Consummation

I was walking down the path to her house, using the address I'd gotten from her sister to surprise her with a birthday present back in April. Nothing big-just a CD I knew she'd like-but something to make up for all the birthdays I'd missed.

For seven years we hadn't spoken. Back then we were so young-two homeschooled kids at a state university with way too little experience in relationships to make one work. We had been so close. Practically inseparable. I made her laugh as nobody else could. She came and snuggled into my chest on long bus rides, making the most boring part of most people's lives the most thrilling of mine. In seven years, I had never forgotten the curve of her slender shoulders, or the scent of her deep chestnut hair brushing the stubble on my chin.

But when I actually worked up the courage to tell her that I loved her, she played it off. "I love you, too! We're best friends." I clarified. "No, Eileen, I mean I'm *in love* with you." She wigged out, like she was having a manic episode. Babbled incoherently about friendship and a tantalizing something about "sexual tension" that I had never forgotten, and then hung up. I tried a few times to reestablish contact with her, but she avoided me everywhere. On the rebound, I picked up one of her friends, married her, and got a divorce. Not what I'd really wanted.

Eileen and I had only reconnected on Facebook back in February. She'd been happy to hear from me, sorry to hear about my divorce. She lent a sympathetic ear and offered advice based on her own series of failed relationships. In seven years, not one of her boyfriends had lasted more than twelve months. They all bored her. I, it seemed, didn't. We could talk for hours, about anything and everything. I legitimately thought we were just rebooting an old friendship, and I was glad to have it back. There had been a time when she had been the most important person in my life. In many ways, she had never ceased to be.

I had been planning a trip to South America, in which she was especially interested. She happily invited herself along, telling me she might come and stay with me there for three months, or six, or who knows, after her graduation the next spring. The only thing was, she added significantly, she would have to dump her boyfriend before then because she was bored of him and didn't want him to come. My heart skipped a beat. Then a second. And a third. I restarted it in time to keep my grip on the phone as she told me about all the fun things we would do together at the other end of the world... how we would close cafés, and paint along the Rio de la Plata, and cruise the Antarctic shore, and rent an apartment in the heart of the Port and stay up all night in our pajamas talking philosophy. It was a date.

The more we talked, though, the more my old feelings for her returned. She had been my soulmate, and her rejection of me seven years ago, driven, it seemed to me, by her fear of her own feelings and her emotional immaturity, had crushed me. Maybe fate had given me a second chance at the relationship that was supposed to have been all along. I went to South America prepared to wait her out until the Spring when she came down. But the waiting was killing me. I had to know if there was a chance. So I wrote her a long, beautiful letter telling her that she was still the love of my life after all these years, and how I really hoped we could pick things up again where they had been left off so long ago, since it was painfully clear that neither of us had managed to find happiness without the other. I sent the letter. I waited for a response. I waited. I waited. Three weeks passed in silence. I messaged her on Facebook: "Did you get my letter?" "Yes," she replied. "Need some time to think about it. Will get back to you." Weeks went by, and she never did.

She was afraid again, clearly. She was afraid of intimacy, which is what had derailed all those other relationships of hers, and she was especially afraid of intimacy with me, because it was the real thing. I could keep waiting, or I could try to sway her to overcome her fear through showing some courage of my own and making a grand romantic gesture. I chose the latter, and I flew 6000 miles back to surprise her-to show her there was no length I would not go to for her.

So there I was, walking down the path to her house, feeling for the first time in seven years that I was walking down *my* path. That whatever happened when I got there-whether she was happy to see me or not-I was following my proper destiny at last. I reached the door. I rang the doorbell. A woman I didn't know answered, and I asked after Eileen. "Basement unit," she said, and shut the door. I wandered around the back of the quaint little house and descended the short brick staircase to the basement door. I rang the doorbell. The door opened.

It was her. And not just my memory of her, not just my old photographs of her and I and the laughs we had shared, but her. In flesh and blood. It was her mousy hair, her adorable squared nose, her cleft chin. Her eyes widened in shock, magnified still further by her red, horn-rimmed glasses. "Mac! What... what are you doing here?" She began to cry and disintegrated rapidly into hysterics as she spoke. She had told me a little about the regimen she'd been put on-anti-anxiety pills, anti-depressants, anti-everything, to say nothing of her self-medicating psychadelics, and how it had made her a little paranoid, among other things, but before me I could see the number it had done on her. This wasn't like the old Eileen at all. She would have been beaming.

