She's crying. Why is she crying?
This is supposed to be the afterglow. My breathing hasn't even slowed down yet. My pulse is still thumping away like a happy dog's tail. It was good, better than I was ready for. I'd come first. I'd been trying to hold off for her so she could finish, and I knew I'd be right behind her, but she'd ignored my attempts to slow down. Even though I couldn't keep it back any longer, she didn't stop when I released. Instead, she'd clutched me to her and rode out the last of my softening erection, finishing herself off with our momentum, and the excitement of my having come in her. Then she started crying. And she hadn't let go.
"Sorry," she says into the crook of my neck, still weeping. I feel the wet of her tears against her cheeks with the skin of my shoulder. "It's nothing you've done. I always cry when I come. I don't know why, it's just always been this way."
"Mnuh. Uh-huh." I grunt, not knowing what to say next. Hell, I don't even know what to call her right now. 'Bratface' is entirely out of the question- I haven't called her that since we were kids. But her name doesn't seem to fit. That's not how I think of her. And something like 'Sweetheart' or 'Honey' is just plain awkward, like I'd be forcing it.
"Shhhhh. Just hold me." That settles it, thank god. Holding I can do. I feel her heart tapping out a ragged counterpoint to mine as her ribcage heaves with gentle sobs. Her skin is cool and a little wet. Somewhere along the line, a thin layer of sweat had covered her and she was gleaming like candlelit gold. Now it's just wet. And we smell medical. After I've been done for about two minutes, that rich, funky sex smell of pussy and sweat and come always reminds me of hospitals for some reason.
…kissing me. Oh, I think I fell asleep for a minute. She's kissing me, and it's all sloppy. Not a dry kiss where everybody's face is well-defined and distinct. This is more like stirring two liquids together. Mmmmn. We haven't unmixed ourselves yet, at all. We're both floating in a creamy soup of bodies and sheets. Warm and yummy and filling.
"So now you know my secret," she says, hopefully.
"You mean about the, uhm, crying?"
"Yeah. It's a pretty intimate thing about me. It's not something I have any control over. I don't tell anyone about it. Only my lovers have ever known. Now you know. Thank you for not freaking out or anything."
"It's okay."
She snuggles down into my arms some more.
"Sometimes a guy will just roll away and leave, he won't even say anything as he gets dressed. Maybe he'll say he'll call on the way out the door. They never call. I try not to sleep with people like that anymore. But even so, most guys try to comfort me and tell me it's all right and they'll make everything better. They don't mean it, they're just freaked out and they don't know what else to say. They don't understand that I'm not upset. I'm not even unhappy. I'm just crying."
"Yeah. There's nothing wrong with crying. People cry. Sometimes it feels good."
"Uh-huh. It's a thing my body does. It's physiological."
"I get it. I cried after I had my appendix out. It wasn't that I hurt or anything. My face just scrunched itself up and started leaking as I was coming out of anesthesia."
"Mmm-hmmm. It's like that. When I have an orgasm, something deep inside me just lets go. I'm actually very happy right now."
"Good. Me too."
We lay there a minute more, not talking. My hand is on the back of her head. Hers is half-curled on my chest, stroking with her fingers lazily, the way you'd pet a dog while you're talking on the phone.
"Thank you for understanding. Thank you for just being there and holding me. That's what I wanted you to do."
"It's what I want, too. I love it just lying here with you like this."
"Mmmmm. It's nice."
"Hey?"
"Hmm?"
"We've know each other almost all our lives. We're thirty now. Why do you think we waited so long for this?"
"I don't know. I guess we had to grow up first."
We lay there a minute as she lets this sink in.
"I guess I'm glad I'm not having sex with the jerky neighbor boy who made my adolescence a holy terror. You're an adult. I'm an adult. I like you, and we've got a lot in common. We can deal with each other now."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Was I really that bad? A holy terror, really?"
"Nah. Not really. If you'd asked me that ten years ago, I'd have launched into you with dozens of stories about how traumatized I was by everything you ever did or said. Like how my jelli bangle bracelets looked like fishing lures, or how my red leg warmers were 'handlebar grips.'"
"God, I'm sorry. I had no idea you'd even remember that."
"I was twelve. It was burned into my brain. It's not your fault. The truth is, growing up is gonna be Hell, no matter what, and you were just there for it. So don't worry about it."
"Okay… No, no, I'll worry anyway."
"Goofball." Big kiss from her. My ears turned red as the word sank in. Damnit, that word kept me from believing that any woman would ever take me seriously all the way through high school.
"Bratface." Another big kiss. Her turn to blush. She starts laughing halfway through the kiss.
"You jerk. I had to fight my way through the whole 'Bratface' thing to become a woman."
"Hmmmnph. I was just thinking the same thing about the G-word."
"Aww. You were always MY goofball. Nobody else was ever my Goofball."
"That's sweet. I never called anybody else Bratface, either. Not even my sister."
"I know. I noticed that. See, I even paid attention to what you DIDN'T say."
"There's a lot I didn't say."
"I know."
We enjoy one of those pauses that needs to go to the gym and shed a few pounds. She's looking at me like it's my turn. So, okay, what the hell. I'll take the plunge.
"I can say it now, if you like."
"Would you?"
I'm always going to remember the way she's looking at me.
"I love you, Bratface. Somehow, some way, it's always been you."
"Oooh. My Goofball. So sweet, I love you, too. Come here."
Nothing but kisses now. I'm rolling over on top of her. That other part of my body is rolling over and waking up again now. My little self. He wants some more. She feels it and reaches down and grabs me playfully.
"Mmm. Up for more, big boy?"
I answer with a growl, since I've got a mouthful of her neck. She giggles and squeezes at me until I'm all the way up. She nudges one shoulder, pushing me sideways.
"Here, like this, okay? I like it like this." She's flat on her back, next to me, and she's got me on my side, spooning her. She raises the leg closest to me… oh, I get it, she wants me to go at her from underneath. She shifts her hips into position and reaches down to guide me in. I grip her opposite thigh between mine for leverage and mmmmn, I'm in her again. She's a slippy wet mess. There's not much friction, but it's a very comfortable screw. I reach my forearm under her knee to help hold her closest leg up. That hand automatically finds her breasts while my other is under her shoulder, stroking her neck.
"Like this?"
"Yeah, that's right. Oh, and yeah, I like it when you play with my titties, too."
