What I Wanted

It was one of those things you forget about. A childhood crush. I’d forgotten all about it as I had grown older, become an adult. At least I thought I had.

I attended eight years of Catholic grade school complete with plaid pleated skirts, little criss cross ties, and knee socks. Horrid. Jimmy Fitzgerald had been held back in first grade. This of course was the best thing that could have happened, if you’d asked me.

In my six year-old mind he was the end-all-be-all. A total dream; a completely adorable hunk of a little boy. And I was…awkward, to say the least. Too skinny, too ordinary, and far too plain for Mister Jimmy Fitzgerald. To top off this amazing little package, he was mean to me. Something that only made me love him more. He used to punch me in the arm or trip me on the school playground. One time at a roller skating party he kicked me in the groin, the little fucker. Ah, childhood love.

We went to different high schools, so I hadn’t seen him in a few years. During that time, I figured out that boys liked me. I was a late bloomer and by the time I turned fifteen, my boobs finally started growing and my narrow hips blossomed. No more “flat as a pancake” comments for me.

When I was sixteen, I ran into Jimmy again. Hanging out with my current flavor of the week and some other new friends—his friends— in this shack a few delinquents had built out in the woods. A couple of couches and one chair crowded the eight by ten space. A makeshift coffee table in the center. The ceiling hung too low, you could barely stand up straight, and the walls had carpet remnants stapled to them in an attempt to keep in the warmth from our bodies. Dim and dirty, the place smelled like old cigarette butts. A few candles decorated the space, adding something to the room that could never be mistaken for ambiance. The absolute perfect place to hang out and do what teens do: Drink things they weren’t legally old enough to drink and smoke things that were not legal for anyone to smoke. Good times.

A loud bang rattled the sheet of plywood that served as a door.

“Come on in,” Steve yelled and took a toke off the pipe he had just packed. Steve spent most of his time here, probably because it occupied the woods directly behind his house. The door creaked open and a blast of cold air chilled the dank space further than it already was. A flashlight beam carved through the thick haze of greenish smoke that had gathered, and we all froze, waiting to see if we were about to be busted by the cops.

"What the hell are you kids doing in here?”

“Fuck you, Jimmy,” Zane, my boyfriend, laughed. “Pass me the pipe, Steve.”

“Fuck you back.” Jimmy ducked in through the door and plopped into the chair to our left.

“Maybe later.” Zane reached for the pipe. With the flashlight off, my eyes adjusted again. I stared at the new addition, mouth agape like a damned fish.

Holy shit, Jimmy Fitzgerald. Jimmy-fucking-Fitzgerald! What do you know, there was a God.

Jimmy caught my eyes, nodded once, and set to rolling himself a joint. Gah, still gorgeous. Even more so now than just a few years ago when we’d completed eighth grade. Puberty had been kind to him. Sandy brown hair and lazy green eyes. High cheek bones and full lips that seemed to have a bit of a pout to them. He had dimples, too, one on each cheek, that only made an appearance when he smiled. He didn’t smile a lot though. I remained quiet for the next hour and studied him. The group chatted and laughed and continued to pass around the pipe and bottles of Boone’s. Jimmy remained quiet, too.

Every so often he would look over at me. Did he even remember me? He must, but then again, I didn’t quite look like I did the last time he saw me. I was hella cute in my skin tight, acid wash jeans and thick sweater. I had great tits then, not that you could tell with the big sweater I wore, but that wasn’t the point. The point was I wanted Jimmy to notice. In a calculated move, I turned and draped my legs over Zane’s lap, crossing my high-heeled booted feet at the ankles. Zane’s hand trailed up and down my thigh, and every so often he would lean in and nuzzle my neck. I watched Jimmy. He watched Zane’s hand.

A few days later I dumped Zane. I did mention he was the flavor of the week. There were a lot of those back then. I had a new mark, and a girl like me got what she wanted. I wanted Jimmy. Amazing how I just happened to be hanging out with the gang, who had become my friends, whenever he showed up from work. Amazing how Jimmy would nod at me and then move to the corner and roll a joint. That wouldn’t do at all.

