To End All Parties

The world was about to end and I was at the party to end all parties.

Literally.

I was three years out of art school, living in Bushwick in a single bedroom apartment. Most of my friends were still in the city. We wore thrifted clothes and outrageous jewelry while patronizing independent coffee shops. I don’t deny that I was the stereotype of an art history major, but unlike my friends, I was careful. In other words, I was the ‘mom friend’. I worked a steady office job with potential for growth, saved 10% of every paycheck I earned, and sent another 10% to my parents in Idaho. I made plans for everything from vacation itineraries to restaurant reservations. I even had a marriage timeline: I’d fall in love at 28, move in with my partner at 30, and get married by 32. 

I spent my life planning for the future—a future that would never come. 

While the rest of the world broke into a blind panic, my friends reacted with astounding clarity. It was decided that we would have a party right before the dreaded finale. We wouldn’t mourn the end of humanity. Oh, no. We would die drinking, dancing, singing, and loving.

I volunteered to host the festivities. Soon, my apartment was overwhelmed with the warmth of writhing bodies and an explosion of LED lights. Stacks upon stacks of beer crates filled my living room. Couples made out on my fire escape between languid puffs from their cigarettes. It smelled like sex and vodka and life.

I stood removed from the unapologetic passion. Without my typical hostess duties—why clean when we’d all be gone soon?—I had nothing to do but stew. Why the hell had I been so practical? Where had it gotten me? I was a responsible bundle of anxiety with nothing to show for my 24 years on Earth. Well, besides for a decent amount of savings I’d never spend. 

I snapped out of my existential spiral when I saw broad shoulders and a tall, lean frame, looking out from rounded glasses. It was my neighbor from across the hall. My neighbor — who looked at me with such kindness. Who always seemed to blush when he saw me. Who went out jogging in those tight leggings. And had runner’s legs to prove it.

Okay, I had a little bit of a crush.

He noticed me from across the apartment. With a little wave, he made his way over, beer in hand.

“Hey, neighbor. You’re Amanda, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “You’re Nathan from B3?”

“That’s me.”

“Thanks for coming by.”

His face lit up. “No, thank you for throwing a rager. I was so damn tired of listening to my parents play those apocalyptic sermons on TV.”

“God, that’s not how I wanna go out.”   

“I’d much rather get drunk with a bunch of strangers. I‘ve already done my responsible son duties.” 

“Strangers?” I arched a brow. 

“Neighbors,” he corrected.

I wondered why Nathan wasn’t elsewhere. He seemed to have plenty of friends. After sharing a hallway for over two years, I felt like I knew many of his habits, patterns, quirks. For example, I knew that he had a penchant for vintage blazers, suede boots, and wireframe glasses. He also wore his curly hair in a sort of windswept, stylishly messy style, no matter what time of day. Nathan always struck up a conversation if we were in the elevator together, asking me about my work, my life, my favorite bars in the neighborhood. He threw dinner parties for his students once a month and went running with a group on weekend mornings. Then there were the times I ran into women sheepishly leaving his unit in the morning. Surely, he could’ve had one of those girls over? 

I’d rather he invited me over instead.  

“It’s better than being alone,” I admitted.

“That it is.”

REM blasted over the speakers for what had to be the twentieth time. Nathan laughed and bopped his head to the music. Then he shimmied in my direction, bumping shoulders with me. “Hey. Lighten up, it’s only the apocalypse.”

I couldn’t help but smile and take a sip from my red plastic cup. “You’re taking this pretty well.”

“What can I say? I love a party.”

I considered his face for a long moment in the pink neon light. He was definitely handsome in that English teacher kind of way. With a prominent nose, thick hair, and sharp features. 

He scrutinized me just the same. “What’s got you looking so… depressed?”

I suddenly felt my cheeks burning. Thankfully, the dark party lights hid my reaction. “The end of the world isn’t good enough?” 

“But that’s not really why people are upset,” He explained. “Everyone’s thinking about regrets, the people they shouldn’t have let go. Things like that. So what are you thinking about?”

“You go first.” 

