Graduation

I gulped down the last of my lemonade, ice cubes gently clanking as I continued to melt in the sticky Boston summer air. Maggie and I had been politely laughing at the jokes of various well-meaning parents for about thirty minutes, while we waited for the rest of our high school friends to arrive. None of us had seen each other for ages, and it seemed fitting to do a small post college graduation reunion at Maggie’s brother’s high school graduation party. All of us had already done our graduation partying at our respective universities and on a variety of globe-trotting trips, but we had agreed to return home to Boston and see each other before starting at our medical schools, PhD programs, and consulting jobs. 

I gazed idly past the other guests on the patio toward Maggie’s warmly lit house. Everywhere I looked seemed to hold a reminder of our giddy, reckless youth. There was the liquor cabinet we raided to get irresponsibly drunk for the first time, the back garden door we always snuck out through to go to underwhelming parties, the balcony where we would smoke cigarettes to cosplay as adults, and the high kitchen counters where we would perch late at night to nurse our first heartbreaks. Four years and several degrees later, it felt like we had lived through immeasurable pain and countless joys. We had gone separate ways in college, growing up and apart from each other, guarding our hard-earned friendships through FaceTime calls and occasional cross-country visits. We all managed to find our own versions of academic and professional success by graduation, returning now to Boston on a victory lap. 

I had grown into who I always wanted to be, someone my younger self would hardly recognize. Gone was the girl who was so afraid of the sting of rejection that she would never ask, only wait to be asked. Who would never say “I love you” first even when she knew as much as anything that she felt it to be true, humming in her chest. Who could not bear to end a relationship that had been passionless for months because she was terrified of the vulnerability that comes with being alone. After a vicious break up, I learned to live in that vulnerability. I learned that the embarrassment of rejection means nothing in the face of the richness of human connection that only honesty can bring. I learned how to fall again, and again, and again, and how to get up every time. I was confident now, I knew my worth, I was unafraid to ask for what I wanted. 

Maggie’s youngest sister Emmy shrieked from the garden. She was only nine and could still find endless entertainment chasing her school friend Charlie around the carefully manicured hedges. I stood up, grabbing my glass and making my chair scrape across the patio stones.

“Anyone want more lemonade?” I gestured with my cup at the rest of the table. Hearing only murmurs of no thank you, I strode toward the sliding glass doors, desperately excited for the reprieve of the aggressively air-conditioned kitchen. The house’s front doorbell sounded just as the patio door slammed behind me.

“Chloe, can you let them in?” Maggie shouted at me, her voice muffled through the glass. I grinned, setting my cup down on the marble countertop, nearly skipping to welcome my old friends.

I flung open the front door and my breath hitched. It was not a gaggle of young women waiting there for me but an unfamiliar man, with salt and pepper stubble and an even buzz cut, wearing Steve Jobs glasses and athletic wear I recognized from Wirecutter’s “Best of” lists. He looked like the founder of a biotech start up. Like a Boston Symphony Orchestra Board of Trustees member. Like tenured faculty at a Greater Boston area college. And he was tall. So tall that even at 5’8” I had to tilt my head a little to meet his gaze that flicked down over my narrow frame, assessed by his steely grey eyes so quickly I nearly missed it. I felt self-conscious now in my ankle length but paper thin, clinging summer dress. I was hyper-aware that I had chosen that morning, seeing the sweltering forecast, not to wear anything underneath. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a ring.

“I’m here to pick up Charlie Adamson.” His quiet baritone broke my stunned silence. “I’m James, Charlie’s dad,” he offered for further explanation after I missed a beat.

I recovered promptly, offering a smile and extending a handshake, “Of course. I’m Chloe, Maggie’s friend from back in high school.” His rough fingertips grazed the smooth back of my hands, sending a flutter to my heart and between my legs.

He followed me through the house as I led him to the back patio. Conscious of his gaze, I would have tried to walk with a seductive sway in my hips if I had anything back there that would move. Instead, feeling more like a teenager than I had in years, I focused on not tripping over my own feet and hoped that I was giving “poised runway model” rather than “lanky newborn colt.” After Maggie’s mom convinced him to stay for drinks, I watched for the next hour as nearly every other mom at the party flirted with him. I certainly didn’t blame them. His quiet but commanding demeanor, so intense when he would fix his sharp and level gaze on you, softened only occasionally by his lopsided smile. It was all enough to leave these middle-aged women swooning and me fantasizing about him holding me down, putting his mouth on my soaking pussy, and ordering me to beg to finish. Even when my friends finally arrived and got into reminiscing about high school, I stayed distracted by his low tones floating across the patio through fragments of dialogue. When I glanced over for the umpteenth time, he caught my gaze and held it just for a moment before dropping it and turning back to his conversation. I shivered in the muggy heat.

