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?”
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.