I stared lamely at the screen, in slight disbelief. My eyes travelled the conversation in the IM box over and over again. I read in some sort of guilted horror, the teasing, the flirting, and the blatant invitation. My mind barely making sense of the moment he clearly committed to that blatant invitation.
He was coming over. No accident this time. No momentary lip-locking while under the influence. No illusions of 'going for a ride' or 'watching a movie'. It was right there in Times New Roman. I desperately wanted to suck a cock. And he was willing to deliver.
It was just teasing really; I didn't think anything would come of it. Even as I hurried about my room stashing away dirty clothes and putting the paper towels conveniently within reach, I still expected him to flake out. I expected him to recall that his girlfriend was waiting at home in his bed, expecting him to get off work soon. I expected to wait for an hour or so before getting a message that said he was 'just kidding' or 'didn't think we were being serious'. That would be best really. But as I looked at the screen a new message scrolled up.
"I'm here."
My stomach felt like it would float away. My knees were shaking and my palms were sweaty. I couldn't seem to catch my breath. But I still turned the handle, and went to the back stairwell peeking through the door that led to the parking lot. I thought I would choke on my own breath as I saw him standing there.
I let him in and immediately turned for the stairs. Walking away from him quickly, as I keyed the door and then re-entered the hallway, I was all business. I had to be. As we walked inside my room, he made some comment about the white wife-beater I wore being a nice touch. I said something sultry and casual to make it seem like it wasn't for his sake. But that was a lie. The lights were off. There was music playing. I was wearing an opaque white wife-beater with no bra underneath and loose gym pants that I knew hugged my ass, but hung from my hips. There was nothing casual about the eyeliner I had carefully applied in my hurry to get ready in the half an hour I had. This was all a farce. No doubt he knew it.
As I went to shut off the final light that hung over my desk, deciding belatedly that it was too bright and I needed darkness to bolster my courage. The light flicked off as I sucked in one last breath to grow my bravado; then I turned to him, taking two steps forward to close the distance between us as he stood, still in his shoes, but with his jacket off and hanging on the hook behind him.
I pressed to him after a moment's hesitation, taking the moment to marvel at his height as he towered over me and the unfamiliar feeling of it. But it didn't stop me for long, our lips finally meeting again after I silently tortured myself by playing the details of that night over and over in my mind throughout the week. The kisses were hurried and almost surprisingly tender and familiar. His tongue licked over mine a few times to deepen the kiss but we both knew the kissing was as much a farce as the rest of it. My hand wriggled between our bodies, moving with only a few second-thought-passes at his thighs and pelvis. But it found its target, as my fingers wrapped around the length of his cock through his tight fitted jeans.
I stroked him through his jeans, rubbing intently at the bulging head once I found it, our lips still meeting in the half forgotten kisses. He would lean forward every so often to set teeth into the taut flesh of my neck, harder this time than the last; it startled me a bit. But my hand still kept at its work, my mind dimly thinking that he might still stop me. Any moment he would push me away and say something redeeming like:
"I just can't do this. I'm sorry."
