When We Were Young Ch 01 1

CHAPTER ONE: PRESENT DAY

"If you cancel, I'm going to kill you," Rachel's voice insisted through the phone. "You promised, and I know your sister is watching Novie because she told me, so you're not doing anything else."

I huffed out a sigh. "You two are conspiring against me now?"

"Conspiring for you," she corrected. "Come on; it's a masquerade, so you don't even have to do your makeup. And there'll be a bunch of guys you don't know there who you don't have to worry about running into again. How long has it been?"

"A while," I admitted. "The last time was...God, maybe Halloween?"

"It's February now. That much of a drought should be illegal for a MILF like you." She dragged out the words as she added, "And it's my birthday. You've never missed one before."

I sighed. "Okay, okay. I'll be there. But I'm not helping clean up."

She squealed. "Deal!"

Rachel hung up and I put my phone down to get ready. Honestly, if she hadn't called, I probably would've flaked on the party. First of all, who hosts a formal masquerade party -- like, rented out estate, catering, the works -- just because they're turning 25? Having a rich childhood friend was nice sometimes, but other times it was uncomfortable. I didn't fit in with the people she hung out with now, and I knew I was more of a pity invite than anything.

Still, she was right: It would be nice to hang out with other single people my own age. I had Novie right before I turned 19, and now I was 24 hanging out mostly with moms in their thirties who owned houses and hired other people to file their taxes while my actual peers were finishing degrees, going to bars on weekends, and trying to figure out how to save for retirement when the economy made no sense. I was stuck in a strange in-between space: One foot into 'real adulthood' with a kid in preschool and no roommates but still feeling just as much a kid as I had back in high school. Hopefully, tonight would be a nice break from my regular life, as much as I'd come to love it over the years.

I did my eye makeup since it's all that would be visible, keeping it fairly light in case I fell asleep with it on, mostly focusing on making my lashes full and dark. It was weird doing makeup without Novie next to me trying on colors or babbling about how she wanted her hair done that day. She'd gone to my oldest sister Bianca's after school, leaving me alone for the entirety of Friday evening.

Once I'd finished my eyes and wrestled my dark wavy hair into a high bun, I took a deep breath and confronted the dress I'd bought just for this occasion. I didn't go to a lot of formal events anymore, so going shopping was a treat for me when Rachel invited me to the party. Now, staring at the slinky silk slip dress in deep jewel pink, I felt a hearty amount of dread. I chastised myself: Why silk? It would show every single curve and imperfection on my body. At the time I bought it, I was feeling confident and body positive and all that, but not so much right now. I was around a size ten these days, much curvier than I had been when I was younger, and I flipped between liking how I carried the weight and hating it by the hour.

I sucked in a deep breath and snatched the dress off its hanger. Fuck it. I was going to have fun tonight if it killed me. I slipped on the strapless bra that would best disguise my prominent nipples through the thin fabric, skipped the panties because of the lines, and pulled on the dress. I paired it with the only heels I owned, which were nude suede and secured with an ankle strap, and my nicest jewelry, which just meant I didn't buy it from Claire's in high school. Sleek, simple gold necklace with a sea glass pendant and matching drop earrings; I owned a little boutique in my town that sold local works of all kinds, so sometimes I got a necklace I wouldn't be able to afford for myself out of the deal.

Since I didn't want to be early, I spent a while fiddling with what to put in my small clutch, cleaning up some of the leftover messes from the long week, and taking deep breaths to calm myself down. Finally, around eight, I called a car and rode in silence across town to this old-California-style villa that had been converted into a venue. Mostly for weddings, sure, but Rachel's insane blowout 25th mattered just as much.

As the car pulled up to the grand entrance of the mansion, I couldn't help but be impressed. The sprawling estate, surrounded by manicured gardens and softly illuminated by strategically placed lights, stood as a testament to opulence. We lived off the San Rita Bay, near San Diego, and the estate was perched over a cliff that overlooked the sea. In the darkness, the moonlight sparkled off the water.

