11. July 4th
Angie
When Rafael suggested we go camping for the long holiday weekend, I was all-in. After we told his father the news over a video call, we were both feeling uneasy. His father’s reaction was, let’s just say, less than enthused. I think Rafael actually preferred Ana’s reaction because at least she was excited underneath all the hitting and praying. His father was cagey—he tried changing the subject a few times over the course of the fifteen-minute call, and by the last time, I think Rafael got the hint to end the conversation.
I know my friend’s relationship with his father is strenuous. He acts like it’s not, but when his father is around or on a call, it’s easy to see Rafael become a shallower version of himself. He hides a lot from his dad but shows off when he thinks his dad will be proud. Then Raf will do what he always does after talking with him—he’s going to bury himself in work and rugby and numbers until he feels better about himself. Until his father approves.
And that’s exactly what he did this last week before our camping trip. He buried himself in work at the office, but he also created an entire spreadsheet for our child’s college fund including pie charts of what investments will yield the best returns. He talked with his brother about buying more properties here in Philly, then met with his real estate agent. He adjusted his 401k and updated his will. Then he made me a will.
So yeah, this camping trip came at a good time. He needs to get out of his head and away from his computer. He needs to recenter himself.
What I need right now is a strong, cool breeze. I’m fifteen weeks pregnant, and while I’m still not showing, it’s taking a lot more effort to do things. I’m sweating profusely.
Rafael looks like a freakin’ pack mule in front of me as he carries most of our belongings. I’m carrying a small backpack with my essentials—snacks, water (infused with electrolyte powder because regular water still makes me gag), and ginger chews. But honestly all this fresh air is putting my nausea at bay. Maybe I should live in the forest and give birth here. I already have a crunchy side to me; I could lean in and rock the Earth Mama look.
Raf’s teammate, Wheels, offered his family’s sixty acre-property near the Catskills. We have the whole place to ourselves, including the “cabin” near the front of the property. It’s a “cabin” in that it has a rustic aesthetic, but it’s huge and filled with every modern amenity you’d find at a high-end resort.
We didn’t come here for the resort lifestyle though. We came to camp and hike and be one with nature.
I will, however, be taking a long shower before we leave—mark my word.
“It’s only a little bit farther,” Raf says. “We’ll be right along a creek, so we can wash up after setting up camp.”
“Yes,” I groan. The idea of glorious cold creek water on my body makes my imaginary dick hard.
“It’s beautiful here,” he muses.
“I can’t believe you know someone that owns this much property in this location.”
“Wheels has that old family money.”
“Clearly.”
“It’s right up here. Do you hear the creek?”
I inhale. “I can smell it.” There’s already a clearing with a small fire pit, big enough for a couple tents between tall evergreens and oak trees.
“According to the DNR’s website,” he says, sloughing off his heavy bags, “Smokey the Bear says fire danger is low today, so we should be able to have a fire tonight.”
“Well, if Smokey says it’s okay, let’s do it.”
“Alright,” he sighs, assessing our surroundings. He’s wearing dark khaki hiking pants, boots, and a natural green long sleeve shirt with a black baseball hat. “I’ll set up the tent. Why don’t you take a break by the water and eat something?” he asks, looking at his wristwatch. “It’s been about three hours since you ate.” He takes a water test strip from a little package he kept in his pocket and bends down to dip it in the creek.
“Are you keeping track of how often I eat?”
“Of course I am,” he states matter-of-factly as he leans back up. “The doctor said you need to keep eating even when you don’t feel hungry to keep your blood sugar up.”
“Raf.”
He narrows his eyes on me, setting the test strip down on a nearby rock. “Ang, you’re not winning this one. Go put your bare feet in the water and eat, please.”
I am hot. And a little hungry. “Fine,” I mutter, as if this pains me.
“Thank you,” he says in a sing-song tone as he leans over to unhook the tent from his pack.
Sitting down on a stump close to the water’s edge, I roll up the bottoms of my slate gray pants to my knees, pull off my hiking boots, and peel off my thick socks. 1Already feeling twenty percent better, I grab a protein bar from my bag and scoot down from the stump to the creek’s edge. Dropping my feet in the crystal-clear water, I allow the freezing sensation to shoot through my body like an orgasm.