"This is my HOUSE! You're in Argentina and, and... this is my HOUSE! You're in my TOWN! Why are you HERE?"

"Eileen," I began, feeling not a little pity for her, "I just wanted to talk to you. I never heard back about my letter..."

"So you came to my HOUSE?! Don't you think I would have written you back if I wanted to talk to you? I don't want to talk to you. I think you should leave."

I was dumbstruck. "I thought you were testing me... playing coy like you always do, seeing how far I'll go to keep up the dance with you..."

"I want you to leave now. Go, or I'll call the police."

My heart shattered. It was the second time she had broken it. It couldn't end like this... not again. She couldn't trample on my heart and disappear again. This was my second chance. This was *our* second chance. This was the time everything was going to go right-not... like this. Something shifted inside me, and my whole being canted hard. Somehow, I could tell I was no longer in my right mind, but whether that meant I was about to do something the real me would never do, or something the real me had wanted to do for years, I wasn't sure. My foot flew into the door jam as she moved to slam the door shut. "I don't think you really want me to go."

"I mean it, Mac." She swallowed hard, glancing down at the toe of my boot.

"No, you don't!" I yelled as my arm braced the door, surprising myself as much as her. "You're just scared. That's why you're on all those goddamned pills! Just talk to me! I've come so far..."

She reached for her cell phone as she pushed back on the door. She had always been a skinny little thing, though, only standing about 5' 4", and she was no match for the weight I could put on it. The door swung open and she fell to the ground in the entry hall, the phone flying out of her hand toward the kitchen. She turned over and scrambled for it, but I lunged in and grabbed her by the ankles before she could close the distance.

My line of sight now ran directly along the backs of her calves. Her legs had always been her best feature-nothing short of pin-up shapely-and the rock climbing that, as I gathered from Facebook, she'd taken up a couple of years ago had matured them to perfection. On my horizon rose the firm arc of her ass cheeks, writhing as she struggled for the phone that must have lain just beyond her fingers.

"Let me go!"

The words came to my mind unbidden, as though the whole arc of our history had placed them there of its own accord, "I'm never letting you go again, Eileen." The door swung shut behind me and I began to drag her backward across the floor. "And you don't want me to! What are you going to do, live the next seven years with a string of lackluster boyfriends who don't excite you, letting them dry hump you clothed when you're feeling generous because you're too afraid of intimacy to get undressed?" Like I said, we talked about anything and everything. I had clawed her back until her open belt loops were within reach, and I wound my fingers into them. Her narrow hips wriggled out with ease, and she shot forward until her jeans hit her ankles. It was enough distance to grab the phone, and her fingers fumbled over it in panic.

I let go of her jeans and flew across the top of her, seizing her wrist by an outstretched arm and gripping it until the phone fell from her hand. Tears streamed down her face. "Let me GO! Let me GO!" She squirmed beneath me, trying to slip out from under my lithe, but solid, frame.

Her skin felt just as soft as I remembered it, her hair was just as fragrant... I sniffed her deeply as she writhed and bawled. For seven years, merely thinking about the times I had innocently touched her-the hugs we had shared, the car rides sleeping with our heads lolled together-had made me hard. Now her whole body was laid out along mine, and my eyes and my hands and my nose were filled with her. My cock was straining the denim that held it in, and my landing on top of her and so positioned it that it strained out right into the cleft of her ass, covered now only by a pair of white cotton panties. The more she struggled, the more she massaged my lengthening shaft, and the more I realized that I loved her, yes, but that I also hated her. I hated her for breaking my heart. I hated her for giving me false hope. I hated her for leading me on with coquettish looks and flirtatious quips and promises of boyfriend-free evenings in Argentina. I hated her for hurting me, and I wanted to punish her. I wanted to show her that she meant more to me than anything in this world, and that I was exactly what she needed if she'd only admit it to herself, but I also wanted to punish her. That was the moment I realized what she must have realized the moment she had seen me in the doorway-that I had come here to rape her.

