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We take our time. The water cascades down our bodies. We slide our hands over our wet skin as we kiss, and kiss, maintaining a slow, steady rhythm down below. Then, we ride the crest of the wave for a long moment. I kiss her as she makes little whimpers of anticipation.
We come together quietly, our eyes locked as long as we can before the force of the orgasm makes us collapse against one another. I stay inside her for a long time after.
“Maybe,” she eventually says, “I did need help after all.”
“Thought so…”
A short time later, we lounge in bed wrapped in her fluffy towels. She lounges with her towel just around her waist, her breasts exposed, her wet hair fanning out across her pillows. For fun, she’s forced me in one of her pink ones and put a bright blue one on my head in a tall wrap.
Whatever. It’s that kind of morning.
My head’s on one end of the bed, while hers is at the other, and I massage her feet as we stare at one another like dopes. Happy, satisfied, fulfilled dopes.
“We should, um…” I start to say. I look at my hands working on her feet.
“Go on,” she encourages.
“We should, um, probably talk seriously about this. About what’s going to happen next,” I look up at her, bracing for what she says.
She tenses but doesn’t break eye contact or yank her foot away. That’s a good sign, right?
“I’m still moving out at the end of the month,” she says calmly.
I purse my lips, and nod in what I hope is an understanding manner.
“It’s not about you,” she says. “It’s about my independence.”
“Sure.”
“I’ve lost my job and that was a big part of my identity. You’ve been so generous. But if all I do is rely on you to fix my problems, then I’m afraid I’ll disappear entirely.”
I nod again, hoping it seems like I get it, like I’m cool with it.
“You wouldn’t want me then,” she explains further. “The person I’d become if I keep on this way? Neither of us would like that Natalie.”
“I understand,” I say. And I do.
She’s right. The Natalie I’m...fallingfor… would be destroyed if she felt like she had to rely on me for everything. Part of what I like about her is her independence. Her can-do, you don’t like it you can fuck off – attitude. If that disappeared because of me, I’d hate myself.
Still, it’s never fun to be rejected. I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t hurt. I stop massaging her feet.
There’s a tension in the air that threatens to ruin all the sensational, post-coital peace. I refuse to let that happen.
So, I give her feet a reassuring slap and say, “OK, then, you’re gonna have to find a new apartment.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’ll help you look,” I declare. I crawl along her body, kissing her as I make my way up. “I know every real estate mogul worth a damn in this city.”
I kiss each breast in turn, then move up to her neck. “I’ll make some calls. We’ll have you situated in no time.”
I move to kiss her lips – but I’m met with one of her fingers instead.
“No,” she says softly. She kisses my forehead and gets out of bed.
Right. That would be me helping her again, which would undermine the whole reason she’s moving out. I accept her rejection a little better this time.
She drops the towel. As she gets dressed, I watch as each part of her beautiful body disappears, one at a time, into each piece of clothing. I think about how nice it’ll be to get her back out of those clothes later tonight…
