Remember Me

by Bryce Taylor

"About sex?"

  Oh, Christ. I can feel myself blushing already.

  "Yes?" There is pain in my voice now.

  "You didn't penetrate me?" she asks. It is a question.

  "No, I didn't," I agree. Wondering why we are having this conversation, her lying on my back. Her nipples pressed into my skin, as easy to ignore as two stab wounds.

  "Why?"

  Words and sex don't mix. Not like this. I don't want to discourage her questions, though.

  "Did you want me to?" Wondering what the question is that she wants answered.

  "No."

  That sounds awfully certain.

  "Will you want me to?"

  "I don't know. Maybe. I can't imagine that it could be better than that, though?"

  Despite the agony I'm in, I can't help but smile to myself in smug satisfaction. There are whole realms of things that we are going to explore, endless possibilities for enjoyment.

  "We will definitely do better than that," I promise, "it doesn't have to involve penetration, though. Only if you like it?"

  She is silent for a moment, thinking about this.

  "Do you like it?" she asks.

  Ok.

  "Yeah, sometimes," I say, feeling the heat in my cheeks.

  "Sometimes or mostly?"

  I shrug. I don't exactly keep count.

  "You'll work it out," I mumble.

  "How?"

  Jesus Christ.

  "Uh, well, when your hand is, uh, there," I start awkwardly.

  "At your clit?" she guesses, trying to be helpful.

  Oh, my god. It wasn't because I didn't know the fucking word, Jo.

  "Right, yes, at my clit, if I did want it, I would be pushing you deeper, there, inside me," I tell her trying to sound as nonchalant about this as she is and failing miserably.

  Half of me wants to swear off sex for life. The other half. Well, the other half is kind of into it.

  After all, it has been four very long months with no sex.

  "And anal?" she asks casually.

  Oh. My. God.

  The answer is yes, actually, but I don't know if I can say it.

  "It's important to me that we can talk about this," she says seriously when I don't answer.

  Did I mention that all these words are being whisper in a low voice in my left ear? That it is killing me?

  Ok. Damn. I can do this. Suck it up, princess.

  "Yeah," I tell her wincing, "but, uh, mostly you know, if you were, uh, going down on me?" The last coming out as a question. A possibility. Not a request. Definitely not an instruction.

  I feel her smile against my neck, her indrawn breath. "I'd like that," she says.

  Well, thank fuck for that. And thank fuck she doesn't need an explanation of what going down on someone means. Because god knows with Jo where her sexual education starts and ends.

  "I'd like you to go down on me too," she says immediately, "but I'm not sure about anal? I guess, maybe?"

  Ok. I am on-board with that.

  She is silent for a moment.

  "Would you be offended if I didn't?" she asks and I can feel the tension in her hands around my biceps, in her body that is lying on mine.

  "Anal?" I ask, confused.

  "Penetration," she clarifies. She holds her breath for a second. "At all."

  "Of course not," I tell her immediately.

  "Really?" she says, sounding more than surprised, disbelieving in fact.

  I can feel a trembling starting in my heart, travelling through my body, prickling my palms, stabbing through my marrow. I want to roll over and pull her to me. Cradle her close.

  "We will never, ever do anything that you don't enjoy," I tell her forcefully. Feeling my heart breaking. That her experience of sex to this point has obviously been occasionally painful, at the very least rarely enjoyable.

  "Oh," she says. I can feel a little of the tension draining from her body.

  "You wouldn't want to if I didn't," I tell her.

  "I wouldn't do it," she says, her voice low. She pauses, lets out a breath. "But I really want to do that to you."

  I'm smiling just a little. Jo and her honesty.

  "Lucky for you," I tell her, amused, "that I am into that."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  "How are you ok with not penetrating me?" she asks.

  "Darling, I could make you come without going below your shoulders," I tell her, smirking just a little.

  She jabs me in the side with her index finger.

  "Ow," I tell her, grinning harder.

  She waits.

  I take a deep breath.

  "What turns me on is your pleasure, not any one particular thing that we do and there is an awful lot to do without doing anything that you don't like," I tell her.

  I can feel her keen interest. That she wants more detail.

  "There are a lot of places on your body that you liked me touching you, right?" I ask. She nods, her hair tickling my neck.

  "It's no different there," I tell her.

  It truly is amazing how hard it is to talk about this. That I would so much rather be giving her a practical demonstration than a theoretical lecture about it.

  "The area between your clit and your, uh, entrance, is very sensitive and that might feel good to be stroked. As well, pressure on the outer and inner lips when you are aroused," I tell her. Suddenly feeling very sorry for teachers doing sex ed. "So if you were straddling my hips, and you were grinding down on me, or if my leg or arm was moving against you there?"

  From the tiny jerk of her hips against my body she definitely wants that.

  "Uh, and your clit, uh, so you know that you like that, uh, my fingers touching you there," I say, feeling a little more confident. "Around your entrance, that area can feel good to be touched, uh, particularly, you might like it with my tongue."

  She makes a small noise in her throat that tells me that we are definitely going to try that too.

  "Or you might like my tongue inside you a little?" I ask. "But not fingers?"

  She nods.

