Her Homecoming Surrender

"Fucking bullshit." She thought, trying to stay still as she stared at the blank ceiling in Declan's flat in Arbor Hill. The studio was small, crammed with his photography, but she found it romantic, and she wanted to spend as much of her fleeting time in Dublin with him as she could.

In the morning she was flying back to the States, the Midwest, the farm with a capital F. She hadn't seen her parents in almost three years, not since the door closed on her dorm room the day they moved her up to school. It seemed like a lifetime ago. She hadn't meant to let three years go by. The time felt like a gaping hole. An impassable crevasse filled with its own gravity - sucking her mind and all of her energy into it.

She stared at the blank soulless ceiling, its emptiness contrasted by the beauty of the pictures on display around the room, soft moonlight washing in from the windows at the top of the space.

She wished time would stop.

Dublin was everything the farm and school and the states were not. It was modern yet ancient, European and cultured, with all of the flourishes that entailed. Living in a real city in a new country was hot and enthralling in a way that was hard to describe. It pushed every button inside her. She'd spent most of her third college Autumn trying and failing to move on from Graham - we'll get to him - but he faded almost the moment she walked the city for the first time.

Living with her host family in Stoneybatter, she strolled through Phoenix Park the first day and almost every day after. She fell in love with the park and the city and the people.

It was on the Ha'penny Bridge while sketching the cityscape that she met Declan. He was taking pictures that put her drawings to shame, and his passion for the place put her under an immediate spell.

Everything about him tugged at her senses; the stray lock of hair that peeked out of his hat, his deep green eyes that always found the perfect frame for every photo, his fair, rosy skin that was always just a bit pink - particularly when it was windy outside, as they often were.

They fell in together immediately. He knew she was his for only the spring. There was an expiration date on this romance, and he didn't waste it.

The ceiling seemed to grow and shrink like it was mocking her. Chastising her anxiety at returning home to the family she'd neglected - the farm, the smallness of her childhood; mocking her melancholy at, once again, losing a love that filled her with passion.

She breathed deeply, trying to keep quiet. Eyes on the ceiling.

His hand found her leg, sending a familiar tingle through her body.

"You should be asleep," she whispered. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"I didn't want to sleep through your last night," he gave back in the cute Irish accent that always made her smile. His hand traced the inside of her thigh while his lips found her shoulder, softly kissing her arm. As he knew she wanted, his fingers began to dig into her leg more firmly. It felt very good. He'd learned her body well in a short time.

She'd already had him tonight, but she was glad he was awake for one more time together before they'd part.

She reached for his head. He always responded to her when she ran her fingers through his hair as he worked on her. She liked the feel of it, the control, guiding his head where she wanted him.

His kisses left little tingly spots all down her chest and stomach, a warmth growing inside her as he slid down the bed. Tugging a bit at his hair, she spread herself for him and he obeyed, immediately covering her mound with his mouth and tongue, wetting her and giving just a bit of pressure. She pulled his face into her, but he pulled away.

"No, no," he teased. "Not too quickly. This is my last time with you."

She loved when he made her wait.

Slowly, he started again. His tongue first found the outer edges, tracing around her inner thighs, the walls, just the outer lips - her hands pulling his hair again. She closed her eyes; the ceiling passed into the abyss.

Her mind started to calm as his tongue entered her, probing and dashing a bit, denying her clit any attention, waiting to build tension for her. Her legs widened as her whole body started to feel warm. He continued, slowly, carefully, methodically, never missing a beat. Every part of her sex getting attention, his hands moving over her ass - pulling her into his mouth and caressing, yet denying the one area she craved. Her neck strained and her hands and hips pushed into him, trying to move him to the spot.

He moved up, very slowly. Her hands yanked his hair as he slipped first one, then two fingers inside her, slowly tapping. Her mind focused only on her spot, waiting for him to tease it, then press into it.

At last, her head rolled back, body arching, hips meeting his face as she ground into him. His lips covered her clit as his tongue pressed down, lightly at first, his fingers still keeping their rhythm. She felt everything rising around her, almost floating. His pressure built slowly, holding steady as she tried to merge his face into her.

