Bedroom Taboos
Dinner wasn’t a complete disaster, but it didn’t win him any gold stars. We’re in the kitchen and I’m helping him clean up. I ask, “So, how long have you been cooking those... what were they again?”
“Tacos?” he answers, still somehow in a charmingly good humor. “This was a first. Next time I’ll remember the difference between teaspoon and tablespoon when I’m adding the cayenne pepper.”
“Not a bad idea,” I say with a chuckle. I had eaten the first taco out of sheer politeness, but when he asked if I wanted another one, I had to say no. “I’m just surprised that you finished all of yours,” I say.
“Hey, you finished that first one. I thought you liked things that spicy, and I didn’t want to be rude and have you eating a culinary abortion by yourself.”
“You had three tacos!” I exclaim.
He laughs, “After a while, your tongue just kind of goes numb and it’s not so bad.”
We both laugh and I don’t know how he can be so charming after being so embarrassed. I’m feeling a connection with him, and I can’t help but wonder if something could happen tonight. Well, let’s be honest. I can’t help but wonder how long I’m going to wait for something to happen before I jump his inept-at-cooking bones.
I ask him if he has any gum, and he says, “I’ll do you one better. I don’t have any gum, but I do have an unopened toothbrush in the bathroom down here. I know I could use a good brush right about now.”
I chuckle, but immediately walk past him toward the bathroom. We enter the room and I quickly find the sealed toothbrush and pop open the package. He grabs his from next to the sink and is gentlemanly enough to allow me first squeeze of the toothpaste. We brush our teeth thoroughly once, spit, rinse, and immediately brush them again.
Finally, the taste is either gone or so covered by the Andalusian mint (I’m not making that up) flavored toothpaste that my mouth feels clean again. I don’t know why, but this moment is quite intimate. We’ve undergone a trial together (albeit a silly one), we’ve found a way to laugh about it, and we spent quiet time together solving the problem. It makes more sense the more I think about it, but not much.
I laugh to myself, and he asks, “What?”
“Oh nothing,” I say. “I just wouldn’t have imagined tonight going down like this. Know what I mean?”
He chuckles and says, “Yeah.” I’m not quite sure why, but there’s something about his warmth, his wittiness, his overall demeanor that has me in the palm of his hand. He catches me staring at him as he rinses his mouth. He spits and says, “What now?”
“Oh,” I say, playing with my hair, “nothing.”
He dons that look that all guys get when a woman has him thoroughly confused and he says, “All right. Would you like some wine?”
“Sure,” I say, completely forgetting that drinking wine immediately after brushing one’s teeth makes the wine taste like ass. We walk to the kitchen and he opens a bottle of pinot grigio. He pours us both a glass, and we make a toast to better dinners. We both drink and simultaneously run toward the sink to spit the wine back out.
We come up laughing, and he says, “Man, I’m having a hell of a time giving you something pleasurable to taste.”
Whether he means it the way I’m taking it or not, I move in close to him and say, “I’ve got something pleasurable that you can taste.” I know, I know. It’s a corny line that sounds like it would come from the mouth of some drunken frat boy, but a line such as that said in a situation such as this will yield results. If you’re a woman, that is. If you’re a guy, your odds are slim.
He looks me up and down, and that familiar look of, “I don’t know if she’s saying what I think she’s saying or not,” returns to his face, so I decide not to let him wonder too long. I grab his ass with both hands and pull him toward me. I kiss him deeply and run my tongue smoothly between his lips. I kiss him hard enough and long enough that by the time we pull back, we’re both out of breath. He says, “I guess I’m going to have to make dinner more often.”
I give him a coy smile and say, “Please. Don’t.” I kiss him again. He puts his arms around me, resting his hands on the center of my back. I really enjoy surprising this man, so I grab his arms, still kissing him, and lower them to my ass. I pull them briskly against my body, and smile as his eyes go wider than mine with the impact.
He nods and curls his fingers into my backside. I rest my arms on his chest and kiss him the way I would imagine every woman in the fifties kissed a man. Although, I don’t recall that many fifties movies where the man had his hands on the woman’s ass, or where the woman started unbuttoning the man’s shirt, but it feels right for the moment, so I’m going for it.
He lets me unbutton his shirt all the way before he begins to lift mine. I raise my arms, still kissing him, and only stop the kiss while the fabric crosses between our mouths, after that, it’s back on. He sets my shirt on the countertop, and I pull his down off of his arms, stripping him of his undershirt. Our upper bodies are together now, with the exception of the x of tape over each nipple, placed to accommodate the low-cut shirt.
