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And then I miscalculate and the tip of his cock pokes me in the eye.
I lose my concentration for a moment, pulling back as my fingertips go to the stab of pain in my eye. Like I swear, it’s a second or two. But it’s enough. Because…
“Shit,” he says, bending down. “Are you OK?”
“Fine! I’m fine!”
But I can tell. This isn’t going well. I need to pull out all the stops. He’s still thinking way too hard.
So I take his hand in mine and jump forward to Sexpert video number ten. Show Him What Bakes Your Cake.
I place his fingers between my legs and show him exactly where he can find the cherry on top.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN – ANDREW
The idea that I had percolating in the back of my mind that my new, and now very intimate friend Eden might somehow, coincidentally, be the one behind this whole Sexpert nonsense is being quickly dispelled. There is no way in hell this woman is giving anyone anonymous sex tips. But here, now, with me, the clumsy awkwardness is making me feel that much more into her. It is the sexual manifestation of everything I have seen in her to this point. Goddamn, she is fucking adorable. And… fun.
She’s fun. This is fun. I’m having fun.
I haven’t had fun in a minute.
“What? What is it?” she asks, nervously. I realize that I got distracted for half a second and my fingers are sitting on her clit but not moving. So I fix that.
I grab her by the hips, spin her around, and throw her kind of roughly down onto this big, round daybed thing that’s out here. It’s puddled up from the rain and when she lands, water goes splashing off of it and she yelps a tiny bit and then giggles.
I slide my knees in between her legs, holding them apart with the outside of my thighs, and put my index and middle finger back onto the spot she showed me.
“There?”
She nods, and I start circling her. Firm, small, massaging rotations that cause her to throw her head back. But when she does, her mouth opens, and she drinks in about a pint of rainwater and starts coughing orgiastically.
“Shit.” I step back from her and let her roll to her side where she continues to hack. “What can I do? Can I help?”
She shakes her head, and then manages to cough out, “I think I just need some water.”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.
She continues coughing and says, “Why are you laughing? What’s fun—?” And then she realizes what’s funny, I guess, because she starts laughing too. In between the coughing and hacking. She buries her face into the rain-soaked fabric and I can kind of make out her saying, “I’m such a fucking dork.”
I say nothing, just smile and stare down at her back. She twists her head and pushes her hair out of her face as she glances over her shoulder at me. She blinks away the rain and raises her eyebrows in a “what now” way.
I show her what now.
I spread her legs wide again, slide in between them once again, and once again I put my two fingers on the spot she showed me and let them do their job. I’ve worked in so many mediums over the years—paint, pencil, clay, acrylic, silicone, you name it—and the thing I’m good at… the thing I’m best at… is finesse. I know how to use my hands to sculpt a delicate form. I know how to carefully craft every angle. I’m not prideful. It’s just what I do the best. I have strong hands which have just gotten stronger over the years from climbing, but I also have feel and touch and I know how to treat each special material I touch with the right kind of care.
I haven’t created art in a long time. And I haven’t been with a woman in a long time. And right now, Eden is the beneficiary of the fact that I am re-engaged with two things I’ve missed.
She whines out with want as I let a third finger find her soft flesh and I maneuver around the skin between her thighs. Her hips slide back, and she pushes her ass toward me. I use my thumb to press back into her and hold her in place. The rain batters us, its pulsing, staccato beating on our bodies fueling the energy that’s between us. I feel alive.
With my other hand, I start stroking myself. When I jerked off last night, I kind of imagined Eden. I don’t know her, so it was just the idea of her. The fantasy of what the cute girl from the freeway… and the building where I work… and the building where I live… and the restaurant… and the elevator… (wow, when I thought I might run into her again, I had no idea…) might be like. But the reality of her is so much better.