My right hand was still gripping her wrist, but my left moved down to my belt and began to unbuckle it. "NO!" she screamed, choking on the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please, Mac... Please don't do it." I kicked my boots off as my fingers moved to the button. She froze at the sound of the zipper coming down. Then she whimpered. "Mac..." It could have been the whimper of a scared dog, or of a bitch in heat.

She took advantage of a little relief from my weight as I raised my hips to slide my pants down to break free. This time, she left the phone and made for the living room out the other end of the kitchen, but with her own pants still around her ankles she didn't get very far before my jeans were off and I grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her around to face me. She looked away.

"Eileen," I pleaded, "please look at me. Please..." Her eyes were nailed to the linoleum. My anger rose. "I said *look at me*!" I grabbed her by the chin and forced her face up. She clinched her eyes shut. I loved that face. So unique. Her nose, squared off at the tip and yet strangely cute, her little pursed mouth with the slightly bowed lip... I kissed her. She whimpered again, though her mouth was stopped, and her legs fidgeted. I felt torn apart inside-so furious and yet so desperately in love with her. My lips broke free from hers and moved up by her ear. "It's okay," I whispered as she began to sob uncontrollably. "This is what you want. It's what you've always wanted." I reached down and pulled her panties aside. They were almost dripping. Slowly, I backed her up toward the kitchen wall until her hips stopped retreating. Her landline was mounted to the wall there, so my free hand pinned her arm on that side as the head of my now throbbing dick brushed for the first time against her neatly trimmed bush.

She gasped and her bright blue eyes flew open, looking right into mine. "Mac, please don't hurt me. I'm sorry."

Her stark terror had broken out in sweat across her face and her neck. It smelled like sex. Her hips twisted desperately against the wall, trying to tear the elastic of her panties free from my hand, but all she was succeeding in doing was dragging the moist folds of her pussy lips back and forth across the swollen head of my cock. Whatever she said-whatever had passed between our heads and our hearts, her body wanted mine. I looked at her deadpan. "It's too late for that." In one quick thrust I drove all six and a half inches right against her cervix. She screamed as though she were being murdered. Her pussy clamped on me, as though she were trying to wrestle me out, but that only spurred me to pound her harder. All that could be heard were her heavy sobs and the naked slap of my engorged balls against her pale thighs. Then, suddenly, a new sound.

"RAPE! RAPE!" she screamed. "Somebody HELP me!" I remembered for the first time that there were people in the upstairs unit. I kissed her again, letting her scream the word out into my mouth. "RAPE!" Her free hand flailed at me ineffectually. Mine dug into the flesh of her ass and scooted her up the wall, breaking the seal on her mouth. But she had stopped screaming. Her eyes were opened in redoubled fear as she felt me tensing inside her. "Mac..." she stammered. "I'm... I'm not on the p... pill."

That was it. The thought of getting her pregnant sent me over the edge. My full balls swung up against the bottom of her ass and unloaded, pumping six staccato waves of searing hot cum into her vulnerable womb. "Oh, FUCK!" she screamed. "FUCK you! You fucking PERVERT!" As the last spurt entered her, the first was already running back down along the length of my still pulsing shaft and tracing the curves of her beautifully muscled thighs.

Had she been any other woman, I would have been spent. But this was the woman I'd waited seven years for. And I hadn't accomplished what I'd come to do yet.

Slowly, I let her slide back down the wall until her feet touched the floor. Then I stepped on her pants between her ankles as I pulled her away and out of them, a bit dazed. I kicked a chair out from the breakfast nook and thrust her down, crouching beside her as she collapsed into it, her breasts jiggling slightly as her ass landed in the seat. Her nipples protruded noticeably into her cardigan.

I had always wondered if Eileen's tits were as nice as the rest of her; she had always kept them too well covered to give much idea of their size and shape. I took hold of her collar on both sides and pulled, spraying buttons across the floor. The sweater swung open on two immaculately round, full B cups. Having been settled in for the evening when I called at the door, she hadn't been wearing a bra. "These are beautiful," I said, taking one in each hand and squeezing gently. "And your nipples are so hard... Are you turned on, Eileen?" I bent my head down and kissed her left nipple. She hissed with a sharp intake of air. "Did it turn you on to feel my thick, sticky cum filling you?" She looked away and her cheeks bloomed scarlet. I bent my head down again to trace the large areola of her right breast with my tongue. She stifled a moan. I began to suckle her, pulling and twisting at her other nipple with my left hand. She gripped the edges of the chair with white knuckles, while her drenched panties leaked a pool into the middle of it. I took her nipple softly between my teeth as I pulled off, and she squealed. "Does being raped make you horny?"

