You Can't, But He Can

After the Golden Room opened in my neighborhood last year, I found myself spending more and more time there. It was open late, had great drink specials, with bands playing almost every night. I could go there knowing I’d run into someone any day of the week, which was great, because I was living alone after a breakup a few months before. The chance to spend a few hours dancing with friends, and be able to walk home was hard to pass up. 

At the end of the night, if I was heading out alone, someone would often offer to walk the few blocks home with me, to make sure I got there safely. Most times, I happened to be leaving around the same time as Cassie and Scott. They were close friends of mine who had gotten married a few months prior, even though the whispers persisted that Scott hadn't felt certain, had felt pressured to do it after years of dating. But the hours we lost to draft deals and pounding bass in the dark basement of the club could drown out any misgivings.

Outside of the bar, in the clear air, the moon shone brightly overhead, a spotlight illuminating everything. The warm summer breeze seemed to wash us clean, as the lingering scents of smoke and sweat were replaced with the fragrance of green things, of things that were true.

The three of us reached my door, and said our boozy, effusive goodbyes, promising to call each other the next time we headed over. We hugged, first me and Cassie, and then, as she pulled out her keys and turned to unlock their car, Scott embraced me next, his hands lingering over my body. Instead of a routine goodbye, he leaned in closer—too close—his breath on my neck, his sweat an earthy perfume, his hands gripping my back, his strong forearms pulling me toward him, as his new wife's back was turned. Shocked into silence, I felt his hands drift down to my ass, which I knew looked totally grabbable in the jeans I'd chosen. But I had never expected Scott to be doing the grabbing. He lingered for a couple of seconds, enough for it to mean something, before breaking and joining Cassie in their car, with a resigned wave.

After they drove away, though the hour was late, I was wide awake. Scott was attractive, for sure, with his head of unruly curls and devilish grin, but I had filed him as off-limits since he was my friend's husband. I racked my brain. Had he been sending signals all night, something I missed? Even before that? Was this a one-time transgression, or a premeditated invitation to make this something more? Morals aside, I couldn’t deny that I wanted more of whatever this was—I felt like my body was waking up after a long hibernation.

I saw Cassie and Scott again the next weekend, on our favorite dance night of the month. The place was packed, and the narrow corridor to the restrooms was crowded every time I went through, so eventually I found myself squeezing past Scott. Nothing had happened since that night and I wasn't sure what would. Had his touch been a momentary lapse in judgment that he was hoping I'd forget? Was he waiting for me to grab back? I found myself drinking less that night, wanting to stay in control, not wanting to fuck up whatever was happening here.

I tried to feel him out the next Monday via text. I started by sending him a song to listen to, one of the ones the DJ had played the weekend before. I can't stop listening to this, I wrote. He took the bait, and we texted through the afternoon, sending links back and forth. Our texts became regular, but the topic stayed firmly on music, even when I tried to steer the conversation in another direction. I could tell he was torn about taking his attraction further.

You'd like my friend Joey, he wrote one day. From high school. He still lives in Florida. He just got a divorce and it's been kind of hard. You should friend him. You guys have really similar taste in bands.

I added Joey on Facebook, as Scott had suggested. Why not? I was antsy with the feeling that Scott wanted me, but wouldn’t do anything about it. For weeks, I’d been picturing what I’d do if he made another move. What we’d do together. How I’d touch him and where I’d let him touch me…where I’d tell him to put his mouth.

I was pleasantly surprised by Joey’s photos—he was tall and active, had dark hair graying in that annoyingly perfect way, a rogue swatch that said “I know a thing or two,” and he wore the hell out of a black t-shirt. Scott had told Joey about me, too, so it didn't take him long to accept my request. We watched each other's posts for a few days before engaging with each other. 

After a few weeks of back and forth likes and comments, Joey and I moved to texting...then rapidly to sexting, first about once a week, then every few nights. It was a rush. 

I missed a few pings from him one evening when I was working late, and responded with a photo of myself holding my breasts, the soft flesh spilling out through my fingers, and said, Sorry, got my hands full over here.

I think mine are just the right size for those, he shot back, with an image of one. He had a pianist’s fingers, long and solid, and I imagined how they’d feel inside me.

He was both real and fantasy to me, a vague outline of a person I felt I would never meet. I didn't have anything to lose—I'd never run into him around town. And it was hot.

After one particularly steamy session, he mused, You should come down here, and I could show you a really good time. 

I had no idea if he was serious or not. I'd love to see what you're working with, I answered. But lest things get too serious, he deflected my answer. I don't know if you could handle me—I might wear you out. 

Only one way to know for sure, I thought but didn't write.

During our next post-sexting chat, he invited me to visit again. I'd love to, I said. Then, after a pause, one that I hoped conveyed exactly what I meant it to, I typed, For real. I have a bunch of miles from work trips, and nothing planned for the next few weeks.

Let's do it, he said. And I booked a flight. I didn’t say anything to anyone. I didn’t want anyone to tell me it was a bad idea. I didn’t want to hurt Scott, since it seemed from our extended chats that he really was into me, just scared. But now that he’d started my engine, I needed somewhere to go.

Packing for the trip was easy. I had a few new lingerie sets that I'd been using to take salacious photos: Scalloped black boy shorts that barely contained my peach. Bras that wreathed my breasts in gold. With a couple of sexy swimsuits and dresses I knew best showed off my assets, I was feeling myself, but got on the plane with butterflies in my stomach. What were we doing? Was this a horrible idea? I trusted that Scott wouldn't connect me with someone who was bad news. Joey and I were just two people who wanted someone, serendipitous timing. Could it be so simple? Or was Scott hoping to live vicariously through his unattached friend?

