13 comments/ 30110 views/ 3 favorites Across the Way By: starrkers "Consider it an early Christmas present. Just, whatever you do, don't let your mother see," she said with an impish smile as she handed over the big carry bag. "She'd have a coronary." Jody desperately wanted to check the contents, but at the same time was scared to -- knowing Sammi, anything could be in there. So, instead, she carefully stowed the bag beside the bed, hidden from her mother's gaze by the coverlet and the bedside chest. "God, I'm bored," she moaned. "And I've still got two weeks of this before they change it to one I can get around in." She glared grimly at the cast encasing her leg from just below the groin to her toes. Sammi's eyes sparkled. "Hasn't he been home lately then?" Jody blushed and quickly glanced at the window. "I shouldn't have told you about that, should I?" "It's all right, sweetie. I promise I won't tell. Besides, you've got to get whatever entertainment you can in these circumstances. I certainly wouldn't pass up the chance to ogle if I had a neighbour worth the effort." Sammi stood and ostentatiously fiddled with the blinds, making sure Jody's view of the apartment across the alley was clear. "Sorry, hun, but I've really got to go -- got a hot date tonight and I've still got to finish packing. Now, don't you pine away while I'm gone." She grinned and winked as she turned to leave. "I'm sure there's something in there" -- she pointed at the concealed bag -- "that will relieve the boredom." With a quick "love you, see you in a week" she was gone. Jody sighed as she heard the apartment door close. What she wouldn't give to be going on a date -- hot, cold or indifferent -- rather than lying here staring out the window. Admittedly, the view was sometimes rather good. Now the pain had eased in her leg, she could definitely appreciate it. Her leg may be busted up, but the rest of her 22-year-old body was in perfect working order. She was lonely, bored, increasingly frustrated and beginning to become a little sorry for herself. How sad was she? All her friends were heading out for skiing trips and family get togethers over the holidays. The highlight of her days was watching some anonymous bloke working out in his apartment, and praying he wasn't going away like everyone else. It was only because she liked to lie in the evening with the curtains open that she knew about him. Her mother had turned out the lights "so no pervert can look in". Oh, dear, if only she knew! He certainly liked his fitness. Hell, she liked it too -- she'd watched him working out often enough in the past few weeks. Watched the muscles clench and relax, beginning to shine with sweat as he pumped iron. That he liked to undertake his home gym sessions unimpeded by clothing was an extra bonus. He always checked his windows before stripping off. She wasn't sure if it was to be sure of privacy, or in the hope of an audience. But, as far as she knew, she was the only resident on this side of the building -- everyone else had left for the holidays. And she had no intention of letting him know she was there. The images she collected help get her through each boring day, waiting for her mother to come and play nursemaid. Jody chastised herself: she shouldn't be so damned ungrateful. Mother had been wonderful since the accident, dropping her own interests and activities to be there for her. She'd fed her, washed her, and tried to entertain her everyday. She'd brought gossip and magazines and never complained about missing her own friends. But she was mother. And there were some things you just didn't share with her. Like gym guy across the way. Mother would've been horrified. Not at the idea of Jody watching him, but the thought that he could maybe see her -- like there was anything to see - and would close the drapes. Sammi had devoured every detail, had even gotten a bit excited at the idea of a totally naked, well built, sweaty man almost within arm's reach. She'd giggled and preened and never failed to mention him when she dropped in. And now she'd brought a present, and Jody was sure it had something to do with gym guy. And the warning see just piqued her curiosity more. But she'd have to wait. Mother would arrive anytime now with dinner. She'd sit and chat while Jody ate, fuss about for a bit and then dash out to get home before dark. She hated driving at night. *** "I'll be off then, dear. You sure won't need anything till morning?" "Yes, ma, I'll be fine." It was the same farewell ritual every evening. Mother leaving, feeling guilty that she didn't stay. Jody staying, feeling guilty that she hadn't agreed to stay at her parents' home, but relieved that mother was going at last, and feeling guilty about that as well. There was an added level of concern in