Real quick... I plan on writing more a bit later tonight - but are you feeling better? Also on a side note it looks like there is a chance that my appointments for tonight will reschedule so I very well could be free... hint hint.
Thu, Nov 18, 2010 at 4:56 PM
I am feeling better, thanks for asking, though I'm still sleepy and a little achy. Probably from napping most of the day.
If you do find yourself free tonight, I'd obviously love to see you if you're OK with doing something fairly low-key. But email works too if you find yourself professionally occupied. I'm around either way as I canceled my evening's plans since I wasn't up for being charming and professional.
As far as hints go, there's a chance I could have reacted a bit too enthusiastically to yours. I am now showered and "dressed" in very soft black sleepy pants and the white camisole in the photo I sent. My pillowcases are in the dryer and house is semi-clean.
Come over. I'll even dry and curl my hair.
Mmmm showered and dressed, now we're talking ;) and I suppose I could work with sleepy pants and the very nice camisole... seeing as you were not feeling good.
He arrived after The Big Bang Theory ended and my stomach flipped when I saw his profile through the front window just before the doorbell rang. I scampered toward the door, nudging Chienne out of the way, and zipping my black sweatshirt over my white camisole.
“Crisis of confidence,” I told him of my bulky sweatshirt and followed him to the living room where he greeted my ecstatic canine. We sat on the loveseat, reminiscent of our positions after our first date and I battled disappointment when he didn’t pull my legs on his lap. I finally reached for his hand as we chatted, relaxing as he appeared more sleepy than anything.
“Your socks don’t have patterns,” I gently scolded, touching his ankle with my bare toes and grinning with delight when he pulled at the hem of his jeans and showed me the design on the sides.
The discussion turned to sex, though the details of our conversation escape me as I was having an intense debate over when to invite him upstairs.
“I can feel the wheels turning,” he offered affectionately. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m ready,” I decided, both brave and excited. “Let’s go upstairs.” Nerves, of course, defeated me until Will reminded me of my script from one of our emails and I blushed when I recalled a detailed invitation that involved cooking and watching a movie in bed. “I don’t want dinner,” I told him, “and I don’t have a suitable movie for us to watch upstairs.”
“TV shows then,” he suggested.
“I’ll introduce you to The Big Bang Theory,” I decided, heading upstairs to start the first DVD of the first season while he was using the powder room downstairs. We coaxed Chienne out of the master suite and closed the door, leaving the room lit from the light from the en suite bathroom and glow of the television.
He was confident, having lost shoes and coat upon entering my house, and tossed aside the comforter and climbed in bed.
“Do you have a side?” he asked and I indicated he was on it even as I moved around the bed to enter on the far side. He scooted toward the center so I returned to my side and slipped in next to him, still clad from shoulder to ankle in black material. He was in jeans, shirt, sweater and socks though, I decided, and hoped we’d eventually shed some of the layers.
He pulled my left leg over his hips as I rested on my side facing his reclining form. He played with my thigh and the back of my knee while I wondered out loud what to do with my hands.
“How’s that?” he asked, being a bit cheeky, as he pulled up his shirts and placed my hand on his warm tummy.
“It’s good,” I murmured, positively thrilled to begin to explore the jutting angle of his hip and soft skin covered with silky hair. We stayed that way, smiling at jokes from the television occasionally as I relaxed into the experience.
“Be right back,” I told him as I moved to the bathroom and wished personal matters didn’t get in the way of more intimate personal matters. After washing my hands, I unzipped my sweatshirt and had it off one shoulder before hesitating and tugging it back together.
“I got it unzipped,” I informed him when I returned to nestle on his shoulder and moved my hand under covers and clothing to find his skin again.
“I saw that,” he replied and I nodded before breathing deeply and telling him he smelled good.
“I should have taken it off,” I confessed a few moments later and he turned his head to look at me. “There’s no easy way to do it now,” I explained.
“Well, that’s not true,” he said as he nudged one side off my shoulder and helped me from the bulky fleece. I immediately pressed myself against him, hiding the pretty black bow and barely covered torso. But he cuddled me closer and continued to watch television, leaving me free to mentally adjust.
“Could you take this off?” I asked, tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt and watching him sit up from the nest of pillows to remove it.
“This one too?” he inquired, motioning toward his button down and I nodded and murmured something about being efficient when undoing his buttons and pushing the fabric away from his chest.
I spent long minutes exploring, rubbing my palm over his shoulders and down his chest, feeling the soft hair tickle my hand. I slipped my fingers over his sides and onto his back, breathing against his chest and feeling my right arm fall asleep where it was located beneath me. But my left hand was so happy – smoothing the skin of a very cute boy – that I didn’t say anything when I felt him relax into my touch.
“OK,” I finally said. “What do I do with my arm?”
And he made this sound that I love – a thoughtful, teasing hum – and eased me to lie supine. He shifted and I caught my breath when he moved above me, eyes heavy-lidded and sensual, expression gentle and focused, all broad shoulders and long arms.
“How’s that?” he asked when he rested between my spread legs and I wrapped myself around him and murmured that it was perfect. He pressed against me, smoothing his hands on my legs and helping me raise my knees a bit higher around his hips. We pressed and held and I needed him just a bit higher but so badly wanted to be responsive and sexy that I just enjoyed the feeling of him thrusting against me, fully dressed, and felt a twinge of failure when he rolled from me and said, “That was nice but I don’t think you liked it that much.”
It sucks to be transparent. And he was wrong – I loved it – but he was correct in that I did not orgasm. It was just a lot to process and I couldn’t let go and I was struggling to push his shirt out of the way and my sleepy pants – though soft and thin – were bunching around my upper thighs.
