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Okay, so I admit there was part of me that hoped she would say to hell with taking it slow and invite me in. It seemed best to not jump in too fast and screw up this new thing we were going to try to be to each other, but when she said, “Stay,” in that tone of frank invitation, and looked up at me with that startling and unmistakable desire in her eyes, all thoughts of reason and restraint disappeared. It was not unlike a few fantasies I’ve had, that moment.
There was no pretense of coffee or a nightcap, which both reassured me —-okay, then, definitely more than friends here —and terrified me—now? Tonight? Is she ready? She’s ready. She wants me.
She wants me.
The thought was almost paralyzing. I’d waited how many years and now I have stage fright?
My God, man, just go with it. Haven’t we waited long enough?
I hadn’t dared hope for anything more than a kiss at the door. And, if I’m honest, a small part of me had been really afraid of what might happen at dinner—that the weight of everything that went before would end up crushing us both and our first real date-- last first date of my life, I prayed—would dissolve into angry recriminations and more wounded feelings and ugliness.
I hadn’t wanted her to apologize. Nothing she did was any more cowardly or cruel than what I’d done to her, and I knew that, but it hurt to think about it. How much I’d kind of enjoyed seeing her face when I was with Karen, the aching expression that I know I wore every day for four years.
As if seeing her in pain ever did anything other than twist my stomach in knots and make my head start to pound.
I’ve been so unfair, putting it all on her like that. Of course she didn’t call me; why would she, when I left without telling her? Did I really give her a choice that night? What was I expecting?
She was supposed to say “Yes” and “I love you too.” And then we could figure it out from there.
Yeah, I really thought it out, didn’t I? Fuck. The fear. She’d said exactly what I was afraid she’d say, and even though I knew she was lying, I didn’t call her on it. I should have forced her to at least admit it was there. I can’t? What kind of an answer is that?
Things could have been so different. If I hadn’t left. If I’d just told her I was leaving…that she only had to say the word and I’d have stayed…I’d have waited, God, it’s not like I wasn’t the expert on waiting…
So many things I hadn’t considered—like how I told her I was over her in the kitchen that day, that it was just a crush from a long time ago, yeah, no big deal, totally over it...stupid. Yet another opportunity to be honest and I choked on my fear again. She believed me. I hadn’t credited myself with being a good enough liar for her to believe me. In fact, I’m a terrible liar. She knew I was a terrible liar. How could she have believed me?
She believed you because you were her friend…she believed you because you, of all people, wouldn’t lie to her.
I made up my mind then and there, during her confession, that I’m never going to lie to her again. If we do somehow manage to screw this up, it isn’t going to be due to miscommunication.
********
She took me to her room and she was obviously nervous, which, again, came as a relief because so was I. For a few minutes, when I kissed her and pulled her into my lap, she got a case of the giggles and started apologizing and blushing. I suppose it could have ruined the moment but I just thought she was adorable. She kept trying to say “I’m sorry,” giggling behind her hand, turning pinker with each second, until I pulled her hand down and kissed her again, slowly, deliberately, still amazed myself that this was happening; and in a few seconds, her body relaxed into mine and she slipped her arms around me. Her lips warmed and softened under mine and when she ran the tip of her tongue over my lower lip I couldn’t suppress a groan as a surge of electricity pulsed through my gut. She smiled at that, and tugged at my sweater until I reached down and yanked it over my head, and she started working at my shirt buttons until I stopped her and pulled that over my head too, tossing it on the floor behind me with the sweater.
She ran her right hand lightly over my chest and down my belly. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured.
I thought briefly of telling her men aren’t beautiful, but then she moved down to kiss just under my ear, sliding down to the hollow at the base of my throat, flicking her tongue over my nipple and tracing around it in a lazy circle, and I lost the ability to speak. Her long hair fell around her face and tickled my chest, and she moved further down, pressed her lips to my navel, reached for my belt.
Holy shit. This is happening. I’m half naked. About to be all the way naked. Wait. Why isn’t she naked?
“Wait,” I gasped, and she looked up with a little smile, and sat up.
