He kissed me goodbye about seven and a half hours ago. I told him I'd miss him. I meant it. I blew him a kiss as he walked out the door of my hotel room. I was still in the bed, wrapped up in blankets and sheets and feelings that I never thought I'd have for a boy I barely know.
I keep replaying it over and over in my head. It started with a text at 8:26 this morning that simply said, "Hello." I had been drifting in and out of sleep for a while, but the sight of his name on the screen of my cell phone gave my entire body a jump-start. The exchange that followed was brief and to the point. He had decided to meet me, after all. At 8:54, he let me know that he'd "be there soon." Suddenly feeling slightly panicked, I tumbled out of the bed and ran to the bathroom. I hopped into the shower and scrubbed down as quickly as I could. (Thank goodness I had decided to shave before going to bed last night. There is no way I would have been able to do an adequate job in such a hurry...)
At 9:09 am, I received another text. "Here" was all it said. Shit. I had just gotten out of the shower. I barely had enough time to pull a comb through my hair and wrap myself up in a towel before he was standing on the other side of the door to room 411. When he knocked, my heart started beating in double-time. I stood looking through the peephole for a moment, wishing that I had had just five more minutes to put on some makeup. Or clothes. I gave myself a few seconds to look him over before I let him in. He had warned me that he would be "overdressed" because he was still wearing the clothes he had worn the night before, and that he had "bedhead" because he had just gotten up and was heading straight over without doing his "morning routine." He was clearly exaggerating. His hair was a little messy--just barely tousled. He's usually very clean-cut looking, but I admittedly have a weakness for men who look a little rough around the edges. It suited him, and I silently wondered why I hadn't seen this side of him before. He was wearing fitted slacks and a button-down shirt that was almost exactly the same shade of blue as his eyes. Oh my god, those eyes. So steady and confident. So self-assured. Standing alone in the hallway of some strange hotel, he didn't look even the tiniest bit nervous or out-of-place. I had to remind myself that he's done this before, and he initiated this, and...shit...I should open the door...
I sharply drew in a breath, tried to steady my hands, and opened the door. When he saw me standing there, still dripping wet from the shower and barely covered by the tiny white towel, he looked more amused than surprised. I tried to pretend like nothing about the situation was weird or uncomfortable. I tried to pretend that I do this sort of thing all the time. Yeah, fucking right. I'm sure he saw right through me. I reminded myself that he thinks that confidence is sexy, so I ignored my strong urge to vomit all over myself and tried to imagine that I was wearing my favorite pair of jeans and that I had makeup on and that I didn't at all resemble a wet rat. I tried to engage in small talk. He was apparently surprised at how nice the hotel was. I'm still not sure what he was expecting, and, at the time, I wasn't sure how to respond. After a few minutes of polite chit-chat, I decided that I'd be infinitely more comfortable if I at least dried my hair, brushed my teeth, and put on some concealer. I excused myself to the bathroom while he stretched out on the king-sized mattress. Looking at him, lying on his back and clearly waiting for me to join him, I felt my breath catch in my throat. I smiled, went into the bathroom, and leaned hard against the closed door. "Fuck," I whispered. "Fuck. This is really happening. This is really, really happening." I tried to make myself as presentable as possible in the shortest amount of time possible. I considered straightening my hair, but decided it would be counterproductive. I would just have to fix my hair again after we...oh god... The thought gave me goosebumps. After all of the talking and all of the build-up, we were finally alone together for the first time. I was beginning to believe that it would never happen, but there he was--right on the other side of the wall. On the bed. Waiting.
Waiting for me.
I gave myself a once-over and shrugged. I could have spent more time trying to make myself look pretty, but he just saw me with wet hair and without makeup. He'd know if I tried too hard. Besides...I didn't think that I could handle waiting anymore. Nervous or not, I wanted him. I debated with myself briefly about whether or not I should leave the towel on the sink. I decided that I wasn't feeling quite that brave, so I opted to put it back on. "Here we go..." I thought to myself, and returned to his field of vision.
As I began to walk across the room to the other side of the bed, he stood up and followed me, telling me that I looked beautiful. My face must have somehow given away how shy and nervous I was suddenly feeling, because he put his hands on my arms and said, "What?" Looking down, away from his piercing gaze, I wrapped the towel around myself more tightly. "I'm still surprised that you're here." He pouted. "Why?" he asked. I shrugged and flashed him a half-smile, "I really didn't think you were going to come. That's all." In that instant, he pulled me in close and wrapped his arms around me. It was my initial instinct to look away, but those amazing blue eyes were locked on mine. "You need to have more faith in me," he said. No...he didn't just say it. He commanded it. I began to say something in response, but he stopped whatever words I was attempting to form with his mouth. He kissed me hard, and I completely forgot my train of thought. We had kissed before, but not like that. With that first, intense kiss, every trace of boyishness that he had possessed up until that point had vanished. He was no longer flirtatious and playful. He was a self-assured, sensuous man. And, with that kiss, he owned me.
