The Force of Destiny

"That's another thing you didn't know about me," she said. "I've been collecting Barbies for years."

"Any particular reason?"

"I've loved dolls since I was a little girl. But I didn't start collecting Barbies until my freshman year in college. I've even been to conventions." She chuckled. "I don't know, maybe there's something subliminal about it. Maybe she's got the figure I wish I had."

He shook his head. "Other than all those fancy outfits, Barbie's got nothing on you."

"She's got the perfect figure."

"According to Mattel."

"Yes, which unfortunately has given plenty of girls like me a complex, thinking there was something wrong with us because we didn't measure up to Barbie. Meanwhile, I'm going to change out of these wet jeans into something more comfortable. Too bad I don't have any dry clothes here for you to wear. You're hardly my dad's size," she added, referring to her step-dad's slight build next to Warren's broad, athletic proportions. After grabbing a maroon dress from her drawer, she left for the bathroom.

He sat on her bed, looking around. Another bookshelf was stuffed cover to cover with everything from novels like "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" to history ("The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn"). He checked out the cassette tape lodged in her boom-box on her desk: "Parallel Lines" by the group Blondie, a favorite of his as well.

"There, this feels much better," she said upon entering the room. After closing the door, she stood barefoot in front of the full-length mirror on her door. The dress plunged just above her boobs and dropped an inch above her knees. She did a few right-left half-turns and full twirls, exposing her full, milky-white thighs.

The dress wasn't particularly revealing or sexy. But what she was doing sure was! "I didn't expect a fashion show," he said, leaning back on his hands.

She continued to pose in front of the mirror. "It's cause and effect at work," she said, glancing sideways at him, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. "Let's say we'd gone to a movie instead of sledding. Well, I would have been dry and therefore wouldn't have found the need to change."

"Of course, you could have changed into another pair of jeans. Or, done the dress but chose—chose, mind you—not to pose erotically in front of a guy who you damn well know finds you sexy enough in pants. Not that I'm complaining."

She turned from the mirror to face him. "I don't know, Warren, it seems to me we were destined to end up in my room at exactly this time. Yes, I chose to wear this dress. Yes, I also chose not to wear something else." Pinching the hem of her garment, she lifted it just high enough for him to see what she meant.

His cock stiffened. Nervously, he looked toward her door. "Are we okay in here? I mean, somebody could come bursting in any second."

"Not likely," she said, dropping her dress. "My family knows when to give me privacy. Pauline, ahem, entertains her own boyfriend in her room with no problem. Of course, you never know. Larry once came in when I was in a compromising situation with someone. You should have seen the expression on the kid's face, hilarious. He was only thirteen then, but old enough to know what was going on."

"Leave it to fate, right?"

"Very good, Warren. You're learning fast. Now, just relax." Lifting her dress again, she stepped closer to him. "My jeans aren't the only thing that's still wet." She pointed to her dark brown pubic hair, glistening from the moistness. "Go ahead, cop a feel." After shooting a glance toward the door, he slid his finger along her slit. She moaned slightly and threw her head back. Lifting her dress higher, she squatted low enough to where her crotch was against his mouth. "Now lick me."

He grabbed onto the back of her silky thighs, tilted his head up and complied. "Oooo, my pussy's on fire," she purred. "I love the way you do that."

Moments later, she stepped away and cut her ceiling light. Then she turned on her desk lamp, leaving the room in shadows. Approaching him again, she kept one hand over her pussy. "If I was any wetter I'd be dripping on the carpet," she quipped.

He squeezed his crotch. "And if I was any harder I'd bust through my pants."

"Glad to hear it. Now why don't you take off those wet pants and cuddle with me under the covers. Our destiny, at least tonight, is to end up in bed together."

As he began to strip down to his briefs, she turned on the radio to an "easy listening" FM station. "I hope you don't mind if I keep my dress on," she said. "You know, just in case we're rudely interrupted. Very unlikely, but, well, you never know."

Buried in his arms under her soft, yellow comforter, she said, "You know, all that time we were sledding and getting cold, all I could think about was being close to you in a nice warm bed. That's kind of what I meant when I said we were destined to meet here."

He couldn't argue, didn't want to argue. Besides, he was beginning to think she might be right. As he began kissing her, he thought how incredibly lucky he was to be here with someone of her quality, soft and warm and sexy, nutty and smart, a Barbie doll collector who reads classic novels and digs Blondie and Anne Boleyn. "You're one luscious young lady," he said, stroking her baby-soft skin and wondering how she could still smell so good without taking a shower.

"And you're one handsome dude, dude, not to mention gracious enough and sensitive enough and deep enough to engage me in a little metaphysical repartee. The last guy I tried to do that with said I was 'too deep' for him. Can you imagine?"

"His loss," Warren said, and then put his lips back on her hers. He kept kissing her while pulling down the top of her dress.

"My boobs are very sensitive but small," she said, almost apologetically. "B-cups at best."

B-cups, C-cups, he didn't care. He wasn't a dyed-in-the-wool boob guy like some, and even if he was, Paulette's other assets, internal and external, more than made up for any perceived deficit in that department. "You're beautiful," he whispered, and then began licking her nipples. She was right; they perked right up at the touch of his tongue against them.

"Your nuts must be starting to ache," she said. "I've been feeling your rock-hard cock against me for the last ten minutes."

"That's what I get for jumping in bed with a bright, sexy girl who isn't afraid to fulfill her destiny."

"OUR destiny. You had a hand in this, too, you know." She raised her hips and then yanked up her dress as far as it would go.

"As your old professor might say, we're responding to stimuli." He paused. "Sorry, I shouldn't get facetious at a time like this."

