Now I want to cry. The guy has a romantic flare to every email. Better than nothing... it’s dangerous yet true. It’s amazing how not facing one another makes it easier to be honest. Which is why I admit the truth a few days later.
Stone,
You’re perhaps in my head too. Have you been able to break your dry spell? Shit, I mean with your words, no, that’s not… Wait, let me try again. Have you managed to work on your book? Phew… that’s better.
-Harlow
His email back has a few shocked emojis and one that winks.
Now, now, Harlow, you’re not playing fair. You know people always write what’s subconsciously underneath it all (our thoughts, not clothes).
And yes… half a chapter, thank you very much.
-Stone
Then it begins. Every few days we exchange emails. Short, but they feel bittersweet. I should stop, but I don’t. Nor does he.
Harlow,
Tell me you watched the hockey game last night? I know you’ve been watching old videos of me. Don’t deny it. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’ll tell me that it's for the sake of understanding the sports news. Lies. It has something to do with me, your favorite former athlete. Anyhow, my brother’s team slammed Las Vegas. You can often see him on camera, yet we all know that I’m the better-looking one. Lucky you.
Have you found a bottle of sandalwood yet? It might help…
-Stone
With my dreams and sleep, he means. He mentioned it once, and I’m surprised he remembers the little things.
Stone,
Let’s not question my research tactics. And no, I haven’t bought the oil yet. I’ll go this afternoon straight to the shop that sells oils, potions, and insists that I should write my dirty scenes around the position of astrological signs.
-Harlow
I do go to the shop, and my fixed smile doesn’t seem to fade. Every night when I place a few drops of oil on my wrist, I think of him, and I lie in bed in a blissful state. Sometimes letting my fingers explore my skin, moving lower, reaching between my legs and thinking of Stone. I feel it in my bones that he would want to use his tongue before he slams into me with his cock. The mere thought brings more sensitivity to the little bundle of nerves between my thighs. I imagine him at that very moment lying in his own bed, stroking his length in his hand, wishing it was me. Some nights, I could swear we are coming at the same time in different places.
The thing is, when I’m alone, I’m completely comfortable fantasizing and touching myself. It’s when someone else is present that it changes. With Stone, though, something within me feels altered. There is a boiling of sensual urges. If I wasn’t broken, then I would have already been in his bed naked… if only I could let myself breathe.
Every email, he seems to circle us back to sweet, just when I’m tempted to hear him beg to try and touch me in every single way. We’re not even writing anything remotely near sexting. Even if I wish we would, that isn’t fair to him. I’m just not sure he is patient enough.
Another week goes by, and another email pops into my inbox.
Harlow,
Has it helped? The oil?
-Stone
I type back without much thought.
Hey there,
Over days, the nightmares only lessen, but do they ever go away? I believe they do, want to believe they will, anyhow. You got me to open that door of possibility.
-Harlow
Then he goes bold on me. Innately, I knew it was coming.
Harlow,