“You okay over there?” Raf asks.
“What?” I reply in a trance.
“You sound like a ghost was expelled from your body,” he laughs.
“Oh,” I giggle. “It’s nothing. I’m just having an orgasm courtesy of the creek water.”
He mutters something unintelligible, but I’m too lost to my own experience to care. Ever since Cora told me she’s been uncontrollably horny, it’s like my own arousal has increased ten-fold.
It doesn’t help that I live with a goddamn rugby player either. With his stupid fucking legs and his stupid fucking team crest tattooed on his upper thigh like a hussy. And his stupid fucking gorgeous pectorals that he can’t seem to put away. And his ridiculously broad shoulders with more slutty tattoos flowing down his bicep.
Don’t even get me started on that pornographic happy trail. Or his bare feet. Fuck—when did his feet become attractive? He’s an athlete for Christ’ sake—he shouldn’t have such beautiful, tantalizing feet.
Fuck.
I told Cora it was nothing that my vibrator couldn’t handle, but that was then. Hormones? More like whore-moans, because that’s what I’ve been reduced to. If I could be attached to my vibrator—preferably two or three of them—all day, then maybe that would be enough.
But as much as I love my collection, it’s never the real thing. It’s never as warm as skin. It’s never as unpredictable as another partner.
It’s never Rafael Jimenez.
It’s never Rafael Jimenez when he’s doing things he’s great at.
It’s never Rafael Jimenez looking so barbaric while playing rugby.
It’s never Rafael Jimenez when he’s nerding out on numbers.
It’s never Rafael Jimenez when he’s dancing.
It’s…never him.
By the time I finish my protein bar and drink some not-water, I decide to strip off my shirt and pants, leaving me in a pair of black cotton panties and sports bra. Rafael has seen me in far more revealing clothing, so I don’t think twice before I lay down across the narrow riverbed. The water is only six or seven inches at its deepest, so my mouth and nose are still above the burbling stream.
The cold current flows over me and my body clenches in response. My lungs seize for a moment before forcing my body to accept the shocking sensation. With my jaw hanging wide-open, I take in the deepest lungful of fresh air.
I’m a Pisces; I belong in the water. I always have. I’ve always felt the call, the pull, the need to be close. Water, in any form, has always been my center; and right now, it’s serving me. It’s finally giving me what I need—so why has my body been rejecting it? Water is a literal building block to life, but my stomach is repulsed by it?
But like a light switch, my repulsion turns into desperation.
Maybe I just needed to reconnect.
With my eyes closed and my chest heaving, I throw my hands above my head and let the current push them down. Allowing my hands to search my body, they crawl up my stomach where I caress and enjoy the feel of my own skin.
“Thank you,” I whisper to myself.
To the water.
To any higher power.
With one hand on my baby, the other glides over my sternum, my neck, my jaw. My body cuts through the stream like a boulder.
Iam a rock.
I am this child’s rock.
There’s a very real chance I’m having an out-of-body experience at this moment—but I’ve never felt more clear-headed and saner in my life.
Then all at once, the desperate need to drink water overtakes me—real, fresh water. My mind reels back to earth, back to here, back to now; and I remember Rafael.
He tested the water.
“Raf!” I call, finally opening my eyes in search of him. I have to lift my head ever so slightly to find him, but my ears lift out from my submersive escape to find him standing on the bank, his arms folded over a wide chest. He’s watching me with his lips slightly parted—almost expressionless.
“Yeah?” he says thickly.
“Is the water safe to drink?” I ask desperately.
His throat works before answering. “Yeah. It’s safe.”
Closing my eyes again before submerging, I tilt my head to the right, my mouth ready, and I take my first real drink of water I’ve had in months.
Cold, fresh, real water.
Nothing has ever tasted this good.
Gulping down as much as my body demands, I allow the creek to nourish me. To heal me from everything I didn’t realize was broken.
When at last my body and mind are satiated, I take one last inhale from my water bed, open my eyes to the blue sky, and smile.
The rest of the afternoon passes as we settle into camp. Rafael has been a little aloof, but that’s okay. He’s giving me peace and quiet to read on my Kindle next to the babbling brook while he… What is it he’s doing now?
