“Uh…” Mmmark laughed.
“Oh, God, Mmmark! It’s Lily, I’m so sorry.” Nice work! Nonetheless, we arranged to meet for dinner.
It was very windy and again I was in my heavy quilted parka, looking suburban and maternal and not at all sexy. When I spotted Mmmark at the bar, for a minute I couldn’t quite believe it: he is so very good looking.
I swallowed. “Hey.”
“Hi.” He was bareheaded, and wearing a leather jacket. We kissed, close-mouthed, politely. The place I’d chosen was very crowded, so we left, and eventually ended up at a restaurant in a converted carriage house off of Irving Place. And it turned out that Mmmark reads a lot of restaurant blogs and had wanted to check out the place anyway. We were seated on high stools at a table in the corner and ordered half a bottle of wine.
Earlier in the week, a few drinks had rendered Mmmark less overwhelming in his beauty, but now sobriety left me awkward. The fact is, we don’t have much in common, unless you count a penchant for sex with Jefferson. But we made a good effort, talking about restaurants, foods we liked, and a bit about our families. Towards the end of the meal I got up to go to the bathroom, and Mmmark rested his hand against the small of my back as I twisted myself past him in the narrow space; I knew I was going home with him.
We left the restaurant and walked down Irving Place. He made some joke about taking advantage of me and I said, “It appears you don’t have to get me drunk in order to have your way with me,” and I guess that clinched things. The thing is, like I said, I say these things because it just seems easier than not saying them. Not because I really am that bold; it’s just the tension and expectation and anticipation that accompanies not saying them that I can’t stand. So, thanks to my inability to deal with uncertainty, I was going home with a hot guy! Not bad! He slipped his arm around my waist and we walked, awkwardly, to find a cab.
At his place he made me a cup of tea and I settled onto the couch. Soon we were engrossed in Sarah Silverman’s Jesus is Magic. Then we started kissing. We kissed and kissed, everything concentrated in our lips and mouths and tongues. His mouth tasted great. Unfortunately, Sarah Silverman was talking about Jews and Mercedes and I was getting distracted. The kissing was expert, but when Sarah started singing, “There’s a hole…” I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing. My mouth sort of popped against his in mid-kiss. “Sorry,” I gasped, giggling. I think it was the word “doody” that made me laugh. “Doody” – now that’s comedy! We went back to one another’s mouth, and I admonished myself: Ignore Sarah Silverman!
Oh, God, it was no use: she was really funny. Finally I took the remote and just switched off the TV. Mmmark lay on the couch, and I straddled him, my hips pushing against his jeans. “So… can I drag you into the bedroom?” Mmmark asked eventually.
On one hand, yes! After all, what had I come here for? I’d decided to sleep with him on Monday, hadn’t I? On the other hand, I’d met him at an orgy. How safe was this? Of course, I’d been at the orgy too… but it was my first time! “Well,…” I said. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
Mmmark looked amused: “OK.”
“How many people have you slept with?”
Long pause. “Well.” Mmmark considered. “I’d have to count on both hands, more than twice. Not counting Jefferson’s parties.”
Well, I wasn’t surprised. “And counting Jefferson’s parties?”
His mouth twisted into a smile: “Well, I don’t know! It depends on the night... Sometimes I slept with one person, and sometimes…”
Oh, God! “And how many men have you slept with?”
He exhaled. “Hmmmm …. Twelve?”
Surely that was fewer than Jefferson, and I hadn’t kicked up a fuss about sleeping with Jefferson. Of course, by the time I’d managed to bed Jefferson, I’d a) known him for several months and b) he’d gotten a HIV test on my behalf. “When was the last time you were tested for STDs?”
“Over the summer.”
“I’d like to fuck you,” I said. “And I’d also like you to think about having an HIV test.” I felt uncomfortable saying this, because it wasn’t a request, or a demand, but perhaps a passive-aggressive suggestion. And I should have come down on one side or the other, and just made a decision. I felt really hesitant, although I did want to sleep with him.
“Well, I had my man-checkup over the summer,” said Mmmark firmly.
I was distracted, and unsure, and it occurred to me that this was due to my relative sobriety. Oh, the hell with it. We started kissing again, and I nodded. Mmmark wrapped my legs around his waist, stood up, and carried me into his roommate’s bedroom (she was out of town and his own bed had recently been stripped by some visitors who’d just left).
God, he was lovely. Alejandro had the most regular features, but he had a sort of cool, unerotic handsomeness. Daniel of course I think is just gorgeous, but it is his warmth and leanness and goofiness that so touches me. But Mmmark has a noticeable handsomeness that is also sexy, in a kind of athletic, boy way I’m not used to. He has a long, narrow face and blue eyes and a muscular athlete’s body.
Mmmark struggled to unhook my bra. I wanted him to do it all, to be in charge. I guess that was part of what I got for him, this ease and confidence about sex that isn’t part of my repertoire. When he took off his shirt I stared at him, I’d almost forgotten that I’d already seen him naked: he looked just as good as he had a week ago, at Jefferson’s.
