He picked me up after work one night, and was going to drive me home. We both knew there'd be a lengthy stop on the way. We were both surprised by the situation, for our own reasons. I was surprised because he was quite a bit older, an unrepentant Pagan, and married- yet I had chosen to date him. He was surprised because he figured that he was all the things that a young Christian virgin would try to get as far from as possible. I was surprised because to do what I was doing was so unlike me, so unlike everything I had ever done or thought I would do. What was I doing going on a date with a self confessed slut- a man in an open marriage with more experience than I could ever dream of having? (At the time the sum total of my experience with the opposite sex was kissing boys, and once, in a night of ill-advised drunkenness, masturbating in the same vicinity as a boy my age in the highest level of "you show me yours I'll show you mine" I think there is.)
He turned off the main road into a Vista Point that I had been driving by my whole life, but had never stopped at, and parked the car. We had been chatting amiably about who knows what anymore the whole way there, and once the car was parked he took off his seatbelt and shifted slightly in his seat so that he could turn to face me. When I think back to the body language I have to laugh at how clear the signals were. I took my seatbelt off as well, shifting in my seat so that I was facing him, and at the same time was leaning back against the passenger door- he was sitting quite forward in his seat, leaning toward me as we talked.
I've long thought it strange how some details stay clear as crystal, while others fade away. But maybe it's not strange at all. I can't remember what we talked about, except for a few very specific things that I will mention when context gets to them, but I remember his shirt and his hair and his kisses. Maybe I can't remember our conversation because even then I knew that the point of being at that gorgeous overlook was partly to get to know each other better, but was mostly about the making out. After we had been talking a while, he looked me in the eyes and said, "I'm going to kiss you." And he leaned across the front seats and planted one on me, practically on top of me in my seat, both of us pressed into the passenger door, a kiss that made my head swim. He, sly fox that he was, slowly moved himself back with every kiss, effectively drawing me away from the door and closer to his side of the car until, before I knew it, I was the one practically in his seat. I was up on one knee on my seat, leaned all the way across the car, my right hand playing with his long hair, my left arm sort of draped across his lap, kissing him with a passion and a hunger I didn't know I possessed.
I remember those kisses like they were received yesterday. I remember just as well what came next- the feeling of something moving beneath my arm, which I had initially thought was a muscle twitch from the position it was in. In the tiny part of my brain able to separate itself from the feel of his lips on mine, the movement of his tongue, and how the softness of his hands contrasted with the rough bristliness of his face I began to realize that it wasn't my arm that was twitching. I broke the kiss and glanced down at my arm in his lap before looking up at him, a deep blush creeping into my face as I asked "is that what I think it is?" A smile came into his eyes as he looked right at me and said "What? My throbbing penis?"
With those words, everything that I knew I was came flooding back, in the fastest instant of my life. What was I doing? Was I crazy? A strange man, a married man?! I jerked away from him so violently that both of us were surprised my elbow didn't break the window as I recoiled. I banged my funny-bone *hard* and tore his shirt. Somehow, inexplicably, it seemed like maybe he was expecting that, because he had all the right words, and knew exactly how to soothe my fear. Somehow we made it back to the kissing- this time softer, less urgent, but packed with just as much feeling- the kind of kisses that make your insides melt. When we finally broke apart and realized that the summer evening was quickly turning to night, he said my kisses made his toes curl, and I didn't know whether or not that was a good thing. He assured me that it was and I have since had experiences that proved it to be true.
When he dropped me at home he said he'd call me. I told him that I had a tendency to freak out about these kinds of things and run away from them, and I really didn't want to do that this time. He said he'd call the next day to check in- which he did- but that is next week's story...
Posted by Annora at April 5, 2006 11:02 PM