Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 02

Therapist's Office, March, 2001

Patient: She's destroying herself. It... it's heartbreaking. She needs help.

Counselor: And you think you should be the one to help her?

Patient: No, probably not. But I want to be. And no one else is...

Counselor: Do you think it's possible you might just make things worse for her?

(silence)

Counselor: I'm not saying you would. I'm just asking if you've considered that possibility.

Patient: Of course. But if there's any chance I could make it better...

Counselor: And what about you?

Patient: Me?

Counselor: Yes. What if it just makes things worse... for you?

*******

I felt sad about Ben. He was nice, certainly as nice as I could expect to find. And he wasn't a bad lover, either. But he had crossed the line I couldn't let anyone cross. I took the picture down for a few days, but then I put it right back in its place. It didn't seem right to remove that one testament to my former life.

The weeks dragged on, their monotony broken only by an unseasonably warm stretch of days at the end of the month. I had a picnic in the park. I invited Vicky to join me, but she was busy. It didn't matter. No one around meant no awkward conversation to remind me of all I'd forgotten. My job was dull enough, the fact that it was almost the only thing I had to talk about made it worse. Maybe a new hobby was in order. Vicky was always telling me to start over, to leave my old life behind and try new things. I didn't know where to begin. Is reading a hobby?

I had my picnic in a sunny spot near a man-made lake in the park. I wondered if I'd ever been there before. It felt... not familiar, exactly, but like it reminded me of something I loved. I sometimes wandered down streets or biked through new neighborhoods, hoping the sights would spark a memory. So far, nothing had. Or if anything, it was like the lake: it made me think of something vague, like perhaps a dream I might be able to remember later. Or maybe it wasn't an image I was remembering, but a feeling.

*******

Eventually, I became restless again. I won't even pretend it was simply physical desire that drove me to the bar. There were times, sure, when I felt horny, but those weren't the times I chose to go find someone to share my bed. It was the times when I just wanted to connect, to feel close to someone. I wanted to not feel like someone was looking through me or past me. I went home after work on Friday, showered, changed, and headed out to find some companionship - someone to touch me and to stare at me with hunger in his eyes.

To my initial surprise, the bar was almost empty. Darla saw me looking around and laughed.

"Slow night?" I asked. Not even Zeke was in his usual spot.

"March Madness," she said, as if that explained everything. My confused look must have told her it didn't.

"College basketball?" she prompted. I shook my head and shrugged. Didn't ring a bell. "It's like a... well it is a tournament for college basketball. It lasts almost all month. You do know what basketball is, right?"

I rolled my eyes. Darla was one of the few people with whom I'd shared my condition, and she occasionally allowed herself a lighthearted joke at my expense. When I first told her I had amnesia, she quickly informed me I had an outstanding bar tab of several hundred dollars from before my accident. Darla knew how to tease me without hurting me.

"So no one comes here?" I asked. There was a small TV behind the bar with a basketball game on.

"No, honey, not here," she answered. "They go to the places where the TVs are as big as walls. We might get a few stragglers who aren't into the game, but even Julia has moved on to greener pastures for the month. They're heading into the second round."

"You should get a bigger TV," I suggested.

Darla half-smiled and said, "Actually, business is doing OK overall, so I like a few weeks of downtime to get some things cleaned up and rearranged. It's a good time to train new employees, too," she said, nodding in the direction of a young waitress struggling to keep a tray of dishes from toppling.

I nodded slowly and ordered a plate of food. I had skipped dinner in my haste to get there before guys got too drunk. But I figured I might as well take care of my stomach's craving, even if I was denying other desires.

Darla and I chatted off and on for an hour while I ate. She was a little older than I and had a thick build. She looked like she could have been an athlete. She once joked that her boobs kept her out of sports but kept her bar in business. They were very large, and I'm sure they had some help staying so high on her chest. But Darla was more than just sexy: she was a sharp businesswoman and a good conversationalist. Most guys didn't realize she was the owner as well as the bartender. She tolerated flirting from her patrons, but she also demanded respect and a certain level of decorum. It kept the atmosphere a little classier than most other places like it in town.

