Junitta Liane couldn't remember how she had gotten into bed, or who the person below her was. She didn't care--she could feel the mystery partners' hands against her thighs; a man's hands, strong and searching. She felt the heat of his breath against her sensitive skin, his tongue exploring. One of the mans' hands rose, and she turned as his fingers and palm felt up the side of her body, reaching her right breast. His large hand encircled it, and Junitta moaned softly as his thumb stroked over the hard tip of her nipple.
She had never been so turned-on in her life. Pressing the bottoms of her feet into the mattress below her, she bent her knees and felt the man's mouth move further upward over her vagina. She needed him inside of her, she knew. Her entire body ached for it. Reaching down, she tangled her fingers in the man's hair. She could feel it's unruly length beneath her fingers; by feel alone, it was about six inches, slightly shorter on the sides, and coarse. She stifled a desperate moan as the mans' mouth reacted to her movement, his tongue gliding between the already dripping lips of her labia.
Inside me. Inside me right now.
Nothing else mattered. Tightening her hands ever so slightly, she pulled the man up.
She felt the sheets move beneath her as his hand fell away from her breast and his head lifted from between his legs. She felt the pressure of his weight on the mattress to either side of her. In the half-light of her bedroom, a face came into view. It was handsome and clean-shaven, slightly round cheeks that wouldn't have looked out of place in a newspaper-ad for hand- knit cardigans below eyes that absolutely would have. They were deep blue; laughing, knowing--hot. His blonde hair was a mess, but it suited him.
She knew that face. The sight of it shocked her so deeply that she jerked, her shoulders and bum pressing into the mattress below her--and she came awake.
Junitta drew a deep breath, pressing her hand to her chest through her tee-shirt. Below the Guns N' Roses tee--a gift from a long-dismissed ex-boyfriend--her nipples still stood stiffly. Her cotton briefs stuck between her legs, damp. She was soaking wet. Apparently the end of the dream hadn't changed that. She lay in the dark, her open eyes staring at the ceiling but not seeing the newly-placed stucco. They were seeing the man's face, and she felt a slight flush creep into her cheeks as she remembered the expression he had worn.
Pursing her lips, she blew out a long breath--it didn't change what she remembered. The air in her room was cool, a slight breeze coming in through the dark square of her open window, shifting the pale pink-beige drapes. It did nothing to take the warmth from her body; or the remembered heat from the man's eyes.
It didn't help that she knew the face was sleeping a room away from her. She raised her hand, fingers curling into her palm as if to knock on the wall that separated their rooms; and then tightening as she tightly knotted her fingers and knocked them against her forehead in frustration.
Hey Aaron, had a sex-dream about you. Just thought I'd wake you up and let you know. Wouldn't it be funny if we, like... fucked?
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the bottom of her thumbs into them, some of the heat in her cheeks changing from arousal to embarrassment--some. For a moment she even considered it. She knew that he had broken up with his girlfriend two months previously, and that it was a bad break. She also knew--at least, she was pretty sure--that he hadn't gotten laid since.
She was going on six months herself. Something twinged in her body as she thought about slipping out of her room and through the doorway down the hall, about how warm he would be beneath the sheets in his bedroom, about his hands--No. She buried the thought, but she couldn't help that her breathing became slightly faster as she thought about it; or that her legs rolled need-ily, tangling in her light, creme-colored sheets. Her heavy comforter had been kicked down to the end of the bed.
She couldn't say that she had
never
thought about Aaron that way.
She would have needed to be blind--as many of her friends had pointed out. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a mess of blonde hair that made him look like either an artist or an old-style typesetter. His face wore a constant expression of amusement, as if the left corner were being tugged upward by an invisible string. He always looked one second away from laughter. The issue, which she well knew, was that he was also her housemate. He was nearly perfect, in this regard. Sure, sometimes he left his laundry in the machine for a couple of days too long and he had a weird habit of putting bananas in the fridge because he
likes his fruit cold
--which she teased him about constantly and only received a grin in response--but he was a great movie- watching partner, liked to play the same music as her, and helped out constantly around the house.
And despite that smile, he had never made her feel uncomfortable. He seemed to know when she wanted a friend, and when she needed her time alone.
The one time that he had seen her naked, it was because he had walked into the bathroom through the, admittedly, slightly open door. By the expression on his face, anyone would have thought that she had stabbed him--his eyes went immediately to the floor between his feet and he had backed out with no more than a strangled
sorry Juna!
.
There had been no awkwardness about it, afterwards. An hour later, they were laughing and sprawled on the couch watching Roman Holiday. She had been watching carefully, pretending not to be--and she had not seen his eyes wander toward her body once.