Stepping out of the car, I marveled at the buzz of activity around me. Valets in crisp velvet uniforms opened car doors for elegantly dressed guests, their laughter and chatter filling the air. I recognized less than a quarter of them, which meant most of the guests weren't from our small town. The sound of a string quartet playing a classical melody wafted from inside the mansion, adding a touch of sophistication to the festive atmosphere.

I took a moment to smooth down the sleek lines of my dress and grabbed one of the masks on a large display Rachel had created at the bottom of the huge curving marble staircase. I picked one that was simpler, just a few ornate silver filigree details around the edges. I put it on, careful not to mess up my hair, and sucked in yet another deep breath.

Passing through the towering double doors, I found myself in a grand foyer adorned with crystal chandeliers and another imposing staircase that led to a balcony. All the floors were cream marble, the lights were rich buttery yellow, and everything reeked of opulence. The air was thick with the aroma of fresh flowers and the delicate notes of a carefully selected perfume. I hesitated for a moment, feeling a twinge of anxiety about being out of my comfort zone.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I ventured further into the mansion, the soft rustle of my silk dress a counterpoint to the lively ambiance. The grandeur of the party unfolded before me as I entered the main ballroom, where there was an extensive buffet being manned by chefs. Gilded mirrors reflected the twinkle of fairy lights and the dance of masks that adorned the faces of the guests. Everyone was wearing nicer clothes than me -- suits with tails and cummerbunds, dresses with jeweled bodices that swished along the floor, silk gloves up to the elbows -- and a wave of insecurity bloomed in my stomach.

Rachel, wearing an extravagant emerald green gown that matched the theme, spotted me from across the room, recognizing the dress she'd helped me pick out. She was the only person not wearing a mask, presumably so everyone would know who to shower with compliments and praise. Her eyes widened with excitement as she rushed over, enveloping me in a warm hug.

"You made it!" she exclaimed, pulling back to examine my outfit. She gestured for me to do a spin and I showed off. "You look so stunning, babe."

I smiled, grateful for her infectious enthusiasm. For all her faults and quirks, she was a good friend at the end of the day. "Thanks, Rach. You really went all out with this, didn't you?"

Her laughter echoed in the expansive room. "It's a once-in-a-lifetime celebration, right? You only turn twenty-five once. Now, come on, let me introduce you to some people."

As Rachel led me through the sea of masks and swirling dresses, I couldn't help but feel a surge of exhilaration. The anxiety I had felt earlier melted away, replaced by the energy of the lively gathering. Conversations flowed around me like a river, and I found myself drawn into the current of laughter, music, and celebration. She introduced me to friends from college and work and pointed out the mutual friends we had from high school. I tried to push myself to be social by floating around in between people I knew and strangers, exchanging small talk and catching up where I could.

After a while, though, my social battery was draining, so I went over to the open bar, which was set off in a quieter nook off the main room. I ordered Rachel's bespoke birthday cocktail which was some pink citrusy bubbly thing served in a champagne glass that bubbled delightfully on my tongue. I sipped on it slowly, watching women swirl around the dance floor like they were in a ballet. It was the end of January now, but there was still a bit of holiday spirit lingering in the air between the ruby skirts and sparkling chandeliers.

While I listened to the music and watched the commotion, I didn't even notice the guy coming up next to me until he tapped me on the shoulder, startling me slightly. He chuckled and said in a deep masculine voice, "Sorry to bother you. Just wondering if you'd like to dance."

I turned to look at him. He wore a red and gold mask that only obscured the top half of his face, so I could still see his brilliant green eyes and sharp scruffy jawline. Before agreeing, I pressed him, "Why do you want to dance with a stranger?"

"Do you want a charming answer or an honest one?"

I giggled as the couple of drinks I'd had made me feel light and airy. "Honest. Then charming, if the honest answer doesn't work."

He leaned toward me. I smelled expensive tart whiskey on his breath but knew he was only as buzzed as me from how confidently he spoke and carried himself. He told me, "Because you're sitting here alone with a gorgeous body that I'd love to very respectfully have my hands on for a few minutes."

"That doesn't sound too bad to me." I downed the last sip of my drink and stood up. "I'm trying to be more spontaneous lately, anyway."

"Well you've stumbled on exactly the right person; want to skip out on the rest of this thing and go sky-diving?"

