I told him.
I stared at him, as his eyes widened and declared I had wanted him since the moment I met him 6 years ago.
He declared he wanted to have this conversation in person.
I voiced the concern that it was a booty call. I’ve only just realized that he didn’t correct me.
I told him that I’ve laid out all my cards and if he didn’t bother calling me again ever it was his fault.
He warned me he wasn’t ready for a relationship. Unemployed.
I growled that if I gave two shits about money I was in the wrong profession. All I would need would be his smile and a peck or two. The right to call him mine. I don’t share.
I told him he could come.
I spent his travel time stretching, reading, watching TV and freaking the fuck out.
I showed him upstairs and to his room. I left briefly to settle the dog down and get a drink of water. When I came back he was in my room, raiding my bookshelf, Sherlock Holmes in his hand.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands. He stepped forward and I gave him a hug, his hands lingered on my waist, wanting.
We adjourned to couch and sat down. He conveniently placed himself in the center of the couch. I tucked myself into the corner, legs between us. He kept his hand close, his knuckles resting against my calf.
I laid it out again. I felt like I had been talking quite a bit but I was more interested in what he had to say. “Do you want me?”
He stopped for a long second, “I’m torn between the impulse to be Ryan Gosling and just kiss you, or actually be an adult and have a conversation.”
I sighed, “Look, I’ve told you what I want and my concerns. I don’t want to try and save you. I can’t. I will fail. And that will be the end.”
"That’s not your job. Only I can save me."
"I don’t expect you to do anything. If we can ‘be adults about this’ and you don’t call me tomorrow that’s entirely on you."
"Tell me what you want."
"If I go to all this trouble and don’t even get to try and kiss you, I will definitely regret it."
"So we’re doing this?" he clarified, no judgement in his face.
I just looked at him, expectantly.
"Well…" he took off his glasses and set them on the table. "Those’ll just get in the way."
Then he was on me.
He leaned forward, his hand on my face and his lips on mine. His tongue ready.
He pressed me into the couch and hovered over me. He pulled my leg towards him and settled in the cradle of my hips.
The first word that came to mind to describe him was aggressive, but that wasn’t quite right. Insistent works better.
He didn’t overpower me. He didn’t manipulate me. He was there with a single minded intensity for what was about to transpire.
He was so solid against me, that fucking body—Jesus. His lips at my throat and his mouth against my skin. I finally pushed against his shoulders, “Like this.” I continued to push.
He finally leaned back and away from me and I pushed him against the back of the couch to straddle his lap.
"Oh." he laughed, surprised.
We kissed and touched and his hands went to my shirt, my skin, very handsy indeed. Slower we needed to go just a little slower. I pushed his hands away and set them at his side. “No, like this.” I gentled, going in for a kiss but delaying it when he got too eager. “Clothes stay on.”
"Oh, so this is how it’s going to be?" he laughed again. "you’re going to tell me what to do?"
"Nah, don’t be boring."
I could feel him, hard against me. We moved together, clinging to that delicious friction for as long as possible.
"You’re clothes can stay on, but what about mine. My shirt?"
I pretended to think about it for a moment. “I think I can work with that.”
He leaned forward a bit and let me grab his shirt, pulling it from his body and tracing the skin as I went. My fingers delayed across his pectoral, his tattoo. “You got this that summer.” (The summer things changed, the summer I could have sworn you were about to kiss me, the summer I questioned everything you meant to me) “I’ve never seen it in person.”
"Yes, that was it."
We couldn’t stop kissing. Wrapped his arms around me and pressed me suddenly backward, I thought I was going to fall off the couch and grabbed onto him but his arms were tight against me.
"I’ve got you." he chuckled.
He wrapped his hand down the back of my knee and lifted me. He turned, laying me back along the length of the couch.
He was grinding against me, kissing and sucking and licking my skin endlessly.
"I am going to rock your world," he whispered into my ear.
