Page 61 of Mr. Match

Not that I cared. I didn’t care.

You can plant your seed in me any time you want.

Nothing could stop me from fucking her when she asked for it.

But a girl is silly at that age. Innocent. Even girls like Katya, whom I have always known was a lot less innocent than she let on.

“Fuck me,” Younger Katya says. “Right here against the window.”

It’s funny that she was bothered by the idea of the large garage-door windows when she got here tonight. Because I fucked her up against them dozens of times back then. And there was no brick wall around the parking lot back then. No pine trees around the inside perimeter for privacy. No mirrored glass to hide behind.

But I don’t blame her. Times have changed for both of us.

“I have a surprise for you,” Younger Oliver says in the movie.

“I have a surprise for you,” I say, staring down at her peaked nipples as I make my plan.

Older Katya tips her head back and exposes her throat to me. It’s so… defenseless. She bares herself to me with her throat, not her nakedness. “Tell me,” she says. That scar is every vulnerability she has ever experienced wrapped up into one silver-white line of potential death.

On the wall the movie has skipped ahead to more sex. We recorded something almost every day we spent together. Sometimes it was just a quick thirty-second video if we were too busy having fun to care. But we always recorded the sex from start to finish.

“Stay here,” I say, looking her in the eyes to make sure she understands. She smiles as I pull back, tuck my dick away and zip my pants up so I can walk over to the drafting table I have on the other side of the room. It’s one of those slanted ones. I use it to design bikes and there are a dozen or so partial drawings of something I’m planning to build over the winter.

I glance over my shoulder, afraid for a second that she will disappear before I can capture her properly. But she’s just sitting there. Her shirt ripped open. Her face red from the sex. Her skirt hiked so far up her legs I can almost make out the lips of her pussy from here.

She smiles. Eases my mind with that smile.

And I look at my desk, find the brush markers sticking out of an old beer stein that says Breckenridge Oktoberfest, and grab a whole fistful of them.

“I know what you’re doing,” Younger Katya says in the movie just above my head.

I look up at her for a moment. Enjoy her as she was. Then turn away and enjoy her as she is now.

Older Katya knows what I’m doing too. Because she’s already taking off her clothes. Her blazer is on the floor. Just a puddle of dark blue wool. She slips her white blouse down her arms as I approach the counter and put my tools down, lining them up in a neat row from blackest black to lightest gray.

Katya stands and lets her little schoolgirl skirt fall down her legs with her underwear. She steps out of them and turns to face me. “What will you write about?” she asks.

“The same thing I always write about,” I tell her, grabbing a bunch of paper towels off the roll standing up on the counter and turning on the faucet so I can get them wet. “Get up on the counter.”

She places her hands flat on the stone and sits. Then lifts herself up to her full height above me.

I uncap a brush marker and close my eyes for a second to picture it all in my head.

And then I begin.

I start on her foot the way I used to. A stupid Roses are Red poem. Just something small and childish that can fit across the top of a foot. My touch affects her the same way it always did. She’s ticklish.

I smile at her as I make the letters. Fancy R’s and loopy L’s.

And then I move to the next foot and write a childhood rhyme. Red Rover, Red Rover, I’m gonna bend you over.

If I had a lot of time, I’d decorate it with flowers. But I doubt we’ll get that far tonight.

My hand wraps around her calf, another sensitive spot that makes her gasp, and then I begin a beautifully scrolling poem about something a little more serious.

You are in front of my window

Ready for me to take you