Nathan gave me a look as if he could read my thoughts. But then he turned his gaze up at the dancing lights on the ceiling. “I spent the past few years living each day like it was my last, which, in retrospect, was a good idea,” he mused. “Eating a full tub of Ben and Jerry’s, drinking at two in the afternoon, smoking cigarettes, and going on vacations I couldn’t afford––I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.”

My cheeks flushed again. I took another sip as if I’d find some sort of courage in the bottom of the cup. “So, you don’t have any regrets?”

He paused. “Just one. I’d say that’s pretty impressive, though.” Nathan was staring at a couple slow-dancing by the open window. “Living for yourself, it doesn’t leave a lot of room for other people.”

My heart did a little somersault. Did that mean…? 

“Okay, it’s your turn, Miss Amanda.”

We locked eyes for a moment. The weight of his stare, the way it made me feel so vulnerable—I grabbed another beer from the cooler behind me and popped the cap off. “I’ve just been thinking about how much time I wasted planning and saving up for a life I’ll never get to experience.”

“Planning is a noble endeavor.”

“I quit my job at an art gallery and started working a horrible desk job to help my family out,” I explained, only pausing to sip my drink. “I even dumped my girlfriend after she said she didn’t want to get married. I wanted someone to settle down with, you know? Get married by the time I was 30-ish. I was stupid.”

Nathan said nothing, just nodded, and focused on me over the noise of the party.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” I shrugged. 

We fell into another introspective silence. I looked up at him with a silent question on my lips, and when he smiled in response, I leaned against him. The small amount of contact was strikingly intimate; before tonight, we had only exchanged pleasantries while leaving or entering our apartments.

“I’m sure you would’ve lived way longer than me,” he said. 

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“Sure it does. You’re the picture of good health. You’re beautiful. You smell nice. I probably smell, well, like a smoker.”

I shot him a teasing smile. “Lucky for you, I like the smell of tobacco.” Maybe it was the beer or the physical contact, maybe it was the impending doom, but I added, “Ever since I moved into B2, I thought you were pretty hot.” There it was, out in the open.

“Who, me?” Nathan grinned, nudging my shoulder.

“Oh, don’t be humble. There’s no time for that.”

“There’s enough time,” he said. 

There’s enough time. That had to be the most comforting phrase I’d heard all week. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. There’s enough time to be reckless.

I let my gaze wander to his lips. He reached for my cheek. Then before I knew it, we melted into a kiss. He tasted of IPAs and cigarettes and mint. I needed more.

“Time enough for you to see my bedroom? I think I need a distraction.”

Nathan flashed me a devilish look. “I’d be honored to be your distraction.”

“Really?”

He set his beer bottle down and ran his hands up and down my shoulders. “If I could distract you for the rest of the night, I’d be a happy man.” 

. . .

Once we were inside my bedroom, Nathan kissed me as though he had been waiting two years to do so. He pressed me against the closed door, enveloping my body with his.                  

“Don’t think,” he breathed into my ear, before returning to my swollen mouth.

Right.

I pushed aside the dark feelings of regret and captured his lower lip with mine. “I want to see you.” I tugged his shirt out from under his waistband; I needed to feel his skin under my hands as soon as possible. Nathan got the message and started to undo his belt. But before he could get too far, I spun us around and stepped backward.

Yep, his legs were as toned as I always dreamed they were. Beneath the professorial, patterned button-downs was a sculpted hedonist. Tall, dark, handsome. A schoolgirl’s fantasy, just for me. 

“Enjoying the view?”

“Of course, I am.”

A smile spread across his lips. “You look entirely too clothed.”

“Could you help me?”

Nathan didn’t have to be asked twice. He scooped me up with ease, deposited me on the bed, and undid my top. He pressed kisses in the valley between my breasts. What started as playful became hungry as he mouthed at my nipples through the fabric of my lacy bra. I sighed and reached for the waistband of his briefs. 

He stopped me with another heated kiss. “Hey, hold up. I’m distracting you.”

“But what about you?”

“Me?” Nathan punctuated each couple of syllables with a kiss down my belly. “I—want to do—something for—someone else—for once.” He expertly pulled my zipper down with his teeth. Then his fingertips hooked underneath my panties. “Be a little selfish, B2.”

