Coming Home

Expertly, but slowly, she ran her hands down his body. Her fingers tracing over the coarse fabric of his polo shirt. Then ripping it off, she knew she had him the minute he walked into the room. It was not hard for her to get men naked and sweaty in the bed room, she had experience. Tons of experience.

“Let me touch you,” he whispered, and she let him. Let him run his fingers across her belly, let him run try his best to seductively rake her sides, pawing at her breasts.

“So smooth, so, slim,” he purred into her ear, hands roaming, reaching over her bra- kneading her breasts. Breathing in, she felt a tension gather at the pit of her stomach, feeling the air suck in her flesh under her ribs. Pulling taut, she let the sensations wash over her.

Reaching down to touch him, she felt his hand travel to her nether region as she tried to touch his.

“My turn honey,” he whispered, yanking down her pants, fingers gliding over her thighs, and meeting straight at her apex, gently touching, smoothing over the silky folds of her underwear. Her hands, outstretched in lieu to pleasure him spasmed and gripped tightly into little fists. Moaning, she grabbed his hair as he started. Rubbing his finger pads round and round, until the liquid fire inside of her exploded and released guttural moans into the air.

Then he pushed himself in, she didn’t even notice when he took off his pants. And pants turned to yells of ecstasy as they tried their best to ride over waves and waves of pleasure.

In the dark you couldn’t see- like two blind people searching for comfort, searching for that base to touch down. The darkness of the bed room hid flaws, and in the dark, your past never mattered.

“Oh god, I-I’m-“

“Take it out, not inside,” she moaned. She was reaching her own, but she didn’t want to risk it. Then the climax they both had been waiting for, he pulled out- his warmth suddenly leaving hers and he rode out his orgasm onto the sheets next to her. Thankfully not on her.

Writhing, she tried her best to stop trembling, moments from her climax, just aching for an orgasm. Reaching her hands down to touch herself, she bit her lip, then suddenly crying out. He had beaten her to it, sticking his fingers inside her and twisting, so very slowly until she felt herself melt onto his fingers and all over the place.

Stomach clenching and unclenching she flipped herself over as she tried to ride out the final explosion of passion in her.

Panting, she kept her face pressed against the pillow, while he seemed to have recovered from their vigorous sexual encounter and proceeded to clean the area where he came all over. She felt the bed move beside her and a warm hand suddenly on her naked behind.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” he whispered into her ear, hands roaming and caressing her hair.

“Yeah, happy graduation Paul,” she replied, turning her head sideways, pretending to meet his eyes, when in reality, she didn’t see anything but dulled bed sheets.

“Will I ever see you again?”

“No,” she muttered, before letting her hand run across his lips. The lips that had kissed her so tenderly the night before, right after their graduation dinner.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he sighed against her fingers.

“Well, take that as a sort of, grad day present,” she replied, earning a smooth laugh from him.

“So, what awaits you?”

She allowed herself a moment to think, not too deeply- just skim the surface of her mind.

“I got a job. As a journalist, back home,” she whispered.

“I’m going home as a dentist,” he replied, and this time, they both chuckled.

“Looks like we all have to grow up Paul.”

He leaned over and kissed her, tenderly- any trace of the carnal lust and desire fading away. She kissed back, accepting his lips- feeling them press lightly and gently against hers.

“I’ll miss you Cassadee.”

~

The next morning, Cassadee awoke to an empty room, and butt naked. Running her hands through her hair, wincing through the knots she proceeded to the toilet. The dorms were empty, many had left for home and home awaited Cassadee as well.

Turning towards the mirror, Cassadee looked at her face. She was nothing like the girl she remembered 4 years ago. She looked closely at herself, pleased with what she saw. She had that sexy bed hair that many boys seemed to compliment her on after a night of sex, and her swollen lips from yesterday made her look even better. She didn’t know if was the sex, but she definitely had grown a set of nice, perky breasts through her university years. Maybe it was the sexuality that she had encompassed, maybe it was the hormones.

She had reached Ireland, with full intent of changing herself. Changing everything, her hair, her body, her face- and Cassadee liked to think she did it. Looking at herself, she was nothing that she was once. Memories left abandoned, morals left to dry out in the sun. But today she would be going home, back to the place which ruined her- and she was confident that she had put on enough armour to tide her through it.

The only thing left unchanged about her, Cassadee thought morbidly, was the jagged and rough scars across her abdomen. Ugly and paler than the rest of her skin. It had been more obvious when she was chubby. That’s why she wanted to lose weight, fast. She had hoped that losing the flesh around her waist and stomach would somehow diminish the swollen size of her scars.

That’s why she did it. Meal after meal of throwing up, gagging- passing food that she swallowed once, out into the toilet bowl again. She knew it was wrong, it was vile- and she hated herself for it. But once you started, you could never stop. It became a habit- something that she still held onto now that she had a flat belly. Food made her feel uncomfortable, that throwing up was almost second nature. And in the light of what happened back home four years ago, Cassadee did it partly because of the pain it brought her.

She had tried her best to deal with the initial pain inside of her, tried to write everything out- again and again until she stopped crying. But after a while, it didn’t work. So she tried everything, jogging (she ended up throwing up every single night after a hard job and decided that her body wasn’t suited for jogging), working out, cutting herself- nothing stuck. All those gave her were massive muscle aches and light straight lines running across her thigh. She decided that the throwing up was the best, for it left no signs, and keeping quiet about it was a lot easier.

Cassadee knew she was a walking vessel of disaster, but she was a new person. Stronger from her experiences, and wiser from education. But 4 years was enough to make her miss even the deadliest poison of home. And Cassadee had to go home, she had to meet her family, had to get a job.

It was time for her to be an adult.