Page 39 of Meet Stan

“You like that, baby?” I gasped out between heavy pants. Sweat rolled off our bodies, mingling in the air with the smell of her wet pussy.

“Yes,” she cried. “I love it.”

“I love it, too,” I groaned. “I love it too—”

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I strained against her body, my eyes shut tight against the stinging sweat and the moment of sublime ecstasy where I shot my seed into her pussy. She broke over the threshold of a thunderous orgasm, screaming as she flopped about like a landing fish pinned beneath my body.

I fell on top of her and she clung to me with all four limbs. She continued to gasp and moan as orgasmic pulses of pleasure shot through her body. Her eyes rolled back and her mouth went slack as she turned to jelly, only moving when another pulse rocked her naked body.

I laid beside her on the carpet, one leg entwined with her own, cradling her against me. One hand stroked her long, dark hair. The other petted her pussy gently, spreading those sensations up and out through her core and into the rest of her body.

I kissed the top of her head, holding her close to me as she drifted on the currents of post-orgasmic bliss. I thought she looked particularly beautiful that way, and I could have laid there and watched her all night.

Soon I carried her sleepy form back to bed, and we fell into a deep slumber entwined in each other’s embrace.

My dreams, if I had them, didn’t trouble me on waking. I rolled over in the cold gray light of dawn, hoping to put my hand on Ivy’s warm body.

Instead, I touched only a bare mattress. I rolled over fully and opened my eyes. Ivy was nowhere in sight.

“Ivy?” I got out of bed, bare feet on the tiled floor. I checked my entire condo, and came up empty. Ivy was gone, including her dirty clubbing clothes.

I sat down on the sofa in the living room, staring around at my condo.

“Funny,” I said to the stillness, “this place didn’t used to feel so… empty.”

Chapter Sixteen

Ivy

I don’t know why I left Stan’s place in the middle of the night, exactly. I guess I got spooked. That might be the best way to put it. I got scared because things were starting to seem just too real.

All of it went back to the way I’d been feeling before I’d taken the first sip of whiskey. I had been unable to get Stan off my mind for hours, and since I was at the nightclub anyway, I’d tried to drink away all thoughts of him.

Yeah, not a very good plan, that one. Instead of winding up passed out, like I wanted to, I’d impulsively hopped in a cab and headed over to his place instead. Why? Because my drunken brain figured that if I slept with Stan, it would dispel all of the lingering sexual tension and I might be able to go on about my life. Well, go on with it as much as possible with our fake relationship contract.

So I’d done what I often do, I ran away from even the hint of emotional intimacy. After the night we’d shared, I just knew if I woke up in his arms in the cold light of dawn I’d have to acknowledge my feelings for him. Instead, I’d chosen to forfeit the game. I’d left him all alone and returned to my own bed to not sleep. All alone.

All alone hits differently after you’ve spent time with another body curled up around your own. I didn’t like the feeling of sleeping alone, to be honest, and that made me worry most of all. I wondered if I were really catching the feels for Stan at all, or if I were really just lonely and bored.

The confused jumble in my heart and soul became a veritable Gordian knot, which I could not hope to untie. So I just let it sit there and stayed awake until my alarm went off.

I rose and showered, remarking to myself that this activity wasn’t nearly as much fun alone as it had been with a friend. Or fake boyfriend.

Fake relationship. I was beginning to wonder what that even meant anymore. When I thought about it, a lot of relationships were fake. I knew that my cousin Jamie had married a man she once bullied in high school for his money, but from what I could see they were perfectly happy with each other. Maybe all relationships are fake.

A chill went down my spine in spite of the hot water when I had a sudden thought. What if all, or at least most, relationships started off more or less fake and then deepened into something more real?

After the shower, I put on some casual, comfortable clothes and waited outside for my sister Irene and her family to pick me up. I soon saw their blue and gray minivan rolling up.

“Hi,” Irene said with a cheerful wave from the passenger seat. “The door’s unlocked.”

I grabbed the big sliding door’s handle, but the thing hated me and refused to open. “Are you sure it’s unlocked?”

“Yeah, that’s what it says here.” I heard a succession of clicks as she hit the master control switch. “It’s unlocked.”

I tried it again, and felt it give just a bit. I yanked hard, making my shoulder hurt, and managed to pull it open fully.

“There you go,” Irene said. I climbed into the back, where Christian sat playing with a handheld video game.

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