In Black and White

Elliot checked his watch and noted with alarm, that he had less than twenty minutes before the realtor showed up with the prospective buyers. He was supposed to be done with cleaning out the office and off the premises before they arrived. He dragged over another packing box and began emptying the desk drawers not bothering to sort through the material; he could do that once he got settled in the new place. Elliot was just about to start on the last file drawer when a piece of paper slipped free from the pile and landed at his feet, face up. It was a black and white Polaroid and seeing it again brought his entire world to a crushing halt.

It was a candid shot of Emily, taken just moments after they had made fervent love on his ratty futon. She had looked so beautiful, poised like a raven-haired goddess among the wash of mismatched pillows and thrift store sheets. Her perfect eyes sparkled with humor when he picked up the camera. She had snatched up the blankets to cover herself in a moment of shyness that Elliot had found immensely endearing. The photograph, Elliot mused, could have easily been taken the very moment he had fallen in love with her. A strange and overwhelming sense of loss washed over Elliot as he gazed at the photo. He slipped from the chair and sank down to a spot on the floor, clutching the image in both hands.

Emily had been twenty-three when he first met her. Elliot had been waiting on another woman, a blind date his cousin had arranged, when Emily walked into the coffee shop. Elliot had looked up from his laptop and prayed with every fiber of his being that this stunning brunette with the shapely pink lips and soft curves was his date. He watched her place her order, fumble in her huge purse for change and then retreat to a table at the back with her steaming mug. She had sat staring into it, her small hands wrapped around the cup as if she was seeking to draw all the warmth from it. There was something beautifully vulnerable about her. The moment she raised her eyes and met his, there was an instant and almost electrified connection. Elliot was acutely disappointed when a pretty blond approached him a few seconds later and asked, "Elliot?"

Elliot tried to maintain a pleasant smile while the blond, his intended date, took her seat and introduced herself. After several awkward minutes, Sarah must have realized his attention was not directed at her. She looked back over her shoulder and her eyes locked onto where Emily was seated. Realizing the obvious target of his interest, Sarah had had politely excused herself and left. Elliot had very little time to feel guilty before Emily walked over and took the seat Sarah had vacated.

"I thought she would never leave." Emily had said with an evil smirk, and then let loose a girlish laugh.

Elliot thought it was the most infectious laughter he had ever heard and told her as much. He quickly discovered Emily possessed not only a brazen confidence but also quick wit. Coupled with her beauty, Emily had that "it" factor, an inescapable magnetism.

Several hours later, after they had overdosed on enough caffeine, Emily followed Elliot to his small lake cottage. He opened a cold beer, the only one left in his mini fridge, and they shared it out on his porch listening to the haunting sounds of loons out on the lake.

"I'm leaving town tomorrow." she had confessed, as the setting sun melted across the surface of the water.

"I'm moving to New York for work."

Elliot thought the work had to be modeling or acting. At that moment, he hadn't much cared. A great heaviness had settled around his shoulders and he thought, “Why do I always have such incredibly bad timing?” He hadn't known what to say, so he had simply sat there, feeling foolish.

Emily plucked the beer from his hand and drained it. She suddenly stood up and moved in front of him.

"Elliot, would you sleep with me even if you knew it might never be more than a one night stand?"

Elliot had gazed at her, taking in her long dark lashes, her impossible hazel eyes, her perfect features and pristine ivory skin.

"Yes", he managed to croak, his throat suddenly thick and his loins tightening with need.

Emily had kissed him then, full on the mouth, her breath sweet and hot. Her tongue flicked inside his mouth then traveled down his neck and curled around his earlobe, igniting the surface of his skin everywhere she licked. Emily took his hand and pulled him down onto the grassy ground with her, already working him free from his pants. She had taken hold of him, and he had become instantly engorged, almost painfully so, in the palm of her hand.