her mother's voice. It had been rising steadily over the past two days. Jody sighed. She didn't like worrying her, but there was no way she could go with them on the trip to her brother, and there was also no way she was going to stop her mother from holding her first grandchild. Even so, it had taken some pretty fancy talking to convince both her parents that she'd be OK for a week on her own. "As long as you're sure," Mother hovered at the door. "I'm sure. You'd better scoot off, or it'll be dark. I'm fine. Promise." Tonight the guilt at her relief as the door closed was barely a murmur. But still, she waited until she heard the elevator hum before dragging Sammi's bag out of hiding and shaking it out on the bed beside her. As she recognised the items before her, Jody first gasped, and then collapsed in giggles. No, it certainly wasn't fit for Mother to see! The colours alone would give her a turn -- a bright cerise jelly dildo, looking remarkably anatomically correct, if a little large; a purple vibrator with the delightful name of "Petite Flower"; and a cute little blue thingy called a Screaming Octopus, which promised "tingle tentacles to disperse the high speed vibrating sensation from central to tip." The names along with the florid descriptions on the packaging, combined with an image of her mother's face should she see them, brought on a fresh attack of giggles. There was also a less lurid box, containing a set of compact binoculars, with a note from Sammi: "So you can get a closer look!", a book of erotic stories "in case all else fails", enough batteries to power everything at least twice and a teddy bear -- "check his butt". So she did. The bear had a hidden zipper along the seam between his ass and his leg. The compartment it opened was big enough to take all the toys and cushioned enough for them to remain secret. Jody carefully removed each item from its packaging -- reading all instructions and outlandish performance claims as she went. Then she put batteries into each item and turned it on, her eyes widening at the crazed bumblebee noises and odd contortions. She laughed outright at the dildo -- it had flashing lights! Trust Sammi to find a way to lighten her mood. She collected all the cardboard and plastic packaging and put it back in the carry bag, which went back on the floor, hidden by the coverlet. The bear, still empty at this stage, gained pride of place on the pillow beside her and the toys, book and binoculars lay on the bed. She wasn't really in the mood to take any of them seriously, but she picked up the binoculars, to see how well they worked. The light outside had faded, so there wasn't much to see, but they did pull that window much closer. Not that she'd ever dare use them when he was home, would she? No, of course not. She shoved the binoculars under the pillow, stuffed the toys into the bear, dumped it on top of the pillow and resolutely turned her back on the window. *** There were only so many times you could hobble around an apartment this small before the novelty wore off. And it had definitely worn off. When her mother had departed that morning, leaving many frozen meals for microwave reheating, a stack of new magazines, a set of crutches with a warning to only get up when she had to and a list of emergency phone numbers, Jody could barely contain her excitement. Freedom to move at last! It didn't take long to realise a number of things: crutches and a fully plastered leg were a very awkward combination; she couldn't carry anything and work the crutches at the same time; her apartment really wasn't big enough to swing a crutch, let alone a cat; and bed really was the most comfortable place. So, by the time the light came on in that window across the way, Jody had flicked through all the magazines she could stomach, watched as much holiday TV as she could stand and was bored out of her mind again. Like a moth, she was drawn to the light. And there he was, looking out the window, scanning the windows of her building and down along the street. Without registering the thought, she retrieved the binoculars from under the pillow. They were still focussed from yesterday's experimentation, only a minor adjustment was needed to bring the room into crisp view. First to go was the tie, followed by the dress shoes and belt. Jody watched, fascinated by her apparent proximity, as he undid the cuff buttons of his business shirt and then slowly revealed his chest and torso as more buttons gave way and he pulled it off, first one shoulder, then the other, then pulled his arms free of the shirt, his chest rippling as he did so. Jody sighed. She'd never realised watching someone undress was so interesting. He undid his trousers and dropped them to his knees before sitting down and carefully pulling