Reunion

Sandra's first thought as she walked into the restaurant was one of shock, as she recognized most everyone in the room, but their faces had changed so much in the ten years since she'd last seen them that they also seemed new and different. Which, she supposed, was the price one paid for cutting off contact when one fled town after high school. She hadn't looked back, either, until she'd gotten the invitation, forwarded from her mother, to the ten-year reunion.

She'd dressed well, she though, going for a mature ensemble: an emerald-colored blouse tucked neatly into a gray-wool pencil skirt. She'd put a pair of tall black pumps on her feet and liked the sound of her heals clacking on the wood floor of the restaurant as she walked around and surveyed the scene. And here were 100 of what had once supposedly been her closest friends, chatting over cocktails while trying to remember what it was like to be seventeen.

Sandra realized with dismay that she didn't have much to say to any of these people, and she nearly turned around and walked out, but then her eye caught the one person she both most dreaded and most wanted to see: Jason Klein.

He'd hardly changed, she noticed. He was still tall and lanky, though his dark hair was shorter now, cut more neatly than it had been in high school, and he wore the shirt and tie like he owned them and not like his mother had dressed him. He was talking to a short woman with dark blonde hair. Lisa Phelps from the looks of it, Sandra guessed.

Jason noticed Sandra, too, and nodded in her direction from across the room. Not sure what else to do, Sandra walked over to the bar and ordered a drink. When she turned around, Jason was still glancing surreptitiously in her direction. When she smiled at him, he smiled back. When she took a slow sip of her martini, she watched as he excused himself from his conversation and began to head her way.

---

Jason felt for maybe the twentieth time in the last year that, if he'd known senior year that being class president would have meant getting stuck on the Reunion Committee with Lisa Phelps ten years later, he might have skipped the whole thing. No amount of fame and fortune was worth that particular headache.

She'd been meticulous and fastidious in high school, but as an adult, she was a nightmare of anal-retentive fussiness. She'd called him weekly for the last six months, asking pesky questions and confirming plans. He supposed he could find some comfort in the fact that Reunion had finally arrived, and that after tonight he'd hopefully never have to deal with her again.

She was talking his ear off when a late-comer walked in, a woman he might have recognized anywhere, although she'd finally grown and matured into her body. Sandra Kellerman walked in on those long legs of hers, wearing a skirt that sat snugly on her hips and a blouse unbuttoned low enough to entice without giving it all away. She still walked like she was in a hurry to get to wherever she was going. He struggled to listen to what Lisa was saying to him but became distracted when Sandra looked over and caught his eye. He watched her walk over to the bar and order a drink. Lisa was still going on about name tags or something, but he cut her off and excused himself, then headed over to the bar.

---

It was hard not to see him as he'd been at fourteen, tall and awkward and sitting behind her in history class. Hard not to remember the field trip to the Jersey Shore when she'd lent him her Smashing Pumpkins tape, which he'd promptly lost; he spent the rest of the school year swearing to replace it but never did. Hard not to remember him picking her up to drive her to school that time her car had broken down. Hard not to remember grinning at him as he sat in the cafeteria on the afternoon junior year when votes for class president had been collected.

At the same time, she saw him dancing with Kim Becker at prom, his fingers laced through her long dark hair as they kissed during the class song. Or she saw him holding hands in the hallway with Lisa Phelps freshman year, or exchanging meaningful glances with Cindy Reyes.

She did a quick wedding ring check as he walked towards her. His hands were bare. That was a good sign.

"Hi, Sandra," he said when he got to her.

"Hello," she said. "It's good to see you."

"It's been awhile," he said. He smirked. "I'd offer to buy you a drink, but first, you've already got one, and second, it's an open bar."

"Did you fake-offer to buy everyone here a drink?"

"I have a few people, yes." He grinned more genuinely then.

"It's a little weird to see everyone here drinking. I haven't really seen any of these people since before we were old enough to drink legally, so I'm finding it odd to see them all with drinks in their hands. I might be twenty-eight, but it seems to me that everyone here is still eighteen."

