Good Things Come...ch. 2

I drove James back to my dorm room, and we talked idly; I nearly wrecked more than once because I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. He was a dream incarnate, sitting next to me making funny, caustic remarks about this town I was only now beginning to think of as home. "This reminds me a lot of Germany."

I glanced over at him, grateful for an excuse to do so. "Germany?"

"Yeah.. I went to high school overseas.. And for some reason, this place reminds me of Germany. Without the nazis."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Of course."

Walking him to my dorm room felt like a religious experience. It was late fall, and the wind blew golden leaves gently across the long cobblestone walkway. Fall was beautiful, especially late October, and the picturesque, small campus of my college looked every bit like the postcards they sold in the student bookstore. Ever since the phone call where he talked me through my first night on campus, every time I had walked the cobblestone path to my dorm, I'd imagined I was walking with him through those postcards, showing him where I lived.. Showing him my home. And I was finally doing it.

When we got to my dorm room, the first thing he had to do was unpack.. And the first thing my friend and next-door neighbor, Kristina, had to do was come and check him out. The first moment that James had his back to us, Kris shot me a look and mouthed the words, "I hate you." I giggled, and James turned around.

"Something humorous, young lady?"

"Oh, not at all." Kris and I began giggling again.

He eyed the two of us suspiciously. "You weren't laughing at my ass, were you? Because I happen to think I have a very nice ass." James was not the type to make such an assertion unless he had good grounds for it. It definitely made the top ten in asses that I'd seen.

My friend Kris stopped giggling for a moment. "Oh, not at all."

"Good. Because I have no shame." He paused in unpacking. "Here." He held up a pair of olive-green silk boxers a few inches from Kris' nose. "See? This is my underwear. I don't even remember your name, and I'm showing you my underwear. Dignity? What's that?"

Kris laughed, and looked at me. "I think I'll leave you two alone now.." I nodded, and the two of us wished her goodbye. The door closed, and I was alone with James. Wow.

After he finished unpacking, he hugged me most unexpectedly. "Thank you so much for making me come visit you.. It's exactly what I needed." There was that melting feeling again, like the two of us were blending into each other, like some artist was sketching all of this and had taken the eraser and gotten rid of the lines that separated the two of us. Pure perfection.

"Oh, it was nothing.. Thank you for coming to visit me."

He pulled back slightly, and plopped dramatically on to my bed. "Christ, I'm tired.. a day of flying, then 14 hours on a bus. When's breakfast? I'm starved."

"Well, it's a weekend.. So we have brunch at 11:30."

"Oh, god, that's three hours from now." He sighed, mumbling incoherently, and then laid so that his feet were propped up on my pillows and his head rested on the foot of my bed. "I think I'm going to take a nap... Come join me. There's plenty of room if you sleep normally."

I reluctantly joined him. "All right.." I handed him a pillow, and laid down, one hand resting gently on his kneecap. It felt like my entire consciousness was poured into the palm of my hand, and rested there on his kneecap, feeling his skin, touching him.

After a few moments, when we were both nearly asleep, he encircled his arm around my calf and began rubbing my leg gently. "Moira?" His voice was distant, as if he was talking in his sleep.

"Yes?" It came out half-yawn as I began to drift off.

"You really are beautiful." I smiled, and that's the last I remembered.

At brunch, he entertained my friends quite well with his charm and caustic wit; after, my friend Kris asked us if we'd like to go roller-skating with her, of all things. James grinned. "That sounds like fun! Definitely. C'mon, Moira.."

I looked at James carefully, and shot Kris a look. This whole idea irked me slightly; I wanted James to myself. Call me selfish, but.. And besides, there was another problem. I blushed lightly. "I don't think so. James can go if he likes, but.. Well, I've never been on a pair of roller skates in my life."

"Come on! I'll teach you how to roller skate. Just come with us.." James took my hand in an attempt to lead me out the door.

"I don't know.." I really did not like the idea of one of James' first impressions of me being me falling flat on my ass for a couple hours.

He brought the hand he'd been holding to his lips, and kissed it with the utmost reverence. It sent a shock of electricity from my hand up my arm, and right behind my eyes, causing my vision to swim. "Please?"

I heard myself answer. "All right."

