never
dream of admitting out loud, and to reassess whether they're really worthy of
any guilt or embarrassment. I've lost count of how many times our conversations
have ended with me rushing to my bedroom and spending a good hour with the
vibrator. And I trust him. I can't explain why, but I trust him.
After drying my hands, I open the bathroom door and step
into the hallway, almost running into Josh.
“Oh! I—Hi.” Why can't I form a complete sentence tonight?
“I'm sorry if that was too much back there,” he says.
“No, I... I like when you come on strong.” It saves me from
having to initiate anything.
It was his idea, not mine makes it easier for me to
give into what it is I really want . It's a fallacy, but it works for me.
He stands so close to me in this little hallway. The tension that's usually
strung across a few hundred miles over the internet is now packed tight between
us.
“Would it be rude if we left right now?” he asks, stepping
toward me. I move back. It isn't that I don't want to be close. I've wanted
that for so long. I just want to stay perched on this edge a while longer,
enjoying the surge of anticipation as it continues to build higher than I
thought possible, until I feel like I might erupt in a flash of light and cease
to exist if he doesn't hurry up and touch me.
“I think so, yes. Besides,” I maneuver past him,
intertwining my fingers with his as I do, “you've been teasing me for months.
It's my turn.” With a gentle tug, I lead him back to the party, letting go of
his hand just before we descend the stairs.
We spend the rest of the night engaged in an elaborate dance
of innuendo and surreptitious touches. I’m sure he doesn't even realize it half
the time, but words innocent within their context hold hidden messages for me. Rhythm.
Taste. Hard. Sweet. The brush of fingertips, the accidental bump of
shoulders or knees, sends a thrill through my body each time. Josh tries a few
times, but I don't let him kiss me. Not on the mouth. Not even when the ball
drops at midnight and everyone toasts and cheers and locks lips with their
partners, or whoever happens to be standing nearby. But I do wrap my arms
around him in a full-body hug, hips and breasts pressed firm against him, and
whisper Happy New Year with my lips close to his ear—close enough to
catch his earlobe between my teeth for just a second and laugh at the way his
whole body tenses. It's a boldness that surprises even me.
Kara wants me to stay for a few more drinks and chastises me
for paying for a hotel room instead of crashing at her place like half of her
friends. I politely decline the drinks and make some excuse about not being a
very good house guest. She's pretty tipsy anyway, so she doesn't insist for too
long before retrieving my coat. When Josh says he's leaving as well, Kara looks
at me and even through the haze of alcohol I know she knows. I slip out the
door with laughter on my lips while Josh gets his coat.
The cold air hits me like a brick wall, but my blood is so
hot it feels good. Josh's footsteps crunch behind me in a quick pattern and he
catches up to me as I get to my car. I sidestep another attempt at a kiss.
“Not yet.”
“You're killing me.” He pushes a stray lock of hair away
from my eyes and grins.
“I know. But you still have to wait.”
He leaves his car and rides in mine. Without the buffer of
other people, I’m overwhelmed by the sheer proximity of him. No one else to
fill in conversation or distract me from my thoughts. I push the speed limit
cautiously, trying to get to our destination faster and shorten the time we
have to spend in this strange silence.
“Are you cold?” Josh asks.
“What? No.” I adjust the heat in case he is.
“Your hands are trembling.”
So they are. “I'm a little nervous. Is that stupid?”
“No. Definitely not stupid.” His smile reassures me a little
bit. And those eyes. A darker shade of blue. Kind, but mysterious, as though
they mask
dream of admitting out loud, and to reassess whether they're really worthy of
any guilt or embarrassment. I've lost count of how many times our conversations
have ended with me rushing to my bedroom and spending a good hour with the
vibrator. And I trust him. I can't explain why, but I trust him.
After drying my hands, I open the bathroom door and step
into the hallway, almost running into Josh.
“Oh! I—Hi.” Why can't I form a complete sentence tonight?
“I'm sorry if that was too much back there,” he says.
“No, I... I like when you come on strong.” It saves me from
having to initiate anything.
It was his idea, not mine makes it easier for me to
give into what it is I really want . It's a fallacy, but it works for me.
He stands so close to me in this little hallway. The tension that's usually
strung across a few hundred miles over the internet is now packed tight between
us.
“Would it be rude if we left right now?” he asks, stepping
toward me. I move back. It isn't that I don't want to be close. I've wanted
that for so long. I just want to stay perched on this edge a while longer,
enjoying the surge of anticipation as it continues to build higher than I
thought possible, until I feel like I might erupt in a flash of light and cease
to exist if he doesn't hurry up and touch me.
“I think so, yes. Besides,” I maneuver past him,
intertwining my fingers with his as I do, “you've been teasing me for months.
It's my turn.” With a gentle tug, I lead him back to the party, letting go of
his hand just before we descend the stairs.
We spend the rest of the night engaged in an elaborate dance
of innuendo and surreptitious touches. I’m sure he doesn't even realize it half
the time, but words innocent within their context hold hidden messages for me. Rhythm.
Taste. Hard. Sweet. The brush of fingertips, the accidental bump of
shoulders or knees, sends a thrill through my body each time. Josh tries a few
times, but I don't let him kiss me. Not on the mouth. Not even when the ball
drops at midnight and everyone toasts and cheers and locks lips with their
partners, or whoever happens to be standing nearby. But I do wrap my arms
around him in a full-body hug, hips and breasts pressed firm against him, and
whisper Happy New Year with my lips close to his ear—close enough to
catch his earlobe between my teeth for just a second and laugh at the way his
whole body tenses. It's a boldness that surprises even me.
Kara wants me to stay for a few more drinks and chastises me
for paying for a hotel room instead of crashing at her place like half of her
friends. I politely decline the drinks and make some excuse about not being a
very good house guest. She's pretty tipsy anyway, so she doesn't insist for too
long before retrieving my coat. When Josh says he's leaving as well, Kara looks
at me and even through the haze of alcohol I know she knows. I slip out the
door with laughter on my lips while Josh gets his coat.
The cold air hits me like a brick wall, but my blood is so
hot it feels good. Josh's footsteps crunch behind me in a quick pattern and he
catches up to me as I get to my car. I sidestep another attempt at a kiss.
“Not yet.”
“You're killing me.” He pushes a stray lock of hair away
from my eyes and grins.
“I know. But you still have to wait.”
He leaves his car and rides in mine. Without the buffer of
other people, I’m overwhelmed by the sheer proximity of him. No one else to
fill in conversation or distract me from my thoughts. I push the speed limit
cautiously, trying to get to our destination faster and shorten the time we
have to spend in this strange silence.
“Are you cold?” Josh asks.
“What? No.” I adjust the heat in case he is.
“Your hands are trembling.”
So they are. “I'm a little nervous. Is that stupid?”
“No. Definitely not stupid.” His smile reassures me a little
bit. And those eyes. A darker shade of blue. Kind, but mysterious, as though
they mask
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