Shelley and James
About five months after she broke up with JB, Shelley went to her high school reunion. She was nervous about seeing people and being seen, and didn't know what to wear. Eventually she chose a band shirt and leggings and combat boots, but didn't bother with makeup.
She had fun, on the whole. She got giggly drunk and managed to feel like she belonged. She was able to talk to people she hadn't felt able to approach during school. She had a great conversation with one of her old English teachers and confessed to having had a crush on him when she was 13. She even patched things up with a girl who was her friend at the beginning of one year but later turned on her and became one of her biggest critics.
When the event finally wound up, at something like 3am, she found herself with $5 left and none of the buses running, so she shared a cab with this guy called James. He'd been in one of her classes but she couldn't remember which, and they'd never actually spoken to each other at school. He invited her to kip on his sofa, and she was glad not to have to think about walking home in the dark.
James didn't want to wake his housemates so he didn't switch on any lights. Shelley held his hand so she didn't fall over stuff. When they got to the sofa they found someone already sleeping on it. James said she could sleep in his bed and he'd take the floor. She was touched by this and said he could sleep in the bed too, she trusted him.
James undressed, down to his boxers. Shelley kept everything on (except the boots). They slid beween the sheets and lay on their backs, staring at the ceiling, politely ignoring each other, taking care not to touch. Shelley listened to the muted sound of occasional traffic and the mewling of cats, and drifted in and out of sleep.
James woke her at 9am because he had go out. She thanked him for letting her stay. She was surprised when he offered her his number, asked if they might get together again sometime soon. He wasn't much her type, but he was nice enough, and they'd had a fun chat the night before, so she thought, why not? So they swapped numbers, then he walked her to the bus stop.
A week later they met for drinks and stayed out late watching a band comp. James said she could stay the night. She was giggly drunk again and he was rather more than that (hard to tell when you didn't know someone well enough yet). She decided he hadn't taken her out just to get her pissed so he could get in her pants, rather, he'd taken her out because he liked her (and wanted to get in her pants anyway). So she agreed.
In the cab on the way back they held hands and kept glancing at each other, smiling. She kept hold of his hand until they were in his room, then went to kiss him.
"Not yet. I want it to be like last week."
What, was she being too forward? Had she misunderstood his signals? Was he actually really old-fashioned and didn't want to have sex until they'd been dating a while?
"I don't understand. Like last week how?"
"You keep everything on."
Unlike the week before, she was wearing jeans, and they weren't particularly clean because they'd been sitting on the floor in the pub for part of the night.
"I don't want to get your sheets dirty."
"I don't care about that."
"Uh, okay, I guess."
She got into bed and waited. This time he actually turned away while he undressed. When he got in bed he lay right on the edge and looked sideways at her in the gloom.
"I really wanted to do something last week, you know."
"Oh? Well, it was sweet of you not to. I mean, I wouldn't have minded if you did, probably, but since you gave me the impression you were being a gentleman, it was good of you to stick to that."
"I don't want you to think I'm just using you."
"I don't want to think that either."
He moved closer, halving the distance between them. She could feel his breath on her neck. Her hands were clasped on her stomach and she so wanted to unclasp them and reach across to touch him, but they seemed locked, and her head was buzzing, and everything seemed to be rushing past.
"I never noticed you at school. Why didn't I notice you?"
"I dunno. I didn't really notice you either. I mean, I knew your name, what you looked like, but we moved in different circles. You kinda hung out with the tough crowd. I might have been a bit afraid of you."
"Tough? Haha. You're kidding! What, Chris and that? Nah, we weren't tough."
He moved a fraction closer, propped himself up on one elbow, looked down at her. This put his face in shadow. She didn't know if he was smiling or what. She hoped he was smiling.
"I don't want to creep you out. Are you okay there, like that?"
"What? Oh, yeah, sure, I'm fine. It just feels weird being dressed in bed."
He reached across, very slowly, and touched her arm, under the covers. She jumped slightly. He waited a moment, then felt down her arm to her hands, and prised one loose.
"You're tense. Don't be tense. I don't want to do anything you don't like."
"It's okay, I'm just... Well, a bit nervous I s'pose."
"Don't be nervous. You don't need to be nervous. Is it okay if I kiss you?"
She could feel herself blushing, didn't know why on earth she should be blushing. It wasn't like she hadn't been kissed before (in bed/in bed by a guy/in bed by a guy in his underwear/in bed by a guy in his underwear with an erection she was suddenly very aware of). Instead of replying she pulled him closer. He shifted to completely close the gap between them, pressing hard against her leg, breathing more heavily, squeezing her hand.
"I can't believe I didn't notice you at school."
"Um... I wasn't very noticeable, really. I was a dork."
"You weren't a dork, you were just shy. Yeah?"
"Uh-huh."
She was aware of his face moving closer to hers. She supposed he was keeping it slow in case she wanted to change her mind. She lifted her other arm, reached up, found his stubbly chin, stroked the side of his face. This was almost totally new - a guy interested in her before she'd been interested in him? Only happened once before (and she'd made a mess of that one by still being hung up on Gerard). She considered her feelings - aroused, yes; comfortable, yes (apart from being overdressed for the occasion); happy to proceed, yes.
She exerted just a little pressure, to bring his face right down to hers. Their lips touched, brushed past, returned, pressed together. She wanted the kissing to be gentle at first, but he wanted to get straight into the spit-swapping, apparently. She sighed inwardly - despite all the promising signs, despite his being gentlemanly and not pushing her into anything, it was going to be like every other encounter - great until it actually started. But she was committed now, she felt, so she'd better act like she was enjoying it.
She hadn't realised she was crying, but he noticed. He stopped abrading her with his stubble and drew back.
"Hey... It's okay, we can wait. I can just hold you. Sorry about the... you know... down there."
So he held her. She didn't want to cry, but the tears kept coming. He rested his head on her shoulder and gently kissed her neck, in a reassuring rather than passionate way. She wept, snuffled, wanted something to wipe her nose with but couldn't speak. He was quiet, but there. He wanted to comfort her, he really did. She felt like such a shit, hoped he didn't think she was crying because she was fucked up (although she was) and one of those stupid girls who changed their minds every five seconds and cried to get attention or whatever else it was they wanted.
The tears eventually dried up and she slid out of bed to take off her jeans. He brought her a glass of water and some tissues. She tried to apologise, but he wouldn't let her. He asked if she wanted to go home, said he'd pay for a cab.
"I want to stay. I want to snuggle up. Is that okay?"
"Of course it's okay. C'mere..."
He hugged her, sitting on the edge of the bed. They got in and she wrapped herself around him, as close as she could be without making both of them uncomfortable. He fell asleep fairly soon after. She listened to his soft snoring, feeling jealous and slightly annoyed, but mainly better.