Mmmark went down on me. It was really good. Usually I’m indifferent to oral sex (receiving it, anyway, I am a big fan of giving head). But Mmmark’s tongue was so light, so slithery and flickery, I was pretty engrossed. I liked it that it was just his tongue: no scratchy chin grinding against my pubis, no lips sucking hard at me, just his tongue slipping around. My head twisted from side to side and I heard myself sigh as his tongue insinuated itself against my clit. God, it was nice. I think I was thrashing about a bit. Then I went down on him. His dick was gorgeous, just like the rest of him. I kissed it, puckering my lips around his cock, as if it could kiss me back.
“Aaah,” said Mmmark. After a bit he pulled away. “I’m too excited,” he explained.
“I think that’s the point of giving head,” I said.
“Blow jobs are my Achilles’ heel,” Mmmark said sheepishly. It was the first time I’d seen a crack in his composure. He seemed a very unflappable person. When I’m fooling around with a guy, I want him to be flapped: I want to know I’m having an effect.
He pushed me onto my back and slid a condom on so expertly I had to check to make sure it was on. I opened my legs to him; I was terribly wet and ready. He waited, pushed a little, and waited again. I strained up towards his cock. “You’re teasing me,” I said in wonder. I wanted him.
Very slowly he pushed himself all the way inside my pussy and I sighed in relief and gratitude. He moved his hips against mine in a choreographed wave, and I felt his hard stomach muscles push against me. He was fucking skilled at this, and I say that advisedly.
“Want to get on top?” he asked.
“Yes, thanks!” I said, and hopped on: Aaah. I slid onto him, watching his face. We smiled shyly at one another. I rode him, running my hands along his long body. His pelvis rose to meet me as I ground myself against him: uh oh. “Let me work for it, OK?” I breathed. Is this totally weird? I really won’t come unless I’m doing all the work and the guy just literally lies still and lets me ride him – or do him, really—with his legs stretched out at a particular angle.
“OK,” said Mmmark, as amiable as ever.
What’s my Achilles’ heel? I thought as I pounded up and down on Mmmark’s dick. Talking, I realized, as Mmmark and I fucked in polite half-silence. What turns me on is that constant undertone of longing expressed in mildly pornographic dialogue: “Oh, yes!” “Ride that cock!” “Oh, look at those tits!” “You like that? You like that, baby?” said in what I think of as a sultry voice. Which I guess means a dehydrated, sexually consumed voice.
And it occurred to me that the best sex I have is when I feel really close to someone, and I can’t feel close to someone without dialogue, and more importantly, a sense of vulnerability in the man I’m fucking. I came with a shudder, and Mmmark took over.
He was very sweaty, his hair was damp and stuck up in cowlicks. This was the most discomposed I’d seen in him, and it impressed me considerably and made me feel more relaxed. Then he came, breathing in my ear with a tense, rhythmic grunt. “That was amazing,” he said.
What, was I amazing? “I bet you say that to all the girls,” I said at last.
I thought, then, about the vulnerability of my various recent sex partners: Dominant Jordan: not vulnerable, no connection. Sweetheart Daniel: his vulnerability stems from the fact that he is seven years my junior; his regularly verbalized awe at my beauty (?!!) and his generally teenage-boy tastes-- his love of comic books, video games and sugary cereals. Jeremy. What was it about him that made me think he was vulnerable? Perhaps his looks. He’s “not conventionally good looking,” as they say in novels when describing the anti-hero. He’s stocky, and thanks to some longstanding ear-nose thing, has a sort of nasal voice. Also, he was uber-nerdy. Now that I’ve describe him, I don’t know how I managed to fall so hard for him. But I did, grr. Anyway. I guess when I met him I was so hung up on Daniel that I felt like I had the upper hand, so I didn’t feel like Jeremy’s intelligence and success and wit made him invulnerable? I don’t know… And Jefferson. Well. In my opinion, Jefferson is not the least bit vulnerable. But he doesn’t mind pretending to be in order to put people at ease. As I think I observed to my fellow blogger greenlacewing, here, Jefferson gives the impression that he’s half in love with every woman he sleeps with. That’s quite flattering. That’s part of why he’s so appealing. I wondered what Mmmark’s vulnerability was, and if I would ever discover it.
We put some clothes on and returned to the living room to watch TV. Mmmark prefers Leno to Letterman? I wondered, seeing him in a new light. Then we watched Conan, and then Last Call, cuddled up on the couch. I never stay up this late.
Eventually we went to bed and while Mmmark was in the bathroom I stripped and slid under the covers. “You’re naked,” Mmmark noted when he joined me.
“I don’t often get to sleep next to someone else’s skin,” I explained, enlightening myself as well as him, I guess. Mmmark dutifully stripped down and joined me. Then he turned off the light and I lay alongside him in the dark, my cheek against his arm.
In the morning I woke up before him. He shifted in his sleep and I rubbed up close to him, to no avail. I really wanted to fuck him. At last he was half awake, so I began to nuzzle his mouth. This was successful and soon enough he’d climbed over me and entered me from behind: Aaah.
He was wet with sweat. God, I really liked him like this, all riled up. It was nice, though fast: “I’m always quick in the mornings,” he said. I didn’t mind; I liked seeing him like this.
Eventually we went out for brunch and afterwards I came back with him, hoping for another go-round on his roommate’s bed. To no avail. I got the feeling our romantic interlude was over, so I kissed him goodbye and then I left, struggling through the maze of his apartment complex and out into the weak winter sunshine.