Walking through the terminal after landing, I felt dizzy. It felt as if half the blood in my body was pounding between my legs. I was beyond ready for some action. I stopped in the bathroom, where I had already planned to change my panties to ones that weren't soaked through. I knew it was sexy to show Joey how hot he made me, but also knew that I was so aroused the new pair would be wet in no time. Washing my hands, I noticed I already had the glow of post-encounter bliss, my cheeks flushed. The woman next to me sized me up, maybe wondering what had me looking so vibrant after a routine flight. 

"That's a really great traveling dress," she said. "So simple and yet so flattering." 

This was the seal of approval I needed. Let's do it, I thought. Instead of shrugging off her compliment, deflecting with a comment like, "Oh, this old thing?" I decided to own it. "Thanks! It's so comfortable, too," I smiled, before grabbing my things and walking down the long corridor to meet Joey.

Joey was right there in the pickup line in the black car he'd described, aviators reflecting my smile of relief and even a bit of disbelief. He’d just shaved, and his killer dimple made my stomach flip-flop. “So you’re real,” he smiled. He seemed as relieved as I felt and happy with what he saw. From a friend request to here in the flesh. 

“Pinch me if you don’t believe it,” I laughed, wanting so badly for him to touch me right there, but also wanting him to hurry to our destination. I simultaneously wished people could see us together, and wanted to keep this a delicious secret. He drove us down the coast to his apartment a couple blocks from the beach in a sleepy coastal town.

Joey got me some water and showed me around. "The bedroom's over here," he said, picking up my bag and carrying it down the hall. Since he'd only recently moved in, there wasn't a ton of furniture. It was like we were writing a new story together. I realized that I was acting without a plan. It felt great. I'd never felt particularly skilled at seduction in the past. Going with the flow seemed within my grasp.

"That flight felt like forever,” I laughed, stretching out on the bed, limbs splayed in an X. 

"Oh no," he said, sitting down next to me and furrowing his brows. He was hotter in person than any of his photos, a typical man, not caring much about curating the self he presented to the world, perfecting things like angles and lighting. "Does that mean you're too tired to have some fun?" he asked, brushing hair out of my eyes to see me unobstructed. I shivered.

"Not at all," I said in a low, sure tone, and moved in to kiss him. He returned my kiss, his tongue meeting mine, his lips grazing the side of my face, brushing my ears, tasting the salt of my neck.

We both rolled over to face one another, our legs braiding together. I paused for breaths between each kiss, closed my eyes and tried to focus on one sense at a time: taste, touch, smell. He was thoughtful, it was clear: all minty-mouthed and smelling of clean laundry. His tongue lingered over each earlobe. I could feel that he was hard and he could feel that I was dripping. My nipples ached each time his hands passed over them. His body felt like a shore for my soft waves to crash against. The buildup was incredible after talking to each other for so long. After so many pictures and words, we wanted to feel every inch of each other in 3-D. But we both tried to go slowly, make it last, this irreplaceable first time. 

I'd worn a dress with a built-in bra, so that when he lowered the straps, my breasts were fully exposed. He'd taken good notes, remembered from our chats the times I said I loved them being played with, so he went at my tits with vigor, as if holding two melting ice cream cones, licking one nipple, then quickly finding the other, unable to settle on one. After fully taking them in, he began to move more slowly, his tongue making slow circles around each areola, continuing as long as I continued to moan.

Joey noticed my hand moving between my legs, and moved his down, too, grazing each inch in between with curiosity. When he reached his target, he pulled my panties down, and touched me the way he had described wanting to so many times. I finally got to touch him, too, the hands I kept so soft dancing like feathers on his cock. When I felt a drop of precum at the tip, I moved down to taste it, then let my tongue explore the several inches of him, as slowly as I could stand.

It was just the two of us together in bed, but in my mind I wondered if Joey and Scott would debrief after this weekend. Was there anything wrong with fueling a fantasy? I did want Scott to know what I was hiding under my jeans. I did want him to know how all that dancing toned the legs I wrapped around my lover’s body as I rode him to my release. Imagining that whatever I did in bed with Joey might make a spicy story to share with Scott gave me a fresh burst of energy to perform.

Joey put on a condom, and was about to grab some lube, but I gently pushed his hand away, and wrapped the lips of my vulva around his shaft, rubbing him up and down until his cock was as wet as I was. I began to feel the constellation of tingles that meant I would soon lose control.

I knew neither of us would last much longer, and I wanted to feel him inside me, so I rolled him onto his back, and straddled his biker’s thighs. He held me in place, one hand on each cheek. "Scotty wasn't kidding," he murmured. 

I knew it. "And you weren't, either," I laughed, lowering myself to take in every inch, then coming up again, as we found our rhythm.

It didn't take more than a few thrusts for my pussy to start contracting in pleasure, which set him off, too, shaking and collapsing with a shudder. I felt the endorphins course through my bloodstream. Did that really just happen? I'd have a whole plane ride home to process. After a few moments, I snuggled in under his arm, breathing in the smell of our exertion. I realized I could easily doze there, in the ocean air. But I didn't want to spend all weekend sleeping.

"I'm so glad you came," he said.

"Me too," I smiled.