THE CURVACEOUS AND BODACIOUS BOMBSHELL FIC CONTEST
Story Name: Four Days in Taos
Penname: SubtlePen
Rating: M
Genre: Romance/Friendship
Pairing: Peter/Charlotte
Total Word Count: 4451
Summary: Charlie's fresh start leads her to a coffee shop. Peter's summer job leads him to Charlie. He never expected to fall in love, and never dreamed a voluptuous beauty might be brave enough to love him back. AH.
~ Peter ~
My steps faltered when I saw her, but I kept walking, late for work. In the window of a coffee shop she sat, limbs curled to match the contour or her over-stuffed perch, unruly hair tumble-down around her shoulders, nose buried in a book. She was a pretty girl, but something stilled my feet after only a few more steps and I looked back over my shoulder, catching another fleeting glimpse before I returned to my senses and went back on my way. Something about her made me smile, made me feel hopeful and light, like the sight of an extravagantly wrapped gift under the Christmas tree – you know whatever is under that great big mesmerizing bow is going to be good. If I'd had time, I would have pulled my camera from my bag and captured her forever.
She was there again the next day, and the next, and the next. Each day, I noticed something more, something that made seeing her feel like she was mine alone, a gem to tuck in my pocket and carry with me. The delicate angle of her wrist as she absently dunked a tea bag, the silver necklace she fingered affectionately as she read, the generous curve of bosom and hip as she shifted in her seat. She seemed at once comfortable in her own skin, but hovering somehow – waiting to take flight, not anchored to anything but the book in her hand or the notebook in which she often wrote. Watching her, my hands actually twitched, anxious to touch and know.
Part of me felt guilty for pulling a creeper routine, watching her through a coffee shop window, but I didn't even know where to begin. Do I just walk in and plop down beside her and regurgitate some old-school line?
What's a pretty girl like you…
Ugh. No.
After a week of pseudo-stalking, my opportunity presented itself in the form of a new book. With my heart in my throat, I pushed open the coffee shop door and ambled over to where she sat. It took her a minute to look up, but when she did, she smiled.
"Um, hi." Brilliant.
Her smile grew, in spite of my lackluster greeting, until I forgot this was the closest we'd ever been. Even though I'd all but married her in my fantasies, this was the first time we'd stood on the same side of a pane of glass.
"You can, um, sit down, if you want? No one's sitting there." With a tilt of her head, she pointed at the seat beside her.
Somehow managing not to trip over my own feet, I dropped my bag and sidled up to her. "Started a new book?" I asked, and then prayed she wouldn't ask how I knew. I knew, of course, because I'd seen her reading something else earlier in the week.
"Oh, yeah." She flipped the book closed and admired the cover, using her thumb to hold her place. Fortunately, she was less than a quarter into the book, so if she asked, I could claim I had super powers of observation, rather than stalking tendencies.
"That's a local author, you know." I remembered the flyer I had in my bag, and fumbled for it while I talked. "She's doing a signing tomorrow, at my store. Well, not my store, my uncle's store. Just down the block. If you're interested..."
She smiled, a little shy and a lot curious. "Charlie," she said, offering me her hand.
"Peter," I said, offering her mine.
And that, as they say, was just the beginning.
"So," she said, nodding uncomfortably.
"What brings you to Taos?" I blurt. Hello? Tourist mecca?
She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. "You don't think I'm from here?"
I laughed. "No, you don't have the funky hippie vibe of someone that's either actually from here or desperate enough to lie about it."
She laughed. "No, you're right. I needed a change of scenery, came out from St. Louis a few months ago."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Fresh start, all that. I had a job as a nanny for a while, but now I'm waitressing to pay the bills."
"I tended bar for a while. I can relate."
She toyed absently with the strap of her bag, smiling and staring out the window toward the mountains. "Trying to decide what to do next. Getting itchy feet again, I think."
"School?" I asked, knowing she'd have to move to Albuquerque or Las Cruces for that, if she wanted to stay in New Mexico.
"I did, for a while back home. Taking a break. You?"
Ahh. Here it comes. "Yeah, I've just been here for the summer. Heading back to start grad school in a couple of days, actually."
Her shoulders sagged a little. "Back?"
"Oh, yeah. Back to Seattle. I'm from Seattle, but I've been spending summers here since I was a kid. Divorced parents, two cities. You get the picture."
