In those thirty minutes his hand had gone a
few times over to between my legs. Each time I wriggled away. But
the problem with sex, is that it makes you desperate for more...
For completion.
Conall had been the only man I'd ever
tasted. It meant something. This, with Dorian, was physical, purely
physical. But after half an hour, those two things — emotional and
physical — began to merge.
As I watched his cock glisten with pre-come,
the skin covering the head and then going back again, I imagined
its feel in my mouth, on my cheek, between my breasts, the lightly
salted flavor of his sweat. I wanted to lick him, wanted to put my
tongue on his sac and lick that bulging tube along his length, up
to the head, to the center, and tickle it with the tip of my
tongue...
I looked away, took a deep breath, kept
rubbing him.
I got pleasure from keeping him waiting,
keeping him begging. I know where I earned that habit, or, should I
say, from whom.
You know it too.
I closed my eyes, resisted the urge to taste
and pull on Dorian's massive manliness with my lips, but didn't
resist when his hand, one last time, eased over to between my legs.
Then, when I didn't flinch away this time, he moved his fingers
upward, into the band, and then down, under my lace underwear, and
in. Just the tips.
Just enough to make me moan.
"Mmmmmmmmm..."
Now I was his.
I forgot all levels of control. I was no
longer in charge. Just two little fingertips, after I'd been
waiting for so long, and I melted. Whereas my hand kept moving on
his cock, up and down, it was now automatic. My head fell to his
chest. Dorian shifted onto his side, my eyes fluttered back,
lulled. I was now on my back. The heat went up twenty degrees at
least. I dug my head into the pillow, losing myself in the pleasure
from the tips of his fingers, playing around, touching me,
spreading my wetness.
He ripped off my pants.
He'd be able to enter me, with all of him,
and I wouldn't care.
I lay back. Cold wind accosted my legs, and
then he kissed me between them, licked me and thrust his tongue in
me and then his fingers, then his tongue again —
"Uuuuurrrrghhhh...." was my
statement. The groan was earthy, from the bottommost parts of me. I
writhed, turned, hit the pillow with my fists because I was angry
at myself — and desperate, desperate for completion. I was
throbbing, enlarged,
open
... Part of me resisted, said no,
while the other —
so
close to climaxing! — cried and
pleaded
for him to ram his fingers
into me, press up,
rub!
Make me come. Make me
come. Make me come!
I cried inside. But not
outside, no, because I was still holding on.
Conall should be doing this.
Conall...
Conall...
Dorian pushed his chin into
me as he fed on my wet crotch, his nose rubbing my clit, then his
upper lip. I was close.
So
close.
Almost
there!
"No! Stop!"
I fired back and hit the
headboard which hit the wall and then I was off the bed! I ran to
the bathroom and slammed the door! I was still tingling,
everywhere, every limb, pore, but mostly between my legs.
God, I'm almost about to come...
I sat on the bathtub,
opened wide and looked up at the ceiling.
Stay still stay still stay still. Don't move! Think of
something else.
Throb. Throb. Pulse!
Think of the seagulls...
I breathed, slowly, like fricking
Lamaze...
Dorian called out for me from outside.
Worried. "Leora, what is it? I'm sorry? Please, I misunderstood.
Are you OK?"
Damn it
. How had I become this? How had I gone from innocent and hurt
to being the one who did the hurting?
I waited. There was no
fucking ways I was going to come now.
No
ways!
I felt my skin settle, the throbbing between
my legs was lighter, but only just. I kept my legs just slightly
open, not wanting to press, not wanting to, in any way, stimulate
the area at all.
I needed to either end things with Conall,
or continue them. But, in my mind, he was still mine. And I,
his.
And this was wrong.
And I was so fucking crazy to be thinking
that shit!
But I did, and that's how I felt. So I went
with it.
When my crawling, raw, sensitive skin
finally chilled out, I called out, "Dorian, it's not you.
Relax."
He yapped some more behind the door. I'd
really freaked him out. A good sign I figured. I guess if the guy
was a sleazeball who'd been only out to use me, he'd be blaming me
now or something.
When it no longer felt like
I was about to come by just walking, I stood at the sink, looked
myself in the mirror. I looked sexed up, hair all frazzled and
sweaty.
Damn, this could've been hot if
I'd taken it all the way...
I couldn't help thinking of
That Fucking Man,
again!
, in that moment, about the
first time he'd touched me, and how he promised my first time with
him would be:
If I ripped your dress off, it would be on a
silk bed in front of a crackling fire. There'd be champagne,
Perrier, wine, fucking diet lattés if you wanted. But there'd also
be you, and me, alone, and nothing else.
This night was so
mortifyingly...
bad
...
Now cooled off (I was even shivering) I put
my hand on the bathroom doorknob, almost turned it, until I saw
that I was butt-naked from waist on down.
That's another thing about sex: When you're
in the middle of it, and especially just before it, no one's fat or
ugly or wrinkly or hairy or whatever. It's just two bodies, perfect
for each other, nothing but human juices and dampness and smells
that fire up the pheromones and hormones even more.
But after, when you're cold, things look
different.
My legs looked flabby to me now. And I felt
much more naked than I was. Completely naked, on a beach, the sand
beating me silly, with people looking at me.
"Um, Dorian?"
His response was urgent. "Yes, Leora, what
is it?" Was he leaning against the door?
Damn, I had really freaked this guy
out...
"Um, could you" — Christ, just say it — "get
me my...pants?"
Mortifying.
Dorian slid my pants through the crack of
the door to me. I put them on, took a deep breath, readied myself
for what I'd promised him — by my actions — and walked out.
I owed him that much at least.
