It’s not always about sex between us, although I wish it was.
After the first time, I didn’t see him again until a month later. In the week before I saw him, he’d had emergency surgery and was in and out of the hospital for a few days. When I got to town, I called him.
“Can I come see you? Just for a little bit? The moment you get too tired, I’m gone. Please?” I practically begged. I’d been a wreck knowing he was in pain, going through surgery, that I couldn’t be by his side.
“Oh honey, of course. But I’m tired. I’m not up for much,” he replied.
“I don’t care. I won’t even touch you!”
That evening, he texted me to tell me that he had finally gotten rid of his caretakers – could I come over?
I kissed my children, hugged my mother, and quickly left.
I arrived at his house, my first time there. Excitement and nervousness warred in my head. I rang the door bell.
“Come on in,” he called out. He sounded exhausted.
I walked in, saw him, and had to hold myself back. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and not let go. I didn’t want to hurt him.
He sat in a chair, head back, eyes half-open.
I smiled. “Hey yourself.” The nerves kicked in. I don’t have a great bedside manner. I’m too klutzy, too awkward, too much.
I sat down on the floor by his feet and looked up at him. We talked for a while. He told me I didn’t have to sit on the floor.
“If I want to be close to you, yes, I do.”
I laid my head on his knee and listened to him talk. He ran his hand gently over my hair. It felt so good just to be touched by him. I propped my chin on my hands so I could look at him. He traced my lips with one finger. I shivered. I was immediately wet and pulsing. He stared at me like he knew what he had done to me.
An hour passed, in what felt like seconds, and he clearly needed to get some rest. He managed to climb out of his chair to walk me to my car.
We made small talk for a minute, anything to draw out our time together. He apologized for not being up for more. Poor baby, apologizing for recovering from surgery!
I didn’t let him go so easily, though. I demanded a kiss. Just one.
He smirked. I love his knowing smirk. I leaned in. Our lips touched, and I melted into him. Tongues swirling. Even in a kiss, we fight for dominance. He usually wins. His hand held my neck, pulling me closer. His tongue glided over my lips. His teeth found my lower lip; he nibbled and sucked. Our tongues dueled for long minutes. I stood on my toes, wrapping my arms around his neck. I nibbled his lips, I lapped his tongue. I breathed him in.
Finally, we pulled apart.
“Good night, Sweets.”
“Good night. Get some rest. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. I’ll see you soon,” he replied.
I didn’t see him again for another two months. The memory of his lips, his tongue, his kiss lasted a long time.