He’s mumbling to himself—again—as he stokes the fire.The sun hasn’t quite set, but we’ll have to make dinner soon. I’d rather prepare dinner while we still have the light.
Uncrossing my legs that have been covered back up with pants, sans panties, I make my way up the slight incline to where Raf is milling about. “Ready for dinner?” I ask.
“Uhhh, yeah,” he says, barely able to make eye contact with me. “I have the stir fry stuff right here.”
Grabbing the pan and placing it over the cooking tripod he’s set up, I then walk up next to him where he’s digging through the food bag. “I’ll take the veggies first and throw them in,” I say, extending my hand to him. He looks up at me with what appears to be panic with the way he’s breathing.
My eyes narrow on him. “Raf, what’s going on with you? You seem…untethered.”
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “You’re having a nice time, right? You’re…comfortable, right?” His eyes shoot to my chest for the briefest of seconds.
Oh.
I look down at my shirt and back at him. “Raf, do you want me to put my bra back on?”
“No,” he says, an octave too deep. “It’s wet and that would make you uncomfortable so don’t worry about it. Hey, look, a teriyaki packet. This is going to be a great stir fry.”
Deciding to hide my real reaction to how weird he’s being in fear that he’ll become weirder, I wordlessly grab the raw chopped veggies, sauce packet, and ready-made rice pouch. “Okay,” I smile. I saunter back to the fire. “You’ll let me know if it makes you uncomfortable, right?”
Standing, he wipes his hands on his pants and reverts to mumbling huffs, where I think I catch a yeah somewhere in there.
“Hey, Raf?” I ask, pouring the bag of veggies into the pan.
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you take a turn relaxing near the water. I’ll make dinner and let you know when it’s ready. Okay?”
“Do you need any help?” he asks.
“No,” I say lightly. “I got this. Go connect with the water.” When I cock my head in his direction, he nods to himself, then make his way to the creek. I plug in my phone to the little speaker we brought, and Donna Summer’s Bad Girls plays first.
I love this song.
When dinner’s ready fifteen minutes later, he’s already making his way back. “Smells good,” he smiles, and I can already tell he’s settled back into himself.
Handing him the collapsible bowl piled with hot veggie stir fry and biodegradable spoon, he takes it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Finding a downed tree near the creek’s edge, we both take a seat and dig in.
“Whoa,” Raf says after his first bite. “This is better than I expected.”
“I think it’s that added fire flavor that really enhances it,” I smile.
“Everything does taste better over an open fire.”
Memories pop up like a hot spring. “Oh my god,” I groan. “Like when we made kettle corn over the fire on that camping trip before graduation.”
“That was so good,” he mutters with a mouthful of food while his eyes roll back dramatically.
“Where did Alex even get the ingredients for that?” I ask before taking another bite.
He shrugs. “I have no idea. One minute we were drinking screwdrivers, and the next kettle corn was being passed around.”
Uh-oh. We’ve hit dangerous territory. When the before-graduation camping story comes up and screwdrivers have been mentioned, it’s time to tread lightly.
But something is making me bolder. Maybe it”s the similar scenery. Maybe it’s how close we’re sitting. Maybe it’s the out-of-body experience the god-blessed creek gave me—but I’m curious to finally know.
I want answers.
“Hmm. You know, to this day I still can’t drink screwdrivers.”
Like a jungle cat lowering its body and dilating its pupils, his body stills next to mine. “No?” he whispers.
“No,” I confirm.
“Huh,” he says, but it doesn”t sound like a realization.
“Yeah, you know, it’s strange. I can drink mimosas no problem. But there’s something about screwdrivers that triggers that…associated memory.”
“Yeah?” he asks, before clearing his throat and shoveling three large bites of food in his mouth.
“But you know what’s weird? I have the strongest memory of that night, but there’s something that I never quite figured out.”
Okay, Angela, you are playing with fire here!
The corner of Rafael’s eye finds me. “What’s that?” he asks, like he doesn’t know where this is going.
“Why didn’t you kiss me?”
Cue atomic bomb.
He huffs a disbelieving laugh. “What are you talking about?”