I didn't let him ask me what was wrong. I
didn't blame him. This was not his fault. And he'd been more than
kind about the whole thing. I realized, also, tonight, that
gentlemanliness had shit to do with nobility or any of that
bullshit.
It had to do with how a man respected a
woman.
Dorian hadn't pushed me in any way.
I put my finger to my lips and told him to
hush, pushed him at his chest with my other hand, onto his bed. He
fell over backwards onto it.
I could see he wanted to protest, his mouth
open, his eyes in shock, thousands of questions tumbling around in
his mind. I didn't want to answer them.
Keep that neighborly wall up, Leora.
I moved fast, so he wouldn't have time to
talk.
He did get one phrase out as I tugged his
pants off (he'd put them back on since). "Leora, only if you're
sure."
I answered him by yanking
his cock up, and
pumping
it, while I buried my mouth onto his smoky tongue
to keep from talking anymore. I knew I had to do it fast, because I
knew it was going to make me horny, horny as a mofo. And I knew
that I'd pleasure myself, in the comfort of my own bedroom, when we
were done. Alone. Safely. No emotional attachments or
complications.
I rubbed him, fast and hard, up and down. He
groaned, I felt him writhe, my bicep ached from the speed with
which I jerked him off.
He came. Quick and abrupt. The come — so
much of it! — fired up to his chest, once, twice, a third time (the
third had shot up to just below it.) On the fourth, it came out
like white molasses, easing out, and I squeezed the rest of it out,
until there was only a single drop.
Then something surprised
me: He stayed hard — not as hard as before — but hardish. I had no
comparison at the time for this stuff, so I figured it was just the
way it went. Not like in the movies. But Dorian clarified. "Um,
Leora," he said, sighing in deep relief. "Sometimes...when you make
a man wait too long. Well, sometimes, he needs..." He looked down,
I followed his gaze. His cock was still softly bulging, as if
already wanting round two. My bicep complained of too much lactic
acid. In a way, I was a little daunted at the task that I was
starting to understand... He needed to be pumped again. A double
orgasm? For a
man
?
That I realized I had so much to learn after
trying to be Miss Experienced around him, didn't help.
"Don't worry," he smiled, "I'll take care of
the rest."
He eased my hand off of
him, wrapped his own hand around himself, and
pumped
. It took another five minutes
(my eyes riveted to him, and my skin heating up once more...) and
then he came, for a second time. Not a lot of it, hardly any, but
come, oh yeah.
I really didn't fucking know men could do
that! But he had. His cock finally settled, got softer, and
eventually smaller, back to its normal size.
I had to get out of there.
I was
so
turned
on. And I wasn't turned on from love or from Conall or from
anything else other than:
I'm a girl, and he's a boy,
and our bodies have hormones. And I knew that's what it was. And
that, if I stayed and let him put his fingers in me as he'd done so
pleasurably the night before, then I would
really
fucking complicate things much
more than I already had!
Dorian took his shirt off
(the one with come all over it now) which made things worse. He
wasn't ripped. But,
damn
, he was friggin built... And
then there was a snake tattoo...
Breathe, Leora, damn it!
There was only one thing I could do.
"Dorian," I said, "I have to go." I looked away as I said it,
squeezed my thighs...
His calloused hand rubbed mine. "You're one
fucked up chick, I hope you don't mind me saying."
I laughed. I wasn't sure how to take that
statement.
"I don't mean that in a bad
way," he said. "And, um,
thank you
for...you know. It was...
wow
."
Someone was telling
me
I
was
"wow"?
My oh my, how things had changed. Naïve my
ass...
"I'm sorry for all the drama," I said. "I'm
sure the girls you usually bring to this apartment don't even come
close to the shit I've given you."
His answer was quick. Unthinking. And he
didn't even realize its connotations. He said, "No, they don't,"
then got up and went to a drawer to pick out a shirt.
No, they don't.
And how long had he been in town?
He hadn't denied the bringing of girls here,
hadn't even tried to make me feel special, like I was the only one
or something...
And? What had I been expecting?
Wow, I was playing with fire here.
I looked Dorian up and down one more time,
his skyscraper body, his swollen chest, his titanic shoulders.
He was a player, pure and simple. Kind.
Respectful. Sweet. Yes. But a player nonetheless.
I really had a thing for these kinds of
guys, didn't I?
And, yes, I was thinking about That Other
Guy, that other player, the one who was always on my mind even when
I'd been with Dorian.
And I'd come to live with the fact that he
always would be. So I stopped fighting it.
When I got home, I couldn't bear it. I
masturbated. Plain and simple. I thought of no one in particular as
I did it. It was purely hormonal, like animals in the wild. No
emotions to it. And that's how I wanted it.
And then I did think of Conall, and that I
would see him tomorrow after six months of wondering what the hell
had been going on between us, why he'd left. After three months of
living in a foreign country, just trying to anchor myself, to find
North, by heading East from the US, here, to the UK...
When I thought of him, I didn't masturbate.
The hormones his memories brought up now were different. They were
cold. And those hormones made me cry. The first time I'd really
cried since I'd left the states. Whatever anchorage I'd found,
whatever mooring, would be lost tomorrow. It was already slipping.
Because I knew, that when I saw Conall, it would all come tumbling
back to me.
He was the first man I loved, the first who
touched me in ways no other has done. I loved him. And, on that
night, I admitted it to myself. Finally.
Closure? Yeah, right. I didn't know exactly
what I wanted from him. But closure wasn't it.
I was a rowboat out at sea. No sails. No
oars. And there was a storm coming...
Dani gave me a ride to Brighton (thirty
minutes) from where I caught a train to Green Park Station in
London which, according to Dani, "is like right there. You just
walk out the station's main entrance, turn right, and you're at the
Ritz."