He looks down, and that now cliché look is back. I tell him, “There will be a Q and A after class.”
He chuckles, and asks, “Do you want to leave that on, or do you want me to take it off?”
I playfully pat his chest and couldn’t be more ambiguous with the answer as I say, “Hold your questions until after class. I’m not going to warn you again.” He chuckles and holds his hands up. He goes to pull down my skirt, but I tell him, “Leave it on.” To make sure there’s no confusion, I lift the front of my skirt and slide my panties down to my feet. I step out of them, and I unzip his pants.
He’s already at full attention as I unbutton his pants and pull them down, his hard muscle lifting the bottom of his boxers. I leave the boxers on for now, rubbing his dick underneath them and taking him into my mouth for a brief, but thorough kiss. He inhales sharply, and I know I’m on the right track, so I lift the leg of his boxers enough to give him freer motion, and I take him into my mouth again. He’s reaching down to run his fingers through my hair, and I’m glad that he’s not like a lot of guys in that he doesn’t force my head farther onto him with his hand. He’s a gentleman. I like that.
Before long, he says, “Hey, come here.” I give him one last suction kiss and I’m still rubbing him as I stand. He puts his hands on either side of my face and gently pulls me in, kissing me deeply. He kisses me with a passion that I haven’t felt for a long time, and I couldn’t be happier about having sat through such an egregious dinner.
He puts his hands on my butt and lifts me up; I lift my legs to facilitate this. He turns us both around and sets me on top of the counter. He says, “Lay back,” and before I’m all the way horizontal, he’s already working a finger inside of me.
“Someone’s still hungry,” I say, getting away with way too many cheesy lines. He laughs and rolls his eyes. Now the front of my skirt is bunched above my waist and he’s working his tongue and mouth around my inner thigh, my labia, my clit, and back to my inner thigh. He’s covering the bases. I like that, too. His finger wanders around my pussy, making a stop at my g-spot, and then swirling around just inside my labia. He starts to twist his finger as he puts it in me all the way. He’s always sure to have his finger facing toward my front as he exits though, so he finds my g-spot every time.
My breathing is shallow and rapid, my heart rate is elevated. I seem to be showing all the classic signs of sexual arousal; Neat. I bet if I looked at my eyes in a mirror right now, they’d be dilated. He slithers his finger around inside of me and his tongue is perfect against my sweetest spot. I say, “I want you inside me.”
He lifts his head and removes his finger. He wraps both arms around my thighs and slides my lower body to the edge of the low countertop. He pats his dick against my clitoris and pushes inside. “Like that?” he asks petulantly.
“Yes, like that,” I say in an annoyed voice, but I’m having trouble holding the charade. My body is relatively still except for the inertia of his ever increasing pace. I hold my breasts, keeping them from bouncing to the point of pain, and he lifts one of my legs to kiss my knee. He’s in and out so rapidly that I don’t think I could tell you exactly when he’s in and exactly when he’s out, but he feels wonderful as he propels himself back and forth, in and out of me.
“Hol...” he grunts, “—y shit.”
My tone is unimpressed, but that’s only because I’m trying to focus on speaking clearly as I say, “No kidding.” He runs his hands over my body and pulls my knees up. He’s taking each leg in turn, kissing one, and then the other, the whole time caressing my thighs and my lower abdomen. I’ve all but forgotten the terrible dinner, the bad mix of wine and toothpaste, and I’m here in this moment with him. Not quite romantic, but not quite brutish either. It’s funny, it’s sexy, it’s intimate... it’s unique.
He slows his pace a bit, changing the mood; and I feel almost as if I’m floating on the air. I close my eyes and the sensations come to me like a formless vision. He is what is grounding me, the countertop is merely incidental, and I start to breathe heavily. He’s running his hand up my inner thigh, over my core and onto my abdomen. He rests his hand there without too much force, or too much lenience. I tell him to come.
“Wh—”
Before he can formulate the first word of the sentence, I say, “Surprise me.”
He’s going faster now, and every millimeter of touch is pulling me closer and closer to orgasm. I try to hold it back, but that only makes the feeling more intense, and I’m moaning loudly. My body trembles with his touch and in a burst of volume, I shudder forth my orgasm. He grasps my legs, ensuring that I don’t fall off the counter-top from my animated motion. I clasp my hands onto my breasts tightly and I tell him to come. “Come for me,” I say eons before I’m done coming myself.
