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The expression on her face at that moment was uncommon, utterly defenseless, and I couldn't help it, I leaned in and kissed her.
Which, maybe I shouldn't have. I shocked her, I think. Anyway, she looked shocked, though I don't know why. She must have known I'd been yearning to do this since the day we'd met.
"I didn't think you were that kind of guy," she said. "I thought you were shy."
"Somebody had to make — "
She didn't let me finish my sentence. She was pressing herself on me, her kisses carnivorous, wildly punctuated by nips and bites. Her hands were on my chest, pushing me back on the couch. Then she was straddling me, holding my waist immobile between her thighs. But still kissing, my chin, my neck, my chest. A new person, someone I hadn't expected, someone not at all demure or naive or wholesome had leapt up in her, someone wild and slippery, a creature of lust.
The knee-length skirt she was wearing had ridden up her legs. It was now bunched around her hips. I massaged her ass, slid my fingers under her panties. They were childish and cotton, just like I'd imagined them. When I'd tried to visualize them before, I'd seen unicorns and rainbows — she'd seemed to be that kind of girl. Now, though I still couldn't see them, I thought I felt coy words of come on — naughty, can't touch this — imprinted on the fabric in a gothic script.
Add to this the fact that she was gushing. Even through my pants, I could feel the dampness spreading around my crotch.
When I tried to sneak my hand around, to slip a finger inside her, she collapsed against me. "Don't be a bad boy," she said. Something deep inside me winced, not because she'd stopped me but because hearing this corny phrase come out of her mouth seemed somehow wrong; it felt forced, undignified. "That's enough fun for tonight, I think," she said. She'd crossed her arms over my chest and she was holding herself up so she could look at me. I must not have been hiding my confusion well because then she said, "Sorry."
For a while after that, we both just lay there, lost in each other's faces. Hers was raw and flushed. Curly locks of her brown hair had pulled loose from the band she'd tied it back in. Her eyes were dilated. There was a tiny pinprick in her left nostril like she'd had a nose ring a long time ago but had taken it out and the hole had healed over.
I could feel the desire wavering between us, pulling sometimes at me and sometimes at her and then finally at both us simultaneously. We made out again, as fiercely as we'd done before.
"Stop it," she said. "You need to go home now."
We disentangled ourselves from each other. She reined in her hair, smoothed down her skirt. I tried to subtly adjust my erection so it was less painfully caught in the fabric of my pants.
"So, tomorrow, huh?" I said.
She nodded. "By the time I get back you'll probably have already forgotten my name."
"I doubt that."
Neither of us quite knew what to do next. It was time to say goodbye. I had to get myself out of her apartment. She still had to pack for her eight a.m. flight. We both knew this was what was supposed to happen, but something was blocking us from taking the steps that would put it in motion. We just sat there, awkwardly.
Then a thought rippled past behind her eyes. She bit the corner of her lip. "Will you wait for me?" she said.
"Yeah. Of course. You're not going to be gone forever, right?"
"I want your sperm all for myself," she said.
And I thought, wow, that was quick.
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"But, I mean, really. Tell me you'll wait until I get back. Don't fuck anyone else. Don't touch yourself, not once. Don't even have a wet dream. Think you can do it?"
"Sure," I said, because, what else could I say?
"I want your sperm all for myself," she said.
And I thought, wow, that was quick. "Is that a promise?"
"I guess we'll just have to see," she said, taunting me with the dare in her eyes.
Later, at home, I lay on my single bed and tried to put the evening in perspective. The various assumptions I'd made about her — and that I'd been cultivating, tricking toward myth — were gone, buried under the mulch of new experience. I'd have to readjust and I'd have to do this without her, with only this night and the way it clashed with everything that preceded it to go on. That someone so outwardly demure, so conservative in manner and dress, could contain such a typhoon of sexual energy nicked at the cognitive nodes in my brain. It overwhelmed me, left me sweating, even with the air on.
The erection I'd had when I left her place returned. It refused to recede. As I struggled with the dark my hand found its way there, wrapping around it. I could taste her skin again, feel the weight of her breast on my cheek. But then I stopped like she'd asked me to.
Wisps of memory, fragrances and textures from the things we'd done on her couch kept coming back throughout the night. My dick pulsed with blood. Shivers rolled down my body. The experience was weirdly exquisite, like I was entering a new physical realm, and by the time I got to sleep, I was worn out with yearning. Though I hadn't come, I felt oddly sated.
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