Oh no. I didn’t come this far for him to back out. This is so far past where I promised myself I would ever take this conversation. I”ve passed the point of no return, and I’m dragging him with me.
I push my stir fry around with my fork. “I’m talking about Spin the Bottle. And how you kissed every person the spin landed on.” Fuck, I’m doing my best to stay calm and poised right now, but I am sweating bullets on the inside. Regardless, I continue. “You kissed Alex. And Jess. And Pakhuri. And Austin,” I drawl. “But when the bottle finally landed on me, you… What? Decided enough was enough?”
For a very long time after that night, I thought he wouldn’t kiss me because I was fat. You’d never guess I had those insecurities from my confidence level now, but young Angie was deeply insecure.
There were six of us there. Five trim people, and one me. That tendril of insecurity only grew when I watched Rafael time and time again only date—only hook up with—other fit people. By the time I grew out of my body-hatred and started loving it in my mid-twenties, I thought I had wiped my slate clean. It wasn’t until the end of our graduate studies that I realized his rejection probably wasn’t about my body, and it most likely about him not wanting to ruin our friendship. That made more sense, but it never fully erased my first suspicion.
But to this day, I’ve only ever seen Rafael’s hookups in one form—lean. I still love and appreciate my body, but every time I meet one of his fleeting partners, I can’t help thinking, Of course. That’s his type.
Many times I’ve had to remind myself, It’s fine that I’m not his type—people”s attractions can be varied and narrow and it’s all valid. But a dark part of me wants him to admit it now.
“Angie, we don’t need to talk about—”
“No, we do,” I cut him off. “I’m tired of pussyfooting around this, Raf. Tell me why you couldn’t kiss me.”
“I wanted to kiss you!” he blurts, with a ferocity I’ve only seen when he’s playing rugby. “Fuck, Angie. Why did you have to bring this up?”
“What?” I ask—seriously ask. Because that honestly surprised the shit out of me.
Abruptly, he stands up and takes my almost-empty bowl along with his and sets them to the side. “Why didn’t I kiss you?” he asks with eyes wide and his fingers combing through the dark, wavy mess on his head. “Other than the fact that we’re just friends?”
“We were there with other friends.”
“They…weren’t you, Ang! Don’t you see that?”
Suddenly, I feel small under his heated gaze. With a voice that’s equally as small as I feel, I say, “It was just a game, Raf. There was no need to take it seriously.” I want to poke him. I want him to admit the real reason.
“I couldn’t kiss you because I was afraid of what it would mean. I’ve kept my distance for so long, yet it hasn’t become second nature. I’ve kept my distance because you and I both know I could never be what you need.”
“What? Committed?” I ask. “How could you even know at eighteen years old that you wouldn’t want commitment?”
“It wasn’t that,” he sighs.
“Then what was it?”
Looking down at the ground, Raf waits a beat before saying, “It was a few things, but mostly, I didn’t want to ruin what we had. It was perfect.” He lifts his gaze up to mine. “It still is. I don’t have what we have with anyone else. I don’t want it with anyone else.”
“And what if things have changed, Raf?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m insatiably horny all the time and it’s because of you,” I grunt, letting my filter disintegrate. I place my hand on my belly. “You gave me this incredible gift and now you parade around in your goddamn short-shorts with your juicy fucking booty like it doesn’t affect me, and I’m going insane in this hormonal tornado you’ve thrown me in!” Oops, that may have been too much. “But noOoo, you can’t even touch me because it’ll ruin things,” I say in air quotes. “And I’m not your type.”
His face contorts. “What do you mean you’re not my type?”
“Come on, Raf.” I roll my eyes. “Name one partner you’ve had that looks even remotely like me.” His jaw clenches in response. “Exactly.” I sigh heavily and push past him for the tent. “This was a mistake. Forget everything I said.”
He snatches my hand before I can grab the zipper. “No,” he grits.
“I’ve embarrassed myself enough tonight, Raf. Let’s drop it.”
“I’ve never been with someone that looks like you because every time I’ve tried, they’ve reminded me of you. And if I was going to be with somebody that looked like you…I’d be fucking pissed that it wasn’t you.”
My entire mind goes blank. Time doesn’t exist. I don’t know where I am.
“Angel? You okay?”
