The Breakup

by Kathy-Anne Niemann

This is purely a work of fiction. All characters and situations are fictional. All rights reserved. Feel free to email me at [email protected] if you liked it, or even if you hated it! Enjoy!

The doorbell rang, shattering my nice, quiet evening. I had just cracked open my book, and had been planning to spend the night getting lost in it's pages while the rain fell rhythmically outside and the fire danced in the fireplace and classical music played on the stereo. I'd poured a glass of wine, but hadn't yet taken a sip of it.

Perturbed, I replaced my bookmark and walked over to the door. Peering through the peephole, my heart leapt.

My young lover was here. Stephanie Brandon, all 15 years of her, a little more than half my age.

Hurriedly, I padded over to my bedroom, shucking my sweatshirt on the way. Once there, I stepped out of my sweatpants, leaving me wearing only a pair of purple cotton panties, and chucked them in the corner. I grabbed my gauzy silk robe from behind the door and threw it on as I hurried back to the door, not bothering to tie it in front. Pausing for just a moment, I pulled up the front of my panties to give myself a little cameltoe, and then opened the door.

"Steph!" I said, trying to act surprised.

"Hi," she said simply. There was something in the way she said it, and I knew that something was awry.

She was drenched. Soaked. I could see that underneath her waterlogged jacket, she was wearing her yellow and white cheerleader uniform, and it was mostly soaked as well. Her long brown hair was wet and stringy, clinging together in ringlets. I could see she had been crying.

Instinctively, I closed the front of my robe, not that it obscured much of what was underneath.

"Can I come in?" she asked, in her tiny little girl voice.

"Absolutely!" I said, helping her in. Instinctively checking the hallway of my apartment building to see if anyone had seen me admit a minor into my apartment, dressed as I was.

I sat her down on the couch before running to the bathroom to get a towel. I sat down on the coffee table in front of her and started drying her hair. "What were you doing out in the rain?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Just walking," she answered, "and thinking."

"Oh?" I said. I would have asked for more information, but I wasn't sure I wanted any. "How about some hot chocolate?" I asked.

She nodded and hugged the towel around her.

I went to the kitchen and poured some milk into a pot, setting it on the stove to boil while I got some cocoa mix from the pantry. It was quiet in the living room, and I snuck a peek to see what was happening.

Steph was standing in front of my fireplace, holding her hands out to warm them. Her gorgeous, lithe hands that had danced their way over my body so many times.

I don't know if she knows what that cheerleader uniform does to me. She was wearing it the day we met, and I was almost instantly attracted to her. Memories, maybe, of when I was her age and had a crush on a couple of the cheerleaders at my junior high school. There was Courtney, blond and flat as a board, but boy could she dance. There was Tina, who had a couple extra pounds on her, but could kick higher than any girl on the team. And then there was Trish, my first love. I remember having her over to my house to study one night, but we never got to studying.

The skirt, short but decent. The little yellow briefs underneath, the way they hugged the curve of her ass and hid the treasure in the front. The tunic, how it hints at Steph's little breasts, but lets your imagination play.

A little zing coursed through my body as I remembered the first time Steph had let me slip my hands under that uniform tunic and caress her creamy smooth back, her flat stomach, her perfect fifteen year old breasts under the satiny lycra of her bra.

I wanted to touch myself, thinking about that memory, just a little fingernail over the clit, but something was up tonight. Something serious.

By now the milk was heated up enough, and I poured it into a coffee mug, mixing in the cocoa mix and adding a handful of little marshmallows. I brought it out to the living room and handed it to my little lover. I hugged her from behind as she sipped at the cocoa, not caring that I was soaking myself. I kissed her on the top of her head, and squeezed her tight.

"So what's up?" I asked her, not sure I wanted an answer.

She pulled out of my embrace and went back to the couch, sipping at her cocoa. She sat down and I resumed my previous position on the coffee table. This time, though, I spread my legs and squeezed her bare knees between mine to try to warm her up.

"I've been walking around for hours. Trying to get up the courage to come up here."

I laughed nervously. "What is it?" I asked. "You know you and I have nothing to hide from each other."

In the entire year we'd been together, I'd never seen her like this. She was always so bright and smiley. So young and full of energy and curiosity. When we made love, she was open and tender, but given to bouts of naughtiness. The only thing that kept her from being the perfect girlfriend was the cultural taboo of a twenty-five year old woman dating a girl ten years her junior. I had been too blinded by love (although at first it had been lust) to care about social mores and outdated values. I just wanted her pink lips pressed against mine, her thin bony fingers caressing the sensitive places on me.

She took in a deep breath, and let it out. Then she looked at me with her gorgeous blue eyes, and said the words that destroyed my heart. "I met someone."

I paused, trying to be adult about it, but barely able to hide my rage and hurt. "Someone?" I said.

"A boy," she explained. "At my school."

"A boy!" I repeated, hardly able to keep my temper down. "You told me you were a lesbian!"

"I know!" she whined. "I thought I was."

Rationally, I knew she was right, even if emotionally, I was torn apart. Girls her age, if they're not confused about their body image, they're confused about their sexuality.