"I'm definitely not eighteen anymore," he replied. "You look great, by the way."

"Thanks," she said, pushing a strand of her shiny brown hair behind her ear. "You do, too."

---

As he talked to her, he couldn't help be reminded of the moment in ninth grade when they'd been assigned to read Romeo and Juliet. She'd read the part of Juliet with, thinking back, the appropriate amount of awe and innocence. Matt Seaver had read the part of Romeo with vim and aplomb and had seemed downright cocky to Jason at the time. Then there was that one day that Matt had been out sick and Mrs. Carver had chosen Jason to replace him during the reading. That might have been the best day of his freshman year.

"Where are you living now?" he asked the now mature Juliet, with her impossibly shiny hair.

"Oh, I live in the city. Ninety-Sixth Street."

"Really? I just got a place in Hoboken. So, not close really, but not impossibly far, either. I write tech reviews for a computer magazine and I've got an office in Midtown where I get to go every day to play with gadgets."

"Sounds fun," she said. She smiled. God, she had a great smile. "I'm an editor at a children's book publisher. Our offices are also in midtown. Not so far apart."

"No. It's funny that we never ran into each other."

"I suppose," she said. She took a sip of her martini. He envied the rim of the glass. "Then again, there are a thousand people who work just in my building. It's easy to get lost in the crowd."

"Funny how things turn out, eh? I remember you were always a big reader. Figures that you wound up in publishing."

"Yeah, I suppose it does."

Not wanting the conversation to end, he added, "We were in Ms. Pratt's English class together senior year, remember? She adored you. I bet she'd be tickled to learn that you're an editor now."

She laughed. "She thought you were a mess, as I recall."

"Yeah, well. She might be horrified that I walked into a profession that requires me to write in exchange for money."

---

They talked and laughed easily over drinks at the bar. He kept bringing up things he remembered that they'd both participated in. The field trip to Boston sophomore year, the teachers they'd had in common, the music they'd listened to. Had talking to him always been this easy? She doubted it. She supposed things were different when you were an adult.

She shook her head. "It's so great to talk to you now. Why weren't we better friends in high school?"

"Don't know," he said.

"Well, I guess I do. I had a terrible crush on you."

He grinned. "Really," he said. "That's funny. I had a terrible crush on you, too."

She felt her stomach flutter like she hadn't felt in probably ten years. "You didn't," she said.

"Oh, sure I did. Want to hear something stupid? That tape of yours I borrowed, I didn't lose it. I kept it and wore it out listening to it because it was yours."

She laughed. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you ever ask me out?"

"I don't know. You seemed a little out of my league."

"I was out of your league?"

He shrugged. "You were beautiful and so much smarter than I was."

"You were the class president! You were far more popular than I was."

"Just goes to show how ridiculous high school was, I guess," he said.

---

God, it was astonishing to think about all the lost time. She'd had a crush on him? All that time he spent looking at the back of her head in class. The time he spent wondering what it might be like to get his hands on those breast of hers. The time he spent jerking off at night while thinking of her. One of his most prominent adolescent fantasies, all grown up with a fantastic body—large breasts, curvy hips, and legs that went on forever—standing here now telling him she'd wanted him just as much as he'd wanted her back then.

He glanced around the room and saw Lisa Phelps making the rounds. He wondered if he could get away with what he wanted to do. He looked back at Sandra and felt the sigh escape his lips as she drained the rest of her martini.

"Hey, listen," he said. "I've got to mingle a bit, play host, you know. But do you want to get out of here later? Get some coffee or something, keep talking."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is 'get some coffee' a euphemism for going back to your hotel room and fucking like wild animals?"

He could feel himself blushing. "No, but it could be."

She smiled slyly. "I'll think about it."

---

She watched him go around the room, clearly distracted now. It made her giddy to think he was distracted by her. He looked better than ever, she'd decided, in expensive-looking trousers and a blue oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He'd filled out a bit since high school, his shoulders broad but his waist narrow still. He smiled and shook hands and looked far more handsome than he ever had in high school, and he wanted her now, she could tell. She felt a thrill inside her every time he shot a glance her way, and she felt like she was privy to a secret only the two of them knew. And every time their eyes connected, she felt the electricity pass between them.

