As I stood there peeling off each piece of clothing inside the apartment of a guy I had just met, I couldn’t describe the overwhelming feeling of freedom I was experiencing. I felt like an exhibitionist. I felt anonymous. Was it easier to reveal yourself to a perfect stranger than someone you’ve grown accustomed to? All my life I’ve been sweet Jovie. A do-gooder with a heart of gold. Now I was teetering on a wild, daring edge. A side that I’ve only known vicariously through my sister’s escapades.
Once I was completely naked, I covered my sacred parts as best as I could with my hands.
“Are you done?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
He turned around slowly so as not to startle me. When his eyes rested on my naked body, I felt tingly inside.
“Here, have a seat right in front of the fireplace. The lighting is perfect,” he said, and gently touched my arm to usher me into position. I trembled as his masculine hands guided my movements.
Once he was behind his easel, I felt a little more relaxed because our positions identified what this was really about. I sat and waited impatiently, eager to take a peek at his creation. As his eyes moved from me to his canvas, I wondered if I’d be pleased with the outcome. Was he truly an artist honing his craft or was he a seducer using a clever trick to get a young woman into his bed?
To keep my mind distracted from my nakedness, I began talking. “Did you know that some scientists believe it’s possible for identical twins to feel the exact same emotion at the same time?”
“Uh-huh,” he responded, distracted.
“When my sister was in labor I felt every labor pain,” I pursued.
“That’s nice . . . ,” he replied, unaware of what I’d just said.
Once he was done, after what seemed like hours, he turned the canvas around and I gasped.
“That’s . . . not . . . me . . . ,” I stammered.
“Of course that is.” He grinned. “This is how I see you.”
“She’s gorgeous.”
“And what are you?”
I looked away and suddenly realized I was still naked.
“I better put my clothes back on.”
“What’s the rush?” he said, and before I could object he was next to me on the floor. He gently began to kiss me. His tongue was sensual as he explored the inside of my mouth. His large hands discovered my breasts and I moaned in pleasure. His kisses were making me too weak to resist his advances and the wine I drank at the restaurant had me feeling light-headed. I was lost in the moment.
“Come with me,” he breathed.
With each step I felt more trepidation. I counted my steps to London’s bedroom. There were thirty-eight steps from the living room to his bed.
He stood in front of me and I stared directly into his broad chest. He took his hand and lifted my chin up, and kissed my eyes, my cheeks, and then my lips. He sucked my tongue as he murmured soft words. Before I knew it, he was undressed, his long, thick penis challenging me to get to know it better.
He picked me up, placed me on his king-size bed and gently laid me down. To my delight, his bed was covered in crisp white linen. Tenderly, he placed each of my toes in his mouth and sucked until I felt a prickly feeling run down the back of my neck and down my spine.
Why haven’t I stopped him yet?
As his tongue playfully flickered up and down on my nipples they grew harder than cement. Gradually, he moved up, and his warm tongue explored my earlobes. As he nibbled, I sighed from pleasure. I wanted him.
Why am I doing this?
London began tasting my whole body with his tongue. Finally, he parted my legs and moved in between my thighs. He playfully sucked, nibbled and then took his two fingers to separate my nether lips. He then began to suck my clitoris, murmuring, “You taste so good. . . .”
My legs involuntarily shuddered and I screamed out. He paused to reach over and grab an electric massager out of his nightstand. He turned on both the vibrator and heat functions.
“Hold still,” he breathed as he began to massage my clitoris. The heat stimulated me and my legs involuntarily began to shake. Hot waves came cascading through my body and my pelvis began thrusting. I was making love to the massager and London was watching intently.
“It feels good?”
“Oh, yes,” I crooned. He turned the machine up another notch. It vibrated faster and hotter.
“How does that feel?”
“It feels so go-o-o-o-d,” I whispered.
“I can’t hear you,” he said as he moved the massager in circular motions. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Please, don’t stop . . . ,” I pleaded.
Sweat poured off of my body as it became an inferno. Strong waves overcame me and I screamed while I climaxed. Hot juices came seeping from inside me and onto his sheets.
I could tell this excited London. He moved up my body and steadied himself to enter me. I held my breath and squeezed my eyes tight in anticipation of what I was about to receive. As London applied pressure, it took a moment before he was able to penetrate my walls. He pushed hard and sank deep into my cave.
“Ah-h-h-h-h,” I moaned as a sharp pain shot through my body. Tiny teardrops escaped my eyes as he applied steady pressure. He moved up and down skillfully as I lay there in shock.
“Move,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Move. Make love to me back. Move your hips,” he suggested.
I followed his lead and thrust my hips back and forth to complement his rhythm. We moved in sync and I wrapped my legs around his waist tightly. Then London grabbed both my legs and positioned my heels to my butt and placed my arms underneath his armpits so I was in the frog’s position. This was unbearably painful but I refused to stop. This position allowed London to go deeper inside me. He dug his hands in my loose curls and pulled tightly as he began to thrust harder. Tiny tears began to escape my eyes and drip onto his hands.
“Let’s switch positions,” I said breathlessly.
He pulled out of me and turned me over. I winced from the pain in my legs. I was lying flat on my stomach. Waiting.
“Jovie, what are you doing?” he asked. “Why are you lying there like that? Get in position. Get on all fours.”
Quickly, I did as I was told and jumped in that position. I’m glad he couldn’t see my embarrassment. He gently entered me from the back as he grabbed hold of my hips for support. He pumped in and out rapidly and I held on to the headboard for support. His large balls slapped my ass as if to chastise me.
“I’m . . . going . . . to . . . cum,” he blurted out as he pumped in and out rapidly. Hot juices burst into my vagina and I felt a tingly sensation as we both climaxed. We both collapsed on his bed, breathing heavily and sweating profusely.
So, this is it?
I immediately felt empty. We lay there in silence and the moment felt awkward. Embarrassed, I tried to jump up to shower away my indiscretions, but London pulled me back down to the bed.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To clean up,” I whispered.
“I’d prefer you stay here with me for a moment,” he said, and pulled me in really close. As I lay in his arms, large tears escaped my eyes and dropped on his chest. Before long, he realized I was crying.
“Jovie, what’s wrong, baby-girl? Why are you crying?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I thought this was what you wanted.”
“I did.”
“Then what? Did I hurt you?”
“That’s not it,” I sobbed.
“Do you think I’m judging you? Because I’m not.”
“You may not be judging me. But I’m judging me. I’ve waited twenty-four years to make love, and I do it with a stranger. How pathetic is that?”
London jumped up in surprise and looked me directly in my eyes. “You were a virgin?” he asked incredulously.
“Uh-huh,” I said, and shook my head.
“But how? Why? I mean, why me? I don’t even know you. I mean . . . not like that. I’m flattered . . . I’m just confused.”
“Look, I can’t understand this, either. This is hardly how I pictured my first time. And you’re hardly the vision I’ve been seeking for years.”
“But you should have told me. I would have been easier on you. Was I too rough?”
“Truthfully, you were perfect,” I said, and closed my eyes and wondered if I’d ever see London again.
“You were great, too,” he said, but his voice told another story.
He embraced me and wouldn’t let me go. After a while we both drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Somewhere in the middle of the night, I showered away most of my shame. Softly I crept out of London’s brownstone, leaving a short poem for him.