Amazingly, the few hours spent at the roller-skating rink went relatively without incident; I only fell once, and James was right there to help me up. It basically entailed two hours of him forcefully keeping his grip on my hand, making sure I wouldn't fall. I wasn't complaining.

We caught an early dinner, and by 6 o'clock, he was crashed on my bed. I never knew he was a sprawler; he had, however, warned me that he snored when he was dead tired. I couldn't have slept if I wanted to, not with that racket.

I slipped out of the room, turning off the lights, and went down the hall to take a shower in the community bathroom-most of the people in my school wish they had their own personal bathroom, but not me. I've never been a bath person, and the shower stalls were nice and big, plus the water pressure was incredible. I slipped out of my clothes, and turned the water on so hot it nearly cooked my skin-the kind of hot where the moment it hits your skin, the water knocks the wind out of you. My kind of shower.

I found myself getting extremely turned on as I soaped my skin, and my scrubs turned into caresses. I could scarcely believe that the guy I had loved and lusted after for 7 months was lying, asleep and snoring, on my bed. I shaved my legs carefully, trimmed my pussy hair (I'd given up shaving it bare after reading it was bad for vaginal health), and washed my hair. I slipped into a short satin nightgown with a matching robe, and went back to my room.

James was still asleep.

I found this quite disappointing; this was the nicest nightgown I owned, the only one I had that was anywhere CLOSE to sexy, and he was still sprawled on my bed, snoring. I couldn't even join him, he'd sprawled so much. I carefully extracted a pillow from below his feet and sunk to the floor, leaning against the wall. I chuckled. What was it they said about the best laid plans?

So, as corny as it may sound, I sat on the floor, looking up at this snoring, sprawling young man who had positioned himself in a way that was far more humorous than sexy... And for what seemed like only a few minutes, I was captivated by watching him sleep-but soon, those few minutes turned into a few hours, and the room was so dark I could barely discern his form.

And then.. He started tossing, turning.. He'd told me he suffered from chronic nightmares before, but I had no idea how apropos the word 'suffered' was. He thrashed on the bed like a fish on a line getting jerked out of the water. I was paralyzed, I didn't know how to calm or comfort him, or even if I should or could wake him up. Finally, his torso leaped into the air, did a 180-degree flip, and he landed, eyes wide open, hands planted, as if he were about to do a pushup when something scared the hell out of him.

I immediately sat on the side of the bed, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He turned over and looked at the room in fright and confusion. "Shhhhhh. You're visiting me, remember?" He looked up at me in the silent wonder of a child, and then closed his eyes, sighing deeply in relief, and rested his head gently on my shoulder. I stroked his hair, not knowing what else to do.

"Want to talk about it?" This was a silly question-I must've asked him about his nightmares at least a dozen times before, and James was a very closed-off individual. He always answered very gruffly, telling me he didn't want to talk about it, or that he wasn't into "sharing," or something equally good at shutting me out.

To my surprise, however, he pulled away from me, and leaning his head back against my wall, began to speak. "You know things have never been good in my family... We're really good at hurting each other. It's what we do. We love each other, don't get me wrong, but we're angry, loud, abrasive people. Arguments are really common in my house." He paused and looked at me. "Did I ever tell you about my father?"

I blinked. "Not really, no."

"My dad is JACKED. He's shorter than me, but damn.. He's buff. He was a general in the Army before he retired.. He makes me look like a scrawny little wuss." My eyes flickered appreciatively over James' body-James was a serious kickboxer, and an athletic nut. Needless to say, I was impressed. "Anyway.. When we were living in Germany, my dad had a couple of little strokes. He's the same as he's always been, it didn't affect his thought processes.. But the left half of his face is paralyzed. It's really hard to tell, though; if you didn't know, you wouldn't guess it.

"So one day he and I were arguing-I don't even remember over what-and I guess he said something that really got to me, and I was fighting to keep my cool. He said, 'What, boy, are you gonna cry? Don't you HATE it when you're trying to act like a man and your face twitches and gives it all away? Are you going to start bawling like a baby?'"

James took a deep breath. "I wanted to beat the holy hell out of him. I wanted to break that fucking nose of his.." He rubbed his hand over his face, over the bridge of his nose, and looked so very tired. I remembered him saying he looked quite a bit like his father, and I would not have been surprised if they had the same nose. "I wanted to. Maybe I should have."