All at once he was moaning into the night sky, moving his hands over her clothes, frantically seeking buttons, snaps, zippers to free the flesh inside. The need pounded in his ears and he began tearing the fabric instead. Her shirt came away in his hands. He bent to suck her nipples through the lace of her bra, pulling at the straps even as she tried to help him. She managed to slip half out of her jeans before he tugged them down far enough where she could kick them off. He was aware of her lifting his t-shirt above his head and felt his jeans slip free from his hips. He stopped suddenly, aware for the first time, they were outside and in full view of anyone out on the lake. It wasn't nearly dark enough yet to hide them. He looked down at Emily, lying on her back in the grass, the tops of her breasts bobbing out from the deep purple lace bra he'd nearly managed to tear off her. He could make out the mysterious darkness of her sex just visible through the moist lace of her underwear.

Emily had smiled then, reached behind her and unhooked her bra. It fell away revealing her exceptional breasts with their pale pink areolas.

"Afraid of an audience Elliot? No one out there except for the loons anyway."

Elliot had fallen on her then with the blood coursing through him and his heart pounding. Emily had gasped when he tore off her underwear with one hand. He cupped her naked mound with his hand before slipping his fingers inside her. She pressed back against him, her body holding him in a tight, wet vise. He pulled her up and onto him, as if he intended to carry her around on the tip of his shaft. He nuzzled her naked breasts, biting and sucking as he propped her back against the porch railing. He pulled her down against his raging erection, pierced her deeply then started moving inside her. She howled, threw her head back, her milky throat taught with rapture. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, thrusting up into her with abandon. The muscles in his thighs strained with the effort as Emily clutched his sweaty back and racked his ass with her frantic fingers. Elliot fucked her so forcibly it seemed to shake the little cottage to the very foundation. The porch creaked in protest, the railing threatened to snap under them.

The roaring in his head became the sound he made as he came inside her. His orgasm ripped through him like a wave, and swept Emily up in its wake. They came together, still connected in their climax even after the railing finally gave way and sent them both to the ground. Elliot felt himself slipping free of her as he grew limp again. They laid side by side, letting air cool the sweat as they collected themselves. After a while, Elliot got to his feet and wordlessly, dragged Emily to hers. He led her inside to his narrow bathroom. He pulled her into the shower, wrapping her into his arms. They took time, soaping their bodies, exploring each other, appreciating what their urgency had forced them to miss before. Not bothering with towels, they dropped together onto the futon, their wet skin pressed together in the dark.

"Are we going to break this too?" Elliot had asked, his teeth against her neck, the smell of her, clean and fresh filling his senses.

Emily had laughed softly and then guided his head down between her legs. She opened for him, crying out the instant he slipped his tongue inside her. He reached up to squeeze the globes of her breasts, rubbing her nipples with his thumbs. The surface of her skin erupted in gooseflesh and her body convulsed as she came, soaking him with her juices. She reached up and guided Elliot back inside her folds again and they moved together, slowly building to frenzied pace. He felt himself explode inside her again then collapsed on top of her, completely drained.

Elliot had snapped the picture on an impulse a few minutes later. The Polaroid had been on his bookcase and he snatched it on his way back to bed from the bathroom. He found her sitting up waiting for him. He could not resist taking just one picture of this incredible woman. He got off one shot before Emily dove under the covers.

Elliot was startled from the parade of memories by the rattle of keys. “Shit, they were here!” He had wasted away the time remembering a chance erotic encounter from his youth. He frantically stuffed the remaining papers into the box, tossing the Polaroid on top, and rushed out through the back door.

Elliot, still reeling from the photo and barrage of those sweet memories it had evoked, had to acknowledged it had been much more than a one night stand. What he had experienced that day with Emily, that raw passion, he had spent years trying unsuccessfully to reconstruct with other woman but every one paled in comparison.

Emily would be in her forties now. For years he had sought her features in the passing faces of strangers, all the while knowing it could never really be the same dark beauty he had fallen for that faithful night. As it had turned out, Emily did not move to New York the next day but she left his life all the same. She had walked out the front door of the cottage into the bright mid-morning sun. She had been killed in a head-on collision with a drunk barely nine blocks from the driveway. Elliot had listened to the sirens, never suspecting they could be the harbingers to such a personal disaster. The Polaroid was all there was to preserve the memories of love found and lost; it was all there in black and white.