“I want these off,” I finally offered decisively. When he requested clarification, his deep voice warm and almost amused, I indicated his shirt and my pants and we tossed both aside, he with a bit more supple grace than I displayed, before looming over me again as I arranged my legs around his knees and he covered me again. I don’t remember when he took of his jeans, but I smiled as I remembered rubbing a worn patch on his knee with my index finger when we were sitting downstairs. I was inordinately fond of the idea that the same pants were now lying in a heap on my bedroom floor and that his belt and the denim wouldn’t be in my way the next time I explored around the waist of his boxers.
We eventually paused and, noticing the DVD had ended, I stopped it and powered off the DVD player. Conan was on so I curled my legs underneath me as I waited for him to return from the bathroom. He returned to the center of the bed, long limbs and lean elegance, and we arranged ourselves under the covers again. We watched television – well, he did – I mostly watched him or closed my eyes to bask. It was kind of impossibly wonderful.
“I’m memorizing,” I told him once. I didn’t elaborate but whether I’m waiting for our schedules to align so I can see him again or whether he moves on and I’m alone again, I want to remember how his skin felt under my fingers or the pressure of his thigh between my legs. The scrape of stubble against my neck or his slow blinks and sidelong glances as we both grew sleepy.
I went to fetch him a cough drop when he couldn’t find one and there was a vague scent of cherry and menthol when he took one of the two I brought. I allowed Chienne into the room at the same time, finally tiring of her cries and scratches at the door. She mostly left Will alone, embarrassing me only when she almost stepped on his crotch before he successfully fended her off. I was eventually sandwiched between a familiar dog behind my knees and a novel human in front of me.
I asked if he had brought condoms, simply out of curiosity and nodded when he indicated he hadn’t.
“I didn’t think we’d have sex tonight,” he told me. “Not that I would have said no.”
“I have some,” I offered and he smiled and said he thought I might. We stayed silent for a few more moments until I said I was going to take off my camisole and subsequently struggled from it before hiding against him again. He let me, using the gentlest of pressures to trace intricate patterns on my left breast until I shifted to allow him more room.
“Really?” I asked as he tugged at the leg I’d rested over his and continued to nudge me until I was on top of him.
“Really,” he confirmed, shifting his position and sliding his hands to my hips. Just as I was growing concerned that I was too short or built incorrectly, we moved in the right way at the right time and connected.
“There,” I breathed and nodded when he confirmed, burying my face in the pillow beside his head as he lifted his hips and pressed at mine. The pressure was perfect – firm and rhythmic and sexy – and I left my hair fall around my cheeks as we rubbed against each other for long moments. Finally, gasping, I lifted my body from his and offered that I did, surprisingly, like being on top.
I don’t remember the order of the next two events, but I do remember him asking what I wanted to try next.
I think I asked if he’d touch me again.
“How?” I asked and he shrugged.
“How do you want it?”
“I think,” I offered after considering it, “I want you behind me. Will that work?”
“It will,” he replied, helping me get settled before slipping his hand between my legs to explore again. “You’re really turned on,” he said, fingers slippery on my flesh and I swallowed hard against another rush of arousal.
“Yes,” I agreed, closing my eyes and arching my neck and feeling him return the pressure of his head against mine, grounding me against the familiar feelings of impending orgasm.
[Redacted content. For multiple reasons.]
It must have been after that when my touch eased lower and I asked if I could do something for him. I touched and stroked for the second time – the first happening at some point I can’t exactly recall in the hours we spent in bed together. I remember saying it hadn’t felt slick enough after the first experiment and how he’d replied.
“That’s because it wasn’t. You’re the PhD, right?”
And because I do, in fact, have a doctorate, I told him I wanted to taste as I began touching him again and confirmed that he wouldn’t mind. He pushed the covers aside and slid out of his boxer shorts before I took them and tossed the fabric toward the side of the bed – I would later remember their location as he was dressing. I’m helpful like that.
I do like giving oral sex – something about the texture and temperature and focus just works for me – and I remembered his earlier disclosure about preferring attention to his shaft and wrapped my fingers around it even as I took the tip in my mouth. I paused to press kisses into the shaft, licking gently before returning to the head and slipping it against my tongue again.
The issue is that he is rather big and I am quite inexperienced and therefore not at all sure I’m doing it right but uncertain as to how to gain skill. I was relieved when he offered whispered compliments and thrilled when his hips began to move or when the hand on my back clenched. I wanted him to come, thought I tasted something new at one point, and was lost in fascinated arousal when I felt him grow harder, wider, in my hand.
We rested together for a bit and I listened to his breathing become deep and even and the occasional click of the cough drop against his teeth. I thought of the moment when he rested over me and said I should think of him like a shiny new toy, just there for fun and ready to be discarded upon boredom.
“I don’t do that,” I replied, more than a little sad as I thought of the future. “I have Care Bears from childhood down the hall. Once I like something, I want to have it for my very own and keep it.”
“I know,” he sighed, not at all unkindly and paused when I asked if he’d do me a favor. He agreed – he will tell me when he’s done exploring whatever may be between us – and I looked up into a face I’m finding increasingly handsome with each meeting and thought of his strong hands pushing my wrist into the mattress next to my head as he thrust against me, perfectly matching so many of my fantasies, and how he smiles and questions he asks and stories he tells. And the dread of any painful ending was drowned under waves of affection and arousal and happiness that – for now – I’m completely smitten.
Feb. 26, 2011 - I still smile and shiver to think of it, pleased that it happened, happy I wrote it out and mostly unconcerned that it's over.