Lowering her hands from her face, she let them fall against her thighs. That was a mistake. The sudden weight made her remember, with startling clarity, how the man's hands had felt during her dream. She pressed her teeth against her bottom lip, and thought about ignoring it. Maybe she could go back to sleep if she just closed her eyes. But she knew it was useless. The slight chill from the breeze made her nipples almost painful beneath her shirt.
Sliding her hand down her thigh, she touched the tip of her middle finger to the front of her underwear--she was exactly as wet as she thought she was.
Well, these sheets are in the first load tomorrow morning
. In that moment, she didn't care--all she felt was the slight hitch in her breath as her pointer finger found her middle finger and took up the rhythm she liked.
The warmth of her arousal swept away the slight chill of the wind. Remembering her dream, she raised her other hand to her chest. For a moment she rolled her fingers and palm over her breast, and then caught her hard nipple between the end of her thumb and the side of her pointer finger. She rolled it under her thumb; and let the moan that came from her open lips be just
slightly
louder than was maybe strictly necessary. She didn't exactly
mean
for him to hear her, but if he was awake and listening...
The thought made her toes curl, and she pulled her hand up slightly so that she could slip her fingers beneath the well-worn waistband of her underwear. She felt her own slightly sticky wetness cling to her skin as her fingers slipped between the folds of her labia, rubbing a slightly figure-eight pattern over the top. She could feel each beat of her heart echoed a split-second later in the wet, sensitive skin between her legs, and in the tips of her fingers.
She knew that she was breathing hard because she could feel her chest rising and falling, but she could not hear the sound of it in the darkness. It was only a pressure inside of her, coming and going. Junitta pressed her heels hard into the mattress as she felt control slowly slipping away from her; her hips rising slightly as she slipped two fingers inside of herself. The penetration was enough to make her gasp, and the heel of her palm took the place that her fingers had just occupied against her clitoris. Closing her eyes, she let the quick movement of her fingers raise her breathing to a gasp.
In the room beside her, something creaked. It was barely audible, but Junitta froze. Her hand between her legs, she turned her head over on her pillow to stare at the wall that separated their rooms--
Aaron
; but turning over heavily in his sleep, or rising from his bed?
Her fingers began moving again as she waited, almost trembling at the possibility. No other sound came from the young man's room; no sound of feet on the floorboards, no familiar creak of his wooden door, not so much as a whisper. For a moment, disappointment wrestled with desire inside of her--desire won. Her hand resumed it's steady rhythm, her hand rolling of her nipple and pinching slightly as she lifted her wrist against the center of her chest.
When her knees curled slightly and her calves tightened, Junitta knew her own body well enough to know what was coming. Who was coming--the laugh caught half-way out of her throat, and she breathed low and fast through her open mouth. For a moment she tried to hold back, enjoying the feeling of her body teetering on the edge, and then she couldn't hold on any longer. Her palm made an almost trembling rhythm against her clitoris as she lifted off her now damp sheets, body going taut for a brief moment and then shuddering as the orgasm took her. She fell back against the bed, breathing deeply as she felt the small tremors in her stomach and hips as the aftershocks of the orgasm worked through her. She felt good--tired and hot, but only slightly less aroused. Her fingers pulled out from inside of her body, taking up a steady circular pattern around her clitoris.
For a moment Junitta thought that she was silent--before she realized that she was only deaf with satisfaction, and there was in fact a breathless, high-pitched sound coming from between her lips. She pressed them together, moaning against the inside of her mouth. Her thoughts felt foggy inside of her head. She tried not to picture Aaron's face as the rhythm of her fingers became slightly erratic, matching the beat of her heart; it was a useless fight, and one that she lost to herself within moments. She saw his fiery blue eyes as her body convulsed for the second time, writhing in the sheets as she twisted her legs closed, trapping her hand between her own thighs.
It took a few moments for her body to unwind and when it finally did, the exhaustion hit her at exactly the same moment that her excitement slipped away. She closed her eyes--and was asleep almost before she realized what was happening.
A knocking on her door woke her up. Her eyes opened to bright sunlight, pouring in through her still-open window. For a moment she didn't know what had woken her up. She sat up and looked around.
Her room was rather plain; a wooden desk and rolling chair against one wall, with a shelf above them. A couple of fake plants--because she had killed any real ones--hung down from the white-painted wood. The desk was a jumble of books, bags and loose paper. Her carpet matched the drapes; a rosy beige and caught the colour of the sunlight. A couple of self-affirming quotes had been taped to her wall, beside her bed. An open closet door showed hanging rows of shirts, with pants and assorted undergarments folded on a small Ikea shelf below them.
The sound came again, and Junitta realized that it was the second knock; the first of which had roused her. The sound of knuckles on painted plywood. She froze, suddenly remembering the night before.
Had she really