As I was finishing my meal, I noticed the stranger was in his usual spot. The next time Darla was passed by me, I asked her softly, "Any more word on the guy in the booth?"

She shrugged, wiping off some mugs and hanging them up. "Same as always. Quiet, nice, been coming here most weekends for a few months. Good tipper, always alone."

"Is it just me, or does he look my way a lot?" I asked.

"How do you know he's not looking at me, sugar?" she asked with a wink. Then heading towards the register, she cashed out an older couple and went to clear their table. I picked up my drink, took a deep breath, and walked confidently across the room. Standing at the end of his table, I waited until he looked up, then asked, "So, you don't have the March mania?"

"The what?" he said, wrinkling his brow in confusion.

"The... the basketball thing? That everyone is watching?"

"March Madness?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"No," he said with a smile. "I'm not too into sports." He didn't say anything more, and I had used up my intro line. I stood there in awkward silence for a few eternal seconds as he tapped the table nervously. He looked around, then finally ventured, "Would you like a seat?"

"Yes, thank you," I said sweetly, sitting across from him in the booth. "It's too quiet in here tonight and I'm looking for some conversation."

"Conversation?" he asked with obvious skepticism.

"Yes. Like... what do you do?"

"Nothing very lucrative, I'm afraid," he answered, then paused to gauge my reaction. I kept my eyes on his and he continued. "I'm a middle school English teacher."

"Middle school?" I replied. "Well, you might not be rich, but you sure are brave."

"Or foolish," he grinned, never breaking eye contact. I felt like my every expression, my every move was being evaluated.

"Minor difference," I replied saucily. He smiled. It was a nice smile. The smile prompted something, a memory. Noticing my distant look, he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows questioningly. He was very handsome in a way that reminded me of someone - probably a movie star I no longer remembered. His hair was dark like mine and had a hint of curl. His complexion was also darker, but his eyes were bright blue. The blue eyes triggered it.

"We've met before," I said finally.

"Yeeeessss... ," he said, trying to draw out more.

"Oh God, I remember now," I said, almost laughing. "Last year, you walked up to the bar and ordered Darla's weekly-special mixed drink. You had your back to me. You took a sip and I asked if it was any good. You turned around, and... "

"And nearly spat the whole thing into your face. I am so sorry. You really startled me that night."

"Startled you?"

"Yes... you know... it's not every day I have a beautiful women strike up a conversation with me."

I smiled at the compliment, then said, "You never even let me introduce myself that night. I'm Amelia." I reached out my hand to shake his, still trying to recall the name of the celebrity he resembled.

"Scott," he said, gently gripping my hand. He didn't shake it, he just squeezed it lightly, and that intimate act made my heart flutter. Yes, he will get lucky tonight, I thought. I glanced at the other side of the table and saw he had a novel, The Count of Monte Cristo. "Do you find it easy to read in here?" I asked.

"Tonight, yes, but not usually."

"Tell me about the story," I said, nodding towards the book that was still under his hand.

"You haven't read it?" he asked, cautiously.

"Not that I remember," I answered, using a phrase that has become very familiar to me. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then went on to outline the plot. He refused, however, to tell me how it ended.

"Well, that's just rude," I teased him.

"You'll have to read it to find out," he said playfully. "As a teacher, my job is to encourage reading, not to give shortcuts around it."

Leaning towards him, I pushed my chest out a bit and said, "Maybe I could find a way to convince you to tell me." It was about as blatant an invitation as I could give.

He made a pained face, somewhere between embarrassment and chagrin. Inwardly I bristled, but I wasn't going to give up so easily. It seemed that the flirty approach wasn't working with him. So I sat back, softened my expression, and said, "Look, I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable. It's just that... I don't want to go back to an empty apartment tonight. And I don't see a ring on your finger. Is it so hard to picture yourself spending the night with me?"

His eyes widened and then looked away. "Wow," he said. "Wow. And no. No, it's not hard at all to picture that. But... are you... I mean, you don't even know me... right?"

"So tell me. What should I know?"

"No... not like that. I mean... you don't know what kind of guy I am, or if I...-" Then seeing my expression, he said, "You don't care, do you?"

