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Tears come to my eyes. Here is Aidan, a man who is going out of his way to make me feel better, and I’ve failed him.
“I-I wanted to…” I whisper.
“And did you?”
I shake my head. “No. I couldn’t make myself do it.”
His big sigh has a tear escaping down my cheek.
He carefully moves my drawings away. The desk creaks when he sits on it, next to me, so close, I can feel the heat from his muscular thighs.
“Talk to me, Caitlin.”
“I, well, I-I wanted to, last night, but I guess, having come straight from church… I just couldn’t make myself do it.” I sniff and look up at Aidan. “I’m well aware that most people don’t think that self-pleasure is a sin, but Mum and Dad demand that I’m a good person, a good girl, demand that I listen to Father Murray and the nuns’ preaching. I-I just couldn’t do it.” My voice shakes with the last words, and a bitter laugh bubbles up. “Most people can’t stop themselves from sinning, yet I can’t even make myself do it. I’m a pathetic loser.”
“You’re not a loser. Everything is difficult the first time.” Aidan tilts his head to the side and taps his lips with his index finger, something I’ve noticed he does when he’s thinking hard. “What if I show you how to do it, here and now? That way you’ll not have a chance to let anything get to your head between leaving the office and going to bed.”
“W-what?” My thoughts screech to an abrupt halt.
“I’ll give you your first orgasm.”
I gulp at his direct words.
“What? Here? Now?” I shriek, my eyes flitting nervouslyaround the room.
“No time like the present, Caitlin.” He stands. “And there’s no one in the office this early. Come out from your desk,” he says casually over his shoulder while walking to the door. The click of the lock has some finality to it, or maybe it’s the starting gun for something new, a race that has already begun in my tummy. I slowly get up from my chair, my stomach in knots as I struggle to get my legs to carry me to the middle of the room.
He comes to stand in front of me and clasps his hands together, so confident and sure of himself. The opposite of me.
“So, when you’re in bed, I want you to start by thinking about something good,” he instructs.
“Something good? Like ice cream?”
His mouth twitches. “Not quite. More like… kissing. Like this.”
He bends down and I’m swept up in what is now an almost familiar sensation. The soft press of his lips and this increasing tingling through my body. He licks the seam of my lips and I open my mouth for his searching tongue. It should be disgusting, having his tongue in my mouth. But it’s not. Whoever invented French kissing should receive an honorary award. I could do this all day. My skin erupts with tiny sparks under my blouse as he runs his hands over me. Like yesterday, I dare to place my palms gently against his sides, loving the sensation of muscles moving.
He pulls his head away, and I lift mine, chasing more of his lips before I catch myself.
“Then I want you to caress your breasts.”
“Then?” I ask in a daze.
“Yes, when you’re in bed.”
“Oh! Oh, yes.” I’ve completely forgotten why we are doing this. “Wait – what?”
“I want you to touch your breasts.” He must see the panic in my eyes, so he adds, “I’ll show you.” He pauses for a moment, as if checking that I’m okay. He’s very nice, that way. I give a tight nod, and his hand comes up, gently gliding over my breast. “Just like this,” he whispers.
I stop breathing, all my focus on the palm that is cupping my breast.
“You-you want me to touch myself over my clothes?” I ask.
“Would you be more comfortable if you had clothes on?”
I nod hard.
“The sensations would be more intense directly on your skin, but this feels good too, doesn’t it?” His hand glides over my blouse. His nail flicks my budding nipple straining against the fabric. A sizzling lightning bolt shoots down and settles between my legs. If it’s this good over the clothes, I wonder what it will be like without them.
