Okay, full disclosure - I
did
bring a condom or two with me to Esme's apartment. But I was expecting at least a few safeguards prior to her seeing me naked for the first time. Safeguards like...an epic makeout session beforehand to get her mood up and her attention to detail down. Or the main lights out, with just a little bit of silver trickling in from a crack in the bathroom door. Or the fact that she'd be naked too, and therefore just as vulnerable as I am.
Okay, the idea of Esme being vulnerable was pretty laughable at the time, but still...I wanted safeguards.
But
this
? Being told to strip beneath the harsh, naked bulbs above the sink? With Esme giving no indication that she was going to take off
her
clothes"? Having just ended a ten-second makeout session by shellacking my boxers? Uh, yeah, this was
not
what I had in mind when I slipped those rubbers into my pocket.
"Oh...oh no," I said trying to laugh it off. "I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one evening."
Esme let out a half-purr, half-growl. She got a little bit closer to me, and then
I
got a
lot
closer to
her
as she grabbed my belt and pulled me in.
"I don't think you've embarrassed yourself
nearly
enough, sweet boy," she said. I looked down into her big brown eyes, which were clearly amused at the mixture of terror and arousal on my face. And just out of focus - where I still didn't dare look directly - I could see the deep shadow of her cleavage...
***
"Jordy. Hey."
I had been looking down the hallway when Esme opened the door to her apartment. I turned back to say hello...and absolutely choked on my greeting once I saw her.
See, Esme and I had coffee a couple of times since she that first day when she took my phone number. And we'd gone to get drinks at a bar where a band I really liked - and that she had winkingly described as "acceptable" - was playing. But I had only ever seen her wearing one of her work polos or the simple, looseish t-shirt she'd worn to the gig.
So when she greeted the door in a tank-top displaying what was essentially the Mariana Trench of cleavage, the part of my brain that I use for speech had to lend some extra cycles to the part of my brain that keeps me from just staring at boobs and creeping out girls.
"H...eyyyy," I said. Esme gave me the look that I was still getting used to - half-amused, half-annoyed - and let me dangle.
I held up the six-pack I brought with me. "This is beer you like."
Esme crossed her arms underneath her heavy chest, pushing her girls up and frying my brain even further.
"If you're going to be weird," she said, "I'm not going to let you in."
I just shook my head slowly, trying to adopt an expression that combined the sentiments of "I don't know what you're talking about," and "everything's cool, babydoll". I failed. Obviously.
"Tell me," she said, her tone confident without being sharp. And as it had so many times in the past week, the calm strength behind her demands pulled out more from me than I would normally give.
"I really like your...tank top," I said quickly, wilting beneath the heat that crawled up my neck.
Esme smirked. "Yeah. My tits are pretty great. Gimme." She took the beer from me, then led me into the apartment and told me what side of her couch to sit on...
***
"Let's go," she told me in the bathroom forty-five minutes later. "Clothes off."
For the third or fourth time that evening, I found myself freezing under pressure. On the one hand, I had no safeguards. I would be completely and utterly exposed...
short
comings and all. But on the other hand...
How the hell am I still hard?