I sighed. This was more complicated than usual. Usually such an invitation elicits a "Hell yes!" from the guys I meet. "Scott," I said gently, "I'm not trying to marry you. I just want to spend the night... or part of the night... with you. You're very handsome, you don't seem dangerous, and that's enough for me. Do you understand?"

"I do," he said. "But... does this really make you happy?"

"Oh Scott," I said, reaching out to stroke the back of his hand with my fingertips, "I'm ready to give you every chance to make me happy tonight."

His reaction was less than I was hoping for - he almost seemed sad, like he was resigning himself to the inevitable. But I had invested too much to let a minor hiccup derail my plans for the evening.

My bare foot was rubbing his calf, my fingers stroked his forearm, and my eyes locked onto his. I could actually see the moment he caved. His eyes relaxed and then he glanced over to the bar. "Let me get our bills," he said, waving to Darla. She winked at me as he signed the receipt; she had already put my meal on his check.

"I'm about twenty minutes from here," he said, putting his hand gently on the small of my back as we walked towards the door.

"My place, then," I said, which is what I preferred anyway. Scott pushed open the door and held it open as I walked through. Of course he would do that. It felt almost as if we were leaving after a real date. As we walked the short couple of blocks to my street, Scott's fingers touched my palm. Then his hand took hold of mine. Holding his hand felt comfortable and right. I hadn't held a hand like that since my accident. Considering what we were planning to do once we got to my place, that simple touch shouldn't have affected me the way it did, but nevertheless, I got tingles. I guess romance was his thing. Turns out it might be a little bit my thing, too.

*******

Once we were in my place, it was as if a switch had been flipped in Scott's brain. Gone was the somewhat shy, hesitant, courteous gentleman I had met at the bar. After the front door closed behind us, Scott was a man on a mission. I guess his inhibitions had been taken care of somewhere on the walk back. He pulled me by the hand down the hall and straight into my bedroom. We didn't even bother with lights.

His polo shirt was left on the hallway floor, covering one of his shoes. My skirt ended up next to it, along with my heels. Scott pulled me to himself and started kissing me aggressively. I wondered if he was one of those guys who had a different persona in the bedroom. Was he violent? A sadist? A little kinky? All I knew at that point was that he kissed and touched me as if a fire had been ignited in his very core. Scott was as assertive as Ben had been passive.

I was so stunned by the force of his lips against mine that I didn't even notice his fingers nimbly unbuttoning my blouse. He tossed it aside as I unclasped my bra. Before the lacy undergarment hit the floor, his mouth was on my chest. He kissed and licked and sucked with the same vigor he had used when attacking my mouth. I put my hands on the back of his head and looked up at the ceiling.

Oh GOD! This felt good. This is what it meant to be desired. To be lusted after. To be wanted. His hands firmly gripped my sides, not letting me pull back. Not that I wanted to, unless it was to move us towards the bed.

Without warning, Scott yanked my panties down then stood up, lifting me off my feet. With two confident strides, he was at the bed, tossing me into the middle of it. Shucking off his pants, he crawled between my legs, his mouth kissing around my navel. Not wanting to be caught unawares, I scooted to the side and opened my nightstand drawer. I fumbled blindly for a condom, unable to concentrate on where my hand was.

Scott only made it harder to focus when his kisses trailed south, heading over my mound and stopping at my folds. I had just picked up one of the small foil packages when Scott trailed one long lick along the length of my labia. My hands clenched tight as I gasped. I put the condom on top of the nightstand and reached down to touch whatever parts of him I could reach as he ministered to my weeping pussy. Only one other guy had done this to me, and he brought mostly enthusiasm and not skill. Scott had both.

The man who, until a few hours ago, had been a stranger to me now slid his arms under my thighs, then reached around them to hold my lips open with his fingertips. I ran my fingers through his curls, trying not to accidentally pull his hair in my distracted state. For many long minutes - I lost all sense of time - he slowly ran his tongue up... and down... and up... and down my slit. Sometimes his tongue would pause to press at my entrance, causing my thighs to squeeze around his head.