And she could feel her own arousal, too, like a tickle. She remembered dancing with him at homecoming when they were sophomores, remembered feeling something akin to what she felt now when he'd taken her into his arms and joked around by dragging her around the floor in a ridiculous tango before settling into the dance properly, his sweaty hands on her waist and her own sweaty palms on his shoulders. Looking back on moments like that knowing that he'd wanted her gave her a secret thrill.

It took nearly forty-five minutes for him to circle back to her, and by then, her other classmates, some of whom she'd talked to but most of whom she hadn't, had started to trickle out.

"I can't stand it anymore," he said. "The coffee, by which I mean my hotel room, is three blocks from here. I beg you to save me from the evil clutches of Lisa Phelps, who will drive me to an early grave if I have to listen to her for much longer."

Sandra laughed. "I'm so ready to leave. Lead the way."

---

He was already hard when they left the restaurant. She had a way about her now. In high school, she'd been nice, pretty, but now she seemed like pure sex bomb. When she crossed the street ahead of him, he held back just to watch the way her hips swayed as she walked. He couldn't wait to get his hands on those hips, to get his hands everywhere, to sink into her like he'd been imagining since he was fourteen years old.

He jogged up to keep pace with her once they were on the other side of the street. "This is me," he said before grabbing her hand and pulling her through the glass doors at the hotel's entrance.

When they were on the elevator, he put a tentative hand on her waist and pulled her close to him so that their hips were touching. He resisted the temptation to grind what was now his very hard cock against her, lest he scare her off during the early stages of seduction, but on the other hand, she seemed to be aware of exactly what she was getting herself into.

When the elevator doors opened, he took her hand again and led her down the hall. He fished his room key out of his pocket and opened the door, motioning for her to go in ahead of him.

"Can I say," she said to him as she walked in and put her purse on an endtable, "that I had enough time alone at the bar tonight to consider that this is probably going to be a hell of a lot better than it would have been if we'd hooked up in high school."

"Oh, God, yes," he said.

---

She walked over to the bed and sat down. He loosened his tie and started to pull it off without looking at her. She toed off her shoes and leaned back on her palms. "I've learned a few tricks since high school."

"Me too," he said. "I have to admit that I'm feeling a little weird about this, though." When she grimaced, he said, "Not about doing it. I want to have sex with you more than I want to do anything else, but it's a little hard to wrap my head around this."

She smiled. She could see that he was already aroused, that his cock was tenting his pants. She held up her hand and curled a finger towards herself, motioning for him to come hither. When he hesitated, she undid a couple of buttons on her blouse, opening it enough so that he could see the edges of the lacy black bra she had on underneath.

He groaned and walked towards her.

"I couldn't help but notice that you've got an interesting problem here," she said, reaching for his belt. "Tell me something, Jason. Did you think about me sexually when we were in high school."

"Oh, yeah," he said. He breathed raggedly as she undid the button on his pants and slowly pulled down the zipper. "I was a teenaged boy. I thought about sex pretty much constantly." When she reached into his pants and ran her fingers over his erection, he sighed and said, "I'd get a boner sitting behind you in class."

"Like this?" she asked, letting his pants fall and then leaning over to kiss his cock through his underwear.

"Yeah, something like this."

"Did you ever imagine me giving you a blow job?"

"Often."

She smiled and pulled his briefs down, letting his cock spring free. It stood at attention mere centimeters from her mouth. She kissed the tip of it.

"It's like torture, what you're doing," he said.

"I'm just getting started," she said, feeling suddenly exhilarated. Here was Jason Klein, her oldest crush, now at her mercy. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his very impressive cock then lowered her mouth to him, kissing the head of his penis again before taking the whole thing into her mouth.