He looked at me, blankly and helplessly. "Instead, I said, 'At least my face CAN twitch, you freak.'" There was silence in the room for a while. I knew I must have winced. I couldn't help it. Soon, he started speaking again. "He just looked at me for a moment, cleared his throat, said 'G'night, son,' and walked out. That's what I dream about.. Except in the dream, I kill him." He gulped, and slunk down fully, until he was once again lying on my bed instead of sitting with his back on my wall. My hand was still on his shoulder.

I took a deep breath. I wanted to comfort him so badly.. I loved him even more for his admission, and I didn't think he understood that. I didn't even think he knew I loved him; after all, we were just friends. Just.. friends..

I knew it was now or never; as usual when I get nervous, I heard myself speak. "Mind if I ask you a really silly question, hon?"

James looked at me curiously. "Sure, Moira."

I looked away for a moment. "Would you mind if I kissed you?"

He chuckled, surprised that I had asked permission; surprised that I felt like kissing him too, I suspect. "Kiss me?"

I looked at him, clearing my throat. Oh, crap. I didn't know that our first kiss would involve a discussion panel. It was his own damned fault for not kissing me earlier. "Well, yeah. 'Cause, you know, we're friends.. And I didn't want to surprise you and weird you out."

He smiled softly and warmly, and I knew I was in the clear. "Somehow, I doubt that would 'Weird me out.'"

I'd been waiting for this moment for months, and damned if I was going to screw it up. Closing my eyes, leaning down as his head yearned up.. I felt his breath on my face before I finally closed the last amount of distance.

The kiss started tentatively, the simple brushing of lip on lip, reveling in the feeling of a dream realized, an intense longing fulfilled. And then, tentatively, I painted his lower lip lightly with my tongue, and as if it had been knocking on a door, his mouth opened up to me. I don't know how to describe the tentative exploration, the tightly-leashed passion, the breathless innocent desire that was contained in that one bare kiss. I loved him, and I knew he had opened a place so vulnerable and deep to me, that he had shown a part of himself that he thought ugly and human, knowing there was a chance I might hurt him. I didn't have words for that; that's why I kissed him.

That kiss, I suppose, was where I explained it to him-bathing his tongue with my own, I whispered to him that I would take care of him; running my tongue along the sharp points of his teeth, I murmured that I knew he had the power to hurt me, and I didn't care. As my hands gently traveled the surface of his neck and shoulders, I worshipped him. I was never good at being vulnerable; that kiss was the best I could do.

Fortunately, he accepted it. He slowly sat up, while continuing the kiss, and then bent over me, replying to every single syllable my body had spoken in kind. His hand parted my robe, feather-light, and slipped in delicate disbelief over my round, satin-covered breast. I didn't spend the time in a dazed disbelief that this was happening, as one might expect; I wasn't really thinking, just reacting. It was a matter of moments before my nipple was pressing insistently against the palm of his hand, and slipping the robe off of my shoulder completely, James trailed his kiss from my jawbone down the side of my neck.

I let out a soft, purring sigh, and he slipped the thin strap of my nightgown from my shoulder to my elbow, lifting one of my heavy breasts from my ribcage and reverently sucking the nipple between his lips, eyes fixed on mine unswervingly, much like the first time he kissed my hand. Instinctively, I arched my back and moaned. Slowly, his lips began to devour more of my breast-my aureoles are oddly large, bigger than silver-dollars and almost a starburst shape, but before long, the entirety of it was hidden beneath his lips as he gently prodded and caressed with his tongue, occasionally nibbling my nipple, which was more erect than I'd ever seen it before.

I began caressing his ribs, and as he stroked my other, satin-covered breast with one hand, his other hand slowly slipped down, below my nightgown, and into the dark, warm area between my legs. When he felt how wet I was, and I felt his touch where I had been longing for it for so long, we moaned like one together, a perfect harmony. He just gently caressed the inside portion of my pussy lips, running his fingertips over my clit and around my opening. Finally he moved his lips back to my mouth, and the cold air hitting my wet breast shocked my nerve endings as I moaned into his mouth. He withdrew his fingers from between my legs, broke the kiss, and rolled on to his back with a sigh. "THAT blew my mind." He turned on his side, and rested his face on his hand-then realized it was wet with pussy juice. He tasted his hand and moaned. "Christ, the first night I'm here.."