I laughed. "Maybe not that spontaneous."

The guy led me to the dance floor, and we seamlessly blended into the rhythm of the music. The warm glow of the ballroom cast a soft ambiance over the dance floor, creating an intimate atmosphere. We joined in the middle of a song, but it didn't feel like we'd missed a single step. He wasn't tentative when he grabbed my waist and pulled me in close. Since he was a few inches taller than me even in my heels, I could nestle comfortably into the top of his chest, by the crook of his neck, and inhale the cinnamon sandalwood scent of his cologne.

As we moved together, the subtle touch of his hands on my waist sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but feel a magnetic connection. The music shifted to a slow, sultry melody, and our movements adapted accordingly. The dance became less about the steps and more about the unspoken conversation between two strangers, each step drawing us closer. Our gazes met every few steps, and the intensity in his eyes communicated a shared understanding that transcended words.

We swayed in harmony, bodies pressed close -- yet, like he'd joked, he never dropped his hand too low or moved his lips too close. It was sensual, but I could tell he respected me, too, which somehow made it even sexier. The air between us crackled with an electric charge, and the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us moving to the intoxicating beat. The subtle scent of his cologne mixed with the sweet fragrance of my own perfume, creating a heady blend that filled the space around us.

The dance became a dance of exploration, a silent exchange of secrets conveyed through the language of touch. There was a familiarity in the way our bodies moved, as if we had danced like this a hundred times before. He spun me gently, and I caught a glimpse of his mysterious smile behind the mask, a smile that hinted at shared secrets and unspoken desires.

The intensity of the dance heightened, and I felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation. It was a paradoxical dance, both sensual and tender, a connection forged in the anonymity of masks and the night. As the music swirled around us, I let go of my reservations, allowing the moment to envelop me in its enchantment.

The dance seemed to stretch on and on, each moment pregnant with unspoken words. And then, as abruptly as it had begun, the music shifted again, signaling the end of the slow dance. We separated, our gazes lingering for a moment longer before he broke into a charming dimpled grin.

"Thank you for the dance," he said, his voice a velvet whisper. Then, against my ear, he said in a deep, rumbling voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck raise, "You know, this mansion's got all sorts of private rooms, if you wanted to find one. Since you said you were trying to be more spontaneous."

I hesitated for a moment, but quickly remembered this was one of my few late nights off, one of the few times I had a man's hand low on my back holding me close, and one of the few times there wouldn't have to be any strings or complications. So, a little smile playing on my lips, I nodded and said, "I'll follow you."

His hand slid into mine, warm and strong, and he whisked me away through the ballroom and toward the sweeping staircase at the front of the manor. Rachel spotted me on the way by and shot me a subtle thumbs-up that made me giggle. We whirled up the stairs and into the first room with a lock we saw.

I didn't even have a second to take in the space -- barely registering that it was an ornate powder room leading into a large private bathroom -- before he pushed me up on a counter and kissed my neck hungrily. Much to my surprise, he just said, simple and matter-of-fact, "I'd like to go down on you."

"Oh," I replied gently, not expecting that. "Do you want me to...?"

"Giving pleasure is kind of my thing," he said with a laugh, "if that's alright with you."

I half-stammered, "Ah, yeah, that's definitely alright with me."

He flashed me an award-winning grin. "Fantastic."

Then he began to hike my dress up around my waist, his hands certain as they glided over my legs. I wished I had shaved above my knee. When he reached my hips and discovered my lack of panties, he chuckled. "I see you've come prepared for the occasion."

Before he dove in, I dropped my hand on his head, holding him back for a second. I admitted nervously, "I don't think a guy's gone down on me since I had my daughter. I don't really know if things look nice or if-"

He looked at me like that was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. Then he slowly spread my legs apart and took in the view. His eyes met mine again as he said, "Trust me, your pussy is perfect."

Then he -- it finally occurred to me that I didn't even know his name -- leaned into my cunt and found my clit effortlessly with his tongue. I leaned my head back on the wall behind me and closed my eyes. He explored me with a delicious mix of curiosity and certainty; every movement was deliberate as he tried different things to learn what made me tick. His tongue discovered every millimeter, working in between my folds, dipping into my slick wet entrance, and circling around my clit.

