Curio Vignettes 04 Confession (5 page)

A cruel little grin, chased by a kiss. “I did not say
exactly
which
time I would be joining you for.”

I shoot him a look full of false disapproval. “Tricky.”

He drops to his elbows, claiming my mouth. Fondly at first,
the kiss turning starker as my bliss steadily evaporates to make room for a
fresh wave of desire.

This is my man.
This is our bed, for tonight. Someday
this will be our bed for keeps, and no one else’s. This will be my man, for my
hands and body and eyes and mouth alone.

I free my lips to say, “This time.”

“Yes?”

“This time,” I say again, and start to move my hips beneath
his. “You’re joining me.”

“As you say.” He pushes back up onto straight arms, sliding
his hot, hard cock out with the slowest withdrawal. Back in, a bit faster. Soon
we’re racing once more, and I know this time he’ll make good on his promise. I
can tell from his voice and the tendons rising along his throat, he’s not far
from madness. It would be mean to make him wait too long. And yet…

I make the fingers on my clit grow sleepy, touching myself
with the laziest caresses and letting my orgasm draw back a pace or two.

“You’re not done?” he asks, confused.

“No, no. Just don’t want to rush the show.” I eye his
laboring body.

“You have me on a hair trigger,” he says with a smile. “I
hope you’re not planning to make me suffer.”

“Certainly not.” But I would like to wind him up as tight as
possible and blow his fascinating, fractured mind. “I just don’t see any need
to rush things.”

His smile turns ominous. “You try my patience.”

“You shouldn’t have tricked me.”

His eyes narrow and he rests his weight on one arm, sliding
his other hand across my belly, knocking mine aside.

“Hey.”

His thumb is on my clit, rubbing. Rubbing in those perfect,
tight circles that have made my toes curl so many nights before. I push at his
wrist but he won’t let me budge his hand. In a few breaths’ time, I don’t care.
I don’t care if my chance to torture him is through, or if our equanimity has
been replaced by this smug little game. All I care about is how good his cock
feels taking pleasure from my body, how skilled his touch is. How his face
looks when his desire is stronger than his self-control.

My clit is a match, his thumb a striker. Each practiced
stroke brings a brighter spark, tiny little bursts of pleasure.

“Didier.”

“Yes. Again.” His thrusts grow mean. “Come for me.”

As my release mounts, I watch his arm. Strong, draped in
trim muscle, locked and hard from the physicality of this sex. Tendons flex and
I realize what a remarkable machine the body is, and how Didier’s is so
perfectly maintained and polished for exactly these deeds.

Soon I’ll be the only woman allowed his services. I came
here looking for the shiny machine, but if he should grow softer when it’s just
the two of us, me the lone woman he has to please… If he sacrifices some of his
rigorous calisthenics and lifts fewer weights in favor of walks with me… I
won’t mind. His smile will stay the same, and his sweet words, and his
beautiful heart.

I came to him seeking startling, rare beauty in a context
that couldn’t hurt me. But now it’s the rest of him I want, so badly I’m only
happy to take the risk. I never knew I could feel all this, and even the fear
of losing it won’t stop me from tackling it to the ground and rolling around
with it, feeling every ounce of this happiness until the time comes to say
goodbye. Next week or next year or when I’m a bony old lady. It doesn’t matter.
All that matters is the present, and the present is without a doubt the most
wonderful place I’ve ever visited. I’ll pack my bags and move in for an
extended stay, if it’ll have me.

“Caroly.” There’s a plea in his voice.
Get out of your
head. Get back to objectifying me. Come, so I can do the same before I lose my
mind.

“I love you,” I tell him.

“I love you. So much.” It’s hotter than the filthiest words
he’s ever uttered to me under this canopy, and I’m a goner. My back arches so
sharply my nipples brush his chest. I wrap my arms around his neck and shut my
eyes, thinking of nothing but the friction of his thumb on my clit and the
hard, thick length of him driving deep.

“Didier.”

“
Yes.
”

I come, shuddering and gasping, and I hear him right there
with me, a serenade of low, pained moans punctuating each wave of his orgasm.

If there was no condom, he could make such a perfect, sticky
mess of me. The first man to do so. That would excite him so much. My gift to
give him—not as pretty as a bracelet, but somehow I doubt he’d complain.