them off his legs by the bottoms. Jody was momentarily confounded as he stepped out of view, holding the trousers in front of him as he went. He returned, without trousers, now clad only in his bright blue briefs and dark socks. He turned away from her as he removed them, and then stooped, offering a perfect view of his toned butt, to pick up the shirt, which he balled with the socks and briefs and two-pointed into a clothes hamper in the corner of the room. He turned slowly, pivoting on one leg, to face the window. Jody gasped -- he was standing hands on hips with his legs slightly apart, for all the world like he knew he was being watched. She squeaked and ducked low on the bed - he'd seen her. Then she giggled. Of course he couldn't see her. Her room was dark, his was lit. He was just checking his reflection in the mirror. Yeah, sure, that was it. Why would he? He'd seen her -- seen the light glinting off the binoculars. Oh, for heaven's sake! How paranoid can you get? Like he could see that through the glass window, if there was any reflection it'd be on the window, not the binoculars. And why wouldn't he check himself out? The clothes definitely did not make this man -- hell, he looked good enough to eat. She looked again, risking all if he had seen her. Gym guy was doing curls with a set of dumbbells. Jody had seen this before, but the binoculars brought her much closer. She could see the muscles flexing and relaxing under the smooth tanned skin of his chest as his arms pumped up and down, the biceps bunching and releasing. Jody imagined how it would feel to stroke that chest and feel those arms around her. So hard and yet gentle, so strong and safe and secure. She could almost feel his touch, those big hands gently caressing her, cupping her breasts, pressing himself to her. Her free hand mirrored her thoughts, mimicking his imagined actions, while the other held the binoculars steady. Now he was doing squats, full frontal to the window, his cock bouncing up and down as he moved. Jody licked her lips, her own hand moving down. She was sitting in front of him, almost within touching distance -- within licking distance. She needed to move, to get more comfortable, and allow her hand easier access to her pussy while still being able to see outside. Laying the binoculars aside for a moment to rearrange her pillows, she spied the bear, his belly stuffed with suddenly useful, needful things. The Screaming Octopus seemed the easiest to handle. It fitted snugly against her mound and the vibrations tingled through her clit, almost like a man's breath or the light touch of a tongue. She moaned, pressing against it, rocking in time with the man across the alley. He stopped, panting slightly and smiling. Jody froze, sure again that she had been seen. But no, he was just preparing for a change of activity. He turned from the window, showing her his high and tight buttocks, and lay on a weight bench, his legs straddling it, his head at the far end. His cock appeared to like weight work too, rising steadily to point at the ceiling as he worked out with a lightly loaded bar. Using her thigh muscles to hold the Octopus in place, Jody rummaged in the bear, her eyes glued to the binoculars. She found the dildo and brought it to her hot, wet pussy. The octopus slipped and she was forced to lay aside the binoculars. She closed her eyes, one hand holding the Octopus, the other sliding the dildo slowly into herself. It was his cock, stretching and filling her. In and out, in and out, the octopus continued humming on her clit building the intensity, forcing little gasps and sighs from her. Jody flicked the switch on the dildo, groaning at the sensation as it began purring inside her, matching the vibrations on the outside and expanding them until her whole being rocked on the unbearable tension centred on her pussy and the humming toys within and against it. She was strung tight, too tight and her climax gushed through her, spilling the tension in great arching waves. As peace returned, Jody turned the toys off, putting the octopus to one side and slowly easing the dildo in and out, coming down, enjoying the full to empty sensation as she removed it. Oh, gym guy, that was great. Thank you. Turning to the window she gasped. Gym guy sat on his bench, staring out straight at her. He smiled at her shocked face, waved while stroking his cock and mouthed "Merry Christmas". Across The Way She was beautiful and clean and soulful and the first time he saw her he knew he must have her. ("Did you really know that, at the time?" Meredith asked him. ("Yes," he said, with the utter conviction of a man in love. ("You're using your insane voice again," she said.) Her name was Amy. She had long well-kept blonde hair and she pushed against America's cultural