The Way Things Change

A car alarm blared on the street outside my bedroom window. Drowsily, I woke, grabbing my alarm clock off the stand to check the time. 6:27. Perfect. I groaned as my head fell back onto the pillow.

Get up. Don't be lazy, thought one half of my brain.

The other half immediately responded: Just hit the snooze button once the alarm goes off. Thirteen more minutes of sleep, you'll still be able to get out there in time.

Kicking the sheets off me, I groaned and rolled upright, grabbing for my glasses.

***

I was greeted by a brisk breeze as I left the foyer of my apartment building. Early July in Boston is usually fairly warm and humid, but the city had been blessed with a cool spell as of late. Per usual, Becca was sitting on my steps waiting for me.

"Twelve minutes? That's pretty quick for a Sunday morning."

"I almost didn't get up, but the thought of not seeing your pretty face for two weeks got me out of bed," I teased her as she stood, swatting at me playfully. Without another word, we turned and headed down the street.

Becca and I had been friends since high school. Actually, that's not entirely accurate. We had dated for most of high school, but had broken up once I left for college. A year behind me, Becca eventually went on her own way. Fate found us in the same city seven years later, her doing doctorate studies at Harvard Medical and me working full-time at a moving company, paying off my undergraduate loans while I rowed. It made sense: Becca had fallen in love with the city while an undergrad at Northeastern, and there are few better cities in the world for rowing than Boston.

Meeting again after a breakup such as ours was an interesting experience. Through a mutual friend, she had found out that I was living in the city year-round, and after four years of no contact, I received a phone call from her, asking if I wanted to get lunch one afternoon. Since that Saturday, we saw each other pretty regularly, our weekly post-work lunches turning into our daily morning run. It was as if the separation we had endured was merely minutes instead of years, and our friendship picked up right from where we started. Our relationship, however, had to remain in the past. Becca had been dating a man named Paul for two years. We had met when she brought him along to lunch one day, and I knew he was a good man. I had no intention of stealing his girlfriend from him. Besides, I was living in the city, and there were plenty of beautiful women around. Or at least that was what I told myself.

***

In silence, we headed down Massachusetts Avenue, enjoying the sights and sounds of a city rising to begin another day. For miles, we passed by shops and restaurants, where workers were mopping floors, setting up tables, and preparing breads and other baked goods. Accompanied only by the rhythm of our running shoes slapping the sidewalk simultaneously, we pushed the pace for each other. Thankfully, the sidewalk was uncrowded this early in the morning. When it narrowed due to a table or a handcart near an unloaded truck, I allowed Becca to take the lead. I had explained to her that she could set the pace because she was a better runner, and that was true. But most of my motivation in allowing her to lead was due to the fact that I wanted to enjoy the sight of her lithe, athletic body. She was small, maybe 5'3" at the most, but what she had was proportionally generous. Underneath those running shorts was a small, tight butt, with toned and tanned legs that just begged to be wrapped around a man's waist. Her brunette ponytail swished back and forth between her petite shoulders, hiding and revealing a graceful neck. I could remember how kissing her neck sometimes turned me on as much as kissing her lips, and how the feeling was mutual.

***

At 8:30, we arrived back at my apartment steps. The sun had started to heat up the street, and we were both sweating and panting heavily.

"Hour forty-five," she said as she looked at her watch. "We're getting slow." I was incredulous.

"Slow?" I exclaimed. "I thought you wanted to finish the marathon, not die before it. That was the 13-mile route."

"That's fine for training, I guess." We both knew that I was the reason she wasn't running any faster; I was never a good distance runner. Just finishing the 13 miles was good enough for me.

"I guess," she said, kicking me lightly as if to say "you can do better than that."

"Fine," I offered. "Next time you can run it without me, and I'm sure you'll finish it in under an hour-forty."

"But then you wouldn't be working out on Sundays, and that would just be a waste."

"Bully."

"Jerk."

"Come on, you want a cool-down smoothie?" I knew she couldn't resist my smoothies, and of course, her eyes lit up and she nodded like a little child. I laughed at her innocent look as I fished my key out of the side of my sneaker and unlocked the door.