We were so good together though!

"Plus," she continued, "there's the age thing."

"That was never a problem for us," I protested.

I thought of that first time we'd met, in third period Algebra class. My last year of college, my first student teaching gig. Little Steph in her little cheerleader's outfit, third row back, second one in. I remembered giving her lingering looks, and her not turning away from my burning gaze. I remembered how she'd come up to the desk after class and shook my hand and said how happy she was to have a cool Algebra teacher.

The memory opened the floodgates and I started to tear up.

"What's his name?" I asked, more just to keep the conversation going, so I could see if there was a way to talk her out of breaking up with me.

"Keith," she said.

"Keith," I sneered back. I folded my robe around me tighter, and folded my arms under my breasts, feeling vulnerable, even though I was aware that the robe wasn't hiding anything. "He's in your class? This Keith?" I asked.

She nodded.

"You know he'll never be able to please you the way I do," I said. "Teenage boys, they barely know how to keep their underwear clean, much less know the way around a girl's body."

Our first encounter. How immediately we'd fell into each other. In the girls' bathroom by the gym. How she couldn't keep her flirty eyes off my body. How she tentatively touched my hand, and I combed her hair away from her eyes with my fingers. How we kissed, and the electricity that flowed through us singed the hairs on my neck, weakened my knees and knotted up my belly. How I'd tried to slide my hand up her skirt, but she'd pushed me away with a devilish grin, driving my desire for her into overdrive.

"He's nice," she said. "He's sweet."

"He'll dump you next year," I said, realizing on some base level that I was just trying to hurt her as much as she was hurting me. "He'll meet someone in high school and drop you like a bad habit, and you'll come running back here, begging me to make you happy again."

She shrugged, her own eyes filling with tears. How I wanted to kiss her and tell her that everything was going to be all right! How I wanted to hold her close to me and make her forget everything about this Keith! How I wanted to hold her naked body to mine, while we stared into the fire and masturbated each other to extacy!

That night after the basketball game. I gave her a ride home, and she invited me inside, saying that her parents were out of town. How we kissed and clung to each other in her room, surrounded by posters of Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers. How I watched her slowly remove that cheerleading uniform while she danced for me. How well we matched each other in rhythm and stamina! How perfect her fingers felt inside me, and how perfect my fingers felt inside her!

"I'm sorry, Tracy," she said. She sat up, and put her hands on the side of my face, and God, it felt good to feel them there. "You knew this wasn't forever."

I nodded, ashamed at what I'd said earlier, ashamed that I'd lashed out at her, and ashamed that a girl ten years younger than me was a bigger adult than I apparently was.

"I love you, you know that?" she asked. "Forever."

I nodded again. No voice came from my mouth when I said, "I love you, too."

That day we spent running around my apartment totally naked, having sex in every room in the place, culminating in a long, soapy bath and a

I leaned in and kissed her. She wanted to pull away, but didn't. I kissed harder, pulling one of her hands off my face and placing it inside my robe on my breast. Again, I could feel a tiny pull of hesitation in her, but she didn't retract her hand.

I pulled her to me, putting my own hand up the back of her wet uniform tunic, attacking the clasp of her bra.

It was only after I got the thing unsnapped that she pulled away from me. "Tracy," she said, her hand still inside my robe, but now pushing against my sternum, "don't."

"I know," I said softly. "I just love you so much."

She smiled at this. "There will be other girls," she said.

"But none like you."

The day we spent at the park, strolling quietly around the lake, hand in hand. The popcorn vendor we tricked into believing we were mother and daughter. The public library bathroom where we worked each other to orgasm, unable to keep our hands off each other.

She stood up, and walked to the door. She turned back to me just before she opened the door, and then pulled her arms inside her jacket's sleeves. She worked around inside the zipped up jacket for a moment, and I knew what she was doing.

I walked over to her, letting my robe billow open, giving her a last taste of what she'd be missing when she was with that horrible boy. Her eyes followed me across the room and as soon as I was near her, her arms popped out of the sleeves of her jacket.

"Here," she said, grabbing my hands. She slipped her bra into them, still warm from her body. I brought it to my nose, and inhaled the scent of her, wishing this breath would last for eternity, hating that it wouldn't.

I held her to me again, and kissed her. Once again, I slipped my hand up her uniform tunic, but this time she pulled away quicker.

"Please," I begged. "I just want to feel you one more time."

She relaxed, and I put my hand on her tiny little breasts, pinching the little pink nipples that fit so wonderfully in my mouth. I kissed her neck, up and down on the spot where she loves to be kissed.

Eventually, I backed away. She opened the door wordlessly, and walked halfway out of it. Before leaving, she turned and said, "I love you," again.

"I'll always be here if you need me," I told her.

Then she turned and walked down the corridor. I watched her skirt swish as she moved, and then she turned the corner and she was out of my life. Again, I held her bra to my face, breathing in her scent, aware that I was standing in my open doorway almost completely naked, not caring a bit.

I let the door close and locked it behind me.