obsession with slimness. Her face was wide and unblemished and clearly made for smiling. She was an alto in the Performance Singers, where he was a tenor, and they sat near each other. Her voice was the color of glass, sweet and clear and ringing. Sometimes it was all he could do not to stop and listen. It took him until February to work up the courage to ask her out, and then she said, "Oh, I'm sorry, Jacob, but... I'm seeing someone." He knew that. Her dorm room was across the courtyard from his, and because she left her blinds open most of the time, he could see quite clearly when he wanted to. "Oh, well," he said. "That's fine." A struggle to sound casual, unaffected, bored in that manly way. "I mean, if you're seeing someone..." "I am," said Amy. She beamed. "His name's Nick Johnson. Have you met him?" Nick Johnson was tall and broad of chest, sullen, muscled, reeking of testosterone. In a white T-shirt and close-cropped hair, he was like the patron god of the U.S. Army. "No, I haven't," Jake said. "You'd love him," Amy said. Her faced glowed in that brilliant, heart-warming smile. "He's nice and sweet and fun and..." Jake didn't see what was so great about him. On the rare occasions when they were in her room and not having sex, Nick prowled like a caged animal. Jake, a hundred yards away, could never hear what he was saying, but their body language told it all. "Yes, but..." said Meredith. "Jake, it may look like they're not getting along, but you have to admit that you aren't seeing the whole picture. A lot of times, no one quite understands how two people's relationship works, except for the two people themselves." "Hey," said Zachary, coming in the front door. "He's here again? Meredith, you should charge him by the hour." Meredith laughed. "Nonsense. We do this for people we like." Meredith Levine was another girl he could have loved--Meredith Chambers, now. But she, too, was seeing someone; and Brandon was a good friend, Jake's group leader during Orientation two years ago. Evidently they'd been going out for five years, and their first wedding anniversary was fast approaching. This particular could-have-been was nipped in the bud before it even began. And it was not in Jacob's nature to dwell on things he couldn't have. Even more than that, though, the Chamberses were both in the Performance Singers. They knew Amy, and they knew Jake. He could talk to them about it. Zach and his girlfriend Christa too, though he didn't know them as well. "We've been going out since we were freshmen," Amy told him. "I didn't know a soul here--you know how it is." Jake, who had once had no friends at all save a distracted sophomore named Brandon Chambers, nodded. He forked a bite of pasta into his mouth. "So, here I was, rattling around like so much loose change, and then... There was Nick. He's on a football scholarship--did I tell you that?--so he knew people already, and, you know..." A sigh. "He was so dreamy." And then, "I guess you wouldn't know about that." "No," said Jake to his dream. "I know about that." She smiled--that brilliant, heart-warming smile. She had dimples and gray-green eyes. "I'm glad I met you, Jacob. You're such a nice guy." There were times when he sat alone in his tiny dorm room, a pocket of space designed by a Japanese barely twelve feet on its longest dimension, and felt the cold silence of the room around him and the emptiness and the sounds of talk and laughter from next door, from upstairs, from outside the courtyard, and felt that he had been buried alive, and that this was his coffin, and that it was his doom to be here, silent, alone, isolated, forever. There were times in which he wanted to walk down the street and reach out to every smiling face. There were times when he wanted to punch them instead. He'd dash across the courtyard and up the stairs to Amy's room. "He's wrong for you," he'd say. "I'm not." And Nick would come charging in yelling and she would see, and together they'd shove him out the door, working together, in unison, their bodies dancing to a song they had both heard forever. And they'd get him out into the hall, but he'd manage to shove a foot or an arm or something through, and they'd have to hold the door against his brute strength as he tried to break in. And they'd find themselves face to face, pressed against the door, expletives and outrage burning around it, and smile at each other, and kiss. That was what should happen. "Uh-uh," Zach said when he heard that, "no, no way." "No way what?" Meredith asked. "No Nice Guy. Never Nice Guy. Nice Guy is the perfect way to get screwed over for life." "That's not true," Meredith protested, "Christa, is that true?" "Is what true," said Christa, handing her the baby. "Oh, hi, Jake." "Nice Guys finish last," Zach said. "Spot