***

"What'll it be, missy?" I asked her as she flopped down on the couch in the living room.

"Whaddya got?" she asked me. I looked through the hole over the counter into the living room. Her eyes were closed and her tank top had ridden up her torso, exposing her midriff. I stared, hypnotized, watching the revealed patch of skin on her stomach rise and fall with her breath. Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open. Flustered, I made like I was looking for something in the shelf above my head.

"I'll make up anything your heart desires, milady."

"Make it alcoholic, then," she asked with the hint of a joke in her voice. "Hmm...I'm in a banana mood this morning, I think." I threw a few bananas and some other ingredients into a blender and hit the puree button. A minute later, I brought out two glasses and handed one to her as she slid up to make room for me on the couch.

"Good?" I asked as she took a sip. I waited like a nervous chef for her to take the first taste.

"Umm, not really. I think I'm going to have to send it back," she said as she took another swallow and winked at me. She held up her glass to me, and we clinked rims, celebrating another good Sunday morning run. We sat in silence again, savoring the gentle soreness of a good workout. Out of the corner of my eyes, I stole the occasional glance at her beautiful face, hiding any evidence of my arousal with a cool glass of banana smoothie. Her legs were crossed under her as she leaned against the armrest. With her free hand, she was toying with a piece of the sole that was coming loose, and I knew she was thinking of something.

Time to take the direct approach, I thought as I put my glass down on the coffee table in front of us and looked directly at her. "What's on your mind?"

"Huh?" Her head snapped up, a look of confusion on her face.

"You were kind of quiet out there this morning. I felt a little lonely." She chuckled; we never talked during our runs unless one of us was injured.

"I was just thinking."

"Never too late to start," I teased as she swatted at me for the thousandth time. "Well, was there something specific you were thinking about, or was it just to make sure your brain was still working?"

Her head snapped up again, her eyes locking on to mine. "Why did we break up back in high school?"

That was unexpected.

"Is this what you were thinking about?"

"Yes. Damien, we've been going on these morning runs for three months now. It's been four since we had lunch that day." I knew she was getting to something, but I wasn't sure what, so I kept my mouth shut and nodded to her to continue. "It feels like I we never even spent any time apart, like we've been friends for those four years since I last saw you. I had such anger in me for a long time, hating you for walking away, but now I see you once, and it all goes away and all I want is to be your friend again. We were good together. Look at us, we're still good together! Why did you have to walk away from it?"

I had no idea that she felt like that, although I probably should have assumed she would have felt like this. I sure did.

"Do you want my honest answer?" She nodded. As if she'd want me to lie to her. I took a deep breath and started talking.

"I was terrified that week before I left for school. You're right, that summer was probably one of the best times of my life, and I don't regret it at all. But I kept looking towards the future with us together, and I got scared, not knowing what dating any other woman was like, what being with any other woman would be like. I didn't want to make you wait, and I didn't want to wait for you to get out of high school, so I left. Besides, I knew you wouldn't have been happy in New York. I knew your heart was already here."

"But I could have been happy. If we had been there together..." She trailed off, her gaze falling back towards her tattered sole.

More to fill the silence than anything else, I asked her, "How long has that been on the tip of your tongue?"

Not lifting her head, she answered. "Four months."

I leaned back and clasped my hands behind my head, my relaxed posture belying my inner feelings. My stomach was wound like a watch spring; the tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. After an interminable pause, Becca stood.

"I have to go. Thanks for the drink." Ah, classic parting words, although the aforementioned drink is usually something stronger than a smoothie.

"Wait," I called after her as I rose to say goodbye. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"I'll be there," she said over her shoulder as she closed the door. I knelt on the couch, watching out the window to catch her run from my building for the long trip back over the Charles to her apartment. She left my building, rounded the corner, and disappeared. I sat on the couch for a second before I realized that my hands were clenched into fists down in my lap. I grabbed my key from the counter and left my building again, my sneakers slapping against the pavement as I went in the opposite direction.

