Parker

PARKER

My right hand rests gently against my lower stomach as I lean my head back and let out a stream of smoke.

The letter I received this morning has brought back memories of childhood—of innocence.

Not that Brando Owens was either, not that I am anymore, but I remember the boy that I shared my first kiss with and always wondered what happened to him.

Granted, I was only four, and he was seven when it happened, but I’ve spent the rest of my life chasing that saccharine taste and never finding it. Some things in life manage to stick to the soul, and the soft, sweet taste of his lips ingrained itself in my body and soul, never leaving no matter how many other kisses I tried to lose myself in.

I place the mouthpiece of my vape to my lips for a moment before letting it slide inside of my mouth and take another hit. Our parents were so angry when they found out that our version of hide and seek was rewarding each other with those innocent kisses when we found each other.

And even though they decided that we were too young to understand what any of it meant, that we didn’t comprehend that we couldn’t be together, they decided it was best to keep us apart.

An agreement was reached between our families that his would move away, and that we would never see each other again, though I was never given a reason.

All I knew was that my best friend had been taken from me, and I was supposed to go on with my life like he had never existed.

As a four year old girl, it broke my heart.

As a fourteen year old girl, it made me angry and rebellious.

As a now twenty-four year old woman, I had managed to not think about him as much as I used to, until I got the letter.

The one that filled me with guilt for forgetting how his lips tasted. How his light-brown eyes that reminded me of the sand pit we used to play in would watch me closely with such light. How his smoky, brown hair always made him look a little older than he was. How his laughter would make me giggle for always being just a little too loud.

I’ve forgotten too many things, I think bitterly as I let another plume of smoke escape through my slightly parted lips.

But I do have something to look forward to.

The part of Brando’s scrawled handwriting that I’ve read over and over. The part where he says he’ll be in town for a few days and wants to catch up.

It’s almost like he always knew that I’d never leave Perkins Grove. Granted, being as sheltered as I became until my great rebellious years, as Dad called them, I didn’t have much ambition to go anywhere or do something more with my life.

I slide my fingers lower into my panties and gently begin to rub my lower lips, wishing they were Brando’s fingers instead. Closing my eyes, I use the tip of my forefinger to find my clit and start to slowly circle it.

My lower lip is curled back into my mouth, my teeth grinding down against it as I work my hard nub, thinking of how he would do this to me if he could.

Of how his hands always felt when he would hug me and hold me close.

Of everything he could give me now as a man that he couldn’t give me as a boy.

A soft moan rises out of me as I continue to circle my clit, wondering if he would use his tongue instead.

Would he let me shove his face into my pussy and force him to savor every last drop?

Or would he be put off by the fact that I’ve never been fucked before?

The thought alone is enough to get me closer to the edge than I’ve ever been before, and the faster I work my clit, the more I’m wondering if I’ll be able to stop in time, so I just force myself to.

Am I a terrible person for coming so close to getting off while thinking about Brando? Probably, since I’ve only ever known the boy and have never met the man.

But it wasn’t the child that flooded my senses, it was the taste that I’ve been chasing after and failing to catch for the last twenty years.

I take another hit of my vape and close my eyes, feeling sticky and restless, knowing that until I see him again, until I know why we were kept apart, I’ll try to pretend that I’m not.