She gasped, letting go. Her vision blinked out as her body shuddered. Warmth flooded her as she pressed harder into him, everything on fire, like a conflagration of bliss. He held steady, unmoving, letting her squeeze onto him as she held onto every second. Her legs locked onto his head as she came.

Slowly opening her eyes, they once again found the ceiling. All frustration was gone. She glanced down at Declan, his face still tucked between her legs, green eyes gazing up warmly at hers, a sort of proud look in them. "This is how I want to remember you," she said, rustling his curls once more and giving his face a last squeeze between her legs.

He smiled, kissing her before tossing the cover over her just so, legs still dangling out, her chest bare. He walked to his setup, grabbing his Lecia M6 and winking at her. She blushed a bit, grabbing the covers to pose for him.

"And this is how I want to remember you," he rebutted, jumping onto the bed and taking a few shots of her from above, her bare legs and breasts exposed, hair tossed just enough to suggest what might have taken place. She was sure he'd get the perfect shot. He always did.

She never felt so alive.

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Sitting in her window seat she gazed at the endless sea. The Aer Lingus flight gave her plenty of time to reflect - on her time in Ireland, on her college years, on what she wanted to say to her family, on why she stayed away for so long, on Declan, and Graham, and the others.

As she settled into her seat her mind began to wander on her journey to Declan. How she had come to have a whirlwind affair with a hot Irish lad for that short semester.

Really, it all went back to her brother's best friend, Clint. She'd chased him and Nate around for years, secretly hoping he'd kiss her. He never did. He was her first fantasy - the first reason she touched herself, before she even knew what that meant. But that was all when they were kids. Six years was a long time. She'd grown up a lot since then.

She'd made it through the homecoming backseat fracas with Tom, trying to play it cool and not get caught and pretend like she knew what she was doing. She definitely did not. She had no idea what to do when she felt him for the first time. It was exciting! A penis! What the fuck do I do with this? Rub really fast? WTF? Help?!? And, well, let's just say Tom sure as shit did NOT know what to do with her. Her vagina might as well have been the lost city of gold.

She'd made it through her first love with Miles. The first semi-serious, sort of long-term, kind-of real thing. They'd tried to be a real couple. He really did care for her, and she for him. She'd given her first blowjob. He came in her mouth. It was like a BIG surprise when it happened. Uh...Hello! WTF now?!? Miles tried to please her too, seeming to be interested in learning what she liked. But they were young and didn't really know what their bodies responded to. And Miles moved away, which sucked.

There were the inevitable flings. The moments in high school. The dances and the dates and the hallways and the movie theaters. The backs of cars. The nervous, uncomfortable petting and groping and fumbling when neither she nor her partner knew how to do it right. Her hands were too quick or too slow. The boys who were too quick, or never interested in warming her up, or too frisky, or too rough.

But when she went off to college she figured things would get better. She'd settle in and find a rhythm. The capital letter M-E-N at a university would know what they were doing, right?

Right?!?!

It turns out they teach a lot of stuff at school, but not everything. Some things are self-taught and best learned through rigorous experimentation.

RIGOROUS.

Not that she minded. She had a couple of regulars and they were pretty generous, willing to experiment with her, letting her learn and give and receive. Sort of a minor in human sexuality, which should really be a mandatory course for everyone.

That first year was like a dream. She wanted to be the stereotype - THAT girl from the small farm town who made it to the big school and just went fucking wild. She found herself enthralled with the newness of it all. Experiencing passion and romance and wildness; taboos, all the things she was NOT supposed to be doing.

She had her first one-night stand. It was way better than it should have been. Not because he was particularly good; he wasn't. He was fine enough - a cute guy at the frat party. Just the perfect catalog picture of a college boy, with the collared shirt and the blonde hair - not too short, but tucked back slightly, behind his ears. He was taller than her, and strong enough to make her feel small in his arms when they were naked together. The sex was like totally drunk frat house C- stuff. Exactly the shit people laugh about years later. Mostly she remembered liking the kinky feeling that she didn't know him at all. That a party hookup was a B-A-D girl thing, a thing you read about in THOSE BOOKS. The thing the church ladies gossip about to their friends about the other women's daughters who had gone astray.