***

Like she had promised, she was waiting for me on the steps of my building Monday morning. Without a word, we ran until we reached the boathouse on the Charles where I rowed. While I stopped to enter the building, Becca didn't even slow down; she continued on as if we were two strangers who just happened to be running in the same direction. This continued as the week progressed, our morning run not even broken up by words of parting. Perversely, I found myself leaving my building earlier each morning. Part of me wanted to get the awkward greeting over with and start the run, while part of me wanted to see whether things would be different that morning and she would address me.

Finally, on Sunday, a week after our conversation, I awoke at quarter after six. Instead of rolling back over and trying to eke out a few more minutes of rest, I immediately got out of bed and threw on my running shoes. The front steps were vacant. I had beaten her; this hadn't happened before in the three months we had been running together. I sat down to await her arrival.

It wasn't a long wait. Minutes after I sat down, she rounded the corner. A look of surprise crossed her face for a fleeting moment before the mask of indifference fell back over her eyes. She wasn't expecting it, either. But I wasn't really expecting her reaction. She didn't even turn to look at me as she passed; instead, she kept running at the same pace she came around the corner at. Shocked, I sat there just watching her for a second, unsure of what to do.

"Wait, Becca, wait!" I called after her as I shook off my stupor and chased her down. She slowed and began to turn back towards me as I sprinted the 20 feet or so she had run from me.

When I reached her, I took her hands in mine and looked her square in the eyes. There were so many things I wanted to tell her; so many thoughts had run through my head in the past week. Emotions swirled through my mind, but there was only one thought that stood out, that kept coming back to me. So I said it.

"I'm sorry."

I'm sorry, Becca. I'm sorry for all the hurt I caused you. I'm sorry I wasn't a stronger man. I'm sorry that I threw away what was probably one of the best things to ever happen to me. I'm sorry that even now, I still have the power only to hurt you. For that, and for a million reasons more, I'm sorry.

None of those words crossed my lips, but I could tell by the way that her gaze softened that she could see right through my words to understand what I was really trying to say. She didn't respond for a few moments, but I could see her lips moving, silently mouthing words while simultaneously trying to hold back tears.

"What?" I barely whispered the word as I took a step towards her. I wanted to know if I had ruined our friendship or saved it. I still couldn't hear her words, though, and I took another step forward. This brought my face within inches of hers, and I could begin to hear her whispers. A single tear rolled down her cheek as I finally made out the words she was barely breathing out loud:

"Thank you."

All at once, her mouth stopped moving as she bit her bottom lip. I think we both became aware of how close our faces were at the same moment. I was still holding on to her hands. Time seemed to stand still while my heartbeat pounded in my ears, quickened by my tiny sprint and the tension of anticipating her reaction. Seemingly with a mind of their own, my hands gently tugged on hers, pulling her body closer to mine. Our eyes never breaking their gaze, our lips brushed tentatively against each other. As soon as I felt that she wouldn't push me away, however, I brought my hands to the run my fingers through her hair as I drew her face close to mine. She responded immediately, her mouth hungrily opening, her tongue darting out in search of mine. Her hands wrapped around my waist as our kiss deepened. Our bodies melted into one another, and I was at once made acutely aware of her small, firm breasts pressing into my chest as she squeezed tighter.

Sensations from another lifetime flooded back. I had just crossed over to a place that I thought I would never -- could never -- return to. The taste of her lips, the light pressure of her arms around my waist -- the physical feelings of a highly emotional relationship came back just as easily as the memories of all the places we had been together. But I wanted more. I wanted to take her upstairs and feel every curve of her body, everything insider her, and I wanted her to feel me, too. I could tell it was what we both wanted as we continued making out in the middle of the sidewalk early on a Sunday morning. Deep down within, I wanted her more than anything, but I knew that it wasn't going to happen. She had Paul, probably waiting in a bed they shared for her to return back from her run. And I liked Paul. We got on well.

Finally, we broke away from our kiss. We were still looking directly into each other's eyes. I didn't know what to say. Becca was the first to break the silence.

"So what do we do now?"

***

We banged through the door in a flurry of lips and arms. Our tongues hungrily searched each other out as I kicked the door closed behind me and pushed Becca against it. She moaned as my lips found her neck, that graceful neck that I longed to kiss every time I ran behind her. With one hand, I pinned her wrists over her head, while with the other one, I struggled to remove her tight sports bra. Pulling it over her head, her perky breasts fell free, the nipples hard. My hands immediately attached themselves to her breasts, massaging and pinching while my mouth continued assaulting her neck.

