Oh, there’s so much to catch her up on.
“Yeah,” I start. “So long story short, Ian came out to me, I came out to him a day later, then we hooked up, and now we’re kind of dating. We went out for the first time last night.”
Anita pauses, her fingers hovering over her tablet. She blinks, smiling, and picks up her pen. “That’s great!” she says, writing something down with furious speed. “And very fast. How do you feel about all these developments?”
I run a hand through my hair, smiling as I'm reminded of how Ian tousled some of my new styling paste in before he left for the day. “Really good. I feel safe, and there's no pressure to do anything I don’t want to.”
What I don’t reveal is how Ian hasn’t asked me to get him offonce. Sure, it’s kind of difficult to start anything when he gets on his knees out of instinct and has me shaking and tongue-tied before I have a chance to offer, but I know I could take the lead in thatarea, too.
Anita speaks to me, snapping me back to the present. “I’m glad you’ve been able to get comfortable around him, especially this quickly. You were very concerned during our last session.”
I shrug. “He makes it easy. Like, he doesn’t hide anything.”
“Do you want to explore that a little more? After all, you’ve mentioned how much you look up to him.”
Oh, Jesus, saying anything more out loud won’t come naturally, but pushing through is what I’m here for. “Okay, yeah. I keep thinking he’s too good for me, but Ian makes it clear that he likes me. That’s, I don’t know, reassuring, I guess, to see that someone who I consider to be amazing and experienced and confident likes me back the way he does.”
Anita thinks for a few seconds, nodding and taking my answer in. “And I’ll be direct here, since this is something that comes up in people with similar backgrounds to yourself—do you have concerns with any mismatch in sexual experience?”
Embarrassment creeps up my neck and into my face. Despite having sessions with Anita since January, I've never fully told her the extent of my sexual hang-ups. It didn't seem appropriate, but hey, now she’s asked.
“I did,” I admit. “Intimacy was demonized when I was growing up. But I don't know, maybe it helps to share that experience with someone who doesn't beat themselves up for having urges.”
“Demonized?”
Discomfort threads through my core. I’ll keep things brief. I don’t want to go back to that part of my life. “Long story short, anything sexual was on par with a drug addiction. Forbidden and repressed.”
“But you’ve said it’s getting better?”
“Oh yeah. I’m not saying he’s theonlyreason that’s the case, but he’s definitely helped.”
Thankfully for both of us, Anita steers the topic away from my sexual developments and more to healthy attachment, anxiety management, and communication. I came to the session in adecent mood, and I’m leaving with even more of a lighter chest. It’s rubbing off on me, this therapy thing. Hopefully I’ll get to see some of those long-term effects I’m excited about.
The empty apartment is gloomy when I get back, so I flick the heating and a few lamps on. This is Ian’s house for sure—it isn’t the same when he’s gone. It’s too quiet, too empty, and I don’t get nearly enough hugs.
I check my watch, my heart skipping when I see it’s almost six. He’ll be back sometime in the next half hour, and I can hardly wait.
Taking a breath to focus myself, I repeat a mental reminder that we’re still friends, and we haven’t spoken about anything beyond that. What’s unspoken is how we’re also hooking up—friends aren’t exactly known for doing that, but I’m not gonna complain one bit.
Why on earth would I complain about having a ton of sex?
That one little thought opens up the floodgates in my mind, filling my brain with sweet, sweet visuals of Ian working me over, and in mere seconds, I’m hard. Again. What a surprise.
Running a hand across my face, I let out a quiet laugh. Permission and reciprocity make all the difference between me beating myself up for thinking about Ian and daydreaming about his heaven-sent blowjobs.
Oh, hell, I’m out of control. As much as I love how good he makes me feel, it’s definitely time for me to give back. The thought makes my heart race; I’d be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about living up to the standard Ian has set, which is why I find myself pulling up my phone searching up exactly how to do that. It seems like taking care of him should come naturally to me since I know what I like, but he’s uncut—the equipment might work a little differently. He's never used lube on himself around me, but I haven't seen exactly how he does it.
A quick search confirms that there are a few things to keep in mind. I might not have to use lube, and I'll need to move my hand with his skin instead of sliding on top of it.
Seems simple enough.
Checking the time again, I jolt myself into action so I’m ready to welcome Ian back. I take a quick shower, dry off, and put some clothes on, contemplating my next move.
Ian knows how much I'm into him, and boy, does he take advantage of that. He started strolling around the house in a tank top, then he moved on to nothing but those skimpy gym shorts that show his ass off. All that progressed in, like, a day and a half, and now he makes a point to hang around me with the express purpose of frying the paltry remnants of my self-control.
It isn’t like he even has totry. He could touch my arm, fully clothed, and I’d still go all weak for him.
Still, it's not right if I'm the one constantly drooling over my hot friend-turned-roommate-turned-hookup. I should give him a surprise, too, and the mere idea sends heat twisting down my shaft.