She nodded, introspective. It wasn't difficult to see that she knew what that felt like.
"My aunt and uncle own that bookstore around the block, and my dad has a tourist trinket shop down on the plaza. I work wherever they need me when I'm in town."
She looked back at me and took a deep breath. "You hungry?"
I hesitated, thinking it was early for lunch, but when I looked at my watch realized we'd spent far more time talking than I'd figured. "Um, yeah, just let me…" I had to dig around in my messenger bag to find my phone. "I need to call my uncle. He was expecting me a while… Hello? It's me, Uncle Lowell… yeah about that..." I stood up and tucked my free hand under my arm pit, feeling like a little kid calling home after school to see if I could have dinner at a friend's house.
I looked over my shoulder and watched her packing up her things and smiling, and caught her sneaking a look at me, too.
God, she's beautiful.
I must have blushed a thousand shades, because she laughed a little. Her eyes crinkled up at the corners and her cheeks plumped when she smiled. I found myself liking the sight of it a lot more than I probably should.
My uncle took pity on me and gave me the afternoon off, and all the rest until I left, insisting he'd have to get used to running the place on his own again in a few days anyway. I could hear my aunt in the background, asking him if I'd finally said something to the girl in the coffee shop, and I wished I'd never said anything to her. Still, Aunt Anne was right. You have to take a step, to start a journey.
Short journey. Hard to take this very far when I was leaving in four days, but I shoved the thought aside, hating that just when I'd maybe found a reason to stay, it was almost time to move on.
Everything between us came easily. Laughter, sharing a meal, telling the stories of what brought us to where we were. With twined, toying fingers and heads tilted close to one another, we talked about books and art, southwest history, our mutual love of the outdoors, and our rocky family histories. She was perfect. Smart, educated, goofy in all the right ways, compassionate, and I couldn't imagine ever getting enough. It was immediate, insane and impossible.
Four days.
I was crazy urgent to kiss her, to make use of what little time we had. I wanted to taste the ripe plum of her lips and feel her breath on my face, to feel my fingers in her hair and sinking into every inch of her. Her mind was rich with stories I wanted to hear, and her body was a lush bounty my eager hands ached to clutch and claim, my lips to taste and savor. I wished for more hours and days, more arms to wrap around her, wished for more of me to feel more of her, to stake some caveman claim before it was just too late, but I knew it was beyond selfish.
I hated ever telling her that our days together were numbered before they'd even begun. I almost wish I'd lied, so at least we'd had the open-ended promise of time to spare, that might lead us to something deeper before I had to leave. Who wants to start something when you know it won't last? Something more than just a quick fuck to pass the time… something real. Something real.
I let the futility run rampant in my head, and I began to stammer over my words, telling her a story about Spanish exploration in New Mexico. In slow motion, she placed two fingers across my mouth and leaned close. Before I could think, her lips were on mine. Soft, warm and playful, with a smile lifting her sun-pinked cheeks.
"You looked like you needed that," she whispered, barely pulling back. "Thought I'd get it out of the way, so we don't have to worry about it any more."
Before she could back away, I claimed another kiss, firm and decisive, and left her panting with her eyes closed.
"Yeah," she said, her forehead against mine. Kissing me again, little hesitant nibbles with a tease of tongue, she asked "where have you been?"
Breathless and hopeful, I asked "does it matter?"
"Not any more. You're here."
I took her by the hand and led her to my bed.
Laughing and easy, the way the entire day had been, we stumbled into the garage apartment above my father's house, playfully tugging at clothes as we kissed and groped and discovered each other. Ticklish spots, moaning spots, plump spots that made her shyly push my hand away but then pull me back…
"Peter…" She was breathless, panting against my neck, making me shiver where her hot breath touched skin dampened by hungry kisses.
"Charlotte… anything. Anything you want. Tell me."
"You. I want you. All of you, everything. Oh, Peter…"
She was naked and perfect, in my bed. Perfect. Every robust, glowing part of her, every firm muscle and softly rounded inch, every generous handhold and secret, needy place was perfect under my hands, lips and hips.