There was no discussion between the street and my room. She had grabbed my wrist and led me towards my building. I followed her without a word, my moral dilemma silenced by biological need.

Our bodies locked together in a frantic, shifting embrace, we pushed ourselves away from the entrance of my apartment and towards the center of the living room, any place large enough to contain two writhing, thrusting bodies. Reaching the couch, I felt a violent need to fuck her that I had never felt towards any other woman before. The taboos associated with having sex with an attached ex-girlfriend, combined with the adrenaline surging through my system unleashed an animalistic lust inside my body that I could only viciously pound out on both of our bodies.

Roughly, I spun her around in my arms, pushed her over the arm of the couch, and pulled her tight shorts down her legs. They pooled together at her ankles, trapping her legs close together. Without hesitation, I pulled my seven-inch penis out of my own shorts where it had been bound by lycra and thrust it inside of her, my hips slamming against her buttocks with an audible "slap". She groaned, a deep, guttural moan that seemed to be forced out of her lungs from my thrust.

Her pussy felt so good, so warm and tight. I had never had sex without a condom before, but I don't think anything could've gotten me to use one at this point. Matching my thrust, I pulled out fast, then thrust myself against her bent-over body again. Immediately, she started thrusting back at me, her body moving in time to match my thrusts. The only sounds ini the apartment were our bodies rhythmically hitting each other and our labored breathing and moaning. I reached underneath her, and with my left hand rolled her left breast in my palm, pinching the nipple. With my right hand, I reached down between her legs and found her clit.

She shrieked when I touched her, and I involuntarily gasped as her pussy tightened around my cock. I could feel myself thrusting into her as my fingers played between her wet folds. Within minutes, she was moaning and gasping nonsensical syllables and her head lay on the cushions of the couch. Her eyes were closed and her face crinkled together in ecstasy. After only a few minutes of this position, I could feel her body begin to tense up and hear her breathing quicken. I knew she was going to come, so I increased the speed of my thrusts and my fingers. Abruptly, she stopped moving back against me, and her body went rigid. She wasn't a loud girl in bed, so I could only tell she had orgasmed when she relaxed, leaned against me and sighed with satisfaction.

I wanted to feel the same kind of relief that she was, but my rock-hard penis told a different tale. I grasped it and began masturbating when I pulled out of her. Blindly, she reached back, still bent over the couch.

"No, stop that," she said, resting her hand on my cock. "I'll take care of that in a second. Just let me catch my breath."

I sat down on the couch as she recovered her composure. I kept stroking my cock, letting my eyes devour her perfect, nude form. Her hair was down over her face, her hair tie lost somewhere in the past few minutes of frantic sex. Following it downward, her round, tight ass stuck out at an obscene angle, topping off the sexiest pair of legs ever put onto a woman. She was still wearing her running sneakers, with her socks sticking out slightly over the tops. Somehow, that seemed even naughtier than if she had been completely naked.

Slowly, she drew herself back up until her chest was level with my eyes. Now that was a fortunate coincidence. Without a word, she knelt down between my legs, tucking the hair on the right side of her face back behind her ear, her eyes never leaving my penis.

Then she took me in her mouth. My mind went blank, my head rolled back, and all I could feel was her hot mouth around my shaft. One hand went to fondle my balls while the other followed the path of her mouth. I moaned in pleasure, running my hands through her hair. Her tongue danced over my head, caressing it with wet licks. Her mouth felt so good, but I didn't truly lose control until I looked down. Her emerald green eyes were looking back at me as she sucked my cock. This sweet young woman, who I last saw as a sweet young girl, was watching me as she sucked my dick, right after the most lust-filled sex I had ever had. The feelings running through me, combined with the feeling of her mouth and tongue on my shaft were just too much. My hands balled up into fists, gently pulling at her hair. She increased the speed and intensity of her motions, and I couldn't hold back any longer. With a cry, I emptied the sexual frustration she had been the cause of over the past four months into her mouth.