He slips out just as the pulse between my thighs starts to dampen. I close my eyes as I really do want to be surprised, and I feel him rest his shaft on top of my clit and with the ultra-sensitive bump, I feel his cock flex and shoot its payload. I put my hands over my bunched up skirt in an unimaginable moment of clarity, and I feel his hot cum all over my front.
I lie here on the kitchen countertop, eyes still closed, body still in a vibratory hum of pleasure and relaxation. He says, “I’ll be right back,” and I can feel him leaving my proximity. I’m wonderfully sated, and don’t bother moving just yet. When he returns, I feel a soft towel on my body, gently cleaning me off.
I finally open my eyes and with a smile I say, “I don’t know about dinner, but dessert was pretty good.”
He shakes his head and palms his forehead saying, “You and your one-liners...”
I laugh and sit up. He helps me down from the countertop and we kiss each other sweetly. This is our fourth date, and I’m having a difficult time finding anything wrong with this man. Well, other than his cooking.
He asks me if I’m still hungry, and I shrug my shoulders. “Kind of,” I say.
“Well,” he says, “would you like to go out, or stay in?” He smiles a goofy smile and says, “I could try cooking for you again.”
“No,” I say a little too quickly. “No, no, no, no, no. I’ll be fine. It’s fine. I’m really not that hungry.”
He laughs. “We can go out for dinner then.” He looks my still naked body up and down and says, “I tried to clean you off the best I could, but you’re more than welcome to hop in the shower if you like. I can grab you a clean towel.”
“You know,” I say, “I would like that.”I kiss him on the lips and say, “How would you feel about some Chinese delivery? We can stay in and enjoy ourselves, and by the time I get out of the shower, we shouldn’t have too long of a wait.”
“Sounds good to me,” he says. “I love Chinese food.”
I tell him what I want and where I want it from, and we kiss again before I make my way to the bathroom. I turn on the water and wait for it to warm up before climbing in the shower.
This has been a pretty interesting date so far. I came over expecting some awkwardness as we hadn’t slept together the last time. Why is it that the third date is the make-or-break time in a budding relationship? I mean, how much do you really know about someone after only two previous dates. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had sex with guys on the first date, on the third date, and on the fifth date, but I think it should be based on how you’re feeling rather than some arbitrary numbering system.
The water is hot against my skin and I run the soap over my body, thinking about what comes next. He still seems thoughtful and respectful, but I’ve been burned before after sexual encounters. I take a quick look around the shower for any hidden cameras, but I think I’m good. I chuckle a little bit at the thought, but a woman can’t be too careful these days.
I clean myself thoroughly and climb out of the shower. I hadn’t heard him come in, but at some point, he had brought in a couple of towels and my clothes and had set them on the sink. I smile at his thoughtfulness, and the fact that he hadn’t tried to sneak another peek. He brought me the towels just to bring me the towels. Not having to worry about his level of maturity makes me want to continue our intimacy. It’s that simple.
I dry myself and wrap my long hair into one of the towels. I get dressed and head out to meet him. He’s sitting on the couch watching television, and I sit next to him saying, “Thank you for bringing me my clothes. That was very thoughtful of you.”
“Not a problem. I didn’t want you have to walk around naked. That’s just impolite.”
I really like this guy.
We sit and talk and pay little attention to the television. I’m leaning my toweled head against his shoulder when the doorbell rings. He kisses me on the forehead and gets up to answer the door. I stand up and walk to the bathroom. I remove the towel and dry my hair. When I come back, he’s already got our food on plates and a candle lit on the coffee table.
We sit and eat, talking all the while about our dreams and our fears, our goals and our disappointments. It’s a lovely thing spending time with a man who actually cares to know and understand me rather than just plant his thing in and fall asleep. Ugh.
He hardly touches his food, but after three cayenne pepper tacos, I can’t blame him. He courteously pecks at his food until I decide that I’m finished. He takes my plate and sets it in the fridge. When he comes back, I ask him if I can stay the night.
A kind smile crosses his face and he says, “I would love that.”
* * *
I’m not entirely sure when we both fell asleep, but it’s pretty dark out when I open my eyes. I yawn and stretch, and he wakes up with a smile on his face. He says, “It’s nice to wake up and know that this isn’t a dream.”
