head on his shoulder and listened to his heart pound, the sound corresponding with the throb in my yoni. For a moment, I had forgotten that we had been apart for seven years or that we had even broken up. All I felt was beautiful bliss.
"I still get to spank you," he said, tracing his finger along my jaw line.
"Heh. You've got one coming, also. And it's long overdue."