“How Do You Want Me?”
I wasn’t ready. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say no.
I had to say yes.
I couldn’t bear to see her reaction if I denied her.
I still wasn’t ready, but I didn’t care. She took two steps into the kitchen. I grabbed her close. I didn’t think. I didn’t analyze. I let all my passion, all my love, speak through my lips. She smiled.
“Someone’s in a better mood today.”
I didn’t waste words. Or time. I grabbed her hand and led her to my bedroom.
I had expected a quick, tender peck, but I was wrong. She grabbed my face in both hands, a move I would come to adore years later, and went in for a passionate kiss, her vivacious tongue searching for mine, only to meet an impenetrable wall of teeth. It was awkward and embarassing. We laughed. We had known each other since we were fourteen. We were now 24. It was our first kiss.
It should have been instinct, something biologically hardwired into me.
I had to actively fight to turn my brain off, let my emotions take hold. I wasn’t entirely successful.
Am I kissing her right? Does she like my hands on her ass like this?
I didn’t know.
And it didn’t really matter. I didn’t know what I was doing, but she clearly did.
She pulled my pants off, and I had to fight the urge to pull them back up. I was terrified, embarrassed, and a little ashamed. There wasn’t much time to process those feelings, though. By the time my pants fell on the carpet, she had me inside her mouth.
Never could I have believed that I would find myself, in my apartment, alone, sitting across from her, laughing and talking.
It was an unusually cold morning. Lazy beams of sunlight peeked through the blinds. We could hear the landscapers moving and trimming the bushes two stories below us. Not that it mattered. As far as we were concerned, it was just us, and only us, right there, in that smooth leather couch.
Between her full time job and her school work, she seldom had free time. But there she was. With me. Fourteen years after our first meeting. Five years since I had told her I loved her. Four years since we had kissed for the first time.
“I’m tired,” she said, stiffling a yawn.
Foolishly, naively, I believed her. I knew how hard she worked, how busy she always was, how much she pushed herself to be all things for all people. I was always worried about her health. I offered her my bed, happy in the belief that she would be able to get some rest. She got up and stretched. I pointed towards my room and she headed towards it. I watched as her beige shawl swayed with her every step. I smiled.
Fourteen years. To have a moment like this. It was worth the wait.
She went inside my room.
The droning hum of a leafblower drowned out the chirping birds. Her perfume lingered on my side of the couch.
My phone chimed. It was a struggle to remove it from the pocket of my tight jeans. My heart dropped as I read the text she had sent:
“Come join me.”
I didn’t like it. At all. Which surprised me, given every movie and TV straight man’s obsession with the blowjob.
In truth, I couldn’t wait for it to end. After a few moments, she got up, removed her blouse, and tossed it aside. She reached behind her, unclasped her bra. As the tension relaxed, the straps slipped off her shoulders, slightly revealing her breasts.
It was a surreal moment.
There she was, a woman I had loved for over ten years, her nearly bare breasts looming over my half naked and fully erect body.
She was nestled beneath my sheets, her shawl on the ground. I laid next to her.
I looked into those light, cerulean eyes.
She pulled me close and kissed me.
I was prepared this time. Not that it helped.
I was self conscious to the extreme. Sloppily and awkwardly, I returned her kisses. I tried to explore her body with my hands, but was too shy to get very far.
“I’m not tired, by the way,” she said with a smile.
“I figured that,” I replied, with an equally big smile.
We rolled around on the bed, as though we were playing a game of tug of war, and our bodies were the rope.
“I’m ready,” she whispered once. I understood what she meant at once, but ignored it
“I’m ready,” she whispered twice. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t prepared for this.
She gently pulled me away from her. She told me what she wanted.
I told her no.
At the time, and still even now, I had never seen such disgust in anyone’s face.
“Ok, then. I won’t waste anymore time here.”
She picked up her shawl and rushed out of the door. I called out to her, but she didn’t listen. I didn’t bother to chase after her.
She fully slid off her bra and let it drop to the floor.
“Do you have a condom?”
“No,” I said, not betraying the utter relief I felt inside.
Thank god. We’re done here. It’s over. No way she wants to do this without a condom.
The dissappointment in her voice was palpable.
I let out a sigh of relief. I think I might’ve actually ran my hand over my forehead, wiping imaginary beads of sweat.
Then terror set in. As I had heaved my sigh of relief, as I had wiped my forehead, she had bent over, removing her underwear.
She crawled over me. For her, I was one of many. To me, she was my first. I could feel her warmth. We were 28. Her breasts pressed against my chest as she leaned into my ear and whispered:
“How do you want me?”