When I saw him murmur an excuse to the woman he was talking to and slip inside the house, I counted twenty seconds and then followed him in, mumbling to my friends something about more lemonade. I found him waiting for the guest bathroom that was near the front door, tucked away to the side of the cavernous atrium. I formed a line behind him.

He turned and looked down at me through his glasses, his gaze considering. “Chloe, right?” This close to him, I could smell his cologne, sandalwood and citrus and hopelessly intoxicating. “If you’re Maggie’s friend you must be, what, a senior in college now?” His brow furrowed ever so slightly with the mental math.

“Just graduated.” My nipples were hard in the air-conditioned space, piercings clearly outlined under my dress, and I thought I caught him glancing down at them. “Starting medical school in a few weeks.”

The bathroom door slammed open, and one of the other dads stumbled out and across the atrium to the rest of the party, leaving us alone.

“You can go ahead, if you’d like.” He gestured toward the bathroom, chivalrous or something. I stepped past him and hesitated in the doorframe, feeling the heat of his gaze on my back. The short space between us felt charged with electricity. I wanted him, desperately, and in that moment I was willing to put everything on the line for him. Even if the chance to actualize this fantasy meant risking brutally embarrassing rejection, I knew I was ready to take the risk. I turned to him and pulled out the one line that had always worked on college boys.

“Do you want to see my tattoos?”

He smiled, slightly taken aback. “Uh, sure.” I stepped into the bathroom, lit only by the late afternoon light coming in from the high window.

I grinned, the warmth of desire in the pit of my stomach unfurling and filling me with confidence. “Come in and lock the door, then.”

He inhaled sharply.  “Chloe, I–Christ.”

I peeled off my summer dress, letting the delicate sage fabric pool around my ankles. The soft summer light illuminated my pierced nipples that stood at attention, capping my small, pert breasts and my tattoos, one at the very top of my thigh and another on my lower abdomen nestled into the sharp line of my pelvic bone. They were girly designs, both highly detailed clusters of rose buds, but anyone with a passing knowledge of tattoos could immediately recognize the demonstration of a high pain tolerance encoded in these flowers. Fully exposed before him, fully vulnerable to this near stranger, I was desperately aroused. His eyes raked over my body, leaving my steady, burning gaze to take in the carefully groomed, now glistening curls between my toned legs. I noticed a bulge starting to press at the seam of his charcoal joggers.

“We shouldn’t,” he breathed, eyes fixated on my mouth.

“I’m not going to try to convince you of anything.” I stepped out of the pile of my dress and closer to him. “I’m offering myself to you, and anything you want to do to me. If you’re not interested, I’ll go back to the party.”

“Fuck,” he exhaled and stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Pulling me in by my waist, his lips crashed down on mine, hungry and insistent, stubble scraping against my face. He ran his hand urgently up my body leaving a fiery trail and sharply pinching my nipple. I moaned into his mouth, rubbing myself against his fully clothed body and biting his lip. He growled and gripped my lower jaw, holding my mouth open. 

“Don’t bite,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Or what, Daddy,” I hissed back, grinning as I twisted my face out of his grasp and caught his thumb in my mouth. I held his gaze as I sucked his finger and released it with a pop. “Use me, Mr. Adamson. I like it rough and I like being degraded.”

He wound his fingers into my hair and forced my head back to look into my face directly. “You’re a wild little thing, aren’t you,” he rasped. 

His rock-hard length pressed ever more insistently into my lower stomach. He pinched my nipple again with his other hand, eliciting a gasp from me, then ran his rough palm back down my body and up my inner thigh. I moaned and wiggled in his grasp, my hands clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. 

He used one calloused finger to trace my soaking slit, carefully avoiding my engorged clit and chuckled, low in his throat. “So wet for me already? I saw you looking at me out there. Were you fantasizing about this?”

