Better than the first time? Can a second time actually be so much better than the first time, that is just kind of knocks the first time out of the running, sort of by default? Oh, I do believe so.....
For several years I actually had a secret crush on him. A real live, batting my eyelashes, try to be witty, push up the boobs, and get butterflies in my stomach crush. But I was introduced to him as a friend of my boyfriend, so a secret my crush had to stay. I don’t know how well guarded the secret was, since my boyfriend once asked me if I liked his friend, and I played it off and said he wasn’t my type. Lie of all lies, because he was so much more my type than my boyfriend was, but my boyfriend was the hostile, thug type, so you don’t tell him the truth in these types of situations. You coddle and coax his over inflated ego, and fantasize about his friend.
Now let me tell you about him, and let’s just call him He. He is no thug at all though He has his edge. He has a deep, satiny voice that doles out infinite knowledge; that is to say He has some serious intellect going on. He has a dry and cynical sense of humor to rival my own, and a chiseled and solidly sexy form to boot. Damn, I was crushin’!
I was with my ex for about 5 years, and over the course of these years I considered it one of the few perks of being with him, that I occasionally got to see He. Once I came to my senses and liberated myself from him, the opportunities to see He became fewer and farther between, but no less rewarding. Now, we had gotten to the point in my ‘secret-crush’ relationship that when we ran into each other in a random time and place, it wasn’t inappropriate to exchange warm hugs as a greeting. Never having a strong sense of self, I couldn’t bring myself to make the first move. So each time, I batted my eyelashes, tried to be witty, pushed up my boobs, and got butterflies in my stomach. And he never said a word.
Not a word. It was a blow to my ego, but like I said, my ex was a hostile, thug type, and He is a good guy, so I just told myself that he didn’t want to cross a line with his boy. That kept me from being completely disappointed and still aroused by my secret crush.
Six degrees of separation is a bitch sometimes.
A couple years down the line, I have a new circle of friends and relationships. Only the old and faithful few remain, the friends that are now in the picture are new, but we have formed very strong and steadfast bonds nevertheless. I’m renting a funky little old wood and exposed brick row-house with my best friend, working at a hippie-like non-profit organization that let you burn incense in your office, usually regularly connected with weed and liquor and spend most evenings and weekends indulging in both with my friends. We congregate at each others apartments, pool our resources, cook or order pizza, smoke and drink. We’re in our early and mid-twenties and it’s usually at least 6, at most 12 of us. It can be a bit chaotic.
But on occasion, one or two of us go off on our own little adventures. My sister has given me some tickets to a baseball game and knowing that my sister has friends with money and usually gets very good seats to any event, I am happy to take them off her hands. However, not many of my all natural, weed smokin’, dred sportin’ friends are big sports fans and I have 4 tickets, so I only invite one friend and tell him he can bring 2 friends. He says cool, he knows two people he can call right now; his roommate and another guy, who he actually thinks I might hit it off with. Side note: At this time, I have been single for about a year having come out of another bad relationship with a woman, and I’ve been abstinent for just about the entire time. This is my choice, and I am very clear about this to all of my friends, but it hasn’t stopped them from trying to set me up with every single person they know.
Two days later my friend and I walk from my funky little row-house to the light rail station 2 blocks away to meet up with his friends. The whole walk he talks about his friend and how he is mad at himself for not thinking to introduce us sooner.
I walk down a flight of stairs, and there He is.
There He is.
And I play it so cool. And I’m so glad I had that joint before I left the house because my nerves are bad. My first social event with He and I have to make sure it isn’t the last.
The night before the non-profit that my friend and I work for had a fundraiser and at the end of the night I convinced the bartender to let me smuggle a few bottles out. A few very large bottles of expensive liquor. That morning before leaving home I picked a clear rum and filled a water bottle with it. When we get to the baseball game (sweet box seats, by the way) we get some sodas and munchies, quickly drink the sodas to about half full, then pass the ‘water’ bottle amongst us to mix our drinks. We are tipsy by the 3rd inning, buzzed by the 5th, drunk for the 7th inning stretch and we leave at the 8th. It’s not like we’re watching the game anyway. The day is young and we are feeling good, we decide to keep the party going, so we go to pick up the car of He, grab some more liquor from my place and head back to the house of He.
Now I’m going to his house. I was so unprepared for this day when I woke up this morning.
It is so much damn fun! We play drinking games and sex games and get high as hell and laugh for hours and the butterflies in my stomach dance and get high with me! He plays the slickest music mixes at just the right moments and the chill ass mood of the afternoon and evening and night is never broken.
Well, as is the case when huge quantities of alcohol is usually involved over extended periods of time, periods of time tend to get misplaced.
The sun is up and it is morning. Yawn and stretch, I sit up in bed……BED!!!! This isn’t my bed!!
AAAAWWWW, DAMN!! I mean, I would have absolutely no problem if after all the years of anticipation and fantasy He and I had finally consummated my ‘imaginary’ relationship, but not when I’m too damn drunk to remember it!! Wait, He isn’t here. Wait, my clothes are still on and in their proper places. Deep exhale. So where is everybody? I find my friend and his other boy sleeping upright, back to back on the couch in the living room. It makes me think of men sleeping in a foxhole in war. I realize I’m still pretty drunk. I wake them up.
We are rolling a wake up joint when He comes walking down the steps from upstairs, where he has apparently spent the night. The four of us smoke ourselves awake and contemplate who’s going to go to work and who just got the flu. I’m on the fence. He says he’ll give us all rides home.
