"Just whatever--take a chance."
I'm not sure if that can be considered advice in the literal sense, but it's been a guiding light in my relationship these days. The words were whispered to me more than a year ago by my partner and girlfriend, Alyssa. The first time I heard her say them, she was goading me into trying some kind of spicy food that she loved. We had ordered in from her favorite Thai restaurant, and I remember it vividly because the heat of the small bite I took set my mouth on fire like I had french kissed a blow torch. And all the while I was fanning my mouth, eyes tearing, Alyssa laughed the most sexily sadistic laugh I had ever heard come from her. After I glugged down my water, she handed me hers, mercifully, I thought, until she whispered, "water doesn't make the heat go away, it just spreads it around." I ignored her exhortation and downed the second bottle, still in agony as she laughed and shook her head. "I love when you take chances with me."
There was nothing immediately sexual about it, and nothing wild or debaucherous ensued in the moment. But there was just something about how she said it--completely saturated with love and affection and deep intimacy, that made me remember it so well. She's said it many times since, but in my mind I have heard it even more often. Not just when I am tasting a new dish for the first time, or picking out a dress, or walking unhurried in the rain, but when I remember all the ways Alyssa has changed my life for the better. How I trusted her to be my first same-sex partner. Trusted her to guide me and not let me fall by being open. How she held my hand tightly the night I told her I had told my family, including my daughter, about us being together. How all my worries and anxieties seem to melt away when I am with her, and taking that advice to heart in a broader way than she intended.
"Just whatever--take a chance."
It wasn't until a few years ago that I ever had enough bravery to "take a chance." I sometimes smile at how silly I must sound--on this site, in my stories, or with Alyssa, when I pat myself on the back for doing something as "not-me" as having my nipples pierced after my divorce, or allowing a masseur in Beijing to give me a much more intimate massage than I had planned on. If you've followed my stories here at all, I suppose you can tell that I consider those experiences to be almost seismically daring, and I guess on a sliding scale, they were. For Alyssa, and compared to her willingness to cross lines at any moment, they seem like just another bite of Khua Kling. I marvel at her, and I think I would find it thrilling to share some of my beautiful girlfriend's derrings do with you. I already have butterflies knowing what I am about to write.
As most of you may know (if you have followed my stories here), I still live with my daughter Katie, although for all intents and purposes, she mostly lives away at college where she is pursuing her masters. So for the past two years, there has been almost no overlap in the time Alyssa has spent here in my home when Katie has been home for summers or breaks. In that time, Alyssa has exhibited some very uninhibited and sexy habits--like walking around topless, for instance. I know it's not a monumental thing, but it is surely nothing I have been used to in my home, which I had previously shared for more than a decade with a very judgmental and conservative husband. I've been conditioned to be very private, silent and meticulously careful, especially when Katie is home. I've never exactly been known for throwing caution to the wind.
A few weeks ago, Katie was home for Easter and spring break, and since Alyssa's parents have both passed away, I invited her to stay the whole weekend. It would have been completely unacceptable to me to not invite her and have her spend the weekend alone in her cluttered apartment over such a pretty holiday, so I was happy when she accepted, feeling some admitted butterflies knowing we'd all be in close proximity for at least a long weekend. I'm not really a "public display of affection" kind of person, but Katie is 23 now, and Alyssa and I have been open about our relationship for more than a year. There's really nothing to "hide," and Alyssa is not really someone who would try to anyway. Of course I knew she'd be respectful of the situation, but I honestly didn't really know what to expect beyond that.
We all had dinner out on Saturday night since I didn't want a kitchen full of dishes on Easter morning. Me, Alyssa, Katie and her boyfriend Danny. If you are familiar with my experiences, you may recall that about two years ago I came home early from a night out to find--quite startlingly--Katie and Danny in our swimming pool engaged in a very erotic act--she was performing oral sex on him. I confess that the image of Danny, and his very impressive "equipment," flashed through my memories about ten thousand times during those two hours at dinner, and although I think I hid it pretty well, I was feeling very aroused. Alyssa has a divining rod for such things. She picked up on it, even if Katie and Danny didn't. I had made the mistake of telling Alyssa the swimming pool story a few months previous--sans the graphic details, of course--and I think it added to the electricity at the table. I was on edge, and very relieved to finally pay the check when it arrived at the table. Alyssa could feel the electricity, and she knew why.
Many hours later, I was snuggling in bed with Alyssa watching television, Katie safe and snug in her own room, when I felt Alyssa's body sliding along mine a bit more intimately.
"Are we going to talk about it?"
"About what?" I played dumb.
Alyssa didn't offer an answer for a moment, and instead slipped her hand inside my panties.