It made her feel really, really naughty.

She also felt really horny when she walked home the next morning in her dress from the night before. Like, incredibly turned on. Watching all the guys just take her in with their eyes as she walked down the hallway, down the stairs, past the main room, and out the door. She could feel each of them imagining that they were the ones with her the night before. She really liked it.

It's not like she did that on the regular though. Rarely. But she did learn something about herself. About novelty and newness and kink.

After a couple of months, she met Graham at the animal shelter she volunteered at on the weekends. He had the softest eyes she'd ever seen. They just sort of gathered you to him, like the soft comfort of your favorite teddy bear or a picnic blanket in a field on a warm clear summer day. There was this relaxed energy around him that just made everything radiate. They caught on pretty quickly and spent most of his final two years together.

She loved his writing - he studied English literature; often coming to her with some random thing he'd written her, a flourish. She found it endearing and romantic. He also was talented in bed, and extremely unselfish, allowing her to unpack what really drove her and pleased her. It was the "core" portion of her minor studies in sexuality.

He was the first person to properly go down on her. Most of the previous guys had done it as a precursor to get a blowjob. You know, kind of an obligation or as a payback or something. He did it like he was ravenous. Like his only object in life was to eat her pussy. He took his time even before teasing her, kissing her mouth, touching her back and thighs. When he finally touched her properly she was so hot for it she barely needed much to get pretty close to cumming. He did it in a way that made her want his hand and mouth like she never knew was possible, but still, he'd go slow, not rushing, denying her, holding back, making her crave it. Everything he did heightened her pleasure. The other guys couldn't wait to get her underwear off, most of the time they couldn't wait to get to intercourse, like foreplay was an STI.

Graham would make it a special game, almost making her beg him, like he was doing her the favor, like she needed him for this thing, without his help, without his fingers, without his mouth, she'd be frozen forever in this torture. Then he'd slowly take them down and trace around her, first with his fingers, softly, slowly, followed by his mouth and tongue. He never rushed, never stopping or neglecting or failing to tend to an area of her body. His hands were always in motion. His tongue slowly built pressure into her, first inside her and then on her clit as she'd press back into him. Even now on the plane, she could almost feel his mouth on her. How he'd take all the time to tease her to the edge, then, when she was nearly there, he'd maintain his pressure, adding his fingers and driving her over to bliss.

She missed him.

The last year since he'd graduated had been hard. She really struggled to find her way without him. But the trip to Ireland had been a break through the malaise. She hadn't really set out to find Declan, but he really helped her on the path forward in a healthy way. He was a perfect next step.

She'd miss Declan like she missed Graham. Both now parts of her, pieces of who she was, a part of her journey.

The sea continued on below as the anxiety began to creep back. Her dad would be at the airport to meet her when she landed. How were they going to be? What was she going to say?

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The driveway turned from asphalt to the familiar dirt she remembered from the long childhood summer days on the farm. Her memories started flowing back as the truck began to shudder and lurch along the road home. The white wooden fence lined both sides of the road marking the pens for the livestock, horses on one side with workers attending the cows on the other. Her dad, typically silent, driving a bit too fast as usual, seemed pleased to have her back.

It happened by accident, really - the three years since she'd been home. She'd left for school assuming she'd be home for holidays and summers and all the things kids and parents tell themselves when they stand at the dorm entrance with tears flowing as they part. But she hadn't been home. She loved it at school. She had everything there. A life, opportunity, occasionally love, certainly adventure. And she'd spent the previous spring in Dublin, studying architectural and landscape design in an amazing place meeting amazing people (and Declan of course). Because she'd been in Dublin all spring, she didn't have a room at school for the summer, so here she was, back home.