I laughed in his face, “Not your best line.”
"Yeah well," he admitted, "I’m not good with words, but this, I’m definitely good at."
I’m fairly vocal, at one point he asked, “Did you come?”
I grinned at him, “Trust me, when I come you’ll know.”
I refused his suggestion of a bed. I refused his suggestion of using his mouth when I was frustrated and irritated that I couldn’t relax enough to actually come.
"Whatever you need to do to."
"Use your fingers," I insisted. His hands drifted down my torso, his fingers disappeared beneath the waistband, hands seeking.
"Slower," I asked. He did, tracing the curls there and following the seam to my—"God you are so wet." he declared, awed.
He was rather good, I’ll give him that. Fingers, rubbing, hard, soft, it just wasn’t working. “Use your palm,” I asked, rubbing against him.
He pushed his hand, them himself, then his knee hard against me as I tried desperately to get myself off.
"You like it stronger, don’t you. Harder. Long strokes." He commented.
I hummed my agreement. “Good,” he replied, “It’s good like that.”
I growled in frustration, “I’m so fucking close.”
"You could try yourself," he suggested.
I did. He hovered over me. Kissing me, “My neck,” I requested. He obliged.
"Do you masturbate?" he asked, conversationally.
"Yes," I nodded.
"Good girl," he pressed his lips to my brow.
Finally, I could feel it closer than it had been all night. I came with a cry in my throat and his lips at my breast.
"Hmm," I was relatively satisfied, not my best orgasm, "What about you?"
He shrugged it off, “I’ll be fine.”
"Whatever you want," I told him, "within reason."
"You on top of me." He leaned back and I settled onto of him and repeated our previous grinding episode. He was soaking it in, letting it wash over him.
"God, I need your hands on me."
I didn’t even hesitate.
I leaned back for easy access and pulled him loose. He wasn’t as long as I expected, but that doesn’t mean anything to me. He was thick and upon further inspection his length was rather perfect actually.
I reveled in his sounds. I tried to elicit as much variety as possible from those lips. He didn’t ask me to go down on him which I appreciate, even now. He was rather dry and we didn’t have lube, I kept having to lick my hand. We had such dry mouths that night we kept having to get water.
I took off my top and he smiled and slid his hand up the hollow of my spine and unclasped it. The straps slid off my shoulders but he didn’t remove it, he just waited for me to do it. He didn’t rush me.
I stroked him and stroked him. He shifted and shuttered against me. I was worried I wasn’t doing it right, I didn’t know exactly what I was doing.
Then he said it, my name. “Again.” I asked. He smiled and said it again. I had him beg for mercy twice.
And it was glorious.
He finally confessed, “I think I’m having the same problem you did.” So I settled against him and let him work himself. I kissed and sucked his neck and ear and ran my hands through his hair. I used my fingers to touch whatever he didn’t already have in hand.
Then he came. Gasping and delightfully exhausted. I kissed him thoroughly and went to get some water for us both. I came back with some tissues and a damp cloth. I helped clean him up and threw away the trash while he hydrated.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands. We’d come full circle.
He stood in my bedroom doorway. “Well I think I’m going to collapse in bed and sleep for awhile. I should probably leave by eleven tomorrow.”
"Ok, can I have a goodnight kiss?"
"Absolutely." he said without reservation.
I met him on the threshold and we kissed thoroughly, once, twice, thrice and another for goodluck .It was nice.
I couldn’t sleep. I was exhausted and too hyped to do anything about it. I took a shower and tried to rest.
The more I think about it the more I realize that…it didn’t mean anything. There was nothing poignant or vulnerable about it. I didn’t sit there and think My God I love you. There wasn’t a moment where I thought, That’s him, I can see him.
We were playing. Two friends playing a game and teasing each other endlessly the entire time.
it was extraordinary. I’m still reeling from the knowledge. It was fantastic, but It meant nothing.
I am not sure how I feel about the whole thing.