No matter how hard he stared at it, the ceiling gave him no answers. Unable to sleep, Aaron had stared at his bedroom ceiling for close to two hours now. In fact, since Celeste had fled to the bathroom the questions that swirled in Aaron's mind left him dazed like a punch-drunk boxer, and while he contemplated them, he had stared at many things, as if he might scry the answer to his questions. Aaron knew the answers to his questions were close, but like a shadow in the corner of his eye, he just couldn't focus his eyes and mind on them.
First, he stared at the bathroom door. Celeste was behind that door, and he had hoped she might answer a few of those questions. While he stared at the door he listened for any sound from her, but the only answer was the shower. He persisted until became obvious that Celeste's shower would last a while and, therefore, the answers were not forthcoming.
Next, he stared at the wet spot their encounter left on the sofa. Again and again, he scanned his eyes over the scene in search of answers, but the sofa proved as inscrutable as the door. After a bit, he decided the most useful thing to do was take the covers off the cushions and run them through the laundry.
While he was in the laundry room, Celeste apparently left the bathroom and went to her own room. He could only guess that because the bathroom door was open, and her bedroom door was shut. Aaron stared at the door to Celeste's room and listened for her to make some kind of sound. He didn't dare knock because of the uncertainty his questions cast over the situation, so he just stared at the door to her room until it was time to put the pillow covers in the dryer.
With the pillow covers in the dryer, Aaron hunched over the kitchen table and stirred some cold pork fried rice around a bowl as he stared out the window. The storm continued to pile a deep white blanket over everything, and the snow whipped through the air, thick and fast. The only answer the window gave was to reflect his pensive face back at him which only compounded his frustration at the lack of answers. Thankfully, the need to retrieve the pillow covers from the dryer ended that session of staring at his own face. The uneaten bowl of pork fried rice somehow wandered back into the refrigerator.
After he put the pillow covers back on the sofa, he decided to go to the parking garage and check on his car. There wasn't any particular reason to do that except to stop staring at things in the apartment and the hope that fresh air might bring some kind of clarity. That winter excursion took about a half an hour and when he got back, nothing had changed. The silence of Celeste's room was still absolute, the questions still remained in his head, and he still could only stare.
Eventually he decided that all the staring was to no avail, so Aaron retrieved his book and went to the bathroom to prepare for bed. Strangely, as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, he felt reluctant to wash his face, as if he would somehow lose the tenuous proof that anything at all had happened. Since he had cleaned up the sofa, if he washed his face the only physical evidence of what he had experienced would be gone when he woke up the next day. He chided himself for that foolish thought, but even after he scrubbed his face, the questions still sat like gargoyles in his mind.
Finally finished with his distracted ablutions, Aaron left the bathroom and cast a hopeful glance at Celeste's door, but it remained closed. A wild thought turned him towards her door, but in the short five step trip he decided that he didn't know what to say, so he didn't knock. He just stared at her door for another five minutes, and then took the questions to his room.
Once in bed he stared at his book, but the words wouldn't come into focus long enough to read them. Eventually he gave it up, put his book down and put his hands behind his head to stare up at the ceiling above him. For the next two hours he replayed the scene on the ceiling's white expanse over in an attempt to puzzle out answers to his questions.
What exactly had happened? Obviously, he had eaten her pussy and she had two orgasms, but that didn't tell him what actually went on. It had all been so sudden. One minute he was irked that she pestered him for food and stuck her feet under him, and the next minute he eagerly pleasured her just to hear her squeal in ecstasy. If they had sex or she had blown him the situation might have made some kind of transactional sense, but he had done her and enjoyed that immensely, so it didn't make any kind of transactional sense. What actually happened didn't make any kind of sense at all.
One of the more immediate questions that continued to pester Aaron, what exactly was their relationship? Were they roommates, friends, lovers, friends with benefits or something else? Were they in a friendship, a situationship, a relationship or something else entirely? Their current state defied definition.
Another immediate question was how to reconcile his new view of Celeste with his old view of Celeste. One minute she had been his roommate and pseudo-sister Celeste on whom he had never even spared a sexual thought and the next minute Celeste was sexy and pretty and the delicious memory of the passionate sounds she made set his blood on fire. Honestly, before today it had never occurred to him to have sex with Celeste, but now the idea made his cock stir with excitement. He knew he could never look at her the same way again, but could he allow himself to view her in this new and exciting way? Of more concern was the question of would she allow him to view her in the new way?
Of even more concern was his realization that there was an unintended emotional component to this thing. Try as he might, Aaron could not deny the thrill in his heart he got when he pictured her face in his hands and his lips on the tip of her nose, and the thought of her hazel gaze made his breath catch. When she fled for the bathroom in tears, he wanted to hold her and tell her ... something, but what? What was it he felt that he had to tell her?
In the end, the only answer to any question he could come up with was that, whatever else, nothing would ever be the same. Everything between Celeste and himself was necessarily different. It wasn't only different because she had two orgasms on his face, although that was part of it. It was different because of that hopeful look in her eye, her shy glance from beneath her blonde bangs, her pouty bottom lip, her high cheekbones, her kissable nose, her perfectly aligned purple toenails and a thousand other suddenly realized things that forced him to see Celeste in a completely unprecedented way. Aaron felt as if he had been in a dark room, and someone suddenly opened a shaded window, and the stream of sunlight revealed Celeste to him. At this particular moment, he wasn't sure of much, but he was sure that he wanted to see more of that Celeste.
Aaron glanced at the clock for no particular reason and noticed that it was close to midnight. For two hours, the ceiling had failed to answer his questions. Maybe he should stare at something else. Maybe the wall would be better.
With a sigh, Aaron rolled to face the wall. After a couple of blinks, he realized that his room shared this wall with Celeste's room, and he almost reached out to touch it. Was she awake as well? Did questions torment her and keep her from sleep as well? Maybe she stared at the same wall from the other side? What could be on her mind?
Aaron reviewed the matter for what seemed like the thousandth time. She seemed to enjoy what he did until he spoke out in surprise at the fluid that accompanied her second orgasm and then she got upset. Then when he told her that she was pretty she got flustered and cried and hid in the bathroom. The last thing he had heard from her was a sob and now she had gone completely silent and actively avoided him. Could it be possible she didn't enjoy what he did to her?
