The Stand-In

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“Thank you for going with me to the exhibit,” she says. She pauses, looking down at her keys that she’s playing with nervously. “I’m really glad I found you here.” She lets out an airy laugh, maybe a little embarrassed at how cliched that sounded. “I spent a lot of time going out alone before we met. Now I find myself more interested in going with you than when I was doing it on my own.”

I can’t help but look at her with the warmth she has brought into my life this semester. “I’m always glad when you invite me. Really, I should be thanking you. Getting to hear your fanciful and, frankly, insane takes on the works turned what would have been an intellectual curiosity into one of the better evenings I’ve had this semester.” I smirk at her, holding in a laugh.

She’s looking at me, skeptical. “I’m pretty interesting, aren’t I?”

“Oh, you absolutely are,” I reply, quickly. “Why else would I put up with you?”

We both lean against her front door. A foot separates us. Maybe. My hands in my pockets. Her fumbling with her keys. Silence falls between us, beautiful and full of tension. It’s only made awkward when she breaks eye contact to look down at her hands nervously playing with her keys.

I slowly reach a hand up and lay a finger across her soft cheek. “Lana, I-“

“You know we can’t,” she says with a frail pain in the back of her throat.

“You know I’m crazy about you,” I say softly. “Just tell me you don’t feel the same way. Tell me something other than we can’t.” I’m desperate for her to answer. Lectures. Movies. Symphonies. Art exhibits. We’re together more evenings than not over the last few months. And here we are, again, timidly standing at her door after another evening enjoying each other’s company.

“He’s not here,” I continue, with a soft exasperation. “He’s eight hundred miles away.” I shake my head. “When was the last time he even visited you?” I ask with too much contempt.

By all rights, he’s the smart choice. He’s better looking than me. He’s no doubt going to make more money than me, given my proclivities to eccentricity. But isn’t that exactly why we are here? Besides the fact that he’s not here. I want her to tell me that she enjoys her time with him more than me. And — honestly — I’m tired of being a stand-in for a boyfriend going to school several states away. Don’t get me wrong. This evening has been wonderful. And so have our countless other evenings together. If she could tell me she doesn’t have feelings for me, I’d leave it be. I’d be by her side at any play, any author reading, as nothing more than her friend. But…

“You could have said goodnight and gone inside when we got here,” I continue. “But you didn’t.” I pause for a moment. “I know why I’m standing here. What’s keeping you?”

She’s gorgeous. And smart. And fun. And bothers to think about things that wouldn’t occur to most people. She’s insightful. And has cute freckles on her cute little nose. And… I want to say she’s kind. She is, but she freezes when she’s forced to make a decision. I know it’s my fault. I know I don’t deserve anything from her. But it breaks my heart a little bit more every time we are here.

Her eyes turn cold. “It’s my porch.”

“It is,” I say, agreeing with her immediately. I take a step back and say, as casual as I can manage, “And the choice between lamb and chicken korma was yours this evening. But you let the waiter decide.” She glares at me. I let a silence linger. “He asked you out before we met? Is that it? The deciding factor? You can’t go your whole life avoiding decisions, Lana…”

“I think you should go,” she says with ice on her breath.

I nod, sadly, knowing I didn’t have to push like that. I take a couple steps toward my car, then turn around, still slowly backing away. “It was a wonderful evening,” I say, almost slurring the words together trying to choke back my regret. “I wouldn’t give it up.”

She looks at me for one last moment, with sadness in her eyes, she walks inside and closes the door behind her.

* * *

It’s a few hours short of two days later as I walk into the student radio station. Lana and I were supposed to go to a play last night, but she hasn’t returned my calls. In the music library, which doubles as our general purpose room, Jason, Brandon and Lana are sorting through the new albums that arrived this week. In the eryaman escort studio, to the right, two young women talk animatedly and silently to microphones. To the left Clark sits in the shared office working at the computer. There’s another office, which we keep locked, for the business manager. This semester, Lana drew the short straw on that job. Last semester it was me. It’s a thankless job.

“Good afternoon,” I say. Everyone responds with a distracted greeting, except Lana, who doesn’t even look up.

Great. I really shouldn’t have said any of that. I shouldn’t have pushed. I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, I know what I was thinking. That’s she’s beautiful and smart and sexy and I wanted her to kiss me, not go inside after our evening together and tell her boyfriend about the exhibit while strategically leaving my presence out of the description. But I shouldn’t have hurt her. I knew what I was doing.

“Anything for me?” I ask, trying to carry on.

Jason hands me a CD. “Some band called Tullycraft. The album releases in two weeks. I need your review by next Tuesday.”

“New band?”

“Third album.”

“Oh,” I say. I turn the jacket over in my hand. Beat. Surf. Fun. Looks one hair the other side of clever with its 60s surf movie motif. “Nothing else?”

“Lana took the new Clinic album,” Brandon interjects.

She looks at me with a smirk. Well, that’s something. I guess I can give this a try.