Eventually, I felt his thumb circling around my clit - circling but never touching. I wanted him to touch me there. I moaned and shifted my hips, trying to force some contact with my sensitive nub. Scott held off, continuing to drive my desire to the next level.

"Scahhhhhtt," I moaned, clenching my thighs a little. Understanding that I didn't want to be teased any more, he withdrew his tongue and kissed little pecks from the bottom of my slit up to the top. Reaching that point, he opened his mouth wide and surrounded my clit. Then he slowly... agonizingly slowly... closed his mouth, and slid his lips into a tighter circle until he was sucking gently on that throbbing button.

mmmmMMMMMM... I began moaning, and the pitch rose with the increasingly intense sensations I felt at that one spot. When Scott pulled his head back, tugging on my clit with his lips, I felt my gut coiling like a spring. My legs pulled up towards my body, hindered slightly by Scott's arms wrapped around my thighs.

With an unhurried motion, Scott flattened his tongue and pressed it down firmly where his lips had just been. The sudden change in sensation, focused on that particular spot, did more than push me over the edge. It launched me into orbit.

The rush of noise in my ears sounded like I was standing in a waterfall, and I felt like I was floating on a wave that wouldn't crash. I cried out again and again, thankful that my bedroom was on the side of the townhouse that didn't share a wall with anyone. Scott seemed intent on working all my levers in that moment, because his finger entered me for the first time, curling up just past my entrance and making me thrust my hips upward wildly.

Scott managed to extract himself from my thighs while they were still moving of their own accord, and he reclined on the bed next to me, propped up on an elbow and watching with a smile as my orgasm faded. While the last of my tremors were trailing off, I gripped his arm and looked at his face. His smile wasn't cocky. The best word for it might have been... serene.

Still trying to catch my breath, I panted, "And you... wondered if this... would make me happy? I think... you have... your answer."

He leaned over me and kissed my lips. I didn't mind tasting myself on his face, though it was bold of him to assume I would be OK with it. Then resuming his place next to me, he said, "I knew it would make you feel good. Happiness is something different."

"Oh great," I joked. "A philosopher."

"We're all philosophers," he murmured, tracing his fingers across my breasts as they rose and fell. "Some of us are just more conscious of it than others."

I gave him a curious look. I wondered where I'd heard or read that before. But I quickly discarded that thought in favor of more pressing matters. "If you're done lecturing," I said, "grab a condom and we'll see how good we can make you feel."

"You have no idea how good I feel right now," he replied, running the tips of his fingers up past my neck and through my hair.

"You know what I mean," I smiled, rolling towards him and wrapping my hand around his cock. The slick wetness around his tip assured me that we still had unfinished business.

*******

Moments later, my legs were splayed around his waist, my toes pointing at the ceiling and my feet jerking in time with his thrusts. I felt no urge to manufacture sounds of pleasure for him, as I did with most other guys. I knew he was close, and I didn't feel the need to rush him. I was still feeling the glow of my orgasm deep in my chest. I knew I would sleep well that night. I was breathing in deep, enjoying his manly smell. It wasn't cologne, and there was only a hint of aftershave or something. In any case, I was enjoying the way it felt to smell him.

"Want me to slow down and wait for you?" he asked while changing his speed to a slower pace that was just as firm.

"Mmmm, thank you, but don't worry about it," I replied. "You took excellent care of me. Besides, I bet you're close already."

Not speeding up yet, he said softly, "Yeah... but I partly want this to go on a lot longer. I don't want to leave your bed."

"I won't kick you out tonight," I promised. "Just don't make a nuisance of yourself in the morning."

One corner of his mouth curled up in a smile and he pushed a little harder into me. "Well, in that case... " he said, and sped up a little. His pace remained steady and moderate. His hands traveled slowly around my body, touching some places that usually don't get much attention. His fingers rubbed behind my knee and I giggled in response. He liked rubbing his hand up between my breasts and pausing when his palm was at the center of my collar bone. There was a sensual possessiveness about that spot that made me arch my back to feel more pressure from his hand. His lips lingered where my jaw met my earlobe, and I shivered at the feeling of his breath on my ear.