I thought I knew what sexual tension was.
See, I had hung out with girls I liked before. I had fumbled through asking them out, I had gotten a little bit jittery before that initial kiss, I'd felt that buzz of excitement seeing them take off their shirt for the first time.
So yeah
, I thought.
I know what sexual tension is. It's just nerves, that's all. Just nerves.
I was...
So.
Fucking.
Wrong.
No wonder Esme kept calling me her "sweet boy" - I didn't know anything about anything! Especially sexual tension! But you can bet I learned
damn
quick once I sat down on her couch earlier that fateful evening.
...so what is it,
really
?
Well, imagine your dick snorting a line of coke and then competing in an epic game of penile red-light-green-light. Imagine your vagina bolting a vibrator to herself that's so strong you can feel it in your
molars
...and then sitting through a three-hour church service.
That's
sexual tension - where every single nerve is juiced up and ready to fire, where the semi in your pants is nothing compared to the massive hard-on in your brain, where you're basically little more than a drooling, gonad-driven moron, but your circumstances are demanding that you behave yourself.
I don't remember what we watched. I don't remember what we talked about. All I remember is sitting with my back ramrod-straight on her couch, sweating buckets, and feeling a whole lot of
feelings
every time Esme shifted, laughed, or took a sip of the weird, artisanal beer I had brought for us.
At some point - it could have been five minutes in, it could have been five hours in - she put a hand on my thigh and squeezed. I felt my balls clench, and I damn near shot my load right then and there. I squirmed, and let out what I thought was a grunt (but which Esme later told me sounded like the mewling of a sick little kitten).
"Aww," Esme said, turning towards me. "Something wrong, sweet boy?"
"N...no..." I choked out, and a split second later Esme's mouth was pressed up against mine.
As a kid, I hated watching movies with my sister. They were, as I called them, "girl movies", full of love and heartache and happily-ever-who-the-hell-cares-after. I would often rant - and ruin the movie - when the guy finally kissed the girl, because there were always fireworks, or fountains going off, or some other atmospheric perfection happening at the same exact moment.
But when Esme kissed me that first time, I finally understood why those movies are the way that they are. It was like lightning had made a direct and semi-permanent conduit to my mouth, the electricity coursing down through my tongue, bouncing through each and every nerve that was pre-primed by the unbelievable sexual energy that had invaded me the second that I saw her.
I don't know if I saw stars, but I sure as hell
felt
them - felt them being born, felt them going supernova, felt them colliding and ejecting whatever it is that stars eject into deep space.
You might think, with the amount of allusions I've made to it, that it was that kiss that made me baste my boxers. But no. That kiss - which Esme told me later lasted about ten seconds - was so overwhelming that even my fully activated cock couldn't process its own biological imperative.
Please take a second to fully appreciate the absurdity of it all. I was literally
too aroused to cum
. How the fuck does that even happen?
However. When Esme broke off the kiss, got up on her knees, and reached over me to turn off the lamp next to the couch, squishing those big, soft breasts of hers right into my face...
Yeah...
"What the hell are you doing?" Esme said. She hadn't quite been able to reach the off-switch of the lamp, but when she heard me "squeaking" and felt me "twitching" beneath her (her words), she backed off to make sure I wasn't having a seizure.
Which...I basically was.
The next bit she and I both agree on. I made a sound that was something like "Nnnnnnn...", I got up from the couch, almost fell over, and then crouch-ran over to the bathroom.
***
The bathroom. Where I now stood beneath the harsh light, completely naked, with Esme's hand tightly gripping my still-slick junk, having just told me that she thought my cock would be "cuter" if I shaved off all of the hair around it.
"Uhhh...ha ha," I said. "I don't think so."
"Well I do," Esme said. She let go of me, allowing me to get off of my tiptoes as she took a step back, grabbed a hand towel, and cleaned my cum off her palm.
"Look, Jordy," she said, "This might sound weird, but I only fuck with guys who are bare." She looked me in the eyes, shrugged, and dropped the towel on top of the pile of clothes at my feet.