“Trade?” I ask her.

“I don’t do twee,” she says, with attitude. Fuck me, I guess I do.

We hold eye contact for a moment, as she continues the smirk. “Rip it and send it to me?” I ask.

She considers for a moment, not breaking eye contact. I smile at her, hopeful. For both the album and for her to show any sign of forgiving me.

“I can do that,” she says, finally. She stands up. “I came in to file our financials.” She walks past me toward the private office. She’s wearing a skirt, which is a little out of character for Lana, but I can’t complain about what it does, well, I guess what it does for me. “You guys can fight over the scraps,” she says without turning around.

I sit down to shuffle through the dwindling pile of no-name albums.

“What was that about?” Jason observes.

“I pissed her off,” I say.

Among the pile is a postcard announcing a new album by The Promise Ring. I hold up the postcard in display to everyone at the table. They don’t look. “This is mine when it comes in,” I say. “I’m serious. I’ll kill whoever takes it.” Nobody listens to me.

I get up and head into the office to talk to Clark. He’s been coding a new website for the station. I’m doing the graphics, so we’ve got some things to catch up on.

I hear the other office door open as Clark and I are discussing the interface. Lana pokes her head in the door. She looks at me. “Can you join me for a few minutes?” she asks very seriously. I look at Clark with confusion and just a little bit worried for my physical well being. But, I follow her into the office.

“Shut the door,” she requests, leaning against the desk, arms crossed. As the door closes, she says, “Come over here.”

I look at her, confused, but take a step toward her. “What’s going-“

“No questions,” she commands. After a moment her eyes soften. “Closer.” I step up to her. She puts both hands flat on my chest. My heart begins to race. I swallow hard. “I like hanging out with you,” she says. “So we have to get this out of our systems.”

I start to ask a question but she quickly raises her eyebrows to remind me of her command.

“This is a one time thing. Do you understand?” I do not understand. Nor do I know how to respond.

Her rigid posture begins to melt. She looks up at me, then stands on her tip toes and kisses me, timidly at first, but quickly morphs into the kiss of lovers who have been separated by an ocean.


She pulls back, while I’m still stunned she takes my hand and places it between her thighs, lifting her skirt out of the way. Her warmth enters my hand and spreads through me, sending shivers through my body. She looks at me with a slight nod. I quickly find the waistband of her her panties and, slowing down, slip my hand inside. My eager fingers find a slight dampness between her legs. She puts more weight on the desk and spreads her legs enough to give me entry.

I ulus escort look into her eyes deeply as I press a finger against her labia, my finger easily gliding inside her. She quickly pulls me closer in time to muffle a moan into my chest.

As her wetness spreads over my finger, she reaches behind her, lifting up the back of her shirt, and unclasps her bra. Arms disappearing and some moments later, she slips it off with her shirt still on, and places my other hand up her shirt. I don’t know how I find myself in what must be heaven, one hand buried between her legs and the other up her shirt, but I do my best to pay attention to what I am doing with both hands, and not distract myself with whys.

I move my finger slightly in and out of her pussy, spreading her juices over her lips and my finger, to make things more comfortable for her. I trace the curves of her breasts slowly, letting my other fingers occasionally stray, lost in the subtle curves of her petite breasts.

When my hand and her labia are well lubricated, I look her in the eyes and sink a finger deep inside her. She doesn’t quite make it back into my chest before this moan makes it past her lips. I move my palm against her groin to apply pressure to her clit while slowly stroking my finger in her pussy. With my other I brush my fingers across her nipples, which I find already erect.

“I want to see you,” I whisper into her ear.

She breathes for a moment before replying, “I can give you this.”

“I can’t-?” She cuts me off with a hard look, with a combination of regret and lust, and slightly shakes her head. “I can kiss you?” I ask.


I kiss her deep. She wraps her arms around me. Her hips begin to move with the rhythm of my wrist. As I pull my finger out, I reposition and slip two fingers inside her. She closes her eyes and digs her nails into my arm, but doesn’t object. I leave my fingers deep in her for a moment, giving her time to adjust. As her fingers loosen I keep my palm pressed tight against her mons and start bending my fingers forward while pushing my knuckles back, then straightening them out, in a wave motion, brushing up against the forward wall of her pussy, as close as I can get to the rhythm I was at before. She starts moving her hips with my rhythm again.

My other hand explores her breasts, taking in as much of them as possible, as my only connection to them. I let a nipple roll between my index and middle fingers as I rub my hand across her breasts. My other hand is buried so deep in her by this point I don’t think her feet are touching the floor any more.

I stare into her eyes, inches away, wanting to tell her how much I want her, but stop short as I see the same in her eyes. I let our lips connect with the hunger I have for her. She softly moans into my mouth. I take her lower lip between mine and pull at it. She breaks our kiss and buries her face into my chest and lets out a muffled moan, again. The rhythm of her hips is broken by desperate motions pressing into me.