“No,” I reply in a fog. “You just hit the factory reset button in my brain.” I stare at the man in front of me for too long, and when his gaze lowers to my lips, I remember what I’m doing.
I’m digging my hormonal heels in.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
With his hand clasped around my wrist, his trance only intensifies. “I didn’t bring a bottle with us, but I still want to kiss you.”
My breath is stuck for a moment as I study him, but a tiny smirk climbs into the corner of my lips. “Wouldn’t that ruin things?”
“Fuck it,” he huffs and yanks me toward him. Before I can place my hand on his chest, he’s kissing me. With one hand on my back, and the other cupping the side of my face, Rafael Juan Dominico Jimenez is finally—actually—kissing me.
His mouth on mine is like finding a treasure trove I’ve been searching for my whole life. But it’s so much more than I anticipated. The way his soft lips devour me, like I’m the only meal he needs.
He tastes like lusty energy born from nervousness. Like a summer evening spent swapping details of yourself so private, you realize you’ve never admitted them before this moment. He tastes like a memory—the funny kind. The romantic kind. The devastating kind.
Any second now, he’s going to pull away. Any second now, he’s going to abruptly stop and say something like There. See? It’s no big deal. And if that’s the case, then I’m going to milk every second for all it’s worth.
When his tongue seeks mine, I eagerly open for him. With my left arm wrapped tightly around his back, I squeeze that side muscle I don’t know the name for as my other hand drags down his chest to his chiseled abdomen. As if my hand is a magnet, I slide it under his shirt, feeling his warm skin.
“Angel,” he whispers.
Whatever he has to say can wait. “Shhh. Don’t ruin it, Raf.” I grind against him, where I can feel him growing hard against my stomach.
Fuck yes. I do turn him on.
“Tell me what you need,” he rasps, feverishly kissing me.
It’s almost too hard to form sentences. My brain is caught up in him. In the way he smells and feels and towers over me. But I manage to whisper, “I need to come. I need you to make me come.”
He breaks the kiss, which I’m about to protest, but he plants his forehead on mine and nuzzles me. “Are you sure?”
“Rafael, all I can think about lately is getting off and needing you to do that for me.”
“Say no more,” he says, lifting me up and wrapping my legs around him. Yup. He’s got something under those pants for me alright.
He squats down with me in his lap as I hold on and kiss his neck and ear while he unzips the tent. The music still playing from the speaker has switched to Get Ur Freak On by Missy Elliot and I inwardly laugh. Of course.
He makes it one step in before throwing me on the double high queen air mattress. Bouncing, I giggle as he kneels to remove my boots, socks, and shuck off my pants with those intense game-day eyes. When he discovers I’m not wearing any underwear, his jaw drops and he freezes.
“Where are your panties, woman?”
“They were wet,” I say with fake demure.
Rafael runs his hands up my thighs and grips them tight and the growl shakes me like an earthquake. “It looks like you’re still wet.”
“It’s your fault,” I say before biting my lower lip.
He crawls closer to the apex of my thighs and hovers there, his hot breath puffing against my sex, his eyes trained on mine. “It’s not my fault, Angel,” then he tenderly kisses my mound with a feather-light touch that only makes me ache for him more. “What it is, is my job,” he rasps, then closes his eyes and licks a long, wet tongue against my seam, sending my back arching. He gently pulls my labia into his wet mouth, alternating between kisses and nips. “If you’re wet and needy, then it’s my job to take care of that, do you understand?”
“Yes,” I pant.
“I put this baby inside you,” he growls, before shoving his long tongue inside me, lapping at the evidence that brought us here. “I’m responsible. Say it.”
“Yes,” I whimper. “You did this to me. You need to—oh god yes, keep doing that—you need to take care of me.”
“That’s right,” he mumbles through my body. Working his jaw in tandem with his tongue, his rough stubble from his usually clean-shaven face rubs against my sensitive skin. Fuck, it’s so good.
Rafael’s oral game is on another level—yet another thing he’s great at apparently.
When he sucks at my clit, my hands fly to the pillow behind my head, to the sheets, then to my own hair. I can’t decide where to put them.
“Grab on to me, Angel. I wanna know what makes you feel good.”