on," Christa said. "Absolutely true. Truer words were ne'er spoken." "Well, great," said Jake. "What do you mean?" Meredith said. "Zach's a nice guy. Brandon, you're a nice guy. You aren't finishing last." "Yeah, we're nice guys," Brandon said. "But we're more than nice guys." "Look at Jake's situation right now," Zach said. "He's a nice guy--yeah. He's a choirboy, for heaven's sake. Jake, you get good grades, right? And you come from a nice family--not necessarily like wildly affluent, but some money. There's nothing wrong with that. But look at Nick. "Nick is not A Nice Guy. Now, Meredith, I know you're all into that humanist thing of assuming the best about everyone, but I've played with Nick in intramural games and I can tell you, he is definitely not a nice guy. He doesn't get good grades. He doesn't come from a good family. He's here on an athletics scholarship and every year his coaches have to push him that extra mile so that he keeps it. Sure, he's got those hot muscles, but he's not going anywhere. We're gonna find him face down drunk-to-death in some trailer park in ten years. "But he gets the girls. Whereas you, Jake, do not. And do you know why?" "Because women are stupid," Jake grumped. "Because you're boring," Zach said quietly. Jake said nothing. "You're a Nice Guy, Jake. You're reliable. You make a good friend. You're safe, in other words. And yeah, when everyone's thinking of getting married in ten or fifteen years, you'll probably be hot property. But the kind of man a girl wants to marry, is not necessarily the kind of man she wants to date." "And what kind of man does she want to date," Meredith asked. "The unsafe kind," Zach said. "The dangerous kind. The kind unpredictable kind. People like Nick." "Zach, you're disproving your own point by existing," Meredith said. "By your logic, you should've never gotten together with Christa, and I should've never found Brandon." "He's right," Brandon said. "We're flukes, all of us. Jake's the rule, we're the exceptions that prove it. When we got together, we were dangerous." "When I caught Christa's attention," Zach said, "it was because I was an asshole. No, don't deny it, you know it's true. I was an asshole. And Christa liked that about me. She liked that about Mark Spencer too, only he turned out to be asshole all the way though, whereas I had a chewy-nougat Nice Guy center to me. But if I'd been Nice Guy all the way through, or asshole all the way through, Christa would be off in Springfield somewhere, happily dating some guy who's smarter than me, and I'd be third wheel to you and Brandon right now. "And Brandon caught your eye by being screwed up. He was partners with the freak girl, and he'd tried that whole suicide thing. Everyone knew he was fucked up. That attracted you, Meredith, not only because you've been fucked up too, but because that made him different, it made him stand out, it suggested there was more to him than meets the eye. Let's face it, on the surface Brandon is white-bread boring. But then we look at what he's doing, we look past the cover, and, hey--he's interesting! If Brandon hadn't gone in The Program, you two would've never gotten together. You would've never noticed him, and even if Brandon by some miracle had asked you out, you probably would've said no. Which is exactly what just happened to Jake." "But what about Lisa," Christa said. "Jane said Dustin was a family friend for a long time, and he was a certifiable Nice Guy. Then, junior year, wham, they just started dating." "Proves the rule," Zach said. "He did that thing for her, remember?--What was it--went out on his bike fifteen miles just to get her that thing. She never expected him to do that. And now suddenly she's looking at him because he's different and unpredictable, and he's interesting to her. You gotta understand, to women, nice guys are like furniture: they rarely ever notice em. They just expect em to be there and then don't give em a second thought." "Not furniture," Brandon chortled, "they notice furniture. Something even less. Grass maybe. "So you're saying I'm boring," Jake said. "No," Zach said, "absolutely not. Jake, you know you're not boring. I know it, and Meredith knows it, and Christa and Brandon and probably even little Laurelyn here. But Amy doesn't. To her, you look boring. And until you figure out how to not look boring to her, it's going to continue this way." "So, basically, to attract attention, I've gotta be an asshole," Jake said. "No," Christa said, "absolutely not. But you gotta be not-safe. You gotta be interesting. You can't be ho-hum-same-old Jacob. You need to be volatile." "God, this makes us sound insane," Meredith said. "You aren't?" Brandon asked. Meredith gave him a look. "I know someone who's gonna be sleeping on the couch