He shook his head and looked at me. "I need to masturbate."

I blinked at him. Note for the males reading this: when there's a half-naked, fully-willing woman in the bed with you, expressing a need to masturbate is something that will most likely puzzle said woman. "I'm sorry.. What?"

"I need to masturbate. I thought you said you liked watching that sort of thing?"

Then it hit me. I'd never actually seen a man masturbate before, but the idea of it was a very big turn-on to me. James was offering to masturbate in front of me.. And to be honest, as turned on as I was, and as much as I loved him, the idea of throwing him to the ground and fucking him sweaty was still slightly beyond my comfort zone. "Definitely."

He stood for a moment, slipping off his boxers, and then kneeled, naked, on my bed. I tried not to stare at his cock, but I did give it a few appreciative glances. It wasn't particularly large or small; I'd seen longer, and I'd seen shorter. Since he kickboxed, the majority of his hair was shaved away, leaving his cock and balls exposed. It was a lovely sight. Bestowing on me a wry smile, he started to instruct me on the finer points of male masturbation. "First of all," he said, licking his hand, "anyone who tells you a dry jerk-off doesn't hurt is a liar."

I couldn't resist. I knew that jacking off was usually a solo activity for men, but even the anticipation of witnessing such an intimate act was turning me on. I gently but firmly took his wrist in my hand and pulled it away from his mouth, and licked it, slowly and thoroughly, my eyes on his. The moment my tongue touched the palm of his hand, he took a sharp intake of breath which was exhaled in something akin to a growl; I could feel where his hand was already damp from his own saliva, and traced those places, allowing the moisture to mix in some sort of communion. He watched me with a look of undisguised amaze and lust as I gently, thoroughly painted his palm with the flat of my tongue. And then, I gently sucked his thumb into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, bobbing my head lightly. "Oh, god, Moira.."

Slowly and methodically, I sucked each of his fingers as if they were small cocks-running the tip of my tongue along the nail, kneading the knuckle insistently between the roof of my mouth and my tongue, before slowly withdrawing it from my mouth while still sucking on it. I smiled impishly at him. "Better?"

In reply, his hand gravitated to his cock as if by some magnetic pull. Wrapping his hand around the shaft tightly, he began moving it slowly and methodically from his balls to his tip, running his thumb over the head before moving back down. As his hand began to pick up speed, I began to get extremely wet just from watching him. Watching James stroke his cock hard was driving me crazy; I decided to see exactly how I could make him even hotter.

Sitting behind him on the bed, I began to plant feather-light kisses on the back of his neck, lightly running the tips of my fingernails over his neck and shoulders. Trailing my kisses wetly to his sensitive earlobe, I gently sucked it into my mouth and began massaging it with my teeth. Emitting a low moan, James' hand began moving faster and harder, and I then planted my well-manicured, oval fingernails on the base of his neck and dragged them down the shaft of his spine. He moaned, squeezing his balls with his free hand.

His hand moved faster and faster, and I was absolutely amazed at the speed in which it moved over his shaft. He squeezed his balls in a rhythm now, and was moaning, growling, and sighing like a man possessed. It was the single most erotic cacophony I'd ever heard. I traced my tongue along his collarbone before a realization hit me: when I asked James if he liked having his nipples sucked, he said no one had ever tried it. I know that, for some guys, it does nothing; for others, it's a turn-off because they acquaint it with something effeminate. I thought this would be as good a time as any to find out, and reaching around his warm body, I fastened my lips to his nipple.

"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHH!"

He moved his hand from its place squeezing his balls and forcibly pressed the back of my head closer to him. I took the fact that he nearly broke my nose against his sternum as a good sign, and sucked with fervor. "Oh, God yes.. Harder.. HARDER.." He was speaking through clenched teeth. Helpless, I obeyed, fighting to maneuver my head in such a way that I could once again breathe.

There was a pause when his labored breathing stopped, and then-well, the sound he emitted was impossible to describe. I can only imagine it was something akin to the mating call of a cougar. I remembered my neighbors, and quickly placed my mouth on his, crushing it in a searing kiss to muffle the sound as his cum shot onto his abdomen and began dripping down.