about not having anything to offer. I’m the charity case here.”
“I’ve never seen him like this before,” Shellie said, her big brown eyes sincere. “And money’s not a thing to our family. I mean, we have it, but we don’t make a big deal about it. Everyone but Sam. Sam’s a tightwad. Saves every penny for this mythical house he’s going to build after law school. He’s never done anything but sleep with my friends and break their hearts. I’ve certainly never seen any platinum necklaces before.”
I wished that made me relax, knowing I meant something to Sam. Instead it felt like pressure, and it was scary now that he wasn’t there with his playful bear hugs and piggyback rides to remind me that what I liked most about Sam was how fun he was, how he made me laugh.
The weeks went on. I dodged dates with Henry by pleading work and studying. I wrote Rafe secret, aching letters in which I told him what I wished for and wanted him to do with and to me in an ideal world where we didn’t have to worry about how we’d make our different lifestyles work.
And Sam called. He called every week on Friday night, making a point of letting me know he could be doing something else, dating someone else, but instead he was calling me to talk. He’d tell me he wanted to be with me instead, and he’d share funny stories about the frat house he lived in and even stories about Shellie and how she was as a kid and a little sister.
Sam paid for our phone calls without a whimper.
“He’s serious about you,” Shellie assured me. “He always grumbles about long-distance phone bills. Never calls home.”
I felt our attraction as Sam made me laugh, made me want him, and while he pushed me past my own comfort zone, he wasn’t as overwhelming as Rafe.
Rafe’s letters were totally addicting in a different way.
The letter he sent as he left for his month-long voyage to California contained a check for five hundred dollars wrapped around a poem. The note with the poem was simple.
Beautiful Ruby,
Come to California. I’ll be there by spring break. Come to me. I can’t wait any longer. Here’s money for your ticket. Call me at this number. I’ll be in San Francisco by March 1.
The poem was titled “First Night.”
“First Night”
She comes to me in ivory
Not white, because she’s Ruby
Even the skin of her secret places
Is a tawny shade of pale
Peppered with nutmeg freckles I want
To spend a lifetime counting.
She offers herself
Abundant and strong, sweet as honey and tangy as mango
And I use my tongue to worship her.
Every inch.
Every cranny.
Every place that’s never seen the sun or
Known the touch of a hand.
Nothing is hidden from me, nothing is off-limits as I make her mine.
She’s never known what can be felt and discovered, and every place I take her
I mark it mine
I take and I own
With kisses. With my hands. With my mouth.
With all of my body I worship her.
I teach her what has always been in her to feel.
I touch the nub of her pleasure until she explodes in cries of delight
And I’m surrounded
By her perfume
She’s the garden of my discovery.
Only when she’s boneless and begging
Will I move into her, sliding into that tight glove
Made for me alone
I’ll take that “jade gate” by storm
I’ll make it so good for her
She’s ruined for anyone but me
Because this is only the first night
And there will be an eternity more.
“Oh God, oh God.” I covered my mouth with my hand, and the check fluttered to the floor. “Oh no. What do I do?”
February 25 was the day I got his letter. Spring break started March 3, and Rafe would land the boat he was crewing to San Francisco in four days. Meanwhile, Shellie was making plans for us to travel together to New York, and Sam had a full slate of activities planned for the week of break.
Even Henry had been relentless lately, and I still didn’t want to break up with him because it was so hard to hurt his feelings. I didn’t
“I’ve never seen him like this before,” Shellie said, her big brown eyes sincere. “And money’s not a thing to our family. I mean, we have it, but we don’t make a big deal about it. Everyone but Sam. Sam’s a tightwad. Saves every penny for this mythical house he’s going to build after law school. He’s never done anything but sleep with my friends and break their hearts. I’ve certainly never seen any platinum necklaces before.”
I wished that made me relax, knowing I meant something to Sam. Instead it felt like pressure, and it was scary now that he wasn’t there with his playful bear hugs and piggyback rides to remind me that what I liked most about Sam was how fun he was, how he made me laugh.
The weeks went on. I dodged dates with Henry by pleading work and studying. I wrote Rafe secret, aching letters in which I told him what I wished for and wanted him to do with and to me in an ideal world where we didn’t have to worry about how we’d make our different lifestyles work.
And Sam called. He called every week on Friday night, making a point of letting me know he could be doing something else, dating someone else, but instead he was calling me to talk. He’d tell me he wanted to be with me instead, and he’d share funny stories about the frat house he lived in and even stories about Shellie and how she was as a kid and a little sister.
Sam paid for our phone calls without a whimper.
“He’s serious about you,” Shellie assured me. “He always grumbles about long-distance phone bills. Never calls home.”
I felt our attraction as Sam made me laugh, made me want him, and while he pushed me past my own comfort zone, he wasn’t as overwhelming as Rafe.
Rafe’s letters were totally addicting in a different way.
The letter he sent as he left for his month-long voyage to California contained a check for five hundred dollars wrapped around a poem. The note with the poem was simple.
Beautiful Ruby,
Come to California. I’ll be there by spring break. Come to me. I can’t wait any longer. Here’s money for your ticket. Call me at this number. I’ll be in San Francisco by March 1.
The poem was titled “First Night.”
“First Night”
She comes to me in ivory
Not white, because she’s Ruby
Even the skin of her secret places
Is a tawny shade of pale
Peppered with nutmeg freckles I want
To spend a lifetime counting.
She offers herself
Abundant and strong, sweet as honey and tangy as mango
And I use my tongue to worship her.
Every inch.
Every cranny.
Every place that’s never seen the sun or
Known the touch of a hand.
Nothing is hidden from me, nothing is off-limits as I make her mine.
She’s never known what can be felt and discovered, and every place I take her
I mark it mine
I take and I own
With kisses. With my hands. With my mouth.
With all of my body I worship her.
I teach her what has always been in her to feel.
I touch the nub of her pleasure until she explodes in cries of delight
And I’m surrounded
By her perfume
She’s the garden of my discovery.
Only when she’s boneless and begging
Will I move into her, sliding into that tight glove
Made for me alone
I’ll take that “jade gate” by storm
I’ll make it so good for her
She’s ruined for anyone but me
Because this is only the first night
And there will be an eternity more.
“Oh God, oh God.” I covered my mouth with my hand, and the check fluttered to the floor. “Oh no. What do I do?”
February 25 was the day I got his letter. Spring break started March 3, and Rafe would land the boat he was crewing to San Francisco in four days. Meanwhile, Shellie was making plans for us to travel together to New York, and Sam had a full slate of activities planned for the week of break.
Even Henry had been relentless lately, and I still didn’t want to break up with him because it was so hard to hurt his feelings. I didn’t
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