---

He groaned as he felt his cock slide into her mouth. Watching her pretty lips glide over his penis was about the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. The actual feeling of it, of her kneeling before him and sucking on his cock, far exceeded expectations. She was right, doing this now, after they'd had some experience, was far better than it would have been in high school. She'd have been doing this awkwardly, he would have come too early, and there probably would have been a lot of embarrassment. Now she sucked cock like an expert, knowing the right rhythm to stroke him, how hard to suck, how to avoid scraping her teeth over the wrong places.

It was with great sadness that he had to ease her off him. Not only were his knees about to go out, but there were other things he wanted to do to her. "I don't want to come yet," he told her as he helped her to her feet.

The first thing he did was get the rest of the buttons on her blouse open, then he pulled the blouse right off of her and tossed it on the floor. And there were those spectacular breasts. She'd been an early developer as a teenager, and these very breasts had been the topic of much locker room conversation, and now they were all his. He buried his face in the valley between them, inhaling her scent, which was something like licorice and sweat. He adored it and put his hands on those breasts, squeezing and kneading until she moaned and twisted her fingers into his hair, pulling his face closer to her. He reached around and undid her bra then took a nipple into his mouth as soon as her breasts were free. He feasted on one while he tweaked the other with his fingers and was delighted when her hips started to pump involuntarily and she dragged him over to the bed.

He made quick work of her skirt and tossed that on the floor, too, leaving her in only a pair of barely-there black lace panties. He slid his hands over her mound and was delighted to find that she was so wet she'd soaked through the panties. Then he leaned over and kissed her.

She was a hell of a kisser, he thought, and wondered why he hadn't gotten around to kissing her earlier. She tasted vaguely of vodka, but her lips were smooth and warm and she pulled him close and unbuttoned his shirt, the only remaining item of clothing on his body. When the shirt was off, she pushed him down on the bed and started kissing his chest.

---

He tasted salty, she decided, and of sweat and arousal. His body was something else, thin but muscular, and he had strong arms and big hands and a spectacular cock that she felt poking at her stomach as she kissed and licked his chest.

She grabbed his cock and stroked it, then moved down the bed so that she could touch her breasts with it, first letting the head touch each of her nipples, then squeezing her breasts around it. He sighed when she moved up and down a little then licked the pre-cum off the tip.

"I want you so badly," he said huskily. "Come back here."

She crawled up his body and kissed his lips, pushing them open with her tongue and then getting her tongue tangled with his. His fingers got lost in her hair as he held her there. She straddled his hips and felt his hard cock poking at her through her panties, like it was trying to find its way home.

The need to have him inside her was acute. She took off her panties then resumed straddling him. His cock slid against her wet pussy and she hesitated to push too hard because the teasing was so delicious, but she finally couldn't take it any more. She grabbed his cock with her right hand and stroked it to make sure it was still hard, then guided it into her. She sank down on his hips until he was all the way buried, then she began to rock.

---

She was so tight and warm, better than all of his adolescent fantasies. She rode him for all she was worth, too, her breasts bobbing as she moved her hips. He slid his hands up her sides then cupped her breasts. She raised her arms over her head to give him better access to those marvelous breasts, and he dutifully squeezed them in both hands, then squeezed her nipples, which got an appreciative moan out of her. Then she took one of his hands in her own and guided it down to her clit, which he then stroked while she rode his cock.

She started moving faster, then sighed and whimpered then fell forward onto his chest. She propped herself up on her elbows and kissed him hard, groaning and grinding as his hands roamed over her round ass, gently sliding into the crack and a little further south.

"God, Jason," she sighed.

He decided to take over and rolled them over so that he was on top. He stayed inside her then got his own rhythm going.

---

Being under his body was almost too much. He looked down at her and his eyes were hazy with arousal and desire. He pumped in and out of her fast, and she felt the orgasm building even before he reached between them and put his thumb back on her clit. As soon as he touched her there, the orgasm swept through her and she nearly screamed as she arched her back and dug her nails into his shoulders. And still he pounded into her relentlessly, saying her name then picking up the pace. Her second orgasm was not far behind.

---

Her coming again was intense. He felt her body convulse around his dick and then felt the pressure building. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again while pistoning his hips. A few more times in and out and he felt himself erupt, coming spectacularly as jet after jet shot out of him.