I probably should sit in the passenger seat, being the only girl, but chivalry isn’t big amongst my crew, so I end up in the back. He drops the fellas off first, since they live together, then I’m going to get in the passenger seat but the combination of leftover alcohol, weed, and anxiety of being left alone in the car with him makes me stay right where I am.
We don’t talk much and it is a short drive. I am not hopeful that there will be another social engagement with my secret crush. We pull up in front of my house and he double-parks. I thank him for the whole day and for dropping me off, He says He had fun and I am welcome and He, being a gentleman, gets out of the car to open my door. We say goodbye and hug.
I realize our bodies have sort of melted into each other and it feels just like another part of me. He pulls his head back and lets his cheek run along mine, and as his face turns to meet mine our lips barely brush, for just a second, before his full sweet mouth is on mine and I am falling into the softest darkness that I have ever known. I don’t know how long we are standing there with the car double-parked kissing, but then He asks me:
Maybe I should come in?
And you would think that I would leap out of my skin, turn summersaults down the street, pick up the car with one hand and place it perfectly in a parking spot, then carry him over the threshold to my bedroom. However, there is one, tiny, huge problem.
I am on my GODDAMN period!
Did I forget to mention that? Well I am, and I’m aware how much it sucks. I’m also aware how much it sucks to have to say to him:
"I would love to have you come in, but it might be the wrong time of the month for certain activities."
I want to curl up into a ball and die. But what does my secret crush say?
That’s okay. Well, okay. He parks the car, I shakily unlock the door and show him into my funky little house. I think I point things out to him as we make a quick path to my bedroom. We hug another long and juicy hug, and kiss another long and juicy kiss. I have to take a quick break and run to the bathroom (I have to make sure everything is in order, if you know what I mean). When I come back into the bedroom He is sitting on the bed, I close the bedroom door behind me, and when I come to join him on the bed He does the cutest thing. He takes off his shoes and places them nicely side-by-side by the nightstand.
And then He completely overwhelms me.
He takes my face in his hands and his magnificent kisses breathe life into me and suck the breath out of me at the same time. I forget that I’m supposed to try to be sexy, I forget that I’m supposed to try to be witty, I forget all of my masks and pretenses and I am weightless.
He lays me down and his lips continue to massage mine while his strong hands identify and rename every part of my body. There is no part of me that is the same after He has touched it. He stares into my eyes, He strokes my hair, He nuzzles my neck, He pays such attention to each inch of flesh that spontaneous combustion seems a definite possibility.
His muscular body is laid out against mine and I can feel how much He wants me. His restraint makes me desire him even more. He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra, gently sliding the cups over my breasts. He moans from low as he opens his mouth wide and takes a mouthful of me. As He uses his lips to massage and his tongue to stimulate, I can’t help but to wonder if his oral skills carry over into other areas. I think I just squealed.
His hand reaches down and I get a bit nervous. I don’t want him to forget what time it is, and even though I’m not averse to getting some action during this time of the month, it can be disturbing for some guys. I reach to stop him, but his beautiful voice whispered in my ear:
I let him do anything He wants. He reaches for my crotch, but He never goes beneath my pants. He isn’t just using his fingers, He is using his entire hand, forearm, and biceps. I can barely describe what is happening but by the time He really gets me where He wants me, I swear I’m riding his whole arm, and I’m so close to orgasm I’m going blind!
But He doesn’t want that to happen yet.
He climbs on top of me and I’m reminded of the perfect jigsaw that our bodies created. Again our lips meet and lock and He instantly finds a slow, marvelous rhythm. Oh this is just too good. I am in awe of this entire experience. He makes me feel more splendid than I could have ever imagine, and I spent years trying to imagine this. His hands move over me like a blind man’s over braille text and I use my senses to try and memorize exact sensations that I know I can never possibly have again. I’m sober and high all over again.
We dance. We dance the tango of the secret crush, the crush that’s been drawn through years of torture and denial. The dance of the secret crush is so slow it barely moves it times, it just pulses, but it is in constant motion. The dance makes it’s partners euphoric and dazed and sometimes it leaves it’s partners so elated that for a brief moment fear is chased from their souls and they are left completely fulfilled.
His low, guttural moans in my ear makes every hair on my body jump to attention and do the running man! He makes love to me like no man has ever made love to me before, without ever making love to me, or even taking off all of my clothes. The orgasm I have that morning, the orgasm that He gives me, might as well have been the first of my life. As far as I’m concerned all the other times had been practice. This is finally the real thing.
I cum from my toes to my eyelids, screaming all the way. I reach up and brace myself against the wall and I wrap my legs around his waist and He holds my hips and rocks me to my core! My back arches to welcome him and he wraps his arm around me for support. I am absolutely amazed. And He doesn’t stop when He makes me scream just once, He just keeps going until I just stop moving. I just can't move anymore.
And afterwards, He doesn’t pull away, He doesn’t jump up to leave. He lays down next to me, pulls me against him until we find that perfect jigsaw position, holds me, kisses and nuzzles me delicately. He stares at me and I can’t keep myself from kissing him over and over and over until we start over, and over.
What tragic romance to say this was the one and only time our long time yearning bodies and souls were meant to melt into each other in such bliss. That would be a tragic romance to say, wouldn't it? Though I am blessedly delighted to say our bodies were meant to meet many, many, many more times, you have no idea what actual tragic romance He had in store for me over the next few years.
I had no idea.