Friday, August 12, 2011


"You're hands are so small," Jeremy said, as he threaded his masculine fingers between my dainty ones.

"Maybe yours are just big," I teased back, glancing up at him shyly.

It's harmless, I told myself. We're just talking. Friends hold hands all the time.

•  •  •  •  •

It was Friday night after finals, and I was at a house party. Everyone was in the basement playing pool and Wii "Just Dance." I had channeled my inner MC Hammer and gotten the high score for "U Can't Touch This" before going upstairs for another beer. I was on my way out of the kitchen when I ran into Jeremy leaving the bathroom. We had stood in the hallway chatting for about 15 minutes before he suggested sitting on the couch.

I had thought he was cute from a distance all semester, even though he was a jock. I tended to prefer someone my size, someone I knew I could take if I had to. It didn't matter anyway; my roommate, Sarah, had called dibs on him the first day we saw him. Like most college guys I knew, he seemed to want to keep his options open, dating girls a few times, but never getting serious. We were friends through a group, so I knew him, but not very well. This was the first time I'd had a chance to talk to him alone.

As we chatted, I felt an instant chemistry with him. I watched his soft, full lips form the words to a story, his chocolate-brown eyes giving away that it was a joke. I laughed and touched his arm, tucking my foot under my knee so I could face him more easily. Just some light flirting. He got up to get us fresh drinks, and when he sat back down, he had closed the distance between us by half. No big deal.

"To the end of finals," he said with a lopsided grin, clinking my bottle with his.

"Amen," I agreed, leaning back into the sofa. I took a long swig and felt the alcohol tingle down my throat before I set it on the coffee table next to his.

"Those are cool earrings." He reached over and delicately held my earlobe. I inhaled his crisp, musky scent, as my breath caught in my throat.

"Thanks." I reached up to feel them. Our hands brushed against each other, and mine lingered for a moment before settling on the pearl stud. "Oh, these were a present from my sister on my 21st birthday."

He let out a low whistle. "Nice sister."

I smiled. "Sometimes being the youngest has its perks. She's been in the real world long enough to actually have money." 

As my hand fell back to the couch, I let it land beside his. He slid his pinky on top of mine sending a shiver through me.

"You're hands are so small," Jeremy said, as he threaded his masculine fingers between my dainty ones.

"Maybe yours are just big," I teased back, glancing up at him shyly.

It's harmless, I told myself. We're just talking. Friends hold hands all the time.

As he manipulated my fingers, we shifted closer to each other so that only a space of electricity was left between us.

I fought to control my breathing, my chest tight with desire. His breath was warm on my fingertips. I closed my eyes and let my head tilt until it was scarcely touching his shoulder. His lips skimmed across my knuckle, and I was glad we were already sitting as my knees went weak.


I knew he wanted me to look up at him. I wanted to look up at him, but I knew what would happen if I did.

"Yes?" My skin was tingling and the butterflies in my stomach made it difficult to speak.


I took a slow, trembling breath, and opened my eyes before tilting my face toward his.

"Yes?" The word was whispered so quietly, it was simply a puff of air in the inch between us.

Stop. You have to tell him you can't. 

He leaned down toward me, seemingly in slow motion, yet too quickly for me to say the words I knew I needed to say.

His lips were warm and gentle, and suddenly the world fell away, and there was no couch, no party, no Sarah, just Jeremy. His arm around my back, his other hand squeezing my thigh, his curly brown hair enmeshed in my fingers. His fingers, spanning my shoulder blades as easily as he could palm a basketball. Our kisses became deeper and more urgent until I found myself wanting nothing more than to feel the weight of his body on top of mine.

Reluctantly, we came back to reality, and slowly, achingly, disentangled ourselves from each other. I slid my legs that had found their way onto his lap back down on the couch. My hand plaintively shifted from his six-pack abs under his sweater to my own lap. He angled back to look in my eyes and swept the hair from my cheek. Gently he kissed my nose, then my forehead, before pulling me to him. I leaned my head on his chest as he enveloped me with brawny arms. The euphoria faded as I realized I would have to go back downstairs and see Sarah.

This week's prompt was: 
Let's get all steamy up in here and write about sex. But you know us. There's a twist. You can't write about the act. I don't want to read about any heaving bosoms or girded manhood (please tell me someone else giggled besides me). There are so many other possibilities. And I hope you have fun finding them.Limit is 600 words. It can be fiction or non-fiction. Come back here and link up Friday!!
I decided to write about the intensity that leads up to sex and the post-coital snuggling, skipping the act itself. I suppose there was a bit of heaving bosom involved, so I'm not sure I completed the assignment entirely within the parameters. As always, concrit is welcome!
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