When I arrived Sweetheart Daniel was engrossed in a solo game of Rock Band. “I see you’re rehearsing,” I said.
I myself have never been a video game player, though I can happily waste hours on computer solitaire. Not to mention minesweeper, which always inspires me to belt “MineSWEEPER! It’s the GAME, the game with the SWEEPING TOUCH!” in my best Shirley Bassey contralto.
I don’t understand the appeal of Rock Band—why not just learn the guitar? It can’t be harder than trying to keep up with those colored lights. … This is probably why I don’t actually play video games. But this is right up Daniel’s alley, along with comic books and cereals that turn your tongue blue. Once he told me without a trace of shame that he was “really looking forward to the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie.” But anyway.
We cooked dinner, then settled on the sofa to watch a movie. He put his arm around my shoulder, and we sat close together, with my hand on his leg.
When it was done, Daniel stood up, stretched, and said, “So do you have to go soon?”
“Uh,” I said. I averted my eyes. I looked like I was pouting, but really I was just mortified.
I had been planning to sleep with Daniel. But apparently my would-be partner had not read my mind, forcing me to have to proposition him. Daniel caught my eye and was unable to conceal a smirk. “I mean,” he said, and moved towards me.
I slumped back onto the sofa. “I can go,” I offered sulkily.
“No, don’t go, I just didn’t want to assume.”
I rubbed my hand over my forehead theatrically, to hide my embarrassment. “Well, I was thinking of breaking my fast,” I admitted finally. Then I mentally kicked myself for speaking in euphemisms, which I detest.
Daniel sat down and put his arms around me. I buried my face in his neck. Oh, his neck! When we were dating it was like catnip for me, this irreducible mix of pheromones and soap and sweat. But now, from lack of contact, I was sensitive to what I suspected was Irish Spring and something else I couldn’t identify. The smell, though nice, was no longer familiar: I was used to Dean’s smell.
“I don’t know if I can kiss you,” I mumbled. I was eager to have sex with Daniel, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready for kissing. Was my body free, but my lips still attached (metaphorically speaking) to Dean?
“That’s OK,” said Daniel, who is always accommodating. He touched his lips to my cheek, then stood up and tugged my arm. “Come on,” he said, and led me down the hall.
In his bedroom we lay next to one another on the bed we’d had so much sex in, played so many games of Guillotine. On one hand, I was nervous. I hadn’t had sex with anyone but Dean in almost a year, and I hadn’t had sex at all in over two months. On the other hand, Daniel always makes me comfortable and happy. So I cuddled up in his arms. And because he smelled so nice and has such a lean, strong chest and is so Daniel, soon enough my mouth found his skin and his hands slipped inside my shirt. And my lips roved across his chest and I realized that I was free to kiss whomever I liked after all.
I tentatively nipped his lips. He tentatively nipped back. I like this teasing; it gives me time to get turned on. I dislike it when a guy goes right for my tonsils or tries to vacuum my tongue, it takes all the anticipation out of it. Also, being mauled by a marauding mouth (dig the alliteration!) doesn’t feel good. But the tentative kissing was effective, and after a moment I opened my mouth and slipped my tongue inside his.
It felt great.
We climbed out of our clothes like it hadn’t been 18 months since we’d been naked together. Lying on the bed, my hand slipped down his torso and onto his dick; his fingers found my clit. It was so familiar: Daniel’s bed, his skin, the noises he made, the quickness of my response. I sighed and rubbed his dick. Gosh, he’s big. I mean, I knew that, it’s not like I had forgotten the fact, but my senses were surprised to stretch my hand around his girth, to trail my fingers along the length.
We fooled around for a while.
He lifted his eyebrows at me and I nodded. After he fitted the condom on his dick I straddled him. When his dick poked at me I felt pushed open in a way I hadn’t been pushed open in, well, two months. My cunt resisted before slipping open, slowly, against him. “Ooooh,” I said, not very eloquently.
Our eyes met. “Is that good?” I prompted.
He smiled. “That’s great.”
I rocked against him, getting used to the big bluntness of him inside me. I rode up and down his dick, trying to keep my breathing even. He felt solid and heavy and deep inside me.
The bed creaked. I remembered how Daniel’s bed had always squeaked when we had sex; it was a sort of boasting bed. Wendy (Daniel’s then roommate, that’s how I met her) told me that she and Daniel’s other roommate had once applauded us, we were so noisy (and, evidently, riveting). Anyway.
I lowered myself against him so we were chest to chest, and we kissed some more. The room was warm and dark and we were so close all I was aware of was his skin, his close-together dark eyes and brown-black sideburns, his pale collarbone.
My legs started to twitch, which is a prelude to orgasm for me, but I wanted to make it last (it had been a while, after all), so I slowed myself down.
This was a mistake, because soon enough I wanted to come, but I couldn’t. My legs shook (“I like it when you quiver,” Daniel whispered, grinning) and I felt the frantic tension build all along my groin and thighs and abdomen, but I couldn’t quite get over into the delicious completeness of orgasm. After a bit I abandoned my attempt, and indicated to Daniel that he could give it a whirl. As it were.
We tried to maneuver ourselves so that he could flip me onto my back while staying inside of me, but this proved too acrobatic, so he slid out of me for a sec and I leaned against the pillows, pleasantly drained.
Then Daniel loomed up over me and slid inside me once again. I pushed up against him and met his eyes: “You want to come?” I breathed. “Hmmm?”
He bore down on me and smiled, absently, as he pumped at me. After a minute his body sped up, and twitched, so I encouraged him: “You going to come for me, Daniel? You going to come?”
He face looked fierce and private, and after a minute, he came. Some deep breaths later he shifted out of me, and I slid onto my side, into the fetal position. Daniel curled up next to me. “That was nice,” I murmured.
He clutched me to him and kissed my forehead. I felt this wash of relief: relief that I’d been able to have sex and to enjoy it so thoroughly; that my sadness at my breakup with Dean had not consigned me to a sex-free ghetto; that I was (apparently) capable of having healthy, casual sex; all that stuff.
Daniel put an arm around me and I snuggled up against him. His heartbeat steadied to normal, and I rubbed my cheek against his shoulder. When he turned out the light I lay in the dark, not sleepy, but thinking about where I had been, and where I was headed.