“There you go!” I say, “It’s about time that you used a cheesy line. I was starting to get a little lonely there.”
He chuckles, and I look at the clock to the side of his television and it says 10:34. We’ve been asleep for almost two hours. What to do now? While I think of something, I grab the remote and ask him if he’s up for a little mindless entertainment.He says, “Sure,” and I press the power button. I don’t bother changing the channel.
After a while, we’re still watching television, and I’m getting bored. There are only so many times one can hear people talk about the latest pop-star scandal in an hour before the whole situation loses its intrigue. I lean my head onto his shoulder, and with his arm around me, he says, “Tired?”
“Nope,” I say. “Bored.”
“Oh, thank god,” he responds with such a level of relief that one would think the governor had just stayed his execution. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought you were enjoying this show, but I have been dying for the last forty-five minutes.” I raise my head and look him in the eyes, trying to pull a mind trick on him. I know it works when he says, “Oh shit. You didn’t mean that you were bored by the show. I’m sorry.” He hands me the remote and says, “You can turn it up if you want.”
I try to hold the act, but he’s so flustered by my non-response that a stifled chuckle comes out of my nose. He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. With that, I can’t keep it in any longer. I start laughing and he thinks I’m crazy. I say, “No, I wanted to shoot myself the third time that they announced breaking news only to repeat the exact same story that they had just finished.”
“What the fuck is that anyway?” He asks, finally up to speed with my design. “Aren’t there more important things than some famous kid getting a DUI?”
I laugh and say, “Mind if we change the station?”
“Please do,” he says and puts his arm around my shoulders.
I switch the channels until we land on a late night cable station that I didn’t realize I still have. It’s one of those soft-core shows where they talk a lot about sex and show some boob. I drop the remote by my side and say, “Is this better?”
He’s quiet for a moment, and in a voice that’s so serious it’s hilarious, he says, “I’m not sure how to answer that.”
I laugh and say, “Well, if you have any objections, let me know.”
The show tonight is about some swinger’s club in some city where some people like to get it on with some other people. It’s not particularly fascinating or shocking, but it’s a world better than the garbage we had been watching. I casually stretch and, with a tweak on an old move, I extend my arm to rest my hand on his penis.
He jolts forward a little bit, and I quickly remove my hand saying, “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”
He eases back into his seat and says, “I’m fine, really. You just caught me off guard.” He chuckles a shy chuckle, and says, “Really, it’s fine.”
“Well,” I say, “all right.” I place my hand back where it had been and we go on watching the show. As the show goes on, I notice that my hand has naturally just started rubbing him. I don’t know how long it would have been before I realized this if it wasn’t for the increase of elevation. I look up at his kind eyes, and a cunning smile curls my lips. I say, “Just watch the show.” I unzip his pants and am surprised to find him not wearing any underwear. At a touch of my hand in the right spot, his penis pops right through the gap in his jeans and into the open air. He looks down at me and I repeat myself, “Just watch the show.” With a laugh I add, “There’s nothing to see here.”
He laughs and says, “Well, I think we both know that’s not true.”
I stop what I’m doing and in a silly, pleading tone I say, “Just watch the show!”
“Yes ma’am.” His head darts to its original position, pointed at the television, and I unbutton his top button.
I open the folds of his jeans and pull them down just enough to expose the entire package. I run my soft tongue over his head and down his shaft. I massage his balls with my tongue and take them one by one into my mouth. He breathes in abruptly, and I glance up to his face, but it’s certainly not a face in pain. I run my lips back up the length of his dick and settle them over his flared head.
He’s moving a hand between my legs and under the top of my skirt. He runs his fingers over my panties and over my pussy. He moves the fabric to the side, and I can feel him growing even more in my mouth as he feels exactly how wet I really am. I suck on him hard and look up again to make sure that he’s not cheating, but his eyes are fixed on the television, obviously afraid to look away. I hum laughter over his cock to show my approval and he slips a finger inside my heat.
The show goes on, and I’ve completely lost track of what the swingers are doing now. I hear some porno moaning in the background, but I tune it out. That stuff just makes me laugh. He pulls at my shirt and I sit up for a moment, still stroking him with one hand, only releasing him to assist in getting my shirt the rest of the way off. Then I get an idea: I’m going to test his resolve.