Looking at her dad felt nice. His face was familiar in all the good ways. He didn't make her feel guilty for all the time away like he could have, probably should have. He'd helped squelch a bit of her anxiety.

The farmhouse was flanked by the large barn on the south side. She looked forward to reuniting with Rascal. Her horse had been her primary companion in middle and high school, helping her through her awkward phase and teaching her how to push through the difficult moments and find her stride.

As the truck came to a stop, she caught a glimpse of her brother Nate and her mother, both looking happy to see her, another piece of her stress falling away.

"The story is the Prodigal Son" Nate quipped as she opened the door. "Not the Prodigal Daughter!"

"Stop it." Mom slapped a dishrag at him, rushing over to give her a hug, eyes already watering.

"Hi Momma, I'm sorry it's.."

"Shh"

As she collapsed into her mother's arms the emotions came tumbling out as the place folded back into her mind, filling her with a kaleidoscope of visions. She was ten again, chasing Nate and Clint through the woods, begging for them to let her fish with them in the creek. Then she was thirteen, dying inside as she watched Clint saddle Rascal for her.

The night flew by as she caught up over dinner and several bottles of Pinot Noir. Dad brought his favorite Cliff Lede out for the homecoming. The fear and anxiety she held for so long was unnecessary, they were happy to have her here. She was surprised to be happy to be home.

As they were finishing the last bottle, she walked to the front porch with Nate, taking in the stars.

"Are the hands still here?" She asked, noting the lights still on in the barn.

"Oh, yeah. Clint usually stays pretty late working with the horses these days. He likes to make sure everything is finished the way he likes before he goes home."

"Clint....."

"Oh, you probably don't know. Clint manages the whole operation now. When he graduated, he came here. Took over as full-time manager last year. Showed up pretty much as soon as you left."

Sparks ignited in her mind. Clint was the first boy she'd ever crushed hard on. She hadn't seen or spoken to him since he graduated high school and left for college six years ago - a lifetime ago.

Clint was here. Clint was HERE.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

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She took longer than she was proud of getting dressed the next morning, trying to find just the right combination - something that said: "I'm an adult and I'm hot, but I'm also classy, and I'm definitely someone you want to fuck, but also I'm someone you can put that ring on, and your mom will love me, and I look good naked."

Basically, she tried on everything, eventually going with a pair of jean shorts, her nice riding boots, and a matching top for her good cowgirl hat.

When she entered the barn, she went to Rascal, who immediately began neighing. Her heart fluttered. She missed her horse. She placed her hand on Rascal's face, rubbing her between the eyes. It would be fun to ride again.

After saddling her, she headed out, taking the trail south to get Rascal used to having her on her back again. They trotted around the property for an hour, moving between the pens and fields, making their way down the stream where Nate and Clint would never let her fish with them when they were all little.

It felt good to ride Rascal again, having the wind flowing around them both as she galloped. The feel of the ground underneath them as she cornered and trotted. It all came back to her like the three years had been one long weekend.

As they walked back towards the barn, she saw him. It was definitely Clint. But not Clint from those years ago. This was a full man, a cowboy. He filled out his jeans and shirt well, sleeves rolled up as he tossed the bails of hay out to the feeders. His eyes were cloaked in shadow under his hat; his boots - well broken in. His face was lean from the farm work, a strong jaw tanned by the sun.

She continued to pace Rascal towards the pen where he was working. He paused, removing his hat to wipe his brow, giving the sun a chance to light his face. His dark hair tossed about his neck as he turned toward her, his eyes finding hers.

She waited, not sure what she would say if he spoke.

"Well, well, well. Look who's back," he said, clearly recognizing her.

"I hear you're the boss around here now," she said, playfully. "Do I need permission to ride in your fields Mr?"

He laughed. "I think Rascal would run me over if I didn't let her take you out."

"She's still got legs under her, good strides today." She sensed an opportunity, so she took it. "You should grab one of the others at the barn tomorrow and see if you can keep up."

"I know these horses and these grounds better than you now. You'd have to bring it all just to stay within view," he fired back, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.