“I'm going to make you ready for me.” Bobby's throaty voice recited the words he had said to me years ago, before he first pushed himself inside of me and took the last of my innocence. Words I thought about many times since that moment that made me wet. Words that made me sneak off and lock the bathroom door to touch myself.

“But first, I want you to do something for me,” he added.

“Anything,” I barely whispered.

He slid off the overalls that still covered my hips and pressed his hot, glistening chest against me as he leaned in to whisper. “Touch yourself. You're so beautiful. I want to watch you play with yourself.”

If there was anyone who made me feel powerful, it was Bobby. But that was something I had done in secret. Something I wasn't even sure other women did. No one spoke about it. And now Bobby was asking me to take this personal secret, relegated to under bedsheets and behind locked bathroom doors, and put on a personal show for him.

“Will you, Lil? Play with yourself for me?” he begged in a husky drone.

I looked down, suddenly overcome with timidness and nodded. “Atta girl.” He suckled on my bottom lip before stepping back into a shadow, where all I could see was his faint outline under a dozen little stars made of light.

I swept all of my loose hair over one shoulder, and sat back on the table, spreading my legs open for Bobby to get a clear view. My breathing grew labored, so that the cadence of each inhale and exhale was all I could hear.

I hesitated, almost paralyzed with the nervous energy that coursed through my extremities.

“Don't be shy, Lil,” his voice coaxed seductively from the shadows.

I bit my inner lip nervously, reaching for a breast with one hand, while I slid the other along and up my thigh to its crease.

“Did you,” he asked, “ever touch yourself when you thought of me?”

I nodded.

“Show me how.”

I swallowed tensely, as I gripped my breast, and used my index finger to gently flick the stiff nipple. My other fingers parted to open me, as I exposed the pink hot flesh to Bobby.

“God dammit, Lil,” he groaned. His tone was languorous, the way it would get when he was inside of me. And so I looked down and noticed the outline of his hand, reaching below, slowly bobbing up and down.

Seeing how the sight of me touching myself had that effect on Bobby, motivated me. Knowing that he was touching himself, made me less shy about the act. No one made me feel as good about my body as Bobby did. I closed my eyes as I rubbed myself, my fingers wet with arousal.

I moaned and still called Bobby's name, even when I touched myself. I was climbing, higher, closer to the climax, but I didn't want to take myself there without him. I opened my eyes.

“Please come back to me,” I pleaded. “I need you in me.”

Bobby stepped forward, the moonlight illuminated him as he held his rock hardness in his hand, a sight I didn't even know was so wildly arousing until he introduced me to it.

“I want to taste you first,” he rasped. Bobby dropped to his knees, using his mouth to taunt the already sensitive region. His tongue flicked along the little bud, providing just enough pressure to hold me over the edge without pushing me off. I played with one breast while the other hand knotted through his hair. My eyes rolled back as I nearly growled from the steady teasing of his wet, steamy mouth.

“Fuck me, Bobby.” The words were a shock to me. I was a lady. I didn't cuss. But with Bobby, in this attic, I was anything but proper. I was a dirty girl who played with herself. Who enjoyed the sight of a man holding his erection and sliding his own hand up and down his length.

I wondered for a moment if I had gone too far. If that mouth of mine would be a turnoff. But Bobby stood up tall, the ridges of his long, lean physique covered in shadows, stars and moonlight, and scooped a hand beneath one of my knees, pulling me to the edge of the table.

“Say it again,” he commanded through gritted teeth.

“Fuck me,” I whimpered.

Bobby pushed his hips forward, his erection primed and harder than I had ever felt, and slid through the creamy entrance. But even though I was ready, I wailed from the welcome intrusion.

He pulled all the way out and slid in me again. Then again. Like a well-oiled piston.

I grunted and growled as he speared me over and over. This time, we weren't hiding. I didn't have to stifle my moans and cry his name into his chest. This time, I freely called out as he hit deep inside of me.

“God, you're always so tight,” he grimaced.

I grabbed Bobby’s muscled behind and pulled him deep inside of me, clenching tightly around his firmness while he ground his hips against me. Every muscle in my own body seemed to contract at once, almost crushing me, until they all relaxed in unison as I cried. A build up and release I can only compare to what the ocean must feel during a tidal wave.

Bobby grunted as he gripped me tighter and let out a guttural moan, spilling himself inside of me.

We leaned on each other, panting, twinkling with perspiration, until Bobby finally stood up.

“Lake and sleep?” he asked, putting up his hand for a high-five.

“Lake and sleep,” I smiled, slapping my palm against his, drunkenly. He clasped his fingers around mine and pulled me to my feet.

And that's what we did, falling asleep in a tangled mess on the old sofa. Clinging on to our last bittersweet night together at the lake house just as we had seven years before.

Seven Years Earlier

As soon as Julia closed the door, Bobby and I looked at each other differently than we just had moments before. The ferocity of our coupling was snuffed by her sober commands. It was as though the reality of the world came crashing down through her. She didn't scold, or scream, or even conspire in the shadows with us. She was the indifferent voice of the inevitability of our circumstances. Julia dismissed us so casually, like two children playing make-believe, that I realized that's exactly what this was. She sucked the oxygen out of our crazed and desperate plans, depriving the flames that burned through us.

Even imagining me trying to explain my plans to her made me realize how foolish we would have sounded. In the attic, alone, in the middle of the night, when the world slept, it all made sense between Bobby and me. But here, during the day, in the light, with eyes on us—it was child's play.

“I have to go,” I said, apologetically.

“I know,” Bobby lamented.

I looked at my face in the mirror and gasped. My lips were smudged, my hair a mess. I knelt down to the floor scrambling through the scattered makeup until I found what I needed. As Bobby stood there in silence, I erased the traces of his kisses from my face.

“Will she tell?” he asked.

“No. Didn't you hear her?”

“Yes.”

“She won't tell, okay? She's my sister. She'll cover for me.”

He mumbled something unintelligible to himself and paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. “What have we done?” he asked.

“Bobby, I can't do this now.” Even at that moment, I noticed how quickly I had become frigid to get myself through what I was about to do.

I stood up, still in my slip, still wet in between my legs from having Bobby inside of me just minutes before.

I grabbed my lace dress off the hanger and slid it on. I tried zipping it on my own, but struggled.

“Let me,” Bobby said, coming to my aid. What a tragic ceremony, helping the love of his life put on the dress she would wear to marry his brother.

I stared at the sullen reflection in the mirror as I adjusted my tilted veil, the symbol of a bride. Of virtue, honesty, and commitment.