On this trip to Florida, we decide to venture toward the Keys. It is a beautiful day. The sky is a crystal clear azure. The sun is a rising ball of warmth and light. The east wind is cool and soft on our faces. The top is down on the convertible, and we are southbound on US1.
I sit behind the wheel, confidently relaxed. My khaki shorts and light t-shirt accenting the strength and power that my tall lean body holds. My left hand gently controls the car's direction, the fingers touching the steering wheel lightly while my elbow and upper-arm rest on the top of the driver's side door. My right arm is stretched out, hanging loosely on the top of the passenger seat, my fingers occasionally lifting themselves to touch your hair.
You sit hunched over in the passenger side of the car. You are happy to be here and content to sit in the car, but something about your body language tells me that you aren't as happy as you could be. Although you let me tousle your hair from time to time, you gaze pensively out your side of the car and have turned your hips slightly away from me. Your fine ass, always so happy to see me, is pushed hard into the seat and you are unusually still. I don't have to look into your steely gray-blue eyes to know that something is bothering you. Your body language, which I speak fluently, tells me volumes.
I know that whatever it is isn't important. You have totally different ways of expressing that to me. You let me know when there is a serious problem.
I wonder whether I should let you solve your problem on your own or offer my assistance. I want to help you whenever I can, but I don't want to pressure you if you want to be in your own thoughts for a while. Finally, my overwhelming need to keep your life a constant ray of sunshine wins my internal argument and I decide to intrude on your thoughts.
"Hey Princess?" I say, snapping you out of your reverie. Wherever you might have been, I see your attention zooming back into your face as you turn toward me, smile brightly, and then finally focus on me. The smile is, to me, very important because it means that you aren't mad at me and I am flushed with gratitude: Gratitude toward you for still being happy to hear my voice when I use my favorite nickname for you.
"Hmm?" You hum absently.
"Whatcha thinkin' about?" I decided to go straight to the source of the problem. I can tell that you, in your recently conscious state, are still trying to piece the logic of your existence together. You wonder what made me ask you that. Then you realize that I must have been watching you. Then you think that I could tell that something was bothering you. I can see your thoughts as though they are flashing along on a marquee on your forehead. You briefly consider telling me that there was nothing wrong, but you see me looking at you knowingly and know that that won't work. You shrug and resign yourself to just tell me the truth. I watch these thoughts and smile. I love how we can be honest with each other no matter what. So far, truthfulness has served us well as you have never been disappointed with my reactions to your honesty.
"Well the truth is, I'm bored out of my mind right now." You look at me straight on and respond to my frankness with some of your own. You know that what you are saying is not exactly what I want to hear and my mouth turns slightly down from the wide smile I had a moment ago. "I mean, I'm glad that we're going to the Keys and all, it's just that I wish we could play right now." You look pointedly at the traffic we are experiencing. It is a busy two-lane road. "I didn't want to complain," you continue, "because there's not much you could do about it," you finish with an obviously exasperated gasp.
"Is that all?" I ask.
You start to nod and answer, but before any words escape your lips I am reaching over with my hand and grabbing you by the hair. I gently but firmly pull your lips toward mine. I kiss you briefly so that I can keep my eyes on the road. "I've got to drive. You kiss ME now," I say to you. You lean over to kiss me again and I pull my lips away from yours. "Not there," I point my fingers toward my cheek and say, "here." You have now scooted closer to me, your breasts straining against the seat belt. You kiss me gently for a long time on my cheek. I'm drunk on the feeling of you being so close to me. You finally let go of the kiss.
"Kiss me again," I whisper. You move toward my cheek and I say again, "Not there. Find some place else."
You nibble provocatively on my ear. My breathing starts to naturally increase but I fight it, doing my best to breathe deeply and slowly. You know this game I am playing with you. I am trying to pretend that this does not turn me on. I am trying to act as though you aren't there and there is nothing out of the ordinary going on. This is one of your favorite games. Your goal is to get me to lose control. My self-control is stronger than anyone else's you have ever met. You know that the only way for you to win is for you to turn up the heat. You kiss me in long sessions, sucking gently and then licking my skin in circles before sucking gently again.