tonight." "Oh really," Brandon said agreeably. "What's his name?" "Volatile," Jake said. "I don't know if I can do that." "Be romantic," said Christa. "Be spontaneous. Be outrageous. Be everything you ever wanted to be." "Right," Jake said. "Right." He sat alone in his room. It was dark outside, and there was no laughter from the windows now. The lights were on, bathing the walls and floor in acerbic neon. In his bathroom you could sit on the toilet and take a shower at the same time--there was no stall, just fixtures in the wall and a drain on the floor and a curtain to protect the toilet and sink from too much splashing. When he'd moved in here he'd wondered if you could fit two in a room like this, wondered at the adjustments, at the slow accommodation of space, at the closeness of living with someone in a walk-in closet. Now he wondered what it'd be like to shut the doors and close the windows and sit in here forever. Eventually the silence would start to ring in his ears, the way silence did on a perfectly still night, with no movement anywhere. It would grow and grow and like a live thing and eventually he would not be able to hear real noises, for the screaming noiselessness in his head. Would he starve to death, first? Before the silence drove him mad? That night was a rare spectacle of doggy-style sex. Amy faced the uncovered window while Nick rammed her from behind. More often all he would see was bodies, naked, ascending from her bed to strap on clothes, and sometimes her head and shoulders bobbing as she rode him; but today was the full show. Her breasts dangled and swayed with each stroke, and her hair fell in curtains around her face. The distance was a little far, but he thought he could see large pink nipples, and even her pubic thatch--which was blonde, of course; he was sure of it. Her face was an open-mouthed expression that could easily be mistaken for pain. She faced straight forward, never looking back. Behind her, Nick grasped her hips, his muscles flexing with each thrust. She seemed dissatisfied when it ended, and they talked for a few moments, a discussion that seemed less than copacetic to his distant eyes. He wondered why she never seemed to remember to close the window. "I really love him," Amy said. Jake took a bite of hamburger and nodded. "He's... I mean, there's so much to him that people never realize. Did you know he wants to go to England for a year, after he graduates from school?" "No," said Jake. "I didn't." "He does," Amy said. "He says he wants to go look at all the castles." "Oh," said Jake. "Cool." Amy looked at him with careful green eyes. "You don't agree." He paused with a french fry halfway to his mouth. "What?" "I can hear it in your voice. I can't-- I don't know what you think, but, you aren't saying it." He ate the french fry. "No." She looked at him for a moment, then sighed. "The truth is... Sometimes I'm not sure I believe him either." She put down her fork with a grimace. Her face had always been expressive; on it he saw hurt, pain, fear, remorse, guilt. A full spectrum. "He always gets drunk no matter how many times I ask him not to. It's always, you know, 'Oh, stop worrying, I won't this time, I'll be as clean as a whistle,' but every Friday he..." She sighed. "And then half the time he doesn't even call me, he'll go out with his football buddies and I don't even get to tell him to hold back... And then of course he comes back and it's, 'Get on the bed with your clothes off, Aims, it's time for a ride'..." She gave a regretful smile. "One thing about the booze, though, I know it's supposed to speed you up, but he seems to slow down." She giggled. "He can really go sometimes." "And, you don't like that?" Jake asked. "What?" she said. "Oh. Oh. Well... No, it's not that. He doesn't do anything to me I don't let him. It's just that..." She sighed. "I wish he'd pay attention to me. You know?" She raised her gray-green eyes to his. "I wish it was me he was making love to, not just a body with my face on it." He was watching the first time Nick hit her. It was a fact he could never confess to anyone. The next day it was nothing, an accident on a doorframe. It was nothing to worry about, she assured them; nothing at all. "Really?" he said. "That's three of them in as many weeks." Her look of astonishment melted slowly into a bittersweet smile. "Yes, Jacob, it's nothing. But it's sweet of you to worry." She patted his hand. There were times when he wanted nothing more than to reach out to that crescent face, to the discolored bruises like plums, and stroke them softly away; to trace the delicate lines of her face, her cheeks and eyebrows and little button nose, and riffle through her coarse blonde hair, and sweep all tears away and rain down on them kisses; and she would see