I change the motion of my fingers, pressing one forward and the other back, then reversing, like upside down walking fingers. She pulls her face back to look at me in time to show me her mouth opening in surprise as she takes a sudden gasp of air, her eyes big, looking up at me. Her hips are speeding up, so I speed up the motion of my fingers with them.

Seemingly not wanting to break eye contact, she nods her head at me, in rhythm, and whispers, “I’m gonna cum,” in one quick breath. I need to feel her cum. I need to watch her climax. I stare into her eyes as I keep speed in sync with the movement of her hips until, suddenly, it is broken by a jerk of her hips and her pussy clamping down on my fingers. She closes her legs tight around my hand and lays into me with another deep kiss as her body shudders in release.

She places her forehead on my chest, looking down. She whispers, “Are you fucking kidding me?” under her breath. I feel her body slowly relax. She loosens her legs’ hold on my hand. I slide my hand out of her panties, two fingers covered in her now thick juices.

Before I can decide what to do about it, she stands up and pulls the office chair from the desk. “Sit down.” I do as I’m told. She straddles me and sits on me lightly, running her hand up my crotch and feeling my hard cock. eryaman escort She smiles at me, shifting my erection to center under the fabric of my shorts, then moves forward on my lap, pressing hard into me, panties still on.

She starts to roll her hips over me. I look at her with longing and joy, but I probably just look struck-dumb. I can hear the wetness under her panties as she grinds on my cock through my shorts. I’m thankful of my decision to wear cotton shorts this morning, and not jeans. And for- Oh. Her skirt makes the mechanics of all this much simpler.

Her nipples poke into the fabric of her shirt as she moves on top of me. I want to see them, to suck them. I reach my hands back under her shirt, but clumsily and purposefully lift it, exposing the soft curve of her stomach. She looks at me, feigning disappointment, and pulls it back down.

She leans forward and whispers into my ear. “I know how hard it’s been,” she says. She nibbles on my ear. I forget where I am for a moment. A formless void with two bodies pressed up against each other seems as likely a setting for this as the one we are in.

“Every evening you bring me home…” she continues, grinding into me harder, breathing short, warm breathes onto my ear, moving her pelvis along my shaft.

“I stand on the porch with you-” She gasps. “…thinking…” Her hips rock faster against me, her legs squeezing around me every time she moved forward. I grab her full, round ass and push myself into her as she moves into me. Her lips press against my ear as she breathes deep, surprised. After a few breaths she recovers.

“Imagining what…” She breathes heavy. “What this would be like,” she manages to get out, before biting my shoulder and letting out a moan as her body jerks and her legs go tight around me for a few seconds. My hands caress her soft, tender ass as she obviously cums again. I want to strip her naked. I want to see her, admire her nakedness. I imagine what she would look like, naked on top of me.

Her mouth forms words, breathlessly. Breathing hard, she resumes grinding into me. After a few moments to catch up with her breathing, she whispers to me, instructively, “I need you to cum.” She runs her fingers through my hair.

Watching her climax, again, brought me really close. “Tell me that you want me,” I beg her. She bites her lip and nods with short, sharp movements, her eyes full of desire. I can feel the pressure building inside, my body ready to give her what she wants from me. My fingers are still wrapped tight around her ass, pulling her into me. She rocks her hips, rubbing her pussy over my cock, hard.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she whispers to me, staring into my eyes. Her hips move faster. I let go of her ass and move my hands up her back, pulling her full body into me. I feel her breasts press into me. I feel her chest as she breathes. I press my hips into her in rhythm with her movements. “Don’t let go of me,” she begs. Then her voice cracks, “Don’t let go.”

My cock releases, pulsing, over and over, as I moan into her shoulder. Her hips slow as my body relaxes from the release. We hold each other, arms wrapped around each other.

As I’m still in a daze, her body tenses, she lets go of me, pulls away and stands up. Her lips are tight. She doesn’t make eye contact. She grabs her bra, takes her arms into her shirt and puts it back on. I wonder if this went further than she meant, got more intimate than she intended. She pulls her skirt down. Her hair is tousled with stray hairs and clumps. This small office smells of sex. A wet spot is spreading down from the waistline of my shorts from my semen soaking into them, growing toward a damp spot where Lana’s pussy was pressed into me.

She looks at the ground and swallows. Without saying a word she opens the door to leave and closes it behind her quickly.

‘Holy fuck,’ is my only thought, before I realize I have a more immediate situation to freak out about. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get out of here. My shorts are soaked in my cum. I stand up to see how much my shirt will cover. About 80%? Is there even a point? It’s not like I’m going to open that door and casually walk out with nobody noticing me, after Lana just left.

I’m going to just have to do this. Walk to the front door, down the hall to the restroom and see if I can’t make myself presentable enough to get home.

I put my hands in my pockets and practice pulling my shirt down just a bit further. I pause for a moment at the door, then open it. Every eye turns toward me, immediately. I don’t see Lana. I smile, nervously.

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