Free Lines We Forget by J.E. Warren

preferred to hop on and get to the finish line before the footy kicked off. Just doing what they needed to, without much concern for what she might enjoy. It had been a blur of sweaty thrusts and wham-bam-thank-you-ma'ams. And from her side it had been a lot of fake, copied-from-the-movies groans and disappointed frustration.
    The comparison to past lovers comes up again when Charlie looks towards her, hair all a mess, to grin as she lets out a dirty but encouraging word.
    And she can’t help but run through the ranking system in her mind, which is experienced enough that she knows what he presents to her when he reappears is pretty impressive.
    Anna still finds it amusing just how different they all look, in shape and size, how a few were aesthetically pleasing and others not so much. Some she felt relief to never see or touch again, but she’s relieved to find that Charlie needn’t have to worry about falling into that category because as she throws caution to the wind and climbs onto him, she feels just how great, how wonderful it is.
    Staring down, with her hands firmly on his chest, she loses herself completely and finds she doesn’t care who knows it. Not the neighbours or the car she can hear idling out in the street below her window. She doesn’t even give a damn if Jaz comes back and stumbles across them.
    Because the feeling of Charlie, hard and in sync with her body, and the way he’s gazing up like she’s the only thing in his whole world, gives Anna a liberating feeling unlike anything she’s ever felt before.
    There’s no worry, no wrong or right. It’s not awkward or tense. She’s not trying to cover up the god-awful ring scar on her belly button from being a rebellious teen or her swollen stomach full of dinner.
    Charlie and his touch tell her that he wants to be there, with her, in her, and she can feel it and taste it with every movement. And if he’s been nervous or inexperienced she thinks he’s certainly not showing it. In fact it’s the opposite.
    Anna’s happy, deliriously so, and as he rhythmically pushes her hips down hard she knows what’s coming.
    It’s the feeling she’s read about a hundred times over in books and magazines, seen in films, on TV—that elusive, all-encompassing, intoxicating moment.
    So when it does happens, without restraint, she’s sure that her neighbours can now not only hear her but feel it too—like how the bed appears to shake, how she feels almost weightless. As if she’s being pulled from all sides.
    A sensational rush of such magnitude, it’s like the bedroom’s spinning and she might not be able to uncurl her toes ever again. Her fingers still cling to the bed frame, her mouth slack and open wide.
    Anna can see between the black spots and blur that Charlie’s chest rises and heaves and he’s staring into her eyes. Slowly she lets her fingertips relax as his hand comes up to hold her neck, guiding her to rest on his chest.
    After she’s caught back her breath and the feeling in her toes and when her thighs stop trembling, the inevitable question starts to play on her mind.
    She knows that guys don’t like to stick around much after doing the deed. Even though Charlie has acted different to all the rest he still probably doesn’t want to stay over.
    She wonders what lame excuse he’ll use, and if it’s one she’s heard before or something new. Because she’s pretty sure he won’t want to wake up next to her in the morning, or walk to work together as that would make it all too official.
    To soften the blow of what’s next to come, she fakes a light yawn and rolls onto her side.
    “You okay?” Charlie asks, then yawns back before his lips press down on her forehead.
    “Yeah, just tired. Shattered,” Anna replies. “Didn’t realise how late it is.”
    “Is your housemate coming back or is she out for the night?”
    “She’ll be back in the morning.”
    “Cool.”
    It gives her faint hope to see he’s not given any indication that