In all my fantasies, there’s never been an explanation for why Autumn and I make love. I always jumped into the story after having magically seduced her under innumerable, varied circumstances.
And there have been many fantastical circumstances.
Never, not in any classroom, back seat, backyard, or rooftop scenario, has Autumn ever begged me.
“Please,” she says as her lips travel along my neck and jaw. “Please, please.”
The barrier inside my mind is crumbling.
Her lips are back on mine, and I am lost to desire.
Surely, she’ll tell me to stop.
I slide my hand over her shirt, and she pulls it off. She doesn’t tell me to stop when I reach for her bra’s clasp.
Autumn’s bra is off, and the feel of her skin and the shadowy shape of her body leave me in thoughtless wonder. She pulls on the button of my jeans.
She means it.
Autumn makes a frustrated noise as her fingers slip and the button stays fastened.
She wants me.
All my reason and logic have been lost to that undeniable fact: Autumn wants me.
Now I’m the impatient one.
I push her hand aside and do it myself. I pull away from her enough to scramble out of my jeans and boxers and toss them off the bed. There’s a muffled thud as my phone in my pants hits the floor, and I look back at Autumn, who’s raising her hips to slip out of her own jeans.
I am all hands again, trying to help pull them past her knees and almost pulling her into my lap instead. Autumn giggles, and I kiss her feet as they reemerge from the denim.
And then I’ve taken off my shirt and I’m looking down at her.
“Oh, Autumn.” My friend. My dream. My love.
The trust in her eyes is intense. I cannot deserve that look; this cannot be happening.
She starts to pull off her panties, the last clothing between us.
I’ve lost the will to tell her that we can’t, even though I know this is all happening so quickly that we probably shouldn’t. I help her. I toss her underwear to the floor.
If this is a mistake, we’re making it anyway.
She opens her arms for me to return to her embrace. I have to say it while I still have thoughts in my brain.
“Can I tell you that I love you first?” I won’t miss my chance to tell her, even if she knows it must be true. I’m already risking so much.
“Yes.”
I fall over her, catching myself in time to lower myself gently, positioning myself between her legs, the animal instincts back in control.
“I love you,” I tell Autumn, saying it for all the times I couldn’t before and all the times I may never be able to again.
And then I’m saying, “Oh God, I love you,” because she’s there. I’m there. Autumn isn’t telling me to pull back or stop. She’s nuzzling me again, her breath hot on my collarbone. “Oh God, Autumn.”
Slow, Finn.
No mistakes.
I can tell from the way her breathing changes, the way that her grip on me tightens, she is in agony mixed with ecstasy.
Slow. Keep your head in the game, Finn.
Slow.
She’s trying to relax beneath and around me. I can feel it.
Autumn wants me to keep making love to her, even though it hurts. I don’t know why I can be so certain after all the mistakes in our past, but then again, the situation is irrefutable.
Autumn seduced me.
The absurdity of the realization would make me laugh, but she whispers in my ear, “It’s okay, Finny. I’m okay.”
Autumn rests her cheek against mine. She sighs happily.
I hope that I am still gentle enough after that, because I am consumed with the rhythmic sway of her breasts against my chest, the way her thighs grasp my waist as if she’s afraid I will escape.
It’s her name I mean to say at the end, but I do not make it past the first vowel.
ten
Autumn whimpers, and I feel one of the many reasons we shouldn’t have done this spilling from us. I move, but I am without regret, because I will always at least have this memory of us.
I’m coming out of my trance and need to know she’s still okay.
“Autumn” is all I can get out.
“I love you too,” she says. “I forgot to tell you.” She begins to cry, but not like before, not like when she was grieving the end of her characters. Still, they’re tears, so I file what she said away for later and focus on her.
I lean down and kiss her face again and again.
“It’s okay. Don’t cry,” I say, because all the other things I want to say can’t seem to find their way out. You are safe. I kiss her eyes. You are cherished. I kiss her forehead. I’ll be whatever you need me to be after this. I kiss her cheek. Whatever you want me to be. I kiss her other cheek. “Don’t cry. It’s okay.”