I feel a tinge of guilt that I’m about to upset Aaron’s apple cart. He’s just sitting there innocently with his nose buried in the newspaper, scanning the sports and stock tickers. He’s no innocent though. Remember that.
“So I met ‘the one’ last week.”
He glanced up with wary interest.
“No, not that one. A woman. I actually met a woman that I would fuck. I mean I truly, deeply wanted to fuck her, as much as I’ve wanted any man.” The dubious cock of his eyebrow begged to differ. “Maybe not exactly as much, but you get the picture.”
He glanced over each shoulder at empty tables and then back at me.
I leaned in over my muffin. Now my face was directly in the path of a sunbeam. “Why now, do you suppose? My whole life, I’d just get completely bored if I tried to imagine sex with a woman.” He went back to his paper with a stupid smile on his face, bringing out a crater of a dimple.
“Come on Aaron, what do you think? What was the catalyst? It was literally out of nowhere. We were watching the presentation like everyone else. At first I didn’t even notice her, she was just another breast enhanced Barbie that I have nothing in common with.”
He put down the paper and gave me his full attention. I should have mentioned large breasts sooner. On the one hand, I hate to send him to to work thinking about naked women, on the other hand, he’d probably be thinking about them anyway.
“Then suddenly it struck me that she was irresistibly beautiful and I wanted to kiss her, naked. I had a vivid image of our breasts smashed together and our hands on each others asses.”
“You know, I wasn’t expecting a lesbian confession this morning, give me a minute to get in the space.” He dipped his head into the newspaper, raised just a little higher so I could only see his dark hair and not enough forehead to know if he were still smiling. I’ll wait for it.
I leaned back and took a long sip of coffee, a bite of muffin. Scanned the room again. Tapped my foot to Frank Sinatra.
He finally caved. “Ok who was she?”
“You know why I’m here.”
“What?” I lied. “No.”
He gave me a stern look that said someone’s in trouble and moved past me into the living room. I know why he’s upset, I’m just surprised he actually followed through with it. His hair was tousled, mostly dry, just damp tips clinging to his ears and neck. He must have taken a shower at the hospital. I enjoyed that vision while he brooded at me. The naked doctor scrubbing away under hot steamy water, wet shards flying off his arms. I turned away to hide invisible butterflies. They always appeared with even the thought of him, like a fucking movie. I’ll bet he’s expeditious with his shower time. Never waste a minute. Swollen droplets clinging to soft eyelashes and cheekbones, rolling down chiseled glutes– spending so much time on his feet as he does, there must be perfection under those pants..
“Lying only makes it worse for you, Jessica.” he surveyed the room, decided on the chair across from the coffee table. “Sit.”
I sat down with coquettish modesty on the couch instead and tried to drag my mind out of his shower. Ordering me around in my own home was arousing, but awkward too. Christ he’s here. He’s here! Sashay over to that chair and lean back like a pro. But I couldn’t. I sat on the couch only because it wasn’t the chair. Flushed with the sort of feeling you must have if a celebrity calls your name. My entire living room and kitchen was probably the size of his bathroom, He could have wondered what Twilight Zone episode he woke up in as he looked around my humble apartment. I knew him well enough by now though, as much as you can know someone you’ve never had a private conversation with. He wasn’t concerned with atmosphere, he was thinking of his next move.
“On the chair.” he barked. Stat. Jesus. What was the big deal about the chair?
A sharp tingle zip lined from somewhere in my skull down to my conquered vagina and vibrated in it’s walls. “If you’re going to use that tone with me, there better be spanking involved.” I said, to counter the speed with which I jumped and went over to the chair. I’ve never been legitimately spanked but he doesn’t know that. I would let him though. I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t let him do.
He studied me like a painting, scanning every inch of me impassively until I started to fidget under the examination. He was very accomplished at it. It must be an actual class in med school, how to stare like that. It took me a minute to realize I was doing my old habit of sliding three fingers from one hand over each digit of the other. I folded my arms under my chest. Partly to hide my hands and partly in a ridiculous attempt to pretend we were on equal footing. “Before you say anything, it was stupid and I’m sorry…it’s just…I’m sure you know.”
“Shut up Jessica.” I’ve heard about it but I’ve never seen him angry before. It was a breathtaking to finally be privy to his animated, human emotions. I didn’t need to hear the nurses gossip to know that he had some but we never saw a sign, not before the surgeries, not after when they were rushing Bruce into the ICU for observation. Not once during the endless repetitive questions we asked him when we didn’t want to or couldn’t understand what was happening. He was always impassive and in control. He was either here for sex or murder and the latter didn’t sound like him at all, given how many hours he put in saving lives. But all of my fantasies had glossed over the technical details. What do bad little girls really do in this kind of situation? It’s a special kind of torture to be so nervous and so excited and the same time.
He had smooth hands. Elegant, steady hands. No. He wouldn’t do it. That reminded me. “Are you going to…?”
“Make you suck my cock? Of course.”