I stretched my legs over his shoulders and shuddered at the feel of breath against my inner thigh. He peppered the sensitive skin with kisses before reaching his destination, parting my folds with his thumb. An exploratory lick prompted me to shudder. Then he drew away. 

“Please, Nathan,” I gasped. 

With a chuckle, he grasped my hips, leaned forward, and obliged. I quickly wound my fingers through his hair to direct his tongue where I needed him most. Nathan was an eager student, seemingly committing my lessons to memory. He sucked my clit between his lips to coax a whimper out of me. My thighs tensed. I was getting close and I knew exactly what I needed. 

“Fingers,” I moaned.

Nathan looked up, his lips and chin and nose all glistening. “What was that?” 

“Fuck me with your fingers — please.”

“Happy to oblige.” He somehow looked even more wolfish as he sucked his pointer and index into his mouth. And then he was inside of me, slick with saliva, setting a steady rhythm. Each thrust left me keening into the darkness and as soon as his lips were back against my clit, I nearly saw stars. My core tightened, a pool of warmth and want. Then, as he crooked his fingers upwards, I couldn’t hold on anymore. I let go. I unraveled in his mouth. The sounds of the party seemed to fade as I cried out, hips bucking forward until I had to push Nathan away.

Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” slowly came back into focus from the other side of my bedroom door, even as my heartbeat thundered in my ears above it all. 

Nathan worked his way back up my body, leaving another trail of wet kisses up my stomach. He smiled down at me, cheeks and chin shining in the dim light. “You know you’re gorgeous,” he said, “Especially when you come.”

“And you’re very good at being distracting.” 

“I’m not done yet.”

“Yeah?”

He gave me another brilliant grin before guiding both my hands above my head to grasp the headboard. “How’s that?”

At first, I wanted to protest. I usually enjoyed being able to instruct my partners with small touches in the bedroom. It felt good to be in control. But then I thought about my ex, how much I tried to control us. How much I tried to control my future.   

I answered by unclasping my bra, tossing it to the ground, and grabbing the headboard once again. “Condoms are in the side table.”

Nathan didn’t need to be told twice. He fumbled with the wrapper and I could feel his need for me, pulsating against my leg. No sooner did he roll the latex on himself did his mouth crash upon mine. He was desperate, wanting, tasting like my climax. He rubbed himself up and down against my lips. I thought only of the sparking pleasure between our bodies—I arched, I whimpered, I needed. 

“Nathan,” I breathed.

He spoke into the juncture between my neck and my shoulder. “I got you, I got you, I got you.”

Then, with one hand placed over mine on the headboard, he entered me. I dug my heels into his ass, urging him deeper, deeper. Nathan met my eyes, pupils dark and eager. He thrust in short strokes. Our breathing became ragged.

I forgot about the party, the end of the world, the time wasted. All I could hear was the thrumming of my heart, the groan of the bed, our gasps. My pleasure built steadily. Like a bowstring being pulled, I could feel building tension spread through my thighs and my abdomen, to my feet and my hands gripping the bedframe for dear life. Electricity surged through my veins. I thrust up as I came, and came, and came.

Nathan tumbled after me, one hand digging into my hips. He, too, let out a wild cry before falling to my side, panting.

Warmth rippled through me, all the way to my hands and feet. I felt a great stillness. And I felt him, too, pressed against my side. A comforting presence. I wanted us to stay like that until the sun came up for one last precious sunset. I wanted to hear the rise and fall of his breath until total annihilation. I wanted him to stay. 

Eventually, I forced myself to break the beautiful quiet. Someone had to, right? “I’m sure you have to get back to your family.” 

“What?” Nathan propped himself up on one elbow to get a better look at my expression. His brows were furrowed, concerned. “Who said I was going anywhere?” 

“You’ll stay?”

He took my hands. “I’m staying right here. For as long as we’ve got. You’re who I want to be with at the end of the world.” 

I sat up to cup his cheeks and pulled him into another kiss.

“And I, you.”

Photo by Inga Seliverstova