All I could do was whine in response, staring pleadingly into his narrowed eyes. He smirked and slowly pressed two fingers into my dripping pussy, brushing his thumb against my clit. I involuntarily let out a sharp cry, and he immediately released my hair to wrap his arm around the back of my head and clap his hand over my mouth.

“You need to be quiet or I won’t let you come,” he murmured into my ear, breath hot against the side of my neck. I moaned into his firm hand. He resumed his delicious torture, curling his fingers inside me and pressing against my clit, moving in and out just slowly enough that orgasm remained barely out of reach, making me squirm in his hold. I lowered one of my hands from his shoulders down to his waistband, slipping down the front of his pants to grasp his firm cock. I used my thumb to rub a drop of precum from the slit all over the top of the head and was rewarded with a hissed, “Chloe. Fuck.”

I wiggled out of his grasp and dropped to my knees in front of him. “Let me taste your cock,” I pleaded breathlessly. He helped me pull down his joggers, letting his full-length spring free. He wasn’t unusually long but he was thick, thick enough to completely fill my mouth. I licked up the sides of his shaft and released a teasing breath over his head, only extending my tongue to collect a new bead of precum. He grunted in arousal and frustration, his eyes begging as he wrapped his hand in my hair and pulled my face onto his dick. 

“I like how you look with my cock in your mouth,” he whispered. I moaned, mouth full, running my nails up his thighs, massaging his balls as he thrust into me. He stared down at me and pulled off his glasses, his usually commanding mien now pleading, vulnerable. I was hopelessly wet as he used me to chase his release, strands of saliva dripping out of the corner of my mouth while I choked on his cock. I felt his balls tighten under my grasp and he pulled me off of his dick and back up to standing with a gasp. He spun me around and pushed me forward so the front of my hips pressed against the bathroom counter. I made eye contact with my reflection, hair mussed and cheeks flushed, then raised my gaze to look at him in the mirror. Staring back at me, grey eyes smoldering, he wrapped his hand around the front of my neck, gently but firmly, and murmured, “I need to be inside you.”

I pushed my neck harder against his hand and reached back to drag the head of his cock across my soaking pussy. “Take anything you want,” I purred.

He moaned, yanking my hair aside with one hand to suck a mark into the back of my neck and roughly pulling at my nipples with the other. With his hand in my hair, he folded me over the counter so my nipples were pressed against the icy stone and my exposed ass was presented to him.

I looked back at him over my shoulder. “I have an IUD and tested clean after my last partner,” I offered. He met my gaze. “I tested clean too, and I’ve been snipped anyway.”

He pulled my wrists behind my back, gripping them with one large hand, and sharply spanked my ass with the other. I cried out in pure arousal. “Do you like that, dirty girl?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” I whimpered.

“Then beg for it,” he ground out, his words traveling straight to my still soaking pussy.

“Please, spank me. Slap my ass, Daddy. Please, I need it.” He spanked my cheek three times in quick succession, then pushed his cock into my dripping center, filling me completely and hitting every spot I needed. I moaned, loudly, and he had to release my wrists to cover my mouth again. He leaned over me, still-clothed chest brushing my back, and whispered filth into my ear as he began to thrust in earnest, balls smacking my clit. 

“Who does this pussy belong to?” he taunted.

“Yours, it’s yours,” I cried around his hand, desperate for release, slipping my fingers between my legs to manipulate my clit. “Please, Daddy, let me finish,” I begged. I was so close, my muscles clenching around him. I heard him gasp and felt him start to fuck me faster. 

He slapped my ass, hard, and whispered breathlessly in my ear once more, “Filthy girl. Cum for me. Now.”

With his order, I felt my orgasm rush over me, legs trembling, eyes squeezing shut. My hands scrambled for a grip on the cold countertop, and I moaned his name. A quiet, reverent “James.” My back arched and he covered my mouth just in time for my keening mewl. With his own desperate cry, I felt him tense and fill me up with his hot cum.

We stayed there, panting for a minute until I straightened up and turned around. He pulled me into an embrace and roughly kissed the top of my head. I broke the hug and he reached to offer me a paper towel, but I was already pulling up my maxi dress. I got on my tiptoes to brush his lips with mine and murmured, “No one will see it, but I’m going to feel your cum dripping out of me for the rest of the night.”

He exhaled, grabbing my ass over my dress and squeezing. “Maybe you’ll remember who your pussy belongs to.”

“You didn’t even put your mouth on it,” I said. “It’s hardly yours.”

Photo by CottonBros