He is busy when I walk in.
They have my teas in stock, I notice with some surprise when I head to the back of the store to get a drink. They haven’t stocked my tea here in almost a year.
He meets my eyes briefly when I approach the counter. His are hazel, a yellowish-greenish-blueish color that is hard to pin down, with long sweeping lashes that I instantly covet. They are kind eyes, and gentle in their glance.
“Is this any good?” he asks as he rings up my tea.
“Well, I like it,” I say awkwardly. He glances at me again from beneath those lashes.
“Tea isn’t really my thing,” he answers. He gestures in my general direction. “So how many piercings do you have?”
I am not sure what to say. It has been a long time since I counted!
“Too many to count,” I say, blushing slightly. We talk for a moment about the traffic, then he hands me my receipt and I head out the door.
I start toward the truck, then pause. I glance back at the door, then down at the receipt in my hand. With a resolute determination, I scrawl my number across the back of it with the pen that happens to be in my pocket and sign it with Misty’s moon. I turn back to the store, folding the receipt up in my hands.
Here goes nothing.
I immediately apologize for the mess in my truck when he gets in the passenger seat of my Tahoe.
“It’s alright,” he says mildly, shrugging. He places a brown paper bag on the center console. “Your sub.”
“Oh, you made it!” I say, delighted. I didn’t think he would; the deli is supposed to close at 7, and he worked until 10.
“Of course I made it,” he answers with a little bit of a chuckle. He has a smooth voice, and a comfortable presence. He sits back in my truck with the ease of someone who has ridden there many times before.
“So where are we headed?” he asks as I pull out of the parking lot.
“Well, I really ought to get the kids in bed,” I say, jerking my head back to where my five sheep are babbling behind us. “So I guess we can head to my place.”
I am a little tense, with this large man beside me casually bantering about axe murderers; I jokingly and a touch nervously respond to his hints that I might be taking him home to kill him with subtle encouragement. But he is cheerful, amicable, and at ease. I am not.
I have been realizing how odd I am lately. Sometimes I forget, and then things happen to remind me that I truly am not really normal. Most people actually don’t think the way I do, see things the way I do – and they definitely think that I am the unusual one.
Jester, he says his name is; he reminds me of how odd I am. But it isn’t with any kind of disgust or wariness in his voice that he remarks on the abnormality of all my little quirks, my little beliefs that show in the way I put my home together. He is merely amused.
We sit next to each other during the movie, not touching, for a long time. I find myself inching closer to him, his presence, his aura of man. “Are you putting your head on my shoulder?” he finally asks, glancing down at me through his glasses.
I remain mute, drawing within myself. He smiles at me, though, so I don’t move away. He puts his hand on his chest.
“You know you can lay here if that would be more comfortable,” he says gently. I just stare at him. Like a freak.
He smiles and turns his attention back to Leonardo di Caprio snorting a line of coke from a hooker’s ass.
I remain frozen in place for a few minutes at least, unsure. I stare at the bouncing tits on the screen. I glance back at Jester’s face, the light from the screen washing his patient expression with blue. I move incrementally closer to him and slowly, like a timid animal, rest my body against his strong chest. A small smile twitches on his lips, and he puts his arm around me without looking down at me.
I want to be closer. I can feel this within myself. I can reach it, touch it, and put a name on it. I want to feel snug in the solid warmth of the body beside me. I sink in closer and closer, deeper and deeper into the feel of him. He makes no moves, the whole movie, only watches and tightens his embrace at the same gradual pace.
I find myself looking up at him more. Every now and then his glance slides down to meet mine, with a smiling gentleness in it, and my whole body feels a tingle that rushes from top to bottom and comes to rest somewhere in the pit of my stomach. And still I keep leaning closer, pressing into him, my legs finding themselves sprawled alongside his so that my body is touching his all the way down.
Two hours and twenty minutes into a three hour long movie, he glances down to look at me and catches me by the eyes. He doesn’t look away this time.
I know what I want. My body is already open to him, my very bones yielding to the way he holds me in his arm. I feel very, very female. I can feel my own wanting, and I am not running away from it.
And finally, as I suddenly realize that his face is only inches away from mine, as I read that drunken sort of hunger in his eyes, he leans down ever closer and our lips touch.
He kisses me gently and I melt into him. He holds me as if I am fragile, as if he is restraining his passion because he doesn’t want to scare me away. But I am not scared, not any more. My body responds to him, willingly pushing itself into his, and I break away from him only momentarily to take off my shirt. He does the same, and the feel of his skin against mine pulls that human longing into the deepest parts of my body. He pulls me into him, and there are tiny animal noises coming from the back of my throat as his hands slide across the waistband of my sweatpants.
I desperately want him to take them off, he is kissing me with a single-minded purpose but he makes me wait before he finally slides them down. I don’t even know how he gets his own pants off but they are gone somehow and I find myself reaching for his cock without being asked to. Oh, he wants me, he is hard as a fucking rock and there is a primal growl in his chest and God does he want me.
Finally he rolls onto me and I press my body into his as hard as I can. There is no patience now, only an urgency that I have rarely felt in my life, and God I need him inside me now. My skin feels alive.
Finally he enters me. I gasp; I do more than gasp; a cry from the center of my being pours out of me. He groans deeply, clutches me with what feels like every bit of his strength, drinks me in like a man dying of thirst. I cannot think, I cannot move, I couldn’t struggle or fight it if I wanted to. I can only leave myself open as he takes me, a doll in his powerful hands, the kind of doll I want to be.
I have no control over the sounds that I am making. I have no control over the way my legs spread themselves as wide as they could possibly go, the way my hands grip the skin of his back and my hips move in time with his. I have no thoughts, there is no room for thoughts, only feeling.
I am no longer inside those walls in my head, for this excruciatingly ravenous need is taking up all the space. I am inside my body – I am my body – this Lust is who I am. Him and I, in this moment, is all there is. This skin and this sweat and these noises, and this burning desperation most of all, this is all that exists. There was nothing before, no thoughts, no desires; there will be nothing ever again. We meld into one another and we are infinity.
It doesn’t roll in gently, like the ripples from a passing boat roll onto the lake shore. It slams me like a tsunami, and I hear myself making sounds that I have never heard from my own throat before but I am powerless. If I could think, I might be reminded of the way there is nothing you can do when the head of a baby is crowning but hold on – but I am incapable of thought. I am both no longer human and more fully human than I have ever been. He slams into me again and again, these massive waves crashing through my body as my muscles latch onto him with all their strength. Strange how I can both strain against him and pull myself into him at the same time. How I can be so rigid yet melting like syrup through his hands.
I am gasping for breath, feeling myself liquefy on the mattress beneath him, when I can feel him about to come. “Oh, God,” I whisper, clutching onto him again. “Oh, God, oh fuck oooh..” He fills me completely, we are no longer two people but one as he stops breathing and pushes into me, both of us delirious and balanced so perfectly on that singular apex…
And a cry is wrenched from him this time as I feel his body let go, and I am gasping into his neck, whimpering at the exquisite feeling of release.
The Most Intense Sex I’ve Ever Had
He is busy when I walk in.