I can make him believe in things. All the things other people believe in.
I’m good at distorting reality.
We undress each other like we’ve done it a thousand times.
He opens the window a crack. Pulls down the shade. There’s the sound of thunder, a low drum roll, and the shade billows out like a sail from the rain-cooled air. I kiss down his naked abdomen, hairs tickling my chin on my approach, a path to another first. It seems like he wants to say something, but I don’t want to listen. I want to give him something to mark this occasion. I push away any thoughts that convince me otherwise.
I don’t want to do it wrong, so I grasp the base of his cock, wrap my fingers around, lick the drops of precome off the tip, and take him in my mouth. I do it so sudden, his stomach muscles jerk and he gasps. I’m mindful of my teeth, and then I don’t know what to do for a minute. I didn’t think too far beyond the first move. My tongue flattens out and I pull off and take him back in, once or twice, until I can find a pace. I close my eyes and listen, hoping he warns me. I want to swallow him so bad, but I don’t want to make a fool out of myself.
It’s probably too late for that anyway.
I feel the humid breeze coming in from the window, smell the scent of heated flesh, and it’s all so erotic. It’s all so earthy, deep soil and rainwater, I forget who I am for a few seconds. I reach my free hand up his body to take hold of his. I don’t think twice about it.
His fingertips brush against mine, but then his fingers are in my hair, tugging. And then it’s like I’ve done too much. He’s in my mouth, and it’s the closest thing, and I’m afraid I’m not pleasing him enough. I’m not doing it right. So I make a sound and make a mistake. I look up to see him watching me, and I pull off him and turn my face to the window, swipe my fingers across my lips.
He sits up, perplexed.
“Don’t watch me.” I lick my lips. “I don’t want you to watch me.”
A pause. “Okay.”
“Not — not yet.”
Another pause. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, I…” I feel the sting in my eyes, and I’m so mad. I’m going to ruin this.
He reaches for me. “Hey.”
I blink and hot tears just fall down my cheeks, and I’m so mad I can see the sharp points of a “u.” I’m ruining this.
“Hey.” He pulls me into his arms.
“I’m sorry.” I repeat it. Over and over.
“It’s okay.” He repeats it. Over and over.
When a few minutes pass, and I’ve stopped shaking, I let out a harsh laugh. I avoid his concerned gaze. “I guess I should go.”
I start to reach for my glasses, my clothes, when he places his hand on my bare chest, stilling me. “Stay the night.”
I pause. “Why?”
“I want you to.”
“Why?”
“Come here.”
He lays me down beside him, and in the late evening light everything looks as if we’ve just come home and still need to turn on the lamps. It’s irresponsible, to just let it get dark, and not fight it off. It’s lazy. It’s the ending of a day that will never come again, and I don’t want to get all choked up about it right this minute. Okay? Can it just not happen right now? Enough of this sappy shit.
“I don’t want to ruin this,” I say.
“Ruin what?”
“This. Tonight. Later. Anything.”
He pulls me into his arms and we just lay there until it’s completely dark. Until there’s the sound of moms calling for kids and buzzing insects. Until there’s the sound of distant cars going home, and the sound of bicycle wheels on gravel. Until the streetlight makes his window shade look like a glowing phantom from the inside.