I keep my hand on him, making sure that he knows I’m not going too far away, and I settle in between his knees.I pop my bra off and grab my breasts. Due to the inevitable laws of friction, I won’t be able to do this for very long before we both end up chafed and sore, but if anything will visually get his attention, it’s what I’m about to do. I pull his cock forward just a little bit and work my breasts around it.
It’s very clear from the tension in his neck and the reddening of his face that he’s having a hell of a time not looking at me while I cradle his manhood between my breasts and lower my lips to meet it. I hold my breasts stationary and do the work with my mouth over his tip. I look up lightly squeezing and releasing my breasts, giving him just a bit more stimulation and I see his mouth moving, but no words come out.
“What was that?” I say before returning my mouth to meet his apex. He mumbles something and I lift my head again saying, “Come on, you can say it.”
“This is bullshit,” he says and starts laughing. He’s still looking at the television. I laugh with him and shrug my shoulders. In a moment, my mouth is on him again, and I’m lifting and lowering my breasts and my mouth as one. “Good hell,” he says and clenches his jaw.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll tell you what...”
“Yes?” he says, still not looking.
“I still want your eyes on the television,” I start and he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Calm down. I still want your eyes on the television, but I’ll make things a bit closer for you.”
“What does that mean?”
What it means is that I’m now removing my remaining clothes and positioning myself on top of him, facing away from him, and I lean to the side, making sure not to obstruct his view of the television. “It means,” I say with a gasp as I lower myself onto him, “that I’m going to fuck your brains out, and you’re not allowed to watch.”
“That is so not cool,” he says, defying every male stereotype I’ve ever come across in a women’s magazine.
I laugh for a moment, but up the stakes by grabbing one of his hands and placing it on my hot button. He tenses up, but his touch is anything but unkind as I grind myself into him. He breathes very deliberately, and the sense of power that I’m getting out of this is just too great. I grab his other hand and place it on my breast.
He says, “If you’re going to do it like that, I don’t know how long I’m going to last.” He’s already breathing heavier; his attempts to ration his air intake seem to be failing miserably. I reach one hand over by where I was sitting and hand him the remote control. “That’s not exactly what I meant,” he says, but takes the remote anyway.
I’m feeling proud of myself right up until the moment that he switches the channel back to that terrible news broadcast and tosses the remote out of reach. “Ooh,” I say, rolling my hips over him and pressing his hands more firmly into me, “that’s cold.”
“You’re telling me,” he says with a triumphant chuckle.
So now it’s a war of attrition. One of us is either going to give up, or neither of us are, but we’re both heading toward an inevitable goal. I grind my body against his, and put a hand behind my head and consequently his, and I run my fingers through his hair. He moans, and I look to the side to find him closing his eyes. I say, “No cheating,” but in all honesty, his arousal is only turning me on more.
I clutch his shaft between my thighs and I’m milking him hard with my body. His hand wanders from my breast to my cleavage. He kisses me on the shoulder, his eyes still pointed toward the television, but I barely notice as I start to close my eyes. I’m flipping and rotating my hips, moving him everywhere inside of me. His fingers on my clitoris are playing me perfectly, and I can only imagine the music that will soon be bursting from both of our lips.
His wandering hand finds my quads and the inside of my thighs. I turn my head and kiss his neck playfully as his wandering hand takes the place of the other, working my clit. His dampened hand moves over my hips, and I am doing everything in my power to tune out the odd drone of the reporters voice as she goes on about nonsense.
He finally says the magical words that I’ve been waiting to hear, “Can I look at you?”
“Of course, silly,” I say. “All you had to do was ask.” His look is one of frustrated amusement, and I say, “I’ll even give you a better look.” With that, I stand up and turn to face him. I straddle his body and put him back inside. I rub my pussy over his cock over my g-spot. He’s all eyes and hands now, watching the motion of my hips as I grind into him. He watches the way my breasts move as he pushes himself into me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him close as I start to shake. I usually only shake a bit in the legs, but my whole body is trembling. If the lead-up is half as good as the—oh my god. I start moaning and grinding his cock into me harder now as I’m overcome with pleasure. He’s already saying, “I’m going to come, baby. You are so beautiful,” and that is it.
I release, and my body is shot out of the confines of gravity. We hold each other so close as we come together. His warmth fills me, and I let a loud moan into the cushion behind his shoulder. He runs his hands up and down my back, and I gush forth a torrent of ecstasy. I kiss his mouth hard, and we both share this immaculate moment together. I can’t stop my legs from shaking, but then again, I’m not trying to.