that he loved her in a way no one else did, and love him too. There were times when it was more than he could bear. "Shouldn't I do something?" he asked his friends. "I mean... We report cases of domestic abuse, don't we? Shouldn't I do something?" "Should you?" said Meredith. "Do you think it will score any points with her?" "Of course it would," he said, secure in his confidence. "Of course. No one wants to live like that. Nobody wants to be--to be stuck in that situation." "Do they?" said Zach. "Jake, what would you do if she came up to you and said, 'Jake, he hurts me, he hits me, help me get out?' " The answer to that was obvious, of course. No one would do any less. "And has she asked you?" said Zach. "...But she doesn't know I know," Jake said. "But I do know, and I... How can I sit still, knowing..." "Jake, it's tricky business trying to get between two people," Christa said. "Generally, when someone tries to horn in on a couple's business, that couple gets resentful. Wouldn't you feel that way if someone tried to break you up with your girlfriend?" "Yes, but, Jake has a point," Meredith said. "We know for a fact that it would be better for Amy to not be with her boyfriend. I mean, we can say that objectively." "That's true," said Christa. "Does she know that? If she doesn't, then she'll resent Jake for trying to make her realize it--because, right now, it's in her best interest to ignore it, so as to remain faithful to her man." "And, if she does realize it, then... Well, whether Jake says anything or not, they'll break up," Brandon said. "Relationships only work when both people are clinging together." "Which is why it's tricky business trying to get between them," Zach said. "And, even if they do split up," Brandon said, "there's no guarantee she'll turn to you, Jake. Especially if you're the one who sets it in motion." "So what do I do?" Jake said. "What other choices do I have?" It was a little more anguished than he intended. The four of them regarded him with still eyes. The baby gurgled a little. "Well... You can keep on," Brandon said quietly. "Pine away, with all the consequences thereof: grades, attendance, health..." He shrugged. "Worse." "Or?" said Jake out of a dry mouth. "Or you can quit," said Brandon. He knew they were right, no matter how grim it was to admit it. Trying to drive a wedge between her and Nick... Amy was loyal, that was part of why he loved her. She was bright and friendly and always smiling, and she wouldn't give up on her boyfriend unless she had to. And she didn't have to, yet. (If she did, he wouldn't be having this problem.) And even if it worked, she would resent him; her heart was too uncomplicated to forgive a wound dealt of love and compassion. She might try to forgive him--she would try--but resentment would win. And yet to give her up... But he was already losing it. He knew that. He wasn't shaving as often, wasn't putting as much effort into his homework. He would catch himself staring at the wall, at the computer monitor, at nothing, his thoughts a million miles away. Nothing good lay down this path. And yet to give her up... She was so beautiful. Uncomplicated--that was the right word for it. Not innocence, with all the idiocy that implied, but a childlike simplicity of heart and mind, so rare in this world of post-terrorist cynicism. She was not stupid; she knew that there was pain in the world. But she remained open to the possibility of hope. How could he give up such a precious jewel? He could see it all so clearly: life, the universe, everything. With him there would be no fear, no worries; she could live her life secure in the knowledge that he loved her, would never hurt her, would do anything for her. She could pursue her degree, have a career, raise children in peace. She would know--from the first, from the beginning--that this was right for her. That he was right for her, and she for him. They would twine, naked, in the light of the moon, with no open windows to betray them. He would kiss her, tasting those lips he had dreamed about day after day, and feel her breasts warm upon his skin. Her hands would trace his body, feeling muscles bought with long hours in the gym, hours spent in advance, in anticipation of this day. They would trail over his back, his hips, his shoulders, and draw him down to her lips. Her breasts would be warm and full, capped with large areolas and wide nipples like pennies. He would feel their weight, their texture, the lightness and softness and, beneath, the beat of her heart. Her nipples would harden at his touch, growing against his palm, warm and ready for the challenge he placed. Across The Way The narrow bed would not be too cramped for them. Her body would open at his touch, laid out before him now awaiting his attentions. She