I took a deep breath, and sat up too, and she pulled off her sweater. She was wearing a low-cut, lacy pink bra
(wow)
and her skin was white and translucent and so soft. I ran my hand over her smooth flat stomach, remembering the only other time I’d touched it, when we were horsing around at Dwight’s dojo and her shirt had ridden up and for one impossibly delicious moment she was laughing and soft and pliable in my arms. She was angry that day, or maybe embarrassed, now that I look back at it; but this night, she unhooked her bra and tossed it aside and showed herself to me, then dipped her head forward a little in sudden shyness, pulling the clip out of her hair so it covered her like Eve in the garden.
For a second—maybe a minute, five minutes, an hour, who knows—I just stared at her. And then she met my eyes and smiled and took my right hand and pressed my palm to her breast. She blushed as she did it but she wouldn’t look away from me. Fancy New Beesly asks for what she wants. I was more than happy to oblige, and give her ideas on other things she should ask for.
********
Sleep had been so elusive for so long that I wonder now how I was functioning at all. It had taken every ounce of my energy and concentration to work on Being With Karen; to focus on My Career and The Future; to Not Think About Pam. And I was so exhausted.
So after the initial…frenzy…of the first time, and the hour of leisurely exploration that preceded the second, I fell into the deepest sleep I’d had in a year. No dreams, no restive thoughts to keep me staring at the ceiling and willing my mind to just stop, to just give me peace for a little while. I’d never even seen Pam’s apartment, let alone her bedroom, her bed, but it was already like I belonged here; the scent and texture of her sheets, the shadows on the walls, the soft sound of her breathing, held nothing of the foreign emptiness that had never really dissipated in six months with Karen. I wrapped myself around her and had a brief but very distinct thought just before I fell asleep: I’m home.
I didn’t dream at all, for the first time in a long time.
In the lightening darkness just before dawn, I woke up and found her turned on her left side, facing me now. Was she watching me sleep? Cute. Very cute.
“Jim,” she whispered.
“Mmm.” I slipped my arm around her waist and pulled her against me, closed my eyes again.
“Jim,” she tried again, more urgently this time.
I opened my eyes. “Pam.”
She shifted closer, trailing her hand over my side until it came to rest on my hip, and kissed the corner of my mouth. “I never told you.”
“Told me what, Beesly.” I closed my eyes again.
“That I love you,” she said softly. “I have, for a…a long time.”
I opened my eyes and stared at her, instantly awake. Her eyes were very green in the low light, glimmering with unshed tears. She cupped my left cheek in her palm and kissed me, her mouth open and warm and a little desperate. “Do you still love me?” she whispered.
I almost started to tease her for having to ask, but she looked so serious and anxious I couldn’t make light. I reached up to gently pinch the apple of her cheek, wiping away dampness with my thumb. “Of course,” I said, a little huskily.
She smiled and kissed me again and her tears were coming harder, all over my face. “Say it?” she pleaded. “Tell me, please…”
I rolled over on top of her and kissed her, cradled her face in my hands. She looked sad and overjoyed all at once and I wondered what she was thinking, why she was crying now, when all the lost time and suffocating silences seemed to have finally been put behind us. “I love you,” I murmured, covering her face with kisses until her tears dried up and she started running her hands up and down my back. “I love you, I love you.” I’ll never stop, never, not ever.
“Make love to me Jim,” she whispered. “Please…”
Like I needed encouragement.
The most perfect moment of my life: Pam’s body slick with sweat, her back arched underneath me as she dug her fingernails into my back, crying out my name in the pink light of dawn as she wrapped her strong legs around me to pull me into her, holding me inside her as she shuddered to a peak. I could have died of ecstasy right there.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Apparently I'm going to steal lines from this lovely poem for all my chapter titles?
Same disclaimers apply. I don't own these characters.
Same disclaimers apply. I don't own these characters.
Chapter End Notes:
I have to believe there was a good reason Jim got a ring just a week after they started dating.
Thanks to all who have read and commented! I'm not sure how much more this story warrants but I'll try to get one more from Pam to wrap it up.
Thanks to all who have read and commented! I'm not sure how much more this story warrants but I'll try to get one more from Pam to wrap it up.