For long, labored breaths, he looms above me. I feel his
thighs shaking ever so subtly and see his arms doing the same when he scoots
both palms close to my ribs.

I stroke his face, flushed and gleaming with sweat, lids
heavy as lead, hair a tumble of damp waves. He’s a wreck, panting and pained.
And he’s never looked so handsome.

Chapter Three

For ages we lie in silence, Didier letting me spoon him from
behind and stroke his chest with lazy fingertips.

He clears his throat at length and covers my hand with his.

“Yes?” I prompt.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just happy to have you here,
this way.”

“This is nothing new.”

“It feels new, with the words said.”

I agree, but want to hear him explain. “How so?”

He rubs my knuckles. “I don’t know. It just feels very…real.
Like I know for certain now that all these little moments are building to
something. Something permanent.”

I kiss the back of his neck. “You’re right.” These embraces
were always lovely but they felt fleeting before, something to cherish in the
moment but with no promise of anything more. I’ve poured so much affection and
concern into this man, and finally it feels like an investment, not an
indulgence.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” he asks.

“I hadn’t thought about it. What would you like to do?”

“If it’s not sweltering, I’d like to show you that shop.
Where I bought this,” he adds, jingling my bracelet.

“Okay.”

“It has so many memories of my mother. And pretty things,
which you love. And I want to show you exactly how far I went, to buy you a
gift. And to show myself I was capable of the trip, after the first try proved
such an utter disaster. To prove myself worthy of saying those words to you.”

“You were always worthy. But yes, I’d love to go there.
Maybe I’ll find another charm to add to the collection.”

After another lapse in conversation, he rolls over,
prompting me to do the same so he can do the spooning. I feel his cock against
the back of my thigh, stiff. I laugh softly. The hazards of dating a sexual
savant. And such a hardship, woe is me. “Again?”

“Always. And tonight, especially.”

His arousal excites me. He always excites me, but my first
two orgasms have left me sluggish and heavy-limbed, and I crave his pleasure
far more than I wish to chase my own again. “I’m spent, but I’m happy to grant
any requests you might have.”

“I’ve always wanted you in the shower with me.”

“Oh?”

“From your very first visit. So many times I’ve put myself
to sleep, replaying that evening but imagining watching you strip away your
clothes, surprising me. And joining me. Your curious hands soaping my cock. Your
hair wet. The two of us so close, in such a small space. All that white noise
and warm water and steam.”

All at once, I’m hot. The embers of my spent desire crackle
and catch, flames rising all over again.

I get to my feet and take his hand, lead him into the little
bathroom. It’s such a mundane space now. I try to think back to that first
night, when everything here was new, when I looked at the glass cubicle and
marveled to imagine this was where the most beautiful man I’d ever seen got
naked and washed his extraordinary body—a spectacle I was allowed to witness
for myself that very evening. This is the space where I first glimpsed his
shampoo and razor and realized he was a real mortal man, silly as that sounds.

“How hot do you want the water?” I ask, opening the shower
door and turning on the tap.

“Hot, but not too hot. Same as that night you watched me.”

Soon steam fogs the glass and Didier steps inside first,
offering his hand. We face one another with the spray at our sides. I gather
water in my cupped hands and let it cascade down his hair. He smiles, a gesture
so pure my heart hurts.

“I love your teeth,” I tell him. He offers a broad, cheesy
smile and lets me run the tip of my thumb across them.

“I could stand to get braces,” he says.

“No. Never. Then you’d be too perfect, and I’d wake up and
find out I dreamt you.”

“I’ll keep them crooked then. It’d be a shame to find this
was all a figment.”

Words abandon us, and it’s just he and me in this tiny
aquarium, us and the vapor and heat and nothing else.

Two baptisms in one night,
I think as the water
streams through my hair and down my back, as warm as the rain was cool. It
slips down my breasts, belly, arms. Mutes the tinkling of my bracelet.

