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Just For Now

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A/N: Before you read, THIS IS NOT MY USUAL FANDOM... just wanted you all to know that. I watched the movie last night, and this has been rolling around in my head ever since. I had to write it down.

I don't always know how to explain Esther to people. Sure, she's older than me, but there's something about her, this indescribable quality that sort of makes the world look a little different when I'm around her. We don't say "I love you," and that's fine, because even though we don't say it, it's there. Not in that bullshit stars-in-our-eyes romantic comedy kind of way, but there's this easiness when we're together, that's really fucking hard to find with a lot of women.

So when people ask me, "What's your deal?" and they nod questioningly in her direction, I don't always know what to say. Sure, we fuck, on a regular basis. She only has to lean into me with that look in her eye, you know which one I'm talking about, that look that says, "Please pin me to the wall with your massive cock" and I'm rock hard and looking for a suitable wall in seconds. It's not just fucking though, it's something else. I don't really know what to call it without sounding like some soft art-school fucker, but it is something.

And sometimes I get mad, punch a hole through dry wall kind of mad, when people look at us like we don't belong together. I guess I have anger issues. It never bothers her, she just smiles and continues whatever conversation is still hanging in the air. Outwardly she seems like the happiest person on the planet. She's not, but she works with what she's got, and I guess I admire that.

Esther's unlike anyone I've ever been with. Sure, that first impulsive time we fucked like horny teenagers in her car, it didn't seem that different from all the other quick lays. The endorphin rush wafting away into the night, almost like it had never happened. But as she leaned back against her headrest, eyes glazed over from her own endorphin rush, she had this little smile that was unlike anything I'd seen on a well fucked woman. She'd stared at me while she toked on her joint, not breaking eye contact. It was like she had a secret, about me, and she was just damn pleased about it.

I couldn't have left then. I needed to know what the hell she'd found out. That's how it is with her, we'll be making love (and I shit you not, that's what it is) and suddenly we're just talking, and the strangest part of it all is, I don't mind.

For most girls, around these parts anyway, sex is this tool, this means to a fucking end. They either give it up immediately because they're lonely, then cling to you desperately, or they hold onto it, like it's some kind of fucking medal of honor. "Good girls don't give it up one the first night" or some shit like that. Here's the thing though, I've had one night stands, enough to fill a phone book, and I've been in relationships with the "good girls" and they're both fucking wrong.

Sex is not a tool, and it isn't something that'll fix your loneliness. Sex is something you do with another person. Sounds simple, right? Well it's not. It's ridiculously complicated, and I never even knew it until I met Esther.

It's like giving head. Ok, I'll admit it, I never liked going down on girls. Are you kidding me? No fucking way. It's a fucking chore, ok. Most girls take forever to come, if they do at all. You set up camp down there and you work and work at it, maybe enlist the help of a few digits, your jaw starts to ache and you look up, just to take a peek, to see if you can read how close she is by how hard she's panting, and the second you stop she just huffs out a little irritated sigh, like you're the biggest fucking disappointment known to man. So no, I never really liked it, but somehow, God only knows how, we end up talking about this.

If you'd asked me a year ago, if I would ever stay in bed with a woman after we'd had sex, and then talk about things like books and philosophy and the merits of eating pussy, I would have told you to go fuck yourself. That's the thing though, with her it's like I'm already in the middle of the conversation before I even know it's started.

So, when she asked why I never went down on her, it wasn't an accusation or anything. I could hear the open curiosity in her voice, and when she looked at me she didn't do that thing women do. You know what I'm talking about. That thing, when they ask you a question, then give you this pointed look, as if trying to tell you telepathically what they want your answer to be. She just wanted to know why, for real.

So I told her, pretty much verbatim what I said earlier, and she just laughed. Not a bitchy laugh, but a genuine, honest to goodness amused laugh. "You're totally missing the fucking point. You think I suck your dick because I like the way it tastes?" She said. "When you go down on a girl, it isn't about you, or whether or not you like it. Hell, it isn't even about her, or whether or not she enjoys it. It's about wanting to give her something that gives you nothing. It's selflessness. If you feel like it's an obligation, there's no point." Then she'd pressed an affectionate kiss to the side of my face and settled into my arms, just like that. No judgment or irritation. She was just explaining something to me.

And that's how she gets me sometimes. That conversation got me to thinking, "Have I really never done it just because I wanted to?" I mean, I felt like there may have been times when I initiated it, but it was still for a purpose. Usually, with a girl that was so hot I assumed she expected that, and maybe I wanted a blowjob in return, but never just because.

So now I do it all the time, and yeah, sometimes she returns the favor, but not because she thinks she has to, just because she wants to. I'll tell you one thing she was wrong about though. It isn't a selfless act. Sure, I don't come when she does, and sometimes we don't even have sex afterward, but I can't even begin to describe that feeling I get when she loses it in front of me.

I feel her curl into fingers into my hair, her nails scrape against my scalp, and I hear those out and out animal noises she makes as she breathes hard. And, when she finally does come, I can feel it. She bucks against me, tensing her leg muscles around me, arching her back as she lifts herself from the mattress. It's like she's having an out of body experience and I'm the only witness. If you don't think that sounds amazing, you're a fucking liar.

