We made out for another half hour. Occasionally, Glen would move his tongue around inside my mouth, as if he were looking for something, which naturally compelled me to try to hide it. What exactly this was, I didn't know, but I was sure he mustn't be allowed to find it.
While we kissed my mind wandered back to the movie. The X-Files is traditionally about aliens — how Mulder believes in them, and Scully is skeptical. And then there's the unfulfilled sexual tension between the two leads. But I Want to Believe had no aliens whatsoever and skipped right past sex to the two of them lying asleep beside each other in pajamas, suggesting a committed relationship in which the sex has long since ended. Could the sequel actually be an allegory for a long-term relationship? A relationship in which you still say, "I love you," but you mean it more as a reference to something you once felt rather than something you currently feel? It's not that you don't love or that you've stopped loving, it's just more that you want to love? The way Mulder still "wants to believe" in aliens even though they're completely absent from the script. A loveless relationship. An alien-less X-Files, I thought.
Glen tongued my ear, making a sloshy noise in my head. "I love kissing you," he breathed, and then reapplied his saliva to my mouth.
Did he really love it or did he just want to love it? I wondered.
He suggested we move into his bedroom, adding, "Only if you want to." I made my eyes fearfully wide again, as he seemed to like it the first few times.
"If you feel like things are moving too fast, we can just sleep, or if you feel uncomfortable with that too, I can put you in a cab. Though I'd really like you to stay the night."
I made my eyes fearfully wide again, as he seemed to like it the first few times.
"It is pretty late," I said, pretending to think it over.
"I'd really like to wake up next to you," he said.
"It would probably be difficult to find a cab at this hour," I said, letting him lead me toward the bedroom.
He sat me on his bed, and removed my sport jacket, then my sweater... button by button, he removed my shirt, then my undershirt, then my camisole (I like to layer). Then my skirt and slip… my stockings… until I was all at once naked beneath his hands — naked but for the remaining layers of bra and underwear, of course.
Then, he took off his own shirt, revealing a hairy chest. I didn't mind the hair. In fact, I liked it. He stood up and took off his pants, revealing a pair of even hairier legs.
Kneeling on the bed, he quickly hid a condom beneath the pillow behind me. He offed my bra, and we were both naked now: him, but for his boxer shorts and body hair. Me, but for my panties, which are large and sexy — I like full coverage. Over the waist and all the way down the top of the leg, and a little bit baggy in the seat, too. When a man undresses me and finds me in these, he gets the feeling that what he is about to do is something quite new to me, as were I accustomed to casual sex, I would never wear such an undergarment! My underwear thus creates an atmosphere of sincerity, triggering erections of unusual fierceness!
Glen stood up to examine me, clearly overcome by my disarming sexuality. Frantically he began removing his boxer shorts, when suddenly, it was revealed: he was completely hairless in the area surrounding his penis. I shrieked and pulled back. "What happened to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your hair!" I said. "Someone stole it!"
"It's there, it's just shorter than the other ones. See?" he said, inviting me to look closer.
I picked up his penis between my thumb and forefinger and moved it to the side so that I might have a better look. He was right. Some hair lay flat, hugging his pelvis, in a shape that reminded me of crop circles. Still investigating, I asked him more questions.
Did he shave it? I asked.
No. He wasn't into hair removal, he said.
Had his penis recently suffered a scare of some kind, which might have then caused the hair to fall out?
He told me that would only make it turn white, and no.
I asked him if he'd waxed.
Of course not, he told me, seemingly repulsed by the idea.
Might his penis have eaten the surrounding hair?
He looked at me incredulously.
I thought for another moment. "The shock of recognition!" I cried out. "Perhaps you recently read a novel that was very good?"
"I haven't read a book in years," he said emphatically, and I believed him.