Our movements are rushed, getting more hectic the closer our orgasms seem. It’s not the perfect first encounter Owen and Noah shared—none of their synchronicity magically transfers to us. Instead, we’re fumbling, sometimes holding too tightly andsometimes too loosely, our hands blocking each other in the small space between our bodies.
At one point, Linden bumps his head on the car ceiling, but when I want to ask if he’s okay, the question is drowned in another kiss.
And yet, he’s right—every touch is perfect in the way only first times are.
Unpracticed.
Raw.
Exhilarating.
We finally fall into a steady rhythm, our breathing coming out hard, fogging up the windows. My insides are coiled so tightly, I feel like something in me will snap any moment—and then I’m pushed over the edge, spilling into Linden’s waiting palm just as his cum hits my hand, hot and sticky.
Linden, June 22nd
Ipause the recorded lecture I’ve been summarizing for the last two hours, so I can yawn and stretch with gusto. My eyes are itching, but I need to finish this today if I want to stay on schedule and have enough time to prep for the fall semester.
My phone vibrates, and I briefly glance at it, tingles of anticipation dancing in the pit of my stomach. After our date, Micah and I exchanged messages here and there that weren’t just about groceries or the house being empty. I asked him about his training, and he asked about my work. I’m looking forward to reading his comment about the dog stories I told him.
And not just that. My heart picks up its pace when I think about our last meeting and what the next one might hold. I'm fully aware that I'm behaving ridiculously, so I make myself pick up my glass of water to calm the fuck down before I can reach for my phone—only for the water to go down the wrong pipe.
It’s not Micah’s name appearing on the display.
It’s my mom. My phone keeps buzzing insistently. Calling, not just texting! I wheeze out the rest of the water and take anothersip to settle the awful burning in my throat. Only then do I accept the call.
“Mom? Is everything okay?” Dozens of different scenarios jump into my head that could warrant an unexpected call. Someone’s hurt, something is wrong on the farm, something happened to my sisters. With all our busy schedules, we always plan calls in the family chat.
“Hi sweetie! No, no, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to hear your voice.” My mother sounds genuinely cheerful and apologetic, so I slowly settle again. “How’s my baby doing?”
“Mom.” I roll my eyes, my cheeks warming although I’m in the privacy of my bedroom. I will protest it for as long as I live, but my sisters swear up and down that she’s always treating me differently because I’m the youngest.
“I’m good. Studying for my summer courses.” I look at the biological tables open on my laptop, the veterinarian handbooks scattered across my desk. With a few clicks, I close the windows on the screen, as if my mother could somehow see them.
“How are they? Interesting, I hope?”
“Oh yes!” I pack some extra excitement into my voice as I talk about the few agriculture classes that I was enrolled in when I first came to Bonham. My parents have no idea that I barely managed to hold out one semester before the endless lectures about soil acidity made me so miserable that I considered working as a garbage man rather than look at a single projection of growth spreadsheet ever again.
Instead, quitting bartending to work at the pound brought the joy back into my life. Growing up on a farm, I always thought it was best not to get too close to animals, especially not those already in need. Working with Barb showed me what a big difference even small actions can make. So I switched my majorto biology, my eyes firmly on the path to becoming a vet. I haven’t looked back since.
I have no idea how to tell my parents that I don’t ever intend to take over the farm in any way. Definitely not on the phone, so I carefully push all those thoughts away.
“So, yeah! As always, just…studying a lot,” I finish awkwardly, trying to gloss over the fact that I’m not studying for senior year as my family thinks—instead, I’ll be starting my junior year as a biology major this fall. “But how’re you? And how’s Dad? Are the trees okay in this weather?”
“Oh, you know your father.” My mom chuckles fondly. At first, I listen closely as my mom recounts how Dad is doing, that he struggled to find qualified help because of the heatwave, but eventually my mind drifts when nothing out of the ordinary catches my attention. I loved growing up on the farm, but the work is always the same.
“—and between that and his physio appointments, I just wish he’d take the time to relax with me sometimes, you know?” There’s a deep sigh through the line, so I drag myself back to the conversation.
“Yeah, Mom, totally,” I hum.
“But enough about that. I certainly hope you’re having at leastsomefun next to all this studying.” I can hear the smile in my mother's voice.
“Uh, yeah, I…lots of fun,” I mutter, struggling to come up with examples. “Like, uhm…I went to a bar the other night. With a friend!” I hurry to clarify. Nonetheless, heat rises into my cheeks when I think about the evening I spent with Micah.
“Oh? What’s his name? Anyone I should know about?”
“What? No! No, it was just…you know. Talking. Nothing, uhm…not like…a date.” I wince. I didnotexpect to talk about my dating life with my mother.
She laughs again. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sure you’ll find your person soon enough.”