When my body finally sank into hers – when all of me touched all of her – I was speechless. Stunned and consumed and awed and desperate and oh my GOD, I never want to leave this place, this warmth, this haven, this lush bounty of beauty and perfect arms and kisses and skin and oh God, it's too much. Too much, and not enough and only four fucking days, now less than that, and don't think, just feel, and oh my God she's beautiful in this light, with the setting sun on her skin and the dry desert breeze tousling her hair, her eyes full of stories and lust, her small encouraging sounds and her strong hands demanding more, and all of her, just – all of her. I roared into her over and over and by some miracle she came, and I came, and I never wanted to leave. Never never, and yet I would.
Four days.
In the morning light, twisted together and hungry again, sweaty and laughing and oh-hell-yes-ing, four became three.
We weren't apart much, after that.
I took her to all my favorite places, happy to discover that most were new to her. If I had to leave her here, I wanted her to remember, to know the places I knew, to see me in them so she could go there and think of me, see me. Maybe, just maybe, she would wait… and still be here when I came back and there would still be something between us, something real.
Our last day together, our last hours, we hiked down to a hot spring deep in the Rio Grande Gorge, tucked into the canyon wall just above the river and just big enough for two to recline. We lay there, watching the dazzling desert light try to escape the shadows creeping up the canyon wall, our naked bodies warmed by the afternoon sun and cooled by a canyon breeze, touching, memorizing, kissing and making love - all silently, with tears in her eyes and a lump in my chest threatening to steal my breath.
She clung to me, weeping as she came. "I don't want…"
"Me neither. Shhh…"
We stayed as long as we dared, climbing back up to the plateau, the last of the setting sun lighting our path. Every step away from that place, every heavy footfall and labored breath that separated us from those last moments when we were woven together, wore heavy as cloaks on our shoulders.
I left for Seattle that evening, after I'd driven her back to her shabby, cramped apartment, kissed her senseless till our cheeks were wet with mixed tears, and nearly died from the ache in my heart, I got in my overloaded Silverado and headed west.
I stopped to sleep for a few hours in Cortez, Colorado and woke up to a brilliant rising sun that was lackluster in my beauty's absence. In a funky little diner I ate probably the last real green chile I'd see for quite a while, and rolled on down the road, a few miles farther from her, farther from her warm arms and her swaying hips and her bright laughter and sarcastic wit and her shameless passion and… I felt tight all over, pulled tight and tense and angry. I blamed it on sleeping in the cab of the truck. I checked the map, set a goal for the day, and drove on.
The next sleep without her beneath me, beside me, all over me was in Salt Lake City. I got a cheap motel on the north end of town, anxious to put the sprawl and traffic behind me. Too many people, too many cars and people. Noise, traffic, billboards, cars and people. Ugh. I ate a burger from a drive through, bought some bottled water at a convenience store, and dropped dead asleep on threadbare sheets that smelled of industrial detergent and stale air. I lined up all the bed pillows in front of me and tried to cuddle them like I would her, but they were flat, deflated and unresponsive. Even so, I dreamt they smelled like her.
I started early out of Salt Lake, aiming for Pendleton, Oregon or thereabouts. It would get me within an easy half day's drive of home. It was beautiful country. Stark and stunning. Desolate. My mind wandered as the miles ticked by, and every curve became a contour on her body. Every hill, her breasts. Every dip and rise of the endless road became the path of my mouth over her shoulder and throat; from the succulent roundness of her hip under my palm, to the luscious flesh of her belly and thighs, feeding me, calling me, melting under my touch. I pulled over at one point, out of my mind, scrambling for my phone so I could call her, hear her voice, speak her name, to reconnect and reassure myself that I hadn't dreamed the whole damned thing.
No cell signal.
Pendleton was another cheap motel, another forgettable meal, another empty-armed sleep that lasted too long and dreams that didn't last long enough.
I rolled into Seattle just as my mother was making lunch. I'd called her from down around Yakima to let her know I was on the home stretch, and you'd think I was coming back from war. I was exhausted, but knew I needed to spend some face time with her. Later I could double check a few things on campus…. Do a little laundry, clean out the truck… then there would be a welcome-home dinner with Grams and Gramps, then touch base with a few friends, settle back into the old routine.
To hell with that.
I called her, that minute, somewhere between Yakima and Ellensburg.
"Peter?" She started crying, softly, sniffling and hiccupping and trying to hide it from me. "I was afraid I'd never…"
"Charlie – oh God. I miss you so fucking much."