Didier takes the soap, turning it around in his hands, lather
building. His gaze explores me for ages before those slippery palms even touch
my skin. He laves my neck, shoulders, back, around my waist to my hips and
belly. Finally my breasts. He lingers just long enough for my desire to stir,
though it’s still his gratification that’s foremost in my mind. I stare up at
him, the thick, dripping locks of his hair, the lips I’ve kissed a thousand
times, dotted with beads of water.

“I don’t think you ever look as sexy as you do in the
shower,” I inform him.

“No?” He reaches for the bottle of shampoo and I let him
lather my hair. “You’re quite beguiling yourself, with your curls tamed and
dark. And that look in your eyes.”

I shut the eyes in question as he guides me under the flow
to rinse away the suds. I do the same to him, but he kisses me before all the
shampoo is gone and I can taste it on his lips. We pass the soap back and forth
next, stroking each other’s shoulders, necks, back, butts. Between us, his cock
is stiff and ready but I save it for last, not slicking my soapy fist down his
shaft until I know he’s on the edge of madness. When I do, his moan fills the
cubicle, a throaty echo.

“Is this what you imagined me doing, if I’d joined you that
first night?” I ask.

He nods, mouth open but no words arriving. His eyes are half
shut, gaze aimed at my stroking hand. I pause to re-lather my grip.

“I didn’t imagine this,” I admit. “I was still too nervous
to fantasize about being an active part of anything. Back then.”

He smiles. “You’ve come a long way. You’re perfectly capable
of being the active one now. Especially if my hands are indisposed.”

A pleasurable shiver courses through me as I conjure the
memories he’s speaking of. If someone had told me that first visit that in a
few months time I’d be tying this gorgeous man to his bed and violating him,
I’d probably have fainted. But I’ve changed so much. Grown so much. And I trust
him so, so much. I want to know my desires as completely as he does his. I want
to know his desires as intuitively as he knows mine, better than any woman ever
has. A tall order, but a pleasurable challenge to rise to.

Without meaning them to, my caresses have grown aggressive.
Didier groans, so excited he sounds angry. He slaps his palms against the tile
behind my shoulders, leaning close, looming. He rests his mouth at my temple
and I feel his moans as much as I hear them, like echoes inside my own head.

For so long, he’s been my flawless lover. In control of his
pleasure and always putting it after mine. Watching him rushing headlong toward
a selfish, messy release feels forbidden.

He leans back a bit, wanting just what I do—to watch.

“Yes,” he pants.

My rhythm is sloppy, nothing like the masterful show he
offered that first night. I conjure the image, his cock gleaming with oil, his
face still that of a gorgeous stranger. But there is no show this evening. Only
and him and me, frantic and familiar, no room for any performance.

“I’m close. I’m so close.”

“Someday,” I whisper, “you’ll be inside me. As bare as you
are now.”

A grunt answers me before his words do, a half-dozen pained
breaths. “You’ll be as wet and warm as the water.” He puts his slippery palms
to my shoulders then slides them to my breasts, kneading and cupping with shaky
caresses. We’re so close, his smooth head glances my navel with every stroke.

“Tighter.”

I do as he asks, earning a buck of his hips.

“Yes. Don’t stop. Make me come.”

My strokes are getting crazed and clumsy, the gracelessness
worsened by his trembling hips.

“Yes. Keep going.”

He succumbs only seconds later, grunting his pleasure into
my wet hair.

His release is long and generous, his come hot against my
skin, making the water feel tepid by comparison. “
Oh.
”

I kiss his shoulder. “Good.”

I pump him slower and softer. I watch until the spray has
washed his come from my belly and fist, then release his softening flesh to
hold his hip. His face is flushed, eyes nearly closed. His lashes are dark
spikes, hair and brows drenched black. With my other hand I stroke his cheek
and trace his parted lips. “So good.”

All at once, he leans his head back, face overtaken by a
gigantic grin. A dopey chuckle tumbles from his lips.

I laugh too, just to see him so blissed out. “Yes?”

He opens his eyes to stare down at me. “I love you. That’s
all.”

I stroke his wet hair. “That’s plenty. I love you too.”

“Do you think you could ever move in with me? Here?”

“Once you found another gig, sure. Why not?”

“I didn’t know if you’d mind. I’ve had so many guests here,
after all.”

I shrug. “I’ve never been too bothered by all that. Maybe I
should be, but I‘m not. That’s just how it’s been from the start.”

