Page 60 of Mr. Match

“I want more,” he says, coming up to the stool. He lifts both of my legs, placing my ankles on his shoulders. He grips my white schoolgirl blouse and rips it open. Buttons fly off as he exposes me with a small grunt that sounds like lust. And then he pulls my panties down to my knees and presses his body into mine.

Fingertips on his zipper, Pulling him out. It takes me one whole slow-motion second to realize I’m the one doing that.

His hard cock bumps up against my wet pussy and he grinds me like that. His breath is hot like cinnamon when he kisses me. “More… gimme more… gimme more,” he sings into my mouth. “I’m gonna take more, Katya.”

I have no complaints. I don’t even bother wasting time forming words to let him know.

On the wall, Younger Katya is moaning as Younger Oliver slips his dick inside her pussy.

In front of me, this Oliver does the same thing.

The music is hypnotic and the sex going on all around me is like a drug. An aphrodisiac that makes liquid pool between my legs. Surround his cock as he fucks me slowly. Makes my whole body yearn…

More… gimme more… gimme more.

“Oliver,” Younger Me is saying in the movie on the wall. “Oliver,” Older Me is panting in real time.

“I love you,” Younger Oliver says in the movie. “I fucking love you,” Older Oliver is saying as he bites my lip hard enough to make it bleed.

The sex is loud.

And sick.

And slick.

Filled with filthy erotic grunts and the slapping of skin on skin as he pounds me to the rhythm of our past.

We are animals. We fuck like animals. Primal and intrinsic and primitive.

But it is nothing if not love.

We come together this time.

Hot, and so sweaty our bodies want to stick together. And then we kiss. He kisses me like he is thirsty and I am cool, clear water.

More… gimme more… gimme more.

Chapter Twenty-Seven - OLIVER

We breathe heavily for several seconds. My head bowed down into her breasts. My hands wanting to touch her everywhere at once. But if I let go of the cold, stone counter I’m gripping, I might collapse on top of her with relief.

On the wall, Younger Katya says, “Hey, Mr. Buckeye. You can plant your seed in me if you want.”

In the present, we laugh immediately at the sound of her voice. All smiles and satisfaction.

“Is that right?” I hear Younger Oliver saying.

I don’t need to look at the movie on the wall to know what’s happening. I am holding her tight. She is giggling like the girl she was. Squirming in my arms, blushing furiously with heat. Slightly embarrassed at her provocative words.

She has no idea what those words mean to a man like me. A man who wants roots more than the tree he grows in his living room.

But I know what they meant then and I take them to heart now.

How do you plan anything when all you see in your future is threats? When you have things hanging over your head like rape, and secret societies, and murder? How do you live with the fact that even when you’re in control, you’re never in control?

I wish the worst sin they had on me was murder.

I’ve watched that movie hundreds of times but Katya hasn’t. I didn’t put it together until after she’d gone. We had been dating—if you could call it dating—for about two months. We used to meet only at the church but we got bored with that quick enough. Pretty soon she’d show up outside at the bus stop. And then every day after work she was out there across the street. Sometime she wore the uniform. If she had sex on her mind. It drove me crazy because she only did it to tease me. Wave her jailbait status in front of my face like a temptation.