Not Today-Dora Ellison Mystery, Book 1

Not Today-Dora Ellison Mystery Book 1

by David E. Feldman

THEN

The young couple lay back on the boy's parents' bed, which was soft and plush, covered with thick comforters, fluffed pillows, and an appliquéd blanket that smelled sweetly of fabric softener and the girl's lavender perfume. At either side of the bed were twin, stained wood night tables, and a matching headboard rose from behind the blankets and pillows.

The boy's parents had gone to a restaurant, then a show in the city, so he knew they wouldn't be home anytime soon. He had also known she would agree to come by. He could tell by the excited buzz he felt whenever they looked at each other. He knew she felt that buzz, too.

She had gone along with everything-the empty house, the beer, the bed. And when he gently lifted her chin to kiss her, she had closed her eyes and become still, waiting.

Kissing was wonderful. He had never kissed anyone like this before. His only kissing experience had been a year earlier with one of his cousins, and that had been with their mouths closed. Anne's lips were warm and soft and seemed to be made for his. When she opened her mouth and swirled her tongue around his, the boy was startled, then delighted.

They kissed for quite a while and writhed in one another's arms, mussing the covers and each other. They were eager and ardent, and they couldn't get enough of one another.

For the boy, there was nothing but this moment-this kissing and the urge for more. He cupped the back of her head, holding her against him, thrilled that she pressed back. He quickly realized he did not have to hold her, that his hands were free for other things.

They kissed faster and harder, more urgently, taking tiny breaks to breathe, pressing their faces to one another's necks, inhaling one another's scents, as their hands began to fly.

He ran his fingers down her arms, over her jeans, and up her back. He did this again and again, as she pressed forward, angling her body toward him, encouraging him.

He felt for her blouse buttons and struggled to undo them, his fingers shaking. He hoped she didn't notice, but she seemed as eager as he was, pushing away his hands and undoing the buttons herself before flinging her blouse open and guiding his fingers inside her bra.

Her breast was soft and light, gentle and fragile. He sighed with joy that this moment was happening, right here and now. He would have stopped time if he could, but he was too preoccupied to give it, or anything else, much thought.

She had taken her blouse off entirely and slid over to one side so she could run her palm over the front of his pants, pressing hard, as he pressed back. She tried to pull him on top of her, but he held himself to one side and tried to unbutton her jeans. However, he couldn't manage to slip the button through its hole with one hand.

"Let me," Anne whispered. In seconds, she had kicked off her pants, giggling as one of her feet got stuck in a pant leg. She kicked repeatedly, frantically, comically until he helped slide her foot free. Then he sat back, unsure of what to do next.

She showed him, and he looked at her in surprise. "You've done this?"

She shook her head and whispered, "Thought about it ... read about it."

And then they were doing it. The boy had lost the ability to think; there was only feeling and doing, and a joy that made him want to cry.

He was pushing hard against her, and she pushed back ... at first.

He heard her call his name and had the vague notion that something was not right. She called again. Perhaps she had called a few times, but he was pushing hard, and Anne was bouncing off the bed, sliding toward the headboard with each bounce.