Just Like That
Jennifer Mills Kerr
He'd stolen the slip from her house six months ago. Now it was tucked into the dark cavern of his underwear drawer. Black silk, less than a yard of fabric, crumpled into a ball... Hart pictured it and squirmed, trying to ignore the hardness of his cock. His roommate would be back any minute.
His longing was hard to describe. When the slip was in his hands, he traveled to the place of before, a place of lofty happiness, where Francesca lay naked on his bed, gazing at him lovingly, and there wasn't anyone else. Just the two of them again. Last week, Father O'Brien described Redemption with one magnificent gesture: he held out his bony hand and snapped his fingers. Click. Just like that, life was changed. Hart was mesmerized; it was exactly how he felt when the slip was in his hands.
But for now he'd have to wait. Just past eight o'clock at night, the dorm at his boarding school fidgeted with life: doors swished open, slammed shut; muffled voices-was that the football game on the radio?-and the steady beat of music vibrated through the wall next to his bed. A loud slam, another voice, and air whistled beneath his closed door. The rising tide of restlessness always came at the onset of winter as sixty-four guys, packed onto the floor, entered the first phase of cabin fever. Hart envisioned the girls' dorms across the quad as much more subdued.