He didn’t have a car. Luckily, I did. I offered to pick him up one night from work when no one else wanted to.

“Hey.” He slid into the front seat next to me. “What are you doing here?”

“Steve and Danny were bitching and didn’t want to come get you. So I offered.” I gave a casual shrug. Inside, I felt anything but casual. He offered a mumbled “thank you” around lighting his cigarette. God, so fucking sexy.

We started dating a few days later, of course. A girl like me gets what she wants. I was Jimmy Fitzgerald’s girlfriend and I was in heaven. There were several heavy make-out sessions in my car, but no sex. I was still a virgin. I hadn’t held out for mister right or anything; it just happened that there hadn’t been anyone that I actually wanted to give it up to. I wanted to give it up to Jimmy but he never asked. Like most teenage romances, it didn’t last long. Three weeks later Jimmy broke up with me over some he-said/she-said bullshit. I was completely crushed, but life went on.

I moved out of state, got married and had a child, all in the span of ten years. When my divorce was final, I came home for a visit. Per usual, I stayed with my mother that week and she granted me a hall pass for Friday night. I took that sucker in hopes of finding a few old friends and ran to my old stomping grounds, my favorite bar downtown.

It had only been three years since I left the scene there in my small town. The bouncers and the crowd were all new. When I walked in, the familiarity of the black painted walls and mahogany antique bar settled my nerves. The place was made up of several rooms and although not apparent from this vantage point, it was very large. After passing through the small, dark, narrow bar, it opened to a slightly roomier area filled with three tournament size pool tables. To the right, an enormous space unfurled, bigger than the other two sections put together. Two more bars flanked opposing sides of the concrete dance floor and a stage sat ahead against the back wall. A local band played cover tunes to the crowd. Cigarette smoke lingered like a blanket under the vaulted, unfinished ceiling as the music blared. I let it all wrap around me. I soaked it up and reminded myself that though I was married and had a baby, I was still a hottie.

Dressed in a pair of tight Levi’s with my breasts pushed up as high as I could get them in my low cut top, I moved through the crowd. Work it girl. Bolstered even more by the glances I received as I stalked through the bar, I grabbed a drink and wandered up to my favorite spot on the small balcony to watch the local band play. It wasn’t as loud up there, but still not quiet enough to have a decent conversation. I looked down at the crowd and searched for a familiar face. I didn’t see one.

The balcony area had been painted an odd shade of peach, almost as if it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be pink or orange. It had a few tiny, shadowed corners, perfect to hide in and escape the crowd, and a couple two-person tables. People came and went. Some caught my eye and most didn’t. Then I saw him, beer in hand, standing in the farthest corner behind me.

Jimmy Fitzgerald. Jimmy-fucking-Fitzgerald!

How long had he been there? I cocked my head to the side as I stared into his eyes. His mouth quirked a bit with a smile that made my stomach clench. Then he nodded. Glory to God, that fucking nod. I smiled and squared my shoulders. Man, he looked good. Too good. He made that gesture people make with their heads when they are saying, “What’s up?” Not like I could have heard him had he actually said the words, but still. Calm, cool, and collected, typical Jimmy. I approached him slowly. I looked good, I knew I did, but this was Jimmy. Could I pull his attention a second time? You’re the girl who gets what she wants, I told myself. I wanted Jimmy and this would be my only shot at the prize.

“How ya doin’ Jimmy?”

“Fine. It’s Jim now, no one’s called me that since we were kids.” He briefly met my eyes before focusing on my cleavage, then looked away. “You look good.”

I laughed. “Alright, Jim it is. Though I make no promises I won’t slip up.” I tapped his beer bottle with my glass and ignored his compliment.

“Fair enough.”

The moment passed and I moved to his side and leaned against the wall.

“So, how ya been? Shit, I asked that already.” I let out a nervous laugh and stirred my drink with its small straw. “I haven’t seen you in a really long time. It’s good to see you Jimm—Jim.”

“Didn’t you move, get married or some shit?”

