He Said He Knew a Place

I downloaded Tinder the same week I turned twenty one, three days after breaking up with the only boyfriend I’d ever had. Not my proudest timeline, but I wasn’t looking for proud. I was looking for something that felt nothing like the last two years.

My town is the kind of place, where the nightlife is a Walmart run at eleven pm. You roam the aisles with your friends, buy nothing, and call it an evening. But the downtown is old and actually quite beautiful. Historic brick buildings and iron fire escapes. The kind of quiet streets that look better after dark, when you can’t see the “For Lease” signs.

He messaged me first. Mid twenties with stubble, and a photo of him leaning against a truck. That somehow wasn’t douchey. We met at the one decent restaurant downtown, and within ten minutes I knew exactly what this was. He wasn’t pretending otherwise, and neither was I. There was something refreshing about that. No performance and no second guessing. Just two people who liked the look of each other, and didn’t need it to be more complicated than that.

After dinner, we drove around for a while and ended up at the park by the river. We talked about nothing with the windows down. He had this low and easy voice, that made everything sound like a secret worth keeping. When the conversation hit a lull, he looked at me sideways and asked if I liked to stargaze.

“Sure,” I said, assuming he meant a field somewhere.

He drove us back downtown and parked behind one of the old buildings on Main Street. There was a fire escape ladder on the side. The kind that’s technically not for public use, but nobody’s maintained since the seventies. He climbed first and reached down for my hand. From that rooftop we crossed two more. Stepping over low dividing walls between the buildings, until we reached the last one on the block.

It was beautiful up there. The roof was flat and surprisingly soft under my back. Some kind of old rubber membrane, that was warm from the day’s heat. The half walls around the edge made it feel private, like a room with no ceiling. And above us, no light pollution. Just an absurd number of stars for a small little old town.

We layed side by side for a while. He pointed out Orion. I told him he was wrong. He was.

Then he kissed me, and I stopped caring about constellations.

His hand slid under my shirt, across my stomach, then lower. Fingers slipping past the waistband of my jeans. He didn’t tease. He went straight between my legs, two fingers pushing inside me, like he’d been thinking about it all through dinner. I was already wet. I arched into his hand, and he made a low sound against my mouth. The kind that said he liked how ready I was.

“Someone could hear us,” I whispered, not as a warning. More like a dare.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. “Does that bother you?”

“Not even a little.”

He grinned, then sat up and unbuttoned my jeans the rest of the way. Dragging them and my underwear down my thighs, in one rough motion. The night air hit my bare skin and I shivered. He shoved his own jeans down just far enough. Already hard, thick and heavy in his hand. He didn’t bother with a full strip. Just enough.

He pushed my knees apart and settled between them. Rubbing the head of his cock against my clit, until I was breathing hard. Then slid into me in one long, deep thrust. I gasped too loud, and he covered my mouth with his hand for a second. Laughing under his breath.

“Quiet,” he said against my ear, even though neither of us wanted quiet.

Then he fucked me like he meant it. Hard and steady strokes, that made the rubber membrane of the roof creak under us. Every time he bottomed out, I made a sound I couldn’t stop. Half moan, half broken breath, and it just disappeared into the open sky. No ceiling to echo off of and no walls to carry it. Just the dark, the stars, and the wet slap of him driving into me, over and over.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. He reached between us, and rubbed my clit in tight circles while he kept thrusting. I came hard, clenching around him. While biting his shoulder to keep from crying out. He followed right after. Burying himself deep and coming with a low, guttural sound against my neck. Hips stuttering as he emptied into me.

Afterward we lay there on our backs, still half dressed, breathing hard and staring up. My jeans were tangled around one ankle. His were shoved down past his hips. A car passed on the street below and we both froze, then laughed. He pulled me closer, and I rested my head on his chest. I listened to his heartbeat slow down. I could feel the sticky warmth of him between my thighs, cooling in the night air.

We met up a few more times after that. Same energy and same ease. Once in his truck, once against the side of a different building, once bent over the hood of my car in a dark parking lot. Then he left town for a job opportunity, a fresh start so to speak. The kind of reason you don’t argue with in a place like ours. No dramatic goodbye. Just a text that said *it’s been real*, and a winking emoji that I stared at longer than I should have.

That was two years ago. Sometimes I drive past that building on Main Street, look up at the roofline and wonder, if he ever does the same thing wherever he is now. If that night lives in his chest the way it lives in mine. Or, if it was just another evening in a town, he was always going to leave.

Either way, I’m glad I climbed the ladder. I’m glad I let him fuck me under those stars, with my jeans around my ankles. While the whole town three stories below us, none the wiser.

—

A rooftop romance might be a spontaneous thrill, for an elevated romantic experience. Although, thousands of miles above the clouds in first class, by accident. Is on another level.

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