#FridayFlash: 4:45

4:45

by Tony Noland

Faith had decided to tell her mother that her clarinet lesson had run late. She would have to do penance for the lie, but it was only a small sin, and worth the price. One last glance around confirmed that she was alone; all the other students had left. She opened the door to slip inside. Will was waiting for her, some homework notes and the Calculus II textbook open on the desk to give him a ready excuse in case he'd been discovered. He stood as she entered and opened his arms to her.

She hugged him, the feel and smell of his flannel shirt giving her a warm, hungry sensation that spread outward through her whole body. She loved this moment, the lovely strength of him. Her fingers spread across his back, she moved her hands and felt the smooth muscles along his spine, pulled him close, and closer. She shifted her posture, and he matched her movement, making it a full body hug, their hips together, his thighs pressed against hers.

The temptation, the desire welled up inside her, to kiss him, to feel his kiss on her. She suppressed it. It would be wrong, a major sin. Kissing leads to touching and touching leads to Hell - it was the core of what Mama had taught her. Never kiss a boy, never let a boy touch you under your clothes. She loved Will all the more for his understanding. He never tried to kiss her, never put his hands where they shouldn't go. Mama had never said anything about hugging, so technically, this wasn't a sin.

They'd been holding each other tightly, swaying to a silent, shared music for almost fifteen minutes before he broke away and eased himself down into the chair. She let him sit, then followed him. It was an armless old library chair, a big oak relic rescued from the dumpster when the school library had been renovated. It was solid and sturdy and more than strong enough for two people.

She straddled his right thigh in what was still technically a kind of hug, her jeans rubbing against his with a soft whicking sound when she moved. It was the change in position as much as her own weight that brought the seam of her jeans more directly, almost painfully up against her flesh. Standing, she'd been pressing herself to him as they held each other. When she'd started to stand on her toes to adjust the contact, started to pull against him in the beginnings of a rhythm, trying to make their embrace feel even better, he pulled away and sat.

On her toes, her blue sneakers on the floor supported her. Her hand on his chest balanced her. She rocked forward and back, again and again. It felt so good, like a hard, hard scratching of a deep itch that went on and on. She slid herself around on his leg, letting the wonderful soothing feeling reach deep within her. Her legs, her thighs, the core of her body all itched terribly and she could not get enough of him. If only she could ask him to touch her everywhere, even underneath her clothes.

Her clothes, her darned clothes - she was so hot and uncomfortable in them. It would be so nice to be rid of them, to be like she was in the shower. The hot itching of her chest inside her blouse and confining bra was threatening to drown out the itching of her body. Her bras had felt strange enough when Mama had bought them for her last fall, and wearing them was a bright, flushing embarrassment. They must have shrunk in the wash since then, for they were always too tight, too binding. Now, though... now they felt like a prison, like a heavy, wet blanket thrown onto a fire.

She imagined what it would feel like to open herself up to him, to let herself be free, to have his warm hands on her chest, all over her chest. She tried to picture his hands on her, directly on her, and her breath came in a gasp, the image jolting her entire body like a shock. She leaned into him, lifting her feet and pressing her thighs together, letting her entire weight rest on his leg as she rocked faster back and forth. She clutched at his chest, trying to push herself down harder, pull herself forward farther.

His arm came up before her and she grabbed hold, pushing against his strong arm, grinding herself down against his leg. His thigh came alive underneath her, his muscles bunching and flexing as she levered against his arm, over and over. She felt driven, she felt a terrible, wonderful need, she felt his body against hers and then, then, then like the light, weightless moment at the top of a rollercoaster, she felt nothing. A cold, tingling numbness spread outward from her center and she felt nothing at all from her knees all the way up to her ribs.

And then everything, everything in her entire body came together in one crashing, sun-bright burning heat that filled in the tingling and washed over it like a rolling, endless wall of flame. She let her body move, pulled herself back and forth to fan the flames and let them rise high, higher within her. She slid and pulled and rocked, and she was filled with the most wonderful, incredible happiness. Every part of her felt caressed, felt his body beneath hers, bathed entirely in serenity and throbbing warmth.

After a time, her motions slowed and she leaned forward to rest against his chest, her breathing deep and heavy. She could stay like this for years, the easy feeling of sleepy, relaxed pleasure filling her body. As her breathing eased, she became aware of the hardness between his legs, pressing against her thigh. A detached, remote sense of guilt came to her. He was always so good to her, but wasn't there anything she could do for him? Mama had told her not to let anyone touch her; Mama hadn't said anything about her touching someone else. Technically, then...

Her thoughts and the feeling of Will's strong body pulsing beneath her were interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

"W.I.L.L., your telemetry signal is really... W.I.L.L., what are you doing?! Deactivate! Command override 'Archimedes' - deactivate! I'm terribly sorry, miss, let me help you up. Did it hurt you? Are you OK?"

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