At that her demeanor changed. "You've had your fun," she said. "Now go. I won't tell anyone."

I looked at her as though hurt by her suggestion. "I didn't come here to alleviate my blue balls, Eileen. I came her to remind you of your promises. She looked at me quizzically, and I stood up, bringing my semi-flaccid cock even with her face. As the pressure of my hands on her shoulders slightened, she tucked and rolled out from under them, scooping up her phone and barreling at last into the living room. I pursued her and caught her kneeling on the couch jabbing wildly at the buttons through a haze of tears. I snatched it out of her hand, grabbed her hair, and dragged her to the floor while she squealed like a pig. Across from the couch was a large, cushy armchair she had told me about many times. It was her safe place from the world, but not from me. I sat in it and pulled her up on her knees in front of me so that I could feel her hot, panicked breath on my now soft, but still enlarged, dick. "Open your mouth."

She pressed her lips together tightly and shook her head in defiance. Her shoulder-length brown hair swaying swiftly.

"I said, open your mouth," I repeated, placing my hand under her chin and squeezing her cheeks until her lips just barely parted. I pulled her mouth to my tip. "Taste it." Tears were welling up in her eyes again. I moved my hand from her chin to the back of her head and pressed her into my pelvis, savoring the feel of my cock falling heavily onto her slender tongue. "Can you taste that, Eileen? It's the taste of us, together, as it always should have been, but it wasn't like that. Do you know why?"

She shook her head, inadvertently rubbing the base of my cock between her lips.

"Because of your broken promises, and your lies." I was slowly grinding against her face, now, feeling the stiffness return to my member. "And now I'm going to make you choke on every one of them." My cock was growing again inside her mouth, and she struggled her head back to accommodate it. "You promised me you would respond to my letter, but did you?" She tried desperately to jerk her head back off my shaft. I curled my fingers into the hair above the back of her neck and pulled. She squeaked, and stopped resisting. "Did you?" She shook her head and winced, knowing what was coming. I slammed my now rock-hard dick against the back of her throat. She choked and spluttered as I let her ease back again an inch or two. "You promised you would dump your boyfriend. Did you?" She whimpered as she shook her head again. Again, I thrust against her face full force. She wretched as I struck the back of her throat. She struggled once again to pull away, and again I pulled at her hair until she stopped. "You used to come snuggle into my chest, but would you let me hug you?" She shook her head. I gagged her on my cock. "No, you freaked the hell out! You told me we had 'sexual tension', but did you so much as let me kiss you?" Something changed in her face. She shook her head again, but with no flinch-no move to protect herself from what was coming. I pressed her nose to my pubic bone. Her whole body convulsed. "Worst of all... worst of all you told me you loved me, but did you?" I was already preparing my next thrust when I realized she wasn't shaking her head. She was nodding it. "You did?" I asked, all the tension leaving my body. She nodded more vigorously. Then she began to suck.

Her lips sealed to the sides of my shaft as she pulled back in a long, slow movement until they rested against the back of my head, which she met with the flat of her tongue, rolling it against the tip of my cock. "Oh, Eileen..." I moaned, moving my one hand from the back of her head to the top, not to force it, but just to play with her hair, while I reached the other under her to play with one of her long, hard nipples. She moaned, and the vibration through her lips made my whole body tingle. The tip of her tongue met the underside of my shaft and began scraping back along it as her lips drove forward again toward my body. She had never let her boyfriends do much to her, but clearly she'd done something for them. This was masterful. When she'd gotten as far as she could without gagging, she sucked hard on the return stroke, giving me the full tongue blade coiling first one direction, then the other along my throbbing veins. She worked me like this for several blissful minutes, each cycle just a little faster than the last, and my mind went blank of everything but the warmth and the moistness of her mouth wrapped around my burning dick. "Eileen, oh Eileen!" Without warning, her long, lean fingers wrapped around my ballsack and tightened steadily, as though she meant to squeeze out every last drop of my sperm. "Oh, Eileen, you're gonna make me cum!" I screamed. "I'm cumming!"