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“How about you?” I asked, trying for what was hopefully a friendlier tone.
“Sports,” he said. “It’s so impersonal watching them alone at home.”
“Aren’t you going to be missing it by talking to me?”
I gestured up to the TV where someone was kicking a ball, while people dotted around the pub were holding their breath in anticipation.
The man just shrugged.
“Sometimes a good conversation is better than sports.”
A good conversation turned into three more drinks, which turned into me stumbling out of the pub with my new friend, the unnamed stranger, by my side.
He was just as drunk as I was, and in the twinkling lights of Boston at night, he looked all the more beautiful. His hair appeared to be soft, so soft I wanted to touch it. Before I could tell myself that it would be inappropriate to do so, my hands were in his brown locks, and I was running my fingers over his scalp. My hands came down to his cheeks, where light stubble dusted across his jawline, and my brain caught up with my actions.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured, maybe slurred.
I tried to draw my hands away from him, but the man caught them and looked at me. His eyes were deep. I couldn’t tell what color they were in the low light, but they were deep and dark— and filled with something that had nothing to do with sports or my father.
“Don’t be,” he answered quietly.
If I tried to, I’d never be able to say who initiated it. We were drawn together like planets destined to collide, and then our lips met. There was a quiet hunger in the way he kissed. His hands weren’t scrambling over my body, and he wasn’t lapping at me like a dog in summer.
But he was missing something, and my innate reaction was to give him whatever he needed.
* * *
The trip back to my apartment was a blur.
It was the soft scratch of his stubbled face against mine and the way I guided his hands to my waist. When we reached my new abode, it was all I could do to unlock the door to my apartment before I launched myself at him. At my insistence, the man changed his tactic and turned from slow and hungry to ravenous. I pulled off my shirt and pressed forward, lining our torsos up. The absence of his own shirt let warmth spread between us, bare skin against bare skin. I grazed my teeth at the highest part of him my mouth could reach—his collarbones, and I received a sigh in response. The alcohol wasn’t a blurring depressant anymore but something fizzing under my skin, making me bolder than I’d ever been.
Without registering what I was really getting myself into, I kept guiding him, each of us shedding items of clothing as we went. He got braver as well, hands finding their way to stroke long patterns up my back, the delicate graze of fingernails making me shiver deliciously. I felt the flooring change from the linoleum to carpet and idly wondered where my shoes and socks had gone.
I couldn’t contemplate it for too long though, because the man with me was doingthingsto my neck that I didn’t know could elicit such pleasure. It almost hurt, the way he marked me, but in the best way.
“Pants. Off,” I panted as he bit me lightly.
He just groaned, and then pushedmypants off of my hips, letting the jeans slide down my thighs. I wanted to laugh, but then he was going with them and on his knees in front of me. I could have based a religion off the way he looked at me with worship in his eyes, as his tongue darted over my belly button and traced a path down to my underwear. They were nothing special, just a plain green pair that I’d had for a while, but he didn’t seem to care. With a question in his eyes, he slowly peeled them away from my skin, and pushed them down to join my jeans on the floor.
When he dipped his face towards my center, I had to look away. I had to stare at the ceiling and try to stop my legs from collapsing at the first stroke of his tongue between my thighs. His breath was somehow hotter than my body, which felt like it was boiling with molten want.
I put a hand on his head, not sure if I wanted him to stop or keep going so I let him decide. At the next press of his tongue, though, I knew I’d need the support of the bed beneath me, so I pulled him up. I could taste myself on his lips. I had always thought it would be a terrible thing, but it was just an earthy taste that he seemed to delight in it.
I turned us so I had the back of my knees pressed against the bed and sat on the edge of it. I wanted to push his own pants down, but the man didn’t give me a chance. He put two hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me backwards. His tongue trailed back down my body again, and then he was back at the apex of my thighs, his strong nose probing through my folds. He apparently found what he was looking for, because his tongue located that small bundle of nerves immediately and electricity sparked through my body. I let out a small groan, so he did it again. And again, and again. My back arched involuntarily, and I was close to the edge, but from everything I learned about sex (granted, only from textbooks and high school discussions), I knew I wanted to finish with him in me.
“Come here,” I gasped, tugging on his hair to make the man pause his onslaught.
He stopped immediately, as though I had full power over him. He hovered over me, and I could see the shiny glaze of alcohol in his eyes. He was just as void of good decisions as I was.
“What’s wrong?” the man asked.
His eyes scanned my face, and I realized I’d crinkled my brow in consideration of what was about to happen. I smoothed my face back into a shy smile.
“Nothing,” I answered quickly. “I just want you inside of me when I come.”
I thought that mentioning my virginal status might be a bit of a buzzkill.
“Do you have a condom?” he asked as he went back to nipping at my neck.
