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Coffee first, then what?
More of what we did back in the car?
I hope so.
He’s the first man to touch my pussy and the first man to bring me to orgasm; I’m willingly giving him all of my firsts and I want him to have them. My body is aching for more.
He knows exactly what he is doing, and I can’t wait for him to do lots of very naughty things to me; also a first for me. His are the only hands and lips I have ever wanted to touch me. I’m excited for what’s to come. Preferably me coming lots more, and then him coming inside me.
What if I am completely shit at all the sex stuff?
I will die of embarrassment if I can’t satisfy him, and by the feel of him, there is a lot of man to satisfy.
“How many records do you have?” he asks over his shoulder, pulling another album out to have a look at as I have a mental freakout.
At my last count, “Over twelve hundred,” I reply. They took up more moving boxes than the rest of my belongings when I shipped my stuff from New York.
“Holy shit, you have a 1973 edition of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon.” He swivels around so fast I’m surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.
“I do.”
Turning the album sleeve over in his hands, he checks out its condition. “It’s immaculate. You must have paid way over the odds for it. It’s a collector’s item.”
“Ten US dollars.” I beam brighter than a jukebox. “My proudest moment was picking that up at a thrift store. It was sitting in a donation box amongst old trinkets, just waiting to be organized and priced up.” When I offered the little lady volunteering behind the counter ten dollars for it, knowing it was worth at least one hundred times that, she was distracted trying to fix her broken till to even look up and accepted my offer on the spot.
“I’m taking you with me to the next arcade game auction.” Back turned to me, he continues to shuffle through my extensive collection.
“Arcade game auction? What the hell is that?” Moving out from my kitchen, I join him in the living area of my tiny apartment and rest the steaming cups of coffee on top of my nineteen seventies style walnut side table.
I stand shoulder to shoulder in front of my wall of records. Although it’s more like my shoulder to his elbow because there is a huge height difference between us.
“I collect old retro arcade games. They only happen twice a year and I missed out on Pac Man and Ms. Pac Man at the last one. Someone outbid me.”
“Can you not buy them online?” I narrow my eyes to help me read the minute text along the sides of the paper sleeves to find my favorite album, although the one I am looking for has a tiny black dot on the side of it to help me find my most loved ones.
“There is no guarantee that they work, or I can’t see what condition they are in if I do that. I like them to be like new.” I love how particular he is. That’s cute.
I run my finger along the spines of another row of albums and ask, “How many do you have?”
“Nine so far.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Well, that’s easy.” He rests his ass on the back of my sofa and folds his arms. “Space Invaders.”
“I knew you’d say that.” I find what I was looking for and pull the record out of its hiding place. “Gotcha.”
I look up to find him staring at me. “How did you know I would say Space Invaders?” he asks.
I sway my head back and forth as if weighing up my options. “It was either that or Streetfighter.” I lift the lid on the record player I spent months saving up for.
“You’re good.”
“I know.” I knew it would be either one of those. “It’s what the boys in my class at school used to play at the arcade in town.”
“What have you got there?” he asks when I slip the record out of its sleeve, carefully handling the edges and placing it on the turntable without my fingertips touching it. Any trace of oil from skin affects the sound quality, and this album is one my grandfather gave to me when I was just ten years old. It’s one of my favorites.
“Soloman Burke.”
