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“Want to keep going?” he asks, and his eyes roll closed when I nod and put my hand in his hair. We sink. We gasp for air. He shows me things from my feverish midnight fantasies: what it looks like to see his tattooed hand on my breast, the weightless black silk of his hair on my pillow. Everything is fracturing around me now, the tiny flowers on my wallpaper and the daisies on his forearm as he slides his hand down, even lower down, and he tells me I’m like a dream.
He gloats at how turned on he’s gotten me. He demands ten different compliments and praises before he’ll move his fingertips. I get to four or five when he laughs and relents. I give him probably twenty more compliments after that. I never came close to finding satisfaction with my first boyfriend, Adam; I was too concerned about his comfort and the experience he was having. I never thought about my body as anything other than an instrument for him to find pleasure. All Teddy wants to do is make me smile and shiver, and his own body doesn’t seem to concern him. It’s his typical unhurried style that brings about my first orgasm. It takes me by surprise, because he didn’t seem to have a specific agenda, just a gently nudging thumb.
“Oh, nice,” he says as I shudder and spasm with his give hand between my thighs. If I ever thought touching him in return would be awkward, I was wrong: we are friends above all else, and we can talk about these things: I can tell him how I want to try this, and this . . . He lets me. “Perfect,” I tell him, when his penis is revealed. “But I thought there’d be a tattoo. Or a big metal piercing.”
“Some things are sacred,” Teddy explains with a half laugh. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.” H
e groans when I show him I’m not, and then links his fingers over mine. I give and take until he’s dewy with sweat.
When I decide I would like to take, he obliges with good humor and a courtly kiss on my cheek. “In the drawer,” I say, nodding sideways. “Melanie insisted I buy condoms. She said every pilgrim needed supplies for their journey, something like that.”
Teddy bites off the cellophane from the pack and spits it on the floor. “Glad you did, but they’re all mine now. Did you know,” he says in my ear, “I’m ruining all your dating plans from this point onward?”
I’m distracted, because we haven’t settled who’s staying and who’s going, but Teddy arranges my limbs, asks me twice if I’m okay, puts his mouth under my ear, and pulls my knee up onto his hip. We forget everything now.
“More,” I say, and we shiver and stretch against each other, until I have him. The tenderness in his fingers as he pulls some hair away from my eyes has me wanting to hide my face in his shoulder, but he won’t allow it; my face is tipped back and he watches my eyes as he moves. He’s open for feedback, and when a perfect alignment is achieved, he laughs at the look on my face. “Oh, there we go. Come this way, if you can,” he invites me. “But if you can’t, no pressure. I’ve got a lot of tricks up my sleeve.”
“It feels like I’m going to come, if you stay just like that—and I do this—”
I try to banish my thoughts. The bed squeaks and I’m so alive. I’m twenty-five and my blood is banging through my veins and his hazel eyes look at me with such amused affection, the way he always looks at me, and I tip over the edge and I’m coming, and he’s praising me, holding my shaking torso in a hug.
It’s pleasure, more than I’ve ever experienced, because it’s shared with him.
“Nice?” he asks me and I wordlessly nod. “Okay, good. Can you keep going?” Now we’re moving again. I still feel the aftershocks inside me, and now Teddy is taking his turn to move in the way that feels best for him; everything’s silky smooth and easy, but there’s a new angle and a new kind of friction.
“Let me just,” he starts a sentence but never finishes it.
His breath is coming too short; there’s physical effort that has his muscles straining and he’s working so hard. I firm up my spine and give back to him when I feel him starting to flag. It’s what causes him to groan, freeze, then dissolve into shuddering spasms.
I don’t know what to do now, so I put my arms around his shoulders and hug him until the tension melts out entirely and we’re dropped back into this room: two people who know each other fully now, and we kiss each other on the cheek. I always wondered what an afterglow would feel like: gratitude, and a smile, and I’m so glad. I tell him as much.
“I really didn’t expect it to be so good, right out of the gate,” I confess, which makes him laugh. “No, but really, so good. Once I found that angle . . .”
“It’s all about the angles, in my experience,” he says, then seems to wince at his words. “I mean—”
“It’s okay. You knew what you were doing, and I was glad.” We hug together for a long time. We confess every little moment that we wanted each other. He’s out-of-his-mind horny when he sees me wearing my glasses. I tell him that the craftmanship on the butt of his jeans is art. The sound of the pipes filling my bathtub can make him hard. The shine in his hair gives me a candle-flicker in my uterus.
I tell him things that I cannot believe I have the courage to. “I want to be tattooed on you.” He just nods in reply, and our kisses are just a continuation of this intoxicating conversation.
I notice the time on my clock. “I might need to go check the office.”
“Nothing says afterglow of mind-blowing sex like checking an office,” he agrees. “But I already rechecked it for you. It’s okay, Tidy Girl. Everything’s safe. You’re safe.” He kisses my temple and pulls a blanket up over me.
How accepting he’s been of my compulsive tendencies is humbling. “This is probably a weird time to ask, but can I get the name of your therapist?”
He laughs a lot. “I traumatized you that badly tonight?” His smile fades. “Yes. Of course. I’ll take you. I’ll hold your hand in the waiting room. It’s going to be okay.”
The rest of the night is fabulous.
We have a bath together, and it’s infinitely more satisfying than talking through the wall. Teddy smells like a pink unicorn when he towels me off and tosses me back on the bed. The second time he sinks himself into me, I’m readier for the sensation and we find a looser, fast tempo. We change things up, three times, four times, laughing and handing each other pillows to prop each other up, until we can’t stop moving and there are no thoughts. I tighten, an impossible orgasm ripples outward like a stone dropped in a lake. Teddy follows soon after.
I make macaroni and cheese, wearing a towel as a dress. “This casual look works for you,” Teddy tells me from the stool at the counter as we eat. “You spoil me a lot.”
“I actually like spoiling people. I bring Melanie a spare yogurt every afternoon. She hasn’t noticed yet. It’s my love language.” The word love clangs and I falter—did I imagine the whole thing? When I check his face, he’s looking goofy-happy, eyes closed and smiling with his cheek on his folded fist. “Are you okay?”
“Just in love with my dream girl.”
I grin. “Dream Girl is currently parked . . . where is that bike, anyway? You’re taking me for a ride on it, remember.” I take our bowls to the sink and begin to fill them with hot water. He doesn’t say anything. “Right? You’re letting me have a ride?”