“At the start,” he corrects. “Not for long.”

I twist shut the taps and climb out first, handing him a
towel. As we dry off I say, “The only thing that would give me pause about us
living here is if it felt like a trigger for you. If this has been your safe
place for so long, you couldn’t feel like you were moving on, staying here.”

He tousles his hair, looking thoughtful. “I think at first,
I’ll need the familiarity. If I find a job that takes me outside, coming home
to a strange new place may be too much change, too fast.”

“Sure.”

“But maybe someday.”

“As long as it feels healthy. I certainly don’t mind the
thought. I love your flat, and your view. It’s so…
Paris
.”

“We’ll make room for your things, of course. I bet you have
lovely photos and paintings.” He’s never actually been to my apartment before,
if only because it’s cramped and far away, and my bed can’t comfortably
accommodate two people.

“There’s not much. I moved into my place furnished. Just my
clothes and books and linens and plants, and yeah, some art. I could move in a
single taxi-load, I bet. When the time comes.”

When will the time come, I wonder? In the New Year? I’ll
have to ask my landlady if maybe I could extend my lease by six months. I’d wanted
to move this fall, but if I could move in with Didier by the spring, I’d
happily stick it out a bit longer. How odd that we might soon be discussing
practical, grown-up things, like how to split the rent. Who would fetch the
groceries. Soon enough, Didier may need more than his ancient landline
telephone. I try to picture him texting, but the vision seems silly. So many
hours we’ve spent listening to his phonograph, I want to giggle, imagining him
with iPod cords dangling from his ears.

We go through our respective bedtime grooming routines and I
dress in my pajamas, joining my naked boyfriend on top of the covers.
Boyfriend
,
I think.
Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend. I have a boyfriend.
J’ai un
petit ami.

The storm has trickled to just the musical ping of the odd
drop on the fire escape’s slats.

“Are you sleepy yet?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“Here.” He sits up against the headboard and pats the space
between his spread legs. I settle against his chest, liking the funny weight of
his chin on the crown of my head. A breeze blows the curtains in, surprisingly
cool in the wake of the storm and smelling clean with rain, lifting away the
musky scents of beeswax and sex.

“I want to keep saying it,” Didier murmurs. “But I don’t
want to use it up.”

“I doubt I’ll ever get tired of hearing those words.” There
was a point when I worried I might never hear them after all. They’re lyrics to
a song I’ll never get sick of.

“I wonder what you’ll do,” I say, then yawn. “For a job.”

“Me too.” He stiffens behind me at the mention of such a
profound change to his years-old routine.

It’ll never be just him and me. His disorder will likely
always be with us, whispering persuasive lies in his ear. The better he gets,
the easier it will be for him to ignore it, but that voice has been with him
for as long as he can remember.

I realize with a slightly buzz-killing breed of clarity
that, as wonderful as all this is, it won’t be easy. He’s volunteering to turn
his life inside out for me. To confront his fears in so many more ways than just
a trip to the coffee shop. And I’m signing up to date a man with a disability
of sorts. I never even waded in the shallow end of the romance pool, just fell
in love with a prostitute and toppled right off the diving board the second he
told me he loved me back. But I know how to navigate the outside world, enough
to start a new life in a foreign country at least. And he knows how to love,
and maneuver through all those complex obstacles. Between us, we’ll figure it
out.

He kisses the back of my head, once, twice, three times,
noisier and sillier with each smooch. I laugh and hug his arms tighter around
me.

“I’d like us to go on a trip,” he tells me.

“Where to?”

I feel him shrug. “Within France, perhaps. Whenever I’ve
figured out a new job. To celebrate.”

A ready scene flashes across my mind. “I’ve always imagined
being with you in Provence or somewhere. Some rustic old stone cottage with a
fireplace, and crickets chirping at night.”

“I would have imagined you’d want to go somewhere posh.
Somewhere decadent, my little connoisseur.”

True, I do love the finer things—nice clothes, rich cheeses,
vintages I can’t afford. “I dunno. That’s been floating around in my head for a
while.” I turn to smile at him. “It sounds very romantic, somehow.” Just him
and me and the sounds of the countryside.

“Then we will go.”