His right hand reached down and touched my left thigh, slowly and gently brushing his fingers upward and underneath the edge of the towel. He purred another command in my ear. "Lay down." I didn't hesitate. I sat down on the bed and tried to get comfortable. He leaned over me, and kissed me until my head had been eased down onto the pillows. I closed my eyes and tried to slow the pounding in my chest. He stopped for a moment, looked me over, and stood upright. He started to unbutton his shirt. I'm still not sure if he did it deliberately or not, but he took an excruciatingly long time removing that first layer of clothing. I have never seen a man look so focused or so intense when undressing. He gingerly unfastened the buttons--one at a time--revealing a snug, white undershirt. As much as I would have liked to have him hurry up, strip, and get down to business, there was something very sexy about the way he presented himself to me. Much to my surprise, he did not take off the rest of his clothes at this point in time. Instead, still clad in slacks and the tight t-shirt, he joined me on the bed. Lying next to me, he kissed me like he had been seeing me for years. (Yes, all of our conversations have been open and honest, and most of them have been sexual in nature, so we have talked about some of our "likes" and "dislikes." I do not, however, recall ever telling him how I liked to be kissed.) He bit my bottom lip gently, drawing a moan from my mouth. How did he know...?
I was so focused on the way he was kissing me, that I had completely forgotten that I was still tangled up in a damp bath towel...until he removed it and tossed it onto the floor. It's difficult not to feel incredibly vulnerable and exposed when the person you are in bed with is still practically fully-clothed. It took an insane amount of effort and self-control to keep myself from trying to hide under the covers. He climbed on top of me and slowly worked his way down from my mouth to my hips. Fuck. He remembered that my hips are one of my weaknesses. He grazed his tongue across my hipbones, which made me involuntarily arch my back. I could only handle a few moments of his teasing before I reached down to pull off his undershirt. Wow. I thought that he was attractive before, but, with each layer of clothing that was removed, he became irresistible. It was about then that he realized that I was feeling a bit self-conscious. He sensed it and completely called me out. "We can stop if you want." Yes, I was feeling insecure and was more awkward than I would have liked to be, but I absolutely did not want him to stop.
He moved away from my hips and returned to my mouth. Thank goodness. I don't think my heart could have taken any more of that sort of taunting. I wanted him. Right then. I fumbled with his belt buckle until he finally reached down and undid it himself. It was only a minute before he finally kicked off his pants and his boxers. I started to look away out of modesty, but, realizing that (considering the fact that I was about to have sex with this man) modesty was completely unnecessary, I let my eyes drift back to his body. All of the pictures he has sent in the past do not do him justice. I was only able to enjoy the view briefly, and then he was back to business. He positioned himself above me again, but this time, he gently moved my legs apart and settled himself between them. He had himself propped up slightly, one hand against my cheek and the other on my chest, and started kissing me again. With every kiss, he lowered himself down more and more, until I had his full weight pressing against my body. He let the tip of his penis rub against me, just enough that I could feel it radiating warmth. Just enough to drive me nearly mad with desire. I nearly reached down to ease him inside, but he caught my arm and held it down. I guess he got the message, though, because he got up, removed a condom from my purse, and put it on. He crawled back onto the bed and watched as he entered me for the first time. He savored it, taking his time the same way he had when he was unbuttoning his shirt. I allowed myself to let out a content sigh. Finally. Finally.
The actual sex is a bit of a blur. It was a lot of me pulling on his hair and wrapping my legs around his waist, and a lot of him moaning and kissing me harder than he ever had before. Right as he came, he groaned, "You are so hot." (It was probably rude of me, but I giggled at his comment. I couldn't help it. Of all of the adjectives in the English language, that is one of the very last ones I would use to describe myself.) And...that was it. It was over.
When he went into the bathroom to dispose of the used condom, I finally gave into my urge to cover up and crawled under the sheets. He came back into the room and, without skipping a beat, got under the covers and laid down next to me. Suddenly, everything felt natural and easy. It was comfortable, being naked in bed with him. I wish I could remember the exact phrases he used, but he attributed his quick finish to the fact that "it's been a while"..."and that last kiss" apparently put him over the edge. He asked if he had disappointed me. I told him he was great. (Truth be told, though, two things could have made it better: I wish it had gone on for longer and that I hadn't been so nervous.)
The rest of the time we spent together post-coitus was spent just talking about random nonsense. I kept wanting to pull him close and wrap myself in his arms. I wanted to put my head on his chest. I wanted to listen to his heart beat and feel him breathe. I scooted across the mattress so that I was just inches away from him and put my hand on his arm, but he maintained his distance. I didn't want to push it. I was thrilled that he decided to meet me at the hotel in the first place, and I was ecstatic that he didn't leave immediately after the sex was over. It's been ages since I've had a lover stay in bed with me and have pillow-talk. Maybe next time...if there is a next time.
He left an hour before I had to check out. He got up, got dressed, kissed me goodbye, and reminded me that he'd be back in two weeks. I still hadn't moved from the spot on the bed where he had just had me, and he was already gone. I stared at the door for nearly twenty minutes before I was able to find the will to move. Now, hours and hours later, I still feel him. I can still taste him. I still want him.
I got into this relationship--whatever it is--with the intention of keeping it purely fun. Just a fling of sorts. I had the intention of keeping it free of feelings and drama and other various complications.
But I think it may be getting complicated.
I think that I'm starting to like him.
Fuck.