"What are we gonna do, Peter? I can't… God. Everywhere I go, it's just… Peter, I can't."
"Shhh. Oh sweet baby, shhh. God, I want you in my arms right now."
"Oh, Peter no. Don't do that to me. I'm here, and you're too many miles away."
"Shhh."
She sniffled for a few more moments, cleared her throat and blew her nose and laughed at herself. "Yeah, boy. I bet you're really homesick for me right about now, huh? Christ, I'm a mess."
"I love you, mess or otherwise, silly."
Had I just…? Oh fuck, I did. Out loud.
"What?" Her voice was timid, like she'd come upon a wild 'I love you' and didn't want to scare it away.
"Come to Seattle. Move here, live with me. Shove all your stuff in my dad's garage, or sell it and buy a plane ticket, I don't care. You wanted a fresh start, right? Seattle is fresh. Green and wet and couldn't be fresher…."
"You mean it?"
"God, yes, I mean it. When can you come – how soon? I can turn right around and be there in…"
"Peter."
"…shit – let me think. School starts in four, no, three… damn it."
"Peter."
"I'll get you a ticket. Dad can drive you to Albuquerque, you can be here what – tomorrow? The day after?"
"I love you, too."
"What?"
"Peter, I love you, too."
"Oh my God, Charlie." It took everything I had not to crush the phone in my hand. I wanted her in my arms, so, so badly. I wanted her breath in my ear and her lips on my neck and I wanted to hear it again.
Her voice softened, and she said it again. "I love you."
"Babe…"
"Peter, I can't come that soon. I have to give notice, I have to pack, I need to sublease my place. My family has no idea… And I need to save a little money. I don't want to show up there broke. I just – I can't do that. It doesn't feel right, and I can't live at your mom's."
"I can get us a place. There's lots of little apartments near campus. Okay?"
"Can you do that? Can you afford to? I mean, once I start working I'll pay my share…"
"A month. I'll give you a month, and then I'm coming to get you at SeaTac and you better be there."
"Okay."
"What?"
"I said, okay."
"Okay?"
She laughed. "Peter!"
"Okay." I laughed, too, the weight and tightness easing around my heart and head, replaced with the sound of her laughter and her I love you and her okay and my name on her lips. "I really do love you."
"I love you, too."
"When did you know?" I asked, male ego kicking in.
"Early."
"Early when?"
"Early, like when I kissed you. That first time, when you were telling me about that statue that had his foot cut off."
"Onate."
"Yes, him. I kissed you, and that was it. The look on your face… Oh, Peter."
"A month, right?"
"If I can get everything together, yeah."
"I miss you."
I could hear the smile in her voice. "I miss you, too."
One month turned into two, turned into three. She had a hard time subleasing her ratty hovel, but moved into the garage apartment at my dad's as soon as she could. She kept waiting tables, but also took over my old post working at the book shop and for my dad. It took her a little longer to get things lined up and tell her family about us, as well as put together the nest egg she wanted, but it gave her an opportunity to get to know my family, and for them to know her.
I got used to the calls from Aunt Anne telling me how wonderful she was to have around, how hard working, smart, conscientious, beautiful, genuine, thoughtful, well-mannered… All of which I already knew, and it only made me miss her more.
Thanksgiving was creeping up fast. Every few days I'd sign for a package or two – books and clothing and small whatnots for our home together. I unpacked each one, hanging her clothes beside mine, her books filling out my shelves. The months passed with phone calls, emails, skypes, texts, trading pseudo-porn photographs, and two failed attempts at phone sex (one of which ended in a ridiculous laughing fit after I nearly broke a toe on the corner of my bed). I couldn't wait to have her in my arms again, see her moving about this space I'd chosen for us, to see what the future held. Finally, she was due in Seattle on the 23rd.
I stood at the baggage carousel for her flight, pacing, sweating. We hadn't been together, really together, in months, and only then for a hand full of days. Nerves bubbled up, making me question my sanity, and whether we'd acted too impulsively. She was moving cross-country for me, moving farther from her family for a man she barely knew, to a city she'd never seen – maybe I should be questioning her judgment? If it didn't work out, of course I would help her get on her own place, or help her move home if that's what she wanted. Just the thought of her leaving though, before she'd even gotten here, made my whole future feel bleak and lifeless. My shoulders slumped, and I buried my hands in my pockets, clenching and fidgeting and worrying a hole in my lip, until I heard the carousel move, and heard her flight announced. I looked up, breathless and wordless, and there she was.
