The Warm Waterfall

The Warm Waterfall

Evan had already decided the match was dead when Nora replied:

Well, you never asked!

He stared at the message long enough to make the three words feel less direct than they were. Then he looked at what he had sent her.

Well, we never got to the sex part.

There was a meme above it, something silly about two people completing all the required small talk on a dating app and being awarded permission to admit why they had matched. Evan had sent it because their first attempt at conversation had been impressively bad.

Nora was thirty-four. She worked in research for a software company, had auburn hair that changed from brown to copper depending on the photograph, and had written that she was not looking to rush into anything. Evan was thirty-six, worked in logistics, and had answered her opening question about weekend plans with so much detail that even he became bored while rereading it.

She said his Sunday sounded productive.

He said hers sounded restful.

She reacted with a thumbs-up.

That should have been the end.

Two evenings later, Evan saw the meme, thought of their lifeless exchange and sent it before dignity could improve his judgment. The provocative sentence beneath it was partly a joke and partly a final attempt to discover whether there was a person behind Nora's polite replies.

There was.

Was I supposed to ask? he wrote.

It would have made the conversation less painful.

What would you have said?

Nora made him wait six minutes.

Depends how well you asked.

The conversation found its pulse almost immediately. They still discussed work, films and the strange number of people who photographed themselves holding fish, but now each subject contained a small door into the next one. Nora liked direct questions. Evan was better when he stopped trying to appear harmless. She told him she was not looking for a boyfriend. He said he was not trying to become one by stealth.

Neither of them made a promise beyond meeting for a drink.

At the bar, Nora looked more amused than she had in her photographs. That was the first thing Evan noticed. Not her hair, the copper satin beneath her black velvet jacket or the soft curve of her waist when she sat. Her amusement. It remained in her face even when she was listening, as though she had discovered something about him before deciding whether to share it.

Their phones lay face down on the small table.

"You talk better in person," she said.

"You talk better after somebody mentions sex."

"You took two days to mention it."

"I was trying to be respectful."

"You were discussing laundry."

Evan laughed. Nora watched him do it, and the private amusement warmed into a smile.

The drink lasted nearly two hours. Neither ordered a third. They had agreed that this was casual, and casual arrangements often become strangely formal around the moment both people understand where the night is going.

Outside, Nora stood close while Evan ordered a car.

"Mine is seven minutes away," he said.

"Cancel it."

He looked at her.

"Do you want to finally get to the sex part?" she asked.

The second car took them to her apartment.

Nora's living room was small and carefully inhabited. A dark sofa faced a low bookshelf. One lamp threw amber light across the wall. There were two mugs on the coffee table, a folded throw, and a shallow bowl containing keys, three coins and a lipstick without its cap.

Evan noticed these things because Nora did not kiss him immediately.

She put her bag down, removed her shoes and asked whether he wanted water. He said yes. She brought two glasses, placed them beside the mugs and sat at the opposite end of the sofa.

For ten seconds they became the people from their first conversation again.

"This is the awkward bit," Evan said.

"Only if you start telling me about laundry."

"I have nothing left to say about laundry."

"Good."

Nora moved closer and kissed him.

The first contact was soft enough to leave them room to change their minds. The second did not. Nora placed one hand behind his neck and opened her mouth against his. Evan felt the laughter leave both of them without making the room solemn. She shifted onto his lap, copper satin creasing at her waist, and kissed him until the two days of dead conversation became difficult to believe.

She had not been shy. She had been unconvinced.

That difference mattered to him.

Evan touched her slowly at first. Nora corrected him without embarrassment, moving his hand higher, then pressing closer when he understood. Her body was soft where he expected softness and decisive everywhere else. She chose the pace of the kiss, the moment his shirt came off and the moment she stood to remove her trousers.

When he looked at her, she held his attention.

"Still glad you asked?" she said.

"I didn't ask very well."

"You can improve."

She took his hand and led him toward the bedroom, then stopped after two steps.

"Actually," she said, looking back at the sofa, "here."

The choice felt spontaneous until Evan realized the room belonged entirely to her. Nora knew the light, the height of the cushions and how far the curtains closed. She lay back across the sofa and drew him with her.

He kissed down her body without hurrying. Nora's hand remained in his hair, not forcing him lower but keeping him connected to her attention. When his mouth reached her, she opened her legs and gave one small movement toward him. It was permission, appetite and instruction at once.

Evan began gently. Nora responded to pressure more than speed, to his tongue holding a patient rhythm and changing only when her breathing told him to. She guided him once with two fingers at his temple. After that, he listened to her body.

"I should tell you something," she said.

He looked up.

Nora's face had changed. The amused confidence remained, but pleasure had made it less defended.

"I squirt," she said.

Evan waited.

"You look very calm about that."

"Should I look alarmed?"

"No. I just don't want you surprised."

"All right."

She hesitated, then smiled.

"It doesn't happen from oral anyway."

Evan did not accept that as a challenge. Challenges made people perform. He returned his mouth to her and treated the information as simply another thing Nora believed about herself.

Her thighs tightened gradually around him. The hand in his hair stopped directing and began holding. Evan kept the same pressure even when her breathing broke, resisting the common mistake of becoming frantic merely because pleasure had become visible.

Nora said his name once.

Then her body tightened. Some of the salty liquid entered his mouth; the rest splattered across his chest.

Evan startled and lifted his head a fraction. He had never felt a woman squirt before. The surprise lasted no longer than that. He put his mouth back on her and kept licking while Nora convulsed against his tongue, one hand gripping the sofa cushion while the other held him close.

It became too much for her before he was ready to stop. Nora pressed at his forehead and pushed him away, breathless. Evan lifted his head, enjoying the taste, the wetness across his chest and the fact that her own body had just contradicted her.

She was staring at him.

"That doesn't happen," she said.

Evan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You may need to update your profile."

Nora laughed, but the sound came out weak and astonished. She covered her face for a moment, then reached for him.

"Come here."

He lay beside her. Nora kissed him without asking him to clean his mouth first. The intimacy of that surprised Evan almost as much as her orgasm had surprised her.