Esther has taught me a lot about sex, and I don't mean some shit like new positions and whatnot. I mean about what it means between two people. Sure, it can be a leisure activity with someone you barely know, and that's fine, or it can be this intense soul baring experience with someone you're deeply connected with, and that's fucking unbelievable.

What I was doing before pales in comparison to what we do now. With those girls, the ones who used it as a sort of tool to get what they wanted, whether it was affection or attention, or whether they just wanted to snag a husband. It was mechanical. Honestly, those chicks could have been blowup dolls, and I probably wouldn't have felt a difference. I'd dump my load in them, immediately wondering when I could sneak away, maybe go watch some porn and masturbate, maybe get off again. It's not like that anymore.

Esther and I aren't exclusive though. You might think that's weird, after all I've said about her already, but she's not looking for a relationship, and that's fine with me. I still go out, I still find the occasional girl to hook up with. The girls these days are different though. I guess you could say I have standards now. I thought I had standards before, and believe me the girls I pulled into those eagerly waiting cabs were definite tens, but it was all a game, and it was so boring after a while.

These days I'm less predatory. I used to go in a club and immediately scope out all the girls, mentally ticking off the ones that met the physical specifications I'd predetermined. Too skinny, too fat, too tall, too short. I'd zero in on one of the girls that fitted into the mold I wanted, and then aggressively pursue her, ignoring any signs that we had nothing in common, and probably couldn't have a conversation more than two sentences long. Because, really, who cared about fucking talking? I was there for the sex.

This thing with Esther has changed that. Somehow, knowing things about the girl you're plowing into, like what her dreams are, or what her favorite flavor of ice cream is, changes sex. For the better I'd say. Now, I'm not saying I chat them up for hours before I take them home and fuck their brains out, not at all, but I do have some sort of conversation with them beforehand. Sometimes a casual hookup is just what the doctor ordered, but these days I look for girls who are on the same page as me, and who have already learned this lesson about sex that Esther has taught me. Girls that know how to enjoy the moment, to enjoy me, to give and receive.

I guess one day Esther and I will go our separate ways, or maybe she'll decide she wants a relationship. If that's the case there's a chance she'll want it with someone else. Occasionally I get the feeling that I'm a passing diversion for her, a project to fill the time until she really heals, something to distract her from constant pain.

That's another thing that she's taught me about. Pain. I've never seen someone so filled with grief, yet still able to function, and well I might add. I guess I always thought, the healthiest way to deal with grief was to do anything you could to get rid of it, to throw it out with the morning trash. Esther hangs on to hers though, like memento from a different life.

The first time I saw her crying was before we'd ever met, and when I saw her standing in the doorway, I admit, my first thought was, "What the fuck is this broad doing?" She was standing in the only entry to a building that I had to go in, completely blocking my path. I hate crying women more than anything, and it's not because I feel sorry for them. It's because a crying woman always has something to say. She'll look up at you, with tears in her eyes, and she'll expect something. A pat on the back, a kind word. I can't say I've ever felt like I had time for that shit.

She didn't do any of those things though, she quickly moved out of the way and tossed out a quick apology before drying her tears and moving on, and damned if it didn't make me feel like an asshole. It wasn't very long after we started this thing we have going that I saw her crying again, and yeah, it still made me uncomfortable. I mean, what the fuck do you do? I tried to say the right thing, and she just laughed, not a sad laugh or a mean laugh. She was amused. "You don't have to say anything, I'll be cried out shortly. It's just sometimes I see a brand of cereal that Jonah liked, or a man walking down the street carrying a book bag that looked like Adam's. I'll sit on it all day and think about it until this just pours out of me. It'll pass."

Jonah and Adam have been gone for two years. A drunk driver ran them off the road into a ravine. Alive one second, dead the next, not a second of warning. It's the kind of bullshit you read about in the newspaper and get pissed about. She's changed little about her house in the two years they've been gone. Jonah's schoolbooks still sit on the shelf, Adam's trench coat still hangs in the hall closet. It really creeped me out at first. I'd get this sensation that someone was watching us while we did it doggy style in the shower, but I've come to realize she just can't let go yet. These days when she cries, I know there's nothing I can do. I just lie with her until she gets it out of her system. She says a good cry is like a good night's sleep sometimes, and it just clears away all the bad shit, at least temporarily.

I guess you could say, Esther is my friend more than anything. A friend I have a large amount of mind blowing sex with, but still a friend. We watch shitty action flicks and talk about whatever book she's reading for school. We take walks and go out to eat. We have disagreements, but never blowouts, and I always walk away from them feeling like I just fucking discovered something.

Like I said, I know one day, perhaps not too far in the future, we won't quite fit together like we do now. She likes to say the universe plopped us down next to each other at the exact right moment in our lives. She needs to heal, I need to grow the fuck up. That's how it is sometimes. Not everyone you love is your soulmate, if that cotton candy and rainbows bullshit really even exists, but it doesn't make them any less important. Even when part ways, Esther will always be mine, and I will always be hers.