Jessi, my sexy, twenty-year-old lover, drifted off to sleep after experiencing what might have been one long orgasm or four small orgasms. As her breathing regularized, I looked at the clock. It was almost 11:00pm, but I was not tired at all, which surprised me since I had climaxed three times in the last four hours. I waited a few minutes to make sure the young woman was sleeping well, and then I got out of bed, pulled my sweats back on, and quietly left the bedroom.
As much as I had enjoyed my evening with my young former student, I worried that we might have made things worse – that I may have made things worse – by playing into Jessi's self-identification as a 'slut'. Particularly concerning to me were the words I had used for her and for what we had done. While I objectively knew that what I had said to Jessi had been no worse than things I had said to Jessika, my other lover, while she and I were together, it felt different because I knew Jessi viewed herself, and what we did, differently from how Jessika viewed it. I tried to push these thoughts to the side as I put away the decorations we had not used on the tree, but my mind did not let me do so.
"You are feeding her belief that she is a slut and that is all she is or will ever be," my conscience nagged me. "It is just what she expects."
"She is comfortable with that," I told myself. "She can handle the emotions she feels in that context. She is having trouble with feeling other emotions – those outside of that context."
"You are not helping her," my conscience countered. "You are just making sure you can still have sex with her."
And if I were honest with myself, that was the real problem with which I was wrestling. Sex with Jessi was too incredible to just give up, but making sure it continued involved either perpetuating her belief that she was only worthy of casual sex, or one or both of us battling our own emotions. Everything was much easier with Jessika. We both knew who we were, and we knew where we stood with each other. If the thirty-one-year-old brunette wanted to be called a slut and be treated like one, and if I called her that and treated her that way, we both understood such things were within the context of sex and did not impact our friendship otherwise.
However, even Jessika had admitted that her relationship with me was not the norm for her. Just a couple of days past, she had told me that she had, before me, always worried that men would think less of her if she was sexually more adventurous. That conversation with my curvy, brunette paramour had opened my eyes to the issues I was having in relating to Jessi. I now believed the young blonde was having trouble reconciling the raw, dirty sex we had, a type of sex to which she was accustomed, with feelings that were alien to her.
Unfortunately, it was becoming clear that I did not have any idea how to speak to Jessi about any of this. When I had tried to talk with her about these exact matters at dinner the night before, instead of being assured that my regard for her was not tied to the type of sex we had, the younger woman had reverted to identifying herself, in her own words, as a slut, and believing that is what I wanted from her.
"And you are benefiting from her self-esteem issues," my conscience accused. "Because it provides you with sexual access to a twenty-year-old woman, you are willing to play along with her deleterious self-identification."
I sat down heavily on my couch and hid my face in my hands, letting my thoughts overwhelm me. Could I really be such an asshole? Was I encouraging a young woman to continue to think poorly of herself because it was a way I could continue to fuck her? Had I really tried to help her reconcile her feelings, or had I given up when I was presented with an easier way to continue to get what I wanted?
I was startled out of my self-recrimination by a soft voice calling me. I looked up and saw Jessi standing in the doorway of my bedroom, looking at me. The comforter from my bed was wrapped around her, and she looked small and delicate in its bulk.
"Jessi," I said, standing up, "I was just cleaning up."
"Okay," she replied, looking down. "I woke up and did not know where you were. Sorry."
"Why are you sorry?" I asked. Her flat demeanor incited in me the fear that she had either withdrawn or was about to do so.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," she explained with a shrug.
"You are not interrupting," I assured her as I walked up to her, lifted her chin with my fingers, and kissed her.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" my conscience screamed at me, but I ignored it, burying my fears and doubts.
The slender blonde's blue eyes met mine, and this time, I was the one who held the stare too long. I was trying to read what she was feeling and thinking.
"I missed you... in the bed..." she whispered, and her eyes dropped again.
"Okay. I will come back to bed soon," I told her. "I am a little hungry, so I am going to get a snack first."
"I'm a little hungry too," the blonde responded, looking up at me again. "Maybe we can have a snack together?"
I agreed and started toward the kitchen.
"Can you hand me my bag first, Mark?" Jessi asked. "I want to put something on."
"Sure, although I think you look fantastic naked," I teased her as I looked for her bag.
Jessi's eyes widened, then she looked down as her face flushed crimson.
Desperate to change the subject, I said." Um, I do not see your bag. Did you...?"
"Shit! It is in the bathroom," she blurted out, and then, still red-faced, she hurried to the guest bathroom. I thought about following her to apologize for embarrassing her, although I did not understand why she was even so embarrassed. This was the young woman who had sent a naked picture of herself to me before we were ever intimate, not to mention that we had seen each other naked several times now. Furthermore, the first time we were together I had suggested that her bare chest was better to look at than mine, and she had reacted matter-of-factly to my comment then rather than becoming embarrassed.
"What is different this time?" I wondered aloud.
"She is more vulnerable right now," my conscience piped in. "She woke up alone, when she had expected you to be there, and then you kissed her like she was more than just a slut to warm your bed. What is she supposed to think when you act so crass towards her after that?"
"Shit!" I whispered as I started toward the hall down which the bathroom was located. However, I had only taken a couple of steps when Jessi appeared, her purple duffle in hand.
The young blonde was wearing a red plaid flannel button-up sleep shirt that looked a size or two small for her. While it definitely fell lower on her thigh than the skirt she had worn with the sexy elf costume, it still was not any longer than a typical miniskirt, thus it revealed quite a bit of her soft, creamy legs. And it was not just the shortness of the sleep shirt that made me think it was too small for her. Even with her modest bosom, the flannel was stretched tight across her chest.
Jessi smiled at me as she walked to the middle of the living room and dropped her duffle bag on a chair. As she had while wearing the elf costume, the pretty blonde turned in a circle so I could look at all sides of her. However, this time it all felt very different. I did not think she was trying to entice me; rather, I had the impression she was just showing off what she was wearing.
"Do you like it?" she asked. "I have worn it every Christmas since I was ten. Even the last couple that I spent alone."