"No, Warren, a little humor is always okay in my book. In fact—ˮ

The sound of the doorbell stopped her in mid-sentence.

"Who could that be at ten-fifteen on a Saturday night?" She shook her head to dismiss it, then began to spread her legs. However, a knock on her door distracted her again.

"Paulette?" It was Pauline.

Paulette uttered a terse "Yes?"

"Look, I know you're, um, busy," Pauline said, chuckling, "but you have a visitor."

"A visitor?! Who?"

"Calvin Davis."

Paulette punched her pillow and rolled her eyes. "Shit, of all the times for him to drop over."

Warren looked clueless. "Who's Calvin Davis?"

"Oh, an ex-boyfriend who I haven't spoken to in almost a year." She shook her head. "He always did have impeccable timing."

"What should I tell him?" Pauline said through the door.

"Tell him I'm busy, of course."

"Sorry about this, Warren," Paulette said. "I can't imagine what he wants."

They continued to cuddle while Warren asked about Calvin, when they were an item, when they broke up, etc.

Less than a minute later, Pauline was back. "He said he needs to see you," she said.

"Doesn't he know I'm with—"

"Yes, I told him," Pauline said, "but he said he really needs to see you. He seems very upset."

She again apologized to Warren, swung out of bed and went to her mirror to primp her hair and fix her dress. Then she went into the living room where she saw Calvin standing by the door, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders hunched as if he were standing at a bus stop on a cold day. He wore high-top hiking shoes and a heavy gray sweater over his long-sleeve button down. Paulette's parents and brother were in their rooms, while Pauline hung in the kitchen still wearing her Towson sweatshirt, making no effort to hide her interest in Calvin's surprise visit.

Paulette hadn't seen Calvin looking this upset since their painful breakup. She took note of the dark circles under his eyes. He looked on the verge of tears, yet still handsome as ever, from his square jaw and seductive blue eyes to his long brown hair, messy and disheveled it might be. "Calvin, this better be important," she said. Her annoyance didn't keep her from reaching out and hugging him. Then she backed off and said, "I've got company."

He looked toward the kitchen. "So Pauline told me. Sorry to interrupt."

Paulette folded her arms against her chest. "So what's up?" When she saw him glance at Pauline, Paulette pleaded with her sister for privacy.

Calvin watched as Pauline left the room. Then he lost it, broke down crying and reached out for Paulette who didn't hesitate to embrace him. He continued to sob while telling her how Mary Beth was killed two days ago by a drunk driver who ran a stop sign. It resonated with Paulette, because she remembered hearing about the accident but never caught the victim's name. She held him tight as they stood near the front door. "Calvin, I'm so sorry," she said, tearing up. "I'm so very sorry."

He again apologized for interrupting her evening. "I just had to see you," he said, trying to stifle his sobs. "Back in the day, you weren't just my main squeeze, you were my best friend."

She nodded. "I understand." The feeling was mutual, because she credited Calvin for helping her gain at least a semblance of pride and confidence in herself. She also knew that at this moment he needed her more than Warren did. "I'll be right back," she said. Calvin said he'd return another time but she insisted he stay. "Warren will understand," she assured him.

When she returned to her room, Warren said that he too had heard about the accident. "Of course, not knowing Calvin, I didn't make the connection." Climbing out of bed, he put on his clothes, disappointed but resigned to a situation that was beyond his control. Even if she wanted him to stay, he knew the tragedy had destroyed the mood, not to mention what might have followed. Paulette apologized and thanked him for his understanding. "Well, these things happen," he said.

After stepping into his boots and before heading out, he shook hands with Calvin and offered his condolences. "Very sorry for your loss."

Paulette led Calvin to her room and then cut her desk lamp and the radio. She held him on the bed in almost total darkness. When Calvin asked about Warren, she said, "Not my boyfriend, just a guy I started dating."

After he stopped crying and they started into it, she thought maybe they shouldn't be doing this, making out as they once did, like they were still together. Nevertheless, she couldn't stop—not the passionate hugging and kissing, not the tearing at his clothes and then her clothes and then the white-hot emotion that enveloped her when they embraced under the covers and she felt her body melding into his. She could feel how much he wanted her and needed her, and she was more than willing to give him all he wanted. "I'm yours tonight, Calvin," she said. "Make love to me, make love to me the way you did when we had no place to go but your car and that secluded spot by the stream on those balmy summer nights."

She almost laughed, realizing he hardly needed encouragement. Just minutes ago, she was on the verge of sharing her body with someone else. Now it was Calvin who she shared it with, Calvin who was doing to her what she had expected Warren to do. Fate did indeed love a jest as she once heard.

"I never stopped loving you," he whispered, wedged between her legs, pile driving his cock into her faster and harder. "Please don't ever leave me."

"No, never, I promise," she whispered back. Even through her passion, she realized the gravity of what she had just said, realized she might not be able to keep that promise, but also aware that Calvin needed to hear it in his terrible state of grief. She climaxed shortly before he did, and then held and kissed him until they were both ready for more. This time they took things slower, punctuated their rhythm with long kisses and silent gazes that spoke their own special vernacular. They fell asleep holding each other.

Just before sunup, Calvin started out the door. "Those few hours of sleep were the most I've had in two days," he said. She kissed him goodbye, assured him she'd attend Mary Beth's funeral tomorrow.

Paulette returned to her bed, hoping to get more sleep. After an hour's worth of tossing and turning, she gave up. She knew Calvin would be back in her life and that Warren would most likely be out of it, at least for the time being. She also knew that none of this would be happening had that drunk driver not killed Mary Beth. As she told Warren, the force of destiny is a curious thing.