Rumpled from three different airports and too many hours in a too-cramped seat, dodging strollers and skycaps and lugging an overlarge carry on, she was smiling and crying and as beautiful as the first time I ever saw her.
I scooped her into my arms like something out of a sappy movie, burying my nose in her neck and rejoicing in the weight of her against me, warm and real and here. My brain raced – has she changed? Is she different? Is this what I remembered? Is it still there, that feeling, that puzzle-piece cliché? It was too much at once.
"Let's get out of here," she mumbled, reaching for a nondescript suitcase from the carousel, the handle tied with a bright turquoise ribbon. I took the suitcase, and her hand, and took her home.
The drive was pretty quiet, and awkward. She told me a few things Aunt Anne, Uncle Lowell and my dad asked her to pass along. I asked about her flights, airport security, her layover in Salt Lake. She commented on the scenery and weather, and asked about a pending project I had for one of my classes.
There was a tightening dread in my gut the closer we got to the apartment. She commented on the nice building, thanked me for carrying her bag, and for meeting her at the airport. I gave her the tour. Here's the kitchen. Pause. Here's the bathroom. Pause. I put most of your books in the living room. Pause. She nodded, looking around appreciatively, admiring some of my photos lining the walls.
"It's nice. Bigger than I thought."
"Yeah." I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead, not knowing where to go or what to do or how to say everything that was clogging my mind.
"How's your stubbed toe?"
My what? I looked up, and she was smiling, holding back a laugh with both hands over her mouth.
There she is. There's my girl. My goofy, irreverent, sexy girl, pulling us back to what we knew, back to that connection, putting what we'd shared over the months of phone calls decisively into the here and now.
We crashed together, lips and hands and tongues and grunting hungry giggles, dizzy and drunk on being in the same place at the same time, lip to lip and eye to eye. For a moment, some part of me wondered if this was all there was for us – sex and lust and skin. Her body spoke to me like none other. To me, her curves were a lush bounty, voluptuous abundance and life lived to the hilt. The way my hands sunk into her flesh, the soft sounds of pleasure that passed her lips, were fuel to my smoldering fire…
Smoldering.
Lit sparks…
The way we came together blazed and roared, but I knew that wasn't where we truly ignited, where the fire began. It began in a coffee shop with a beautiful girl curled quietly around a book, a girl that epitomized an extremely attractive quiet confidence, not attention-starved flamboyance. She knew who she was, was proud of her successes, and was eager to walk an unknown path in a new place. Fearless. She didn't gauge herself by external measures of success, didn't succumb to the criticism of a culture driven by unrealistic standards and commercial definitions of beauty and worth. She plotted her own course, found her own place in the world. I felt lucky to have been in it, that's we'd found each other when we did. Just a few days different, and we would never have met.
We stumbled to my bed, our bed, and fell together. Finally. Finally, her skin.
"Charlie… ohh…"
"I know, Peter. Me, too."
She wrestled with my shirt and my too-tight jeans, laughing and kissing and smiling. I held her face in mine, needing her to know she was more to me than this, that she was more, in every way.
"This isn't all there is, for me."
She smiled, and I wondered if she thought I was trying to convince myself.
"Baby. This," she said, kissing my forehead, "tells me you respect me. This," she said, pressing her palm over my racing heart, "tells me you… love me." We both smiled, and her hand slipped lower. "This," she whispered, wrapping her hand around my cock, "tells me you want me. I missed them all."
I looked down at her, writing beneath me, watching my body slipping into hers, watching the fluid ripples of her flesh with each impact of our bodies, astounded at the woman she was, that she had taken me to be her own, and I couldn't help but wonder how I'd ever gotten so lucky that we stepped onto the same path.
.
.
.
.
.
I wanted this to be a love story about a girl that happens to have curves. I wanted the boy to love the girl, not in spite of or because of her weight, but just because he loves the girl and everything she is.
We're all strong and beautiful in our own ways.
Thank you for reading, and thank you to the hosts of this contest for helping all of us to love all the shapes and colors and sizes of our own beauty.
...and thank you to my husband, who helped me live lots of the story you just read in real life. happy 20th anniversary of that first awkward conversation! 5/1991 - 5/2011!