Waiting, again...
Edward isn't the most dynamic name. Suitable for an accountant or lawyer perhaps, at any rate someone middle aged...settled. But my boyfriend, this particular Edward, wasn't the most dynamic sort of person anyway. You would expect a more adventurous name for a university student: Eddie, for instance, Ed, Ted, even an infantile Teddy would be marginally more exciting. But no, it was emphatically Edward.
Adventurous most definitely was not an adjective to describe Edward; apparently not when he was younger, certainly not now and undoubtedly not once he's completed his mathematics degree. But he was a pleasant enough guy all the same: stereotypically clueless in a sciency-boffin sort of way. My initial attraction to him was his overt cleverness, his unreachable aloofness and the know-it-all intense eyes. Well, that and his looks. Definitely his looks. He has an almost effeminate, model-like quality while still seeming academic. It was a combination I oddly liked. Though if I am being totally honest, looks may have been the first attraction but it was a little more than that. He has this way when explaining things - to us lesser mortals - of lifting his leg, settling it onto a chair, leaning his arm on it and lecturing. This had the affect of letting his cock loll in his trouser leg like it was suspended in a hammock all of its own; his own little sailor waiting for all hands on deck in a time of peace.
Sadly, the looks -- along with his little sailor - didn't fully gratify the expectations this dreamy and horny young student had been hoping for. He had no idea how to use it. Patient forbearance was where things seemed to be heading with him and it might be titillating for some but was not cutting it with me.
Yet here I am again, waiting for Edward, sitting on the couch in his lodgings on a Saturday afternoon, stretching up to look out the window and barely seeing past the tops of the wet roofs striated down across the city of Bath, belatedly aware of how my posture presents itself to his flat mate. The rain was dripping insistently from the eaves.
His flat mate, Jacko, had let me in. I know huh, Jacko, who the hell is called Jacko? Someone from the north, as he was, I suppose. I've never been far enough north to know or care. Jacko was most definitely not Edward.
"No idea where Eddie is, babso. Just got back from a match," Jacko does not call Edward Edward. He does not call me Elizabeth either. It's possible he doesn't actually know my name.
"But if you wore that outfit now 'n then for me I wouldn't e'er be late," he says with a slow and creepy wink, "nope," he adds, leaning in for emphasis. I was wearing a tight ribbed knit tank top and, given the weather, a bra might have been wise as my nipples were quite distinct. The green skirt may not have been the most modest item in my wardrobe either but I had dressed a little sexy for Edward.
Jacko loves rugby and drinking, generally in that order. He wasn't one of your dainty little scrum halves or any of that sort of 'girly back', as he liked to call them: he was a forward...very forward if you ask me. Right now he was wearing his rugby kit: striped navy blue-and-white jersey and scruffy white shorts, sagging woolen socks and that was about it. Presumably a jockstrap too but I was trying not to think about that. He smelt damp and earthy with a sweatiness that wasn't from a locker room as much as from being crowded around other competing men.
He is about as far from Edward as you can get, as I mentioned.
And where the fuck
is
Edward...Eddie? He is really pissing me off being late again. Probably stuck in yet another boring freshman discussion, Pythagorean whatnot, while I'm stuck here with this leering moron. I'm not quite angry enough, or socially adept enough, to extricate myself successfully so here I am, sitting and waiting for Edward and compelled to communicate with Jacko.
I don't want to give the impression I am some stupid bimbo because I am not. I am actually the product of a very wealthy education, private schools all the way, with the grades to prove it. Yet no matter the achievements it seems that English will never be a worthier focus than mathematics or engineering. It's incredibly frustrating; the condescension, Edward's knowing raised eyebrows. If only something else would raise a little more often.
Jacko is doing film studies.
"Look at this fuckin' bruiser, babs," I am compelled to turn and look. He is hoisting the leg of his shorts high up his inside thigh and there is a blossom of purple and what looks like a bite mark in his skin, like a small monkey actually latched onto his flesh. I didn't really know how to respond: I'm looking at teeth marks on his muddy upper thigh, no more than two inches from his groin; I'm wondering about that ponderous bulge hanging beside his knuckles; and I'm considering the possibility of a 'girly back' getting his face into Jacko's groin and gnawing at him. This last thought surprisingly brings a flush to my face and a warmth to my body. I hesitate before answering, a little too long.
"Go on, kiss it better then," he says, pushing his hips toward my face.
"Very fucking funny, Jacko," I flail my arms at him, catching the edge of his thigh, almost clipping that tempting package.
"Ooh you like it more like that, huh? Kinda like Eddie," thrusting his hips further into my face. I back up, a bit dazed, not really sure how to digest that extra piece of information. Not that I had much time as he announced "Well, I'm gonna fuck off and clean this amazing bod for you."
Well, thank you thank you, now please fuck off.
"You sure you don't want a taste, babso babes?" more hip-thrusting, this time chuckling and briefly grabbing the back of my head and pushing my cheek right up against his skin. I shove him back half-laughing, half-protesting, aghast at myself. But my eyes skew toward his package nevertheless.
Edward's arrival
The flat was creaking and rattling under the pressure of the shower pipes running full-throttle through the wooden floorboards when I heard a key turn in the lock. Finally, Edward! First an arm comes around the door and drops a brown satchel to the floor. Then all of Edward edges in with an arm full of books.
"Where have you been for god's sake, I've been here ages," I could hear the accusation and whine combining in my voice. I jump to help him nevertheless.
"Where's Jacko?" is disappointingly the first thing out of his mouth, anxiously looking around.
"He's in the shower," I nod my head toward the noise. "He kept me company."
"He kept you company?" repeating what I said but with misgiving in his voice as he looks at me.
This was not the direction I wanted things going. As soon as he has placed the books on the table I pull him to me and kiss him hard. He looks startled, even a little worried. This is how it always is -- someone needing to take charge. I slide my hands down to his lean backside and pull him to me.
"Miss me?" I ask, smiling. "I've missed this," sliding my hand around to the front and feeling his soft cock.
"Jacko's still here!" he says, stating the obvious yet not resisting.
"Jacko's a big boy and we're only kissing," I reply, proving this untrue by squeezing his cock, hoping for a firmer response.
He looks really uncomfortable which makes me friskier. I pull him, in a silent two-step dance, back across the floor until I catch the arm of the couch, cushioning just beneath my firm buttocks. My hand is behind his head and my tongue slips between his lips, exploring before he can stop me. My other hand, still on his cock, begins slow movements up and down. Edward is clearly resistant but I'm not letting him go, not having waited this long. I slip my thigh between his legs, pressing up against his balls as my hand continues its groping assault.
At that moment the water shuts off. Shut immediate stop-dead and Edward's eyes fly open in panic. I keep hold of him, kissing, stroking the back of his head, massaging around his knob and fondling his testicles through the trouser material, hypnotically calming him. His eyes close again and his girlish face relaxes, almost as if surrendering.
