SexE2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

I'm drinking coffee as Rachel wanders through from the shower. She's dressed, her teeshirt clinging to her still-damp skin and her hair slick and dark against her head. She looks nervous.

"What's up?" I ask.

"I have to drive to Wellington today, I have no choice," she says.

I nod. "But you'll be back up here next week, you said, yes?"

"Uh-huh. I could be back within three days really. I don't have a lot to pack, my contract job is finished, and I really ought to spend some time looking for somewhere to live here, but..."

She looks like she's about to cry. I don't understand it at all.

"Rachel, what's wrong? Tell me." I go to her and put my hands on her shoulders, stroking the side of her neck with my thumb, locking my gaze on her eyes so she can't look away.

She takes a long, deep, breath. When she speaks, the words come out in a rush.

"I'm terrified that once I walk out of the door you'll convince yourself that this weekend was an aberration, a fun little experiment. I'd be okay with that, if we could be friends. But.... well... I think once you've done that, you'll be ashamed, and embarrassed, and then you won't ever want to set eyes on me again. I'll get back, and I'll call you, and you'll be polite and friendly, but you'll have an excuse not to see me, and I'll call again and you'll be busy again, and..." her voice peters out into silence.

I'm about to deny it, vehemently, tell her how wonderful the weekend has been and how I would never want to cut her out of my life that way, but I realise suddenly how easily I could do exactly that. I'm not gay, after all. I don't feel gay. I'm attracted to Rachel, and I adore what she does to me, what we do together, but I can see myself getting cold feet if I'm left alone to think about just how far out of my comfort zone I've stepped.

I'm silent, thinking, though my thumb still moves up and down the soft, soft, skin of her neck.

What do I want here? Do I want a friend? A lover? A memory of a weekend to file away for the future but never repeat? I can see it's down to me 100%.

"Bel? Say something, please." Her voice is anxious, pleading.

She really is so beautiful. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Why don't I come down to Wellington with you?"

She looks stunned. I can understand that, I'm fairly surprised myself. Ever since she walked into my life decisions seem to be taking themselves. It's as if my body has taken over my thinking for me.

"I've finished my major project at work," I say, "and I'm due so much holiday that I'm sure if I call Richard he'll give me three or four days off. I could drive down with you, help you pack, and then you could stay here for a couple of weeks while you find a place to live. If that suits you, of course."

"God... yes... of course. Bel, are you sure?" there is almost a yearning in her tone.

I'm not sure, of course. I'm not at all sure; but I nod as if I am.

I slip my arms down from her shoulders and around her, pull her close, and kiss her, deeply, intensely, to make up for my hesitation.

"I'll call Richard now," I say. And I do.

As I'm talking, she comes and slips her arms around my waist, cuddling up to me. I feel the swell of her breasts pressed against my back, and her breath on my neck. Her proximity is disturbing. The level of affection it seems to convey arouses me and terrifies me, simultaneously. But the way my pulse is pounding at least tells me that I'm fully alive again, and right now I'm much more scared of slipping back into the dull black-and-white half-life I've been living after this Technicolor experience than I am of any consequences of moving forward.

As I hang up, after agreeing to take the whole week off, and go back next Monday, she whispers "Thank you," and kisses my cheek.

I want to drag her to bed, there and then. I want to lay her down and fuck her, fast, hard, and furiously, to drown my doubts in a frenzy of love-making, lose myself in the beauty of her body and the softness of her skin, simply to remind myself why I've just made the decision I did.

But it's a long drive, and maybe, just maybe, I should make it sober, rather than intoxicated by her.

"Just give me five minutes to throw some clothes in a bag and I'll be with you," I say.

I'll be with her. Oh god, what am I doing?

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

In three hours Rachel teaches me more about my body and its responses than I’ve learned in my entire life. It would be simple to put it down to the hackneyed old cliché that it takes a woman to really turn a woman on, but it could just as easily be that apart from a couple of frantic fumblings when I was sixteen or so, Daniel has been my only lover until now.

Not that Daniel wasn’t good at what he did, he was, but the list of “What Daniel Did”, was a short one. For instance, oral sex was something that a woman did to a man, as often as he could persuade her, not vice versa.

So, in three hours, I learn the wonder of tongues and teasing touches, the pleasure that can be had from a little pain, judiciously applied by well placed teeth or nails. I learn how just a hint of pressure right there can make me cry out and arch up, and how a caress to that point on the back of my neck can make me writhe in delight.

She is totally unselfish. In the whole time, she asks me for nothing, asks me to do nothing except to lie here and enjoy. And she talks to me too, all the time, calling me beautiful and lovely and wonderful, until I really believe her. She makes love to me and fucks me both, by turns tender and forceful, and along with everything else, I learn a new definition of multiorgasmic.

In the end, exhausted, I beg her to stop, and for the first time I actually turn to her, reach for her, and kiss her, rather than just allowing her to kiss me. As I hold her, brushing the hair back from her face and pressing my lips on hers, I feel a shudder wrack her whole body, and she too, climaxes. This is possibly the most profoundly shaking moment of all, when she comes with just that one kiss.

We lie there for a while, side by side in the single bed in the spare room, quiet, peaceful and content, until the grumbling sound of my stomach makes us both giggle, and I realise that I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.

We go out to lunch, to a café far enough out of the centre to be quiet at midday, and she tells me quietly how in some ways this is as new for her as it was for me – how until now, she has been the less experienced partner, the learner and not the teacher. We eat quickly, anxious to be alone again, and rush home, stopping only to swing by the shop to get food for the evening.

We go into the house, drop the groceries on the counter and I take her hand.

“Teach me,” I say, “take me back to bed, and teach me how I can do everything to you that you did to me.”

And she does.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7