Saturday, July 11, 2009
Continued from Part I earlier today.
"Why do you keep saying that? It's completely a mind game, you know." I smile, let her know I'm serious. "So you've gone gay?" Haha, maybe. "I doubt it. What's your angle, Sane? Miguel joked with you about not getting laid in a year." Not that long, but it's been awhile. "Too picky?" No, but I don't like one-night stands and I don't like breaking hearts.
She's quiet. I brew some tea for us and we sit down and talk more. She's been on a dating wreck for 2 years, chasing really broken boys who lied, cheated and even stole. "They're so good on paper." Never trust paper. Or words. "Interesting angle from a successful writer." I'm not successful, but I warn my readers to not even trust me. "Saying don't trust me makes it more trustworthy, you know." Maybe.
We sip our herbal tea, share a few cigarettes (Miguel will yell to holy hell) and I lay back perpendicular to the couch, my feet on the glass coffee table (more yelling tomorrow). I kick off my shoes and socks, as does Bea. As we talk, she puts her head on my right pec. I put my arm on her shoulder, teasing her bare skin with my 3 fingers.
I'm getting tired. I ask her if she's taking the bed. "Yeah. Alone, if I have to." You should. "You're a strange fruit, Sane." Are you hoping I'll dangle from a tree? She doesn't get the Lady Day reference. Damn.
She kicks her legs up over the far side of the huge couch, the back of her head on my lap. My hands tease playfully up and down her arm as we talk, both feeling tired but not ready for sleeping. Eventually, her jeans pop off, leaving her in her tight purple panties, her men's A-shirt showing off her small tits and VERY erect nipples. "You can take off your pants, too. I won't try anything."
I ignore her, feeling her forearms, her shoulder, her neckbone and her neck. She loses her grip and moans. "You're a fucking clit tease." I'm not. We're just talking, I like your body. "So why refuse me?" I told you, I'm not looking for a short term thing, nor a girlfriend. "It's just sex." That's my line, but it isn't. You're ready for a great guy, I am not him.
She closes her eyes and then turns on her side. My cock is hard, unfortunately. "Whoa, cowboy. Your brain and body fighting?" Always. The brain wins. "Always?" Yes.
I put my hand on her back, the part showing over the wife-beater she's wearing. "You can take it off. You have amazing hands." If I take it off, I'll lose my resolve. "Oh, a weak spot." Don't tempt me, woman. "At least you proved I'm not ugly." Lord, far from it.
Finally she gets up. "Lay down." No. "We can just cuddle." I'm warning you. "I'll be good." I lower my body on the huge couch. I pull my hipster-tight jeans off and toss them on the floor. She straddles my hips with one leg, the rest of her body is to my left on the huge Corinthian-leather couch. Her pussy is on my hip, very warm. Her scent is in the air and I'm fighting offering her a clit teasing lickfest.
She puts her head on my chest again and touches my body, my cock pushing through my signature Armani boxers, black. "Want me to suck your big soldier?" No, I'm serious about cuddles only. "He looks like he needs it." He does, but I'll pass.
She touches my abs and my obliques. "Holy shit, you're cut. How many hours a day do you work out?" Zero. She unbuttons my shirt completely and runs her hand through my chest hair, down my chest bone and caresses my abs and my minor "V" of my obliques. "Bullshit. Your body is amazing." Seriously.
"Good genes?" My family is a pack of fat fucks. "Writers sit on their ass all day." Maybe.
She continues caressing my body, eventually putting her warm, and wet pussy on my cock, two pairs of thin underwear preventing something I really want, just not with her. "You're holding out for someone else, aren't you?" Maybe. I don't think about it.. I try not to. "Who is it?" Oh, no one specific. A fantasy woman, she probably doesn't exist. "They never do. Tell me about her."
I give her the run-down: petite but feminine, not too skinny. Someone who loves my body, my scent, my cock in her mouth and in her hands. Someone who wants my kiss, but not my heart. Someone who listens, who can help me unwind. Someone who can't give her heart fully because she has goals, passions to discover and plant and grow and cultivate.
"Sounds rare. Go on."
Someone who finds me attractive, especially on days I feel ugly. "You're hot. Women love your confidence." My face is a wreck. "You're different looking. I think you don't see how good looking you are. Every time I've met you, I was fucking intimidated as hell."
Thanks, I appreciate it. A lot.
She lays her tits on my chest, puts her face in my neck, our legs bundled like two forks, tines intertwined. She falls asleep as I tease her back down to just above her ass. I fall asleep right after.
I wake up at 8, her asleep in the crook of the couch, her hand on my hard cock over my boxers. Oops. I slide away, find coffee, pull my pants on. Miguel comes out, wearing tiny man-shorts, come on his chest. "Shit, hombre, I thought you were in the befroom." He sees Bea. "Man, you finally fucked her." You have spooge on your tits, dude. He looks down, grabs a papertowel and rinses of. "Sorry. How was she?"
We didn't fuck. "What? Why?" Just cuddled, wanted to talk. "Hombre, you are such a player." Players get laid. "She didn't turn you down, hijo, you did." Yeah. I'm an asshole. "You need to get your fire hydrant emptied, man." Soon, I promise.
We talk as the coffee brews, then click mugs and sit in his Cuban-motif kitchen. I like Miguel, love him fully. I tell him this. "You're my brother, of course we love each other." He finishes his coffee, hugs me with one hand on the back of my head and kisses my forehead. "You're a good man, hombre. A real gangster, but so nice." You're a fucking flamer. "I'm glad you know it." He smacks my ass hard. "Hijo, you doing lunges? Shit, maybe you need a boyfriend."
We laugh, hug again and he gets in the shower.
I leave before Bea wakes up. I kiss her forehead, eliciting a sleeping smiles. Bye, Bea. You rock. Her smile is still on her face as I wander down Halsted, looking for food.
I need exactly this, once a week or twice a month. She's just not the one who can handle my life, my truth, my reality. I'll try again with another, hopefully finding a woman who finds my mind and body and face hot and handsome, but doesn't want more of my heart than this Sane man can give.