“Yep, sure did. Had a kid, too. A little girl.”

“Congrats. Where’s your man?” He took a pull from his bottle.

“Who knows? Not mine anymore. Divorced.” I turned to face him. He had the shadow of a goatee and I itched to touch it.

He looked over at me and paused before he took another swig from his beer. “Is that so?” He leveled his stare with mine.

“Sure as hell is. Fuck him and the bitch he fucked in our bed.” I laughed and took a sip from my drink. My eyes never left his. His flicked to my lips, as I licked the liquid from them, and back to my eyes. I smiled. Got him.

I’m not even sure how it happened, but at some point, as the alcohol took hold of me and warmed my limbs, I reached up and stroked over his goatee. The next thing I knew he had me pressed against the wall kissing me, asking me, in between sucks and licks to my mouth, what I wanted. Did I want to go to a hotel or to my car? Did I want him?

“Come on, tell me.” He cupped my face in his hands.

Fucking hell yes, I wanted him. I had to have him. I wanted that man between my thighs so badly I would have dropped my pants right there if he had asked me to. He was drunk though, and I really wanted him sober, or at least half-sober.

“This is the only way it’s gonna happen.” He nuzzled my neck.

What the fuck did that mean? Did it mean he would only fuck me wasted out of his gourd, or was he always wasted out of his gourd? Screw it. I didn’t care. I decided to take my chance.

We drove to his parents’ house and parked off to the side behind some trees. It felt like high school all over again until we got into my backseat. He stripped off my shirt as he kissed me. He bit my lips and tongue. Our teeth banged into each other as he maneuvered me out of my pants. Jesus, I had to lean over and crack a window. It was damned hot in there, and the glass began to steam over as our breath filled the now cramped interior of my car. I was grateful for the camouflage of the dark and the fogged windows.

I pulled his shirt over his head and tugged open his jeans, freeing his cock. Jackpot! Rock hard and just for me. Fuck, absolutely perfect, too. I knew it would be. Nice and thick and long. With a groan, I gripped his cock in my hand and stroked it twice. I looked at him as he sucked in a breath and his head fell back against the seat, his eyes trained on me. He grabbed the back of my head and twisted my hair in his hands and pulled me to his mouth. His kisses were so hot and aggressive, like an animal, as he attacked my lips and tongue. Then he pulled me onto his lap. I knelt there and he palmed my tits, squeezed them hard, and bit my nipples. One, then the other, torturing each one to a tight nub. I moaned and dug my nails into his shoulders. He let go of my breasts and seized my ass in a death grip and slammed his cock deep inside my pussy. Surely I would have bruises in the morning, but I didn’t care.

A lot of moaning and grunting filled the space. Not much talking. Occasionally he or I would let out a “fuck” or a “yes.” He bit my shoulders and my nipples and kept a relentless grip on my ass as he pumped his hips and slammed me down onto his cock, over and over again.

My body melted in pure bliss as he fucked me harder than I had ever been fucked in my life. I loved every damn minute of it.

I drove him back to his car when we were done. On the way there he told me he liked it rough. (You think?) I was sore in places I didn’t even know existed. “Liking it rough” was an understatement. Honestly, though, that was just fuckin’ fine by me.

I woke up the next morning and wandered out to the kitchen. My mother sat at the table, having her coffee. I marveled at the familiar site of her. I poured myself a cup, turned, and leaned against the counter.

“Have any fun last night?” she asked.

I eyed her over my steaming cup. “Boy howdy,” I said and grinned at her.

“You look a little rode hard and put away wet.” She sipped her coffee.

“Well, mom…” I walked to the table. “I had sex with Jimmy Fitzgerald last night.”

“You did?” Her eyes widened. “Was it any good?”

I laughed and pulled the collar of my loose nightie to the side. “What do you think?”

“Holy shit!” She touched the bite marks tenderly. “Do they hurt?”

“Everything hurts, and I got what I wanted.” I grinned.

I finally got my mark, and in more ways than one. A girl like me gets what she wants, and I wanted Jimmy.

And I got him.