We were friends. Friends with very little past, but a very bright future together. It came as no surprise that after a few glasses of wine and several long talks about the future, we kissed. Soft, timid kisses that make your toes tingle, morphing into hungry, passionate, even desperate kisses that make you feel as if your body has been set aflame. Friends we were, lovers we had not yet become.
As friends, it should have been easy for us to ask one another how to be touched. It wasn't. I cared for him. I wanted to hold and kiss and lick him until the pleasure was too much for him. As I learned later on, no woman had ever taken control of the situation quite the way that I had. It surprised him, made him uncomfortable, and somewhat unsure of his place in our bedroom antics.
"I'm used to going down on girls for a while. I like to spoil them." I laughed.
"Well what woman doesn't like to be spoiled?" I asked. "But hasn't anyone ever spoiled you?"
"No. I don't really like blow jobs."
Had I heard him correctly? "Liar."
"No, it makes me feel bad, like I'm not doing enough."
I didn't know how to explain to him that this was about both of us; both of us relaxing while we discovered how and when and where to deliver each flick of the tongue, each probing touch. So I told him to not feel bad, or guilty. "I want to make you feel as good as you're going to make me feel." He didn't know it at the time, but that was a solemn promise. I always keep my promises.
Several months later, the sex was fantastic. It wasn't always languid, and it wasn't always hurried. It was warm, honest and very passionate. But I wanted to know more. I wanted him to know more about me.
I had never taken kindly to a man who wanted nothing but for me to suck his dick. I knew that wasn't the kind of man he was. If he ever discovered that urgent need within himself, he wouldn't want to ask for it. He would be embarrassed. He wouldn't want to take something like that from me without giving me something in return. But I wanted to give it to him. I wanted euphoria for him. In part because I didn't think he had ever felt it; and in part because, every now and again, everyone should experience completely selfish sexual ecstasy.
We were lying together. I was comforted by his presence. His breathing was becoming regular and I could feel his chest rise and fall beneath my cheek. I moved to go. I whispered to him that I was going to go home. He opened his eyes, smiled, held my face in his hands and told me some of the things that only friends tell one another. He kissed me. A chaste kiss that made me smile. I lay on top of him now and we hugged close to each other. He began to massage my shoulders and the muscles down the length of my spine. I arched my back and let out little moans of pleasure. His right hand traveled under the waistband of my jeans and took hold of my thong. I was molded against him now. My breasts pressed into his chest and my mouth was slightly open against his neck. It felt good. I felt good. I moaned more appreciation to let him know it.
"When you moan like that it makes me want to tear your pants off. You're getting me excited." "Well if you keep rubbing me like that, I'm not going to stop. I'll bite you instead, if you like." Of course, he continued and I bit gently into the soft skin near his shoulder. He stopped touching me and looked away. "What's the matter?"
"I'm excited and I want you." Contrary to popular belief, women always love to hear that. "Good." I said.
"But I feel bad just asking you to . . ."
Did he? Did he, albeit with some guilt, just ask me to go down on him? Ha Ha, yes he did. While I was rather turned on myself, and hungry for my own release, this is what I wanted for him. I moved down and knelt between his legs. I kissed his chest and ran my fingers along the coarse hair there. I toyed gently with the belt buckle lying just above where my mouth was going to be in a moment.