would watch him, her eyes trusting, as he kissed down her shoulders; then her eyes would close as he fastened upon her nipple. Round and round his tongue would swirl, over the great downy expanse of her breast, and then over her nipple, once, twice, before his mouth returned, fastening upon her like a babe, in a way a baby never would. The juncture between her thighs would be wet when his hand found it, her pubic mound already ruffled and beaded by her moisture. His hand would rub across the outside of her vulva, spreading fire and wetness in equal measure, and she would murmur her approval every time he touched her clit, that little hard nubbin amidst fields of softness upon which his hand grazed. And as he did, her anticipation grew, and the moan of her desire as his finger first slipped inside her was everything he had ever wanted to hear. He would plumb her depths, first one finger, than another, his head still upon her breast as she pressed his mouth to her. Her legs would tangle with his as she opened herself to his touch, and he would wrap the heel of his hand around her pussy to pleasure her clit as his fingers moved within her, within her wet slick depths, feeling warmth and softness and pleasure he had only dreamed of. And all the while he kissed her, and suckled at her, and moved against her clit, and he felt the pressure building within her with volcanic intensity, until the first tiny part of it ruptured against his hands and she gasped as a new freshet of wetness passed over him, and she reached for his prick and pulled it towards her. Guided by her willing hands, he positioned himself over her, and soon felt the first kiss of her pussy lips against the tip of his cock. Then, as her hands moved to his hips and pulled him in, he felt more. He sank slowly into her warm embrace, into soft velvet and slick wetness and deep warmth, feeling her depths unfolding beneath him, until her pubic hair meshed with hers and he felt her hips against his and her legs encircled his waist and her open eyes, so clear, met his, and he reached down to kiss her lips. He moved within her, savoring the new sensations, savoring the feeling of her body welcoming him, of her arms around him, her breasts under him, her mouth reaching up to kiss him. Every move made her pussy quiver, sending shivers of pleasure through both of them; every movement of his hips made likewise. And then he began to slide in and out of her, drawing back and pushing in again, feeling her pussy beckoning him home and clinging as he withdrew. Her mouth broke off from his to give voice to her pleasure, and he felt again the titanic pressure within her, threatening to break loose. And break loose it did, a tidal wave unleashed, as her pussy gulped and spasmed and she yelped and moaned and arched to him. And then it was his turn too and he clenched up within her and his seed spurted from him as he groaned-- There was wetness on his hand. He opened his eyes and he was alone and the neon lights yelled down at him and there was nobody in the room with him and he lay on his bed and it was really too cold to be naked out in the open air like this. Another typical Friday night, he thought. "Do you love him," he wanted to ask her. "Does he care about you. Does he love you the way I do." What he said was, "You know, if... If you're ever bored, of an evening, I'm... Actually... Right across the courtyard from you." "Really?" she said. "The Feller dorms?" "Yeah," he said, "sixty shoeboxes a floor." "They really are, aren't they," she said. "It's like living on a postage stamp. Don't you ever feel cramped in there? Don't you ever feel trapped in there?" "Well, it... It did used to bother me, yeah. Sometimes I felt trapped there. Heh. Sometimes I feel trapped everywhere." He saw a shadow flicker over her face. "Yeah." "But... I think I realized... Well, I mean. It'd be a good thing to have more space there, right? But... It's what they had to do, so that everyone had housing, so that they could cram everyone on campus. And... Well, sometimes we can't have the things we want." "That's very wise of you," said Amy, with a heart-melting smile to take the sting out of the comment. "I'm glad I know you, Jacob. You're such a good friend." A friend, thought Jake. That's all I am. And that's all I'll ever be. Across the Way Copyright © 2012 Lux Zakari This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, and actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental. Across the Way Across the Way If this was an average, on-the-brink-of-suburbia city, he couldn't imagine what New York City must be like. Life used to be simple when he was at home, waiting to escape to somewhere more exciting, something better, something different. Maybe he was totally out of his league here.