They fly down to his thick black hair and I’m grateful for the few inches he leaves on top—just enough to hold on so I can ride his face like the wanton little whore I am.
Still sucking at my clit, he never lets it go; he keeps the suction while undulating his chin into me. His beautiful aquiline nose is buried so deep I don’t understand how he’s breathing. But I don’t have to understand. What I do understand is how my orgasm rips through my body like lightning. Without knowing, I clamp my legs shut and squeeze his head between them like I’m a pair of pliers and he’s the stubborn nail I’m pulling.
For the first time ever, I let myself scream his name at the top of my lungs instead of under my breath or muted into a pillow.
Take your trophy, Rafael. You fucking earned it.
Apparently he’s not settling for just one, because when I release his head from my large, dimple-covered thighs, he lifts his head up with a gasp like he’s resurfacing from the water and the biggest smile on his face. “Goddammit, Ang,” he huffs. “That was so fucking hot.” He shifts his body so he’s kneeling before my splayed-out self, then stuffs a finger inside me. “Take your shirt off. I’m not done with you.”
“Again?” I ask, but I listen because this dominant side of him is doing things to me.
“Yes,” he growls, crooking his finger inside me like he’s coaxing the next one out of me. “You’re going to come on my hand.” He leans down and lays next to me, our bodies automatically turning on their sides to face one another. When I lift my bare leg over his hips, he adds another finger inside of me, then leans in and attaches his mouth to my neck. When it travels down to my breasts, his tongue dances over my hardened nipples, and I stroke the back of his head, the other hand on his shoulder.
Why the fuck is he still wearing clothes?
“These tits,” he moans. “You were driving me fucking crazy with them today.” His hand pummels into me as he adds a thumb to pull on my clit. My hips buck and thrust into his touch.
“Was I?” I pant.
“When you were laying in the water, your nipples were rock hard. They were begging to be touched,” he whispers, then pulls one into his mouth. “Begging to be sucked. And you,” he drawls. “Laying there. Your body writhing and desperate.”
“I am,” I whimper.
“I know you are, dirty girl.” He fucks me with his fingers harder, but there’s something I need more than coming again from his touch.
Scrambling to unbuckle him, I say, “Need you. I need to feel you.”
His mouth releases from my chest, when he looks down at where our hands play with each other. “You don’t have to, Ang.”
“I want to,” I breathe. “I need to see it. I need to hold it.”
When his erection releases from his pants, the tightness I was carrying in my face relaxes as I stare at Rafael’s massive cock.
“Jesus Christ, Raf! How the hell do you walk around all day with this between your legs?”
He chuckles. “It’s not that big.”
“Are you joking? This is a porn dick, dude! How big is it?”
“I don’t know,” he smiles. “I never measured it.”
“Bullshit. Tell me.”
He sighs. “Ten inches.”
“And you’re uncut? You know, you could be a lot cockier in real life because of…” I gesture to the monster, “this.”
He rubs my G-spot. “Shut up, Ang. You wanna talk about it or be about it?”
“Be,” I moan, then start stroking his enormous dick—that I still think he might be downplaying its true size. When he grunts, I take it as a personal victory. His mouth finds mine as our tongues mingle like they’ve known each other for years.
This should be awkward. This should be strange. But it’s not. It has that exciting new feeling, with all the safety that comes with knowing someone for decades.
Our hands work each other as ferociously as our mouths claim. I took his cock out so he could put it inside of me, but there’s something incredibly necessary about what we’re doing right now, that breaking from it would be wrong.
His expert fingers stroke inside me and his palm pushes against my clit with the perfect amount of force. I’m already climbing to my peak, but listening to him lose himself to my touch is what sends me over the edge.
“I’m coming, Raf!”
“Yes,” he grunts, spilling himself between us as my entire body clenches around his hand. I ride my orgasm out for as long as possible and he peppers me with kisses and good girls, making me a whole new level of woozy.
When my body finally relaxes, he removes his hand, closes his eyes, and sucks his fingers clean of my arousal. “Mmm,” he groans and finally takes his shirt off, tossing it to the tent floor, before settling himself back between my legs. “I need to clean up.”
Oh my god.
1.My Love Mine All Mine by Mitski