Finally, his tongue found its spot underneath the hood of my clit, where he gently flicked up and down. He applied minimal pressure pointedly, which had me aching for more and focusing on every sensation at the same time. The pinpoint of contact had my cunt slippery with desire after only a few moments. I ground on his face, just a little, and he moaned into me with approval, sending vibrations up my body that made me shiver.

I felt two of his fingers at the entrance to my cunt. He slid them easily inside of me and began to curl them against my walls. A loud moan escaped my lips and I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle it. He sped up and increased the intensity in response. He matched the pace of his fingers with his tongue to create a tandem rhythm that ballooned inside of me, the pressure and pleasure growing greater with each passing second.

Even though it shocked me, I felt an orgasm rise up from the tips of my toes and into my calves and then my twitching thighs. When I clenched up tightly, he slowed down just enough to keep me at the peak for a few seconds. My cunt begged to let go and explode. But he massaged the orgasm out of me with expertise, making me feel each and every wave that worked through my body until my pussy felt spent and warm and open.

I started to move away from him, figuring we were finished as my breaths began to slow and my brain turned back on, but he grabbed my hips and pulled me back to his mouth. His tongue went hard and fast on my clit and the sensation bordered on overstimulation, so deliciously intense that I squirmed like I wanted to get away from it even though I absolutely didn't. His fingernails dug into the flesh of my ass so he could hold me as close as possible.

The stranger slipped a third finger inside of me; given that he had big hands, I was more full than I'd been in years. More than two of his fingers were bigger than the toys I usually used with myself, so my already-soaked cunt squeezed on them eagerly. I heard the sound of guests outside the door, all moving downstairs where Rachel would blow out her candles and cut her massive tiered cake. I tried so hard not to moan, but desperate little squeaks still made their way out into the air. The thought of any of them -- some strangers, some friends -- catching the two of us here heightened my arousal.

Suddenly, he sped up hard and fast on my clit, seemingly sensing the urgency of returning to the party before Rachel realized our absence. His tongue was firm and insistent, edging me onward, unrelenting until my next orgasm would come. I could tell just how much he wanted me from the feverish way he ate me out, and warmth bloomed throughout my abdomen at the thought of being so desired.

The second orgasm ripped through me instead of creeping up. He was chasing it instead of coaxing it. My pussy clamped down on his fingers feverishly, quickly, my whole body spamming and twitching. Instinctually, I grabbed his neat hair and held his face to my cunt and rode the rest of the orgasm out against him. A piercing groan sounded from my throat and I didn't even bother trying to stop it; everything in my body was too intense to gain control over anything.

When he pulled back, grinning like an idiot, he shook his head and laughed. "You taste fucking amazing."

Unable to form words, I just chuckled and closed my eyes, pulling in a few deep breaths.

He dipped into the bathroom to wash his hands and make sure his face was pussy-free while I made sure my dress wasn't stained. When he rejoined me in the powder room, his eyes searched me intensely and I could tell he wanted to ask me something.

Approaching me slowly, like a cat about to pounce, he fiddled with the silk ribbon that held my mask on and asked, "Can I see your face? Just for a second? Who knows, we might run into each other and want a repeat."

I sucked in a sharp breath as my heart rate finally began to slow. I replied, "Yeah, of course, but you go first."

Close to untying the ribbon at the back of my head, he suggested, "How about at the same time?"

"That sounds fair."

"Alright."

So he counted down from three. It felt like a bigger deal than I knew it was. We both took a deep breath, our hands at the backs of each other's necks in a unique embrace. Our masks fell away.

He was handsome, as I'd expected, with a hard jawline and blondish scruff along his cheeks. His dark blonde hair was shaggy, almost down to his shoulders now that it had fallen out of its bun. His nose sharply contrasted my Roman profile -- not-so-affectionately called a beak by lots of classmates growing up -- with a soft slope. His smile made it scrunch up at the edges, dimples prominent and eyes shining.

Underneath his eyes, a bed of freckles muttered across his cheeks, still dark like it was summer and not nearly February.