My cheeks were hot and probably smarting red. I was so hot and wet. That’s all I could focus on, his voice, my hot, wet cunt and pounding heart. Pavlov would have been proud, the way my lips parted on cue. “Will you…?”
“Fuck you? Hard, on your hands and knees? Pull your hair, smack your ass while you moan like a whore?” he ticked each item off on his fingers. “There’s a good chance, yes. You know how this goes, don’t you?” I gasped for effect but he didn’t blink.
“So this means it is mutual, right? I knew it.” We both knew it. There were just ten thousand reasons why we could never say it.
“I don’t have all night. If you’re wearing panties, take them off.”
The chill in his words cooled my fire a little but down came a creme thong with the tiny black flowers anyway. He can’t hate me if he’s here. Some men could but not this one. That would be inefficient. It would be unkind. As slowly as possible, I pushed it down over my calves, hesitating at the ankles just to see him indicate the floor with a tilt of his head and a raise of a cool eyebrow. A king’s tribute spilled from the slit that was slowly becoming a chasm. He looked like he could see through my skirt. Then I stopped. I couldn’t do the whole strip tease thing in front of him. Despite evidence to the contrary, I’m more shy than you’d think.
“So,” he tossed his coat on the coffee table. “Let’s talk about what you did in my office today while you were waiting. By the way, I’m sorry it took so long.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doctor, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”
He sighed. “As hoped, I’m going to have to tie you up now. You know, for the torture.” He took a tie from his pocket and snapped it with a flourish. A niggling doubt tried to worm it’s way in to my consciousness when I felt how roughly his hands closed around my wrists and tied them behind my back. As it turns out, it isn’t that easy to escape from a flimsy thing like a tie. It can be surprisingly tight. And anger was creeping through his words. I trusted him, but there was a disconcerting callousness to his touch I didn’t expect.
“If you were a real prisoner they would try to wear you down first. Maybe starvation or sleep deprivation, to make you more amenable to interrogation. But that’s not necessary with you, right Jessica? You’re very agreeable. In fact–” He traced his forefinger around the opening to my sopping heat, pushing just slightly inside and then out again. “I recently learned that you’re dying for it.”
I wanted to blow the whole thing and just beg him to fuck me right then. But that would have been a waste of breath. He’s got more patience than anyone I’ve known. It’s hard to make a man like that bend.
“Does it feel like you thought it would?” he said, pushing harder, his fingers now sliding easily into a rhythmic pace. He leaned in closer. “Is it good? That’s a rhetorical question, don’t answer. I can tell. We’ll find out soon if it was worth it.”
I moaned, half blind with lust. My ass lifted off the chair, toes curling into the carpet. Behind the safety of closed eyes my body offered itself to his hand, which he promptly withdrew.
“This won’t end like you think.” he said.
“Why are we talking about endings at the beginning?” I didn’t feel sexy, slouched on the hard wooden seat, panting and sweating in every crevice of my body. But I wasn’t going to take that bait. He didn’t look disappointed, he had made the decision before he got here. I knew from experience how quick his decisions could be. Or at least it appeared that way.
“Hey I want up now. Then I’ll talk.” I did. My ass hurt and my lower back felt like it would snap in two if I drifted any lower on the cushion. In one quick motion he took my shirt at the neck and ripped straight down the middle. That wasn’t in the script.
“Goddammit! That was expensive. And it fucking hurt.” It also aroused me incomparably. I forced down the urge to beg again. Not yet. Wait just a little longer.
“Now you want choices? That’s interesting. The truth, I mean it. Tell me how a woman like you acquired such a dirty vocabulary.”
I really needed to get up. I needed to take off his pants, I needed to suck his dick so badly I could cry. It made me babble like an idiot. “Alright I get it. I’m sorry. I know it’s not a joke. I don’t normally do things like that. I just couldn’t wait any longer and I knew you would need something outrageous.”
“Life has consequences Jessica. Yet you don’t seem to care.” He crouched between my shaking legs, kneading my breasts and staring at me. It was punishment not to be able to touch his hair. “How do you do that?” His head bowed to take a helpless nipple in his teeth. Hard. I yelled. He put his lips over the mark and a hungry, soulful groan rose up from within him. “I wondered what these felt like, how your skin tasted.” he said with his mouth full of breast.
I heard some guys don’t like this. It would be disappointing if you were one of those.
I like to think that sometimes when you touch yourself you think about a situation where my face is level with your cock. That might not be a liberating desire but damned if I can help it.
In my version of this you’re counting the closing distance between my mouth and your leaking passion in breaths. I hear a catch in the last one. Even if you’re the one who put me in that position.
Eventually you’ll start to sweat and your knees will buckle. Your eyes will be closed, my hair in your fists.
Don’t bother with candy and roses. That’s not seduction. Tell me about symbolism. And while we’re at it, let’s compare notes on your morning shower.
You think your cool is bullet proof. The thing is, that’s what they all want to believe.