He had his body wrapped around me before I even closed the door to his bedroom, late that Friday. It was after school, the sun peaking through the late afternoon fog. I craved him; one look from him with those icy blue eyes made me completely wet. I wanted to resist him. . .
We made small talk about school as he laid me on his bed, kissing my forehead as he wrapped his arms around me. Chit chat about how my term paper was received in some overly erudite upper-division history course, how certain activities and classes were taking too much of his time. I had to keep him at bay, though my kisses said otherwise.
"I like this shirt," he said, gesturing at my plum, sleeveless blouse. Sliding his long hands along the curve of my lower back, he added, "It's like you're hardly wearing anything at all."
Squirming, I tried to resist his advances. Each kiss grew more erotically charged. He sucked on my bottom lip as his hands crept up the front of my shirt, searching for a bra under the fabric. With great fervor, he reached for my breasts and squeezed. So strong were his hands, I let out a throaty moan. . .
"Oh, be careful. . ." I warned, somewhat fearful of what else I had to say. "Be gentle with me," I whispered huskily. "I'm tender."
"Tender -- like how?"
"Well," I looked away from him, "I'm on my period."
"Hmmmm . . . okay. Does this hurt?" he asked, cupping my left breast in his hand as he coaxed me to arousal with his thumb.
"No, no. . ." I stammered, pausing to regain my cool. "No, not at all. I'm just, my breasts feel really heavy. And I'm sensitive."
His hands trailed back down, lightly massaging my lower abdomen. Under his hands, my stomach grumbled in hunger. "You want something to eat?"
I walked down to his kitchen, using the spiral staircase that twisted into a "hipster bachelor kitchen." We were alone in his house; no roommates, no weird records playing in the background. He made us a light dinner, leaning against me from behind as I grabbed two plates from the cupboard and spinning me around to kiss him. After dinner, we laid on the couch, my feet astride his spindly limbs. Tracing the contours of my face, he smiled wryly. "You know, if I made love to you slowly, it might help if you have cramps? We could take our time."
"Oh, I know what you're after," I joked, raising my eyebrows knowingly.
"Well, I can't make it less obvious," he whispered, pushing my hair away from my face before grazing my neck with his lips. "And I don't care what time of the month it is. It doesn't make me want you any less."
I laid my body out flat before him, my hipbones protruding from under my shirt. Slowly, he unlaced his fingers from my beltloops and slid his hands up my stomach, searching my face periodically for approval. He caressed my body, bending down at the waist to forge a trail of warm kisses up my torso. He laid his body on top of me, his hands peeling at my shirt to reveal a black push-up bra that contained my swollen, aching breasts. Coming up to meet me for a soft kiss, he offered, "Shall we go upstairs?"
I led him by the hand, back to his bedroom. Looking at me, he shut the door behind him and threw on a Prefuse 73 cd as I sat down at the foot of his bed. Rolling into bed with me, he said, "Let me see you strip."
I met him with a naughty gaze as I stood before him, stretching my body toward the ceiling as I let the shirt crumple under me. My body bent as my jeans slid down my waist and onto the floor, my green eyes still fixed on his, flashing with anticipation. I reached behind my back for the bra clasp, undoing it slowly as I slinked out of it like a snake sheds its coil, my nipples hardened as they became exposed to the cool air. He hadn't touched me, but I could feel the goosebumps descend down my body. I was about to take off my lacy, black, boy-cut panties when he stopped me. "No, don't. Let me."