  "But you can tell me, anytime, if there is something that you aren't enjoying," I tell her. "But I'm going to work out pretty quickly the things you do like."

  She is smiling against my cheek. She nods. I can feel the relief sweeping through her body.

  "So I don't know how to penetrate you?" she asks questioningly.

  I can feel my eyes widen.

  She laughs.

  "No, I do know that," she says, amused.

  "I guess I meant, if I was doing it with my fingers, what do you like? When? How many fingers? How deep?" she asks, a bombardment of even more awkward questions when I though we had already hit the limit.

  Well, I guess on the plus side, I am going to get exactly the kind of sex I want. I still wish that I could be showing her though. Right now.

  "Well, when we are having sex, you'll be able to feel how ready I am, uh, by how wet I am, and uh, how swollen I am," I tell her awkwardly. "If I'm not, uh, then it probably wouldn't feel very good to go any further. But if I was, uh, you could move a finger, like your index finger, up to my entrance, and see how wide I am. If your finger slides in, with a little pressure, then that is good."

  Needless to say, she could do that right now. Not a problem.

  "What if you don't like it?" she asks, I can hear the worry in her voice. Because she has had penetrative sex and not enjoyed it.

  "Well, I would tell you to stop or move your hand somewhere I did want it," I tell her firmly. "You'll be able to tell."

  I can feel her disbelief.

  "For instance, how much am I enjoying this conversation?" I ask her.

  She laughs.

  "It's making you very uncomfortable," she says, grinning against my cheek, turns her head to whisper huskily in my ear. "But I think you are liking it a lot," she says, scraping her teeth across my neck.

  Oh my god. It is like a flood down there. She is definitely going to make me come far t
oo soon for this explanation to come in handy.

  "There you go," I tell her hoarsely, "right on the money."

  "And if you do like it?" she asks, back on topic. "What then?"

  "I will show you what I want, or tell you what I want, " I tell her, wincing a little, I can already tell that I am going to be talking way more then I want to during sex, "uh, but you will soon get it. You'll be able to tell."

  She considers this for a moment. Runs her fingers through my hair. Kisses the top of my spine.

  I let out a relieved sigh thinking that the questions are finally at an end.

  "How do you have no tan lines?" she asks, sitting back up abruptly, her hands tracing across my shoulders.

  I blink.

  I'm sure this isn't something that needs to be covered right now.

  "Pamela covered a lot of stuff, around personal grooming," she says. "But not this. You have no discernible lines. I honestly don't understand how this is possible?"

  Ah. That explains the lack of hair. Which was, to be honest, unexpected. I hadn't thought about it, but if I had, I wouldn't have thought she would have used any specialist products in that area.

  Ok. Apparently, we are talking about tan lines.

  Of which she currently has a number, at her wrist, mid-bicep and shoulder. Multiple shades on her legs. Ankles. Her feet from where a pair of the same sandals has been worn far too often.

  I honestly don't give a shit. Not even the fact that she is unsurprisingly a girl who wears sandals.

  "I'm vain," I tell her, the truth, "I keep it even through tanning, judicious use of sunscreen, covering up with clothing and the occasional spray tan."

  She is silent a moment. Considering this.

  "That seems excessive," she says seriously. It is. Pauses. "You are vain." This last with emphasis as if she has only just realised.

  She is going to be horrified at the size of my wardrobe. The number of shoes I own. The sneakers that remain in their boxes purely to be looked at. My watch collection. Not to mention my array of sunglasses. Hair products. The number of haircuts I get. How often I go to the gym. Manicures. Eyebrow threading.

  I've never actually been the high maintenance one, body image wise in a relationship.

  Shit.

  I smile to myself. At least I won't need to make much space for her clothes when I can convince her to move in. I already know that it will be like twelve things. Including underwear and shoes.

  "Is there any reason why I'm still immobilised face down?" I ask politely. Seeing as we are now onto trivial questions.

  She laughs gently, tussles my hair with her fingers. "Because you are too damn distracting on your back when you are naked," she says.

  Oh, good. I like that reason.

  She kisses me between my shoulder blades, making a pleased noise in her throat when I immediately groan.

  "Roll over," she says leaning back again, smacking me on the arse.

  "Hey," I exclaim, outraged.

  Kind of outraged.

  Mostly turned on when it gets down to it.

  "Roll over," she repeats, a growly command.

  A shiver racing down my spine. I may actually come without her having to do anything at all.

  I roll over, intending to pull her to me, to pull her underneath me.

  She pounces. My wrists at either side of my head. Pinned. Her weight over me, imprisoned.

  She is checking me out. Thoroughly. Biting her top lip in appreciation.

  "Are you blushing?" she asks, smirking.

  "Thank you, darling, I hadn't noticed," I tell her sarcastically. As if I could have failed to feel the heat in my cheeks. After all I have hardly stopped blushing since I woke up, a permanent sunburn.

  "I love that your muscles are so sexy and completely ineffectual at the same time," she says, pushing at my wrists firmly for emphasis.

  "That isn't a compliment," I tell her grumpily. Even if it might be true. I can see that I am going to be doing more strength training at the gym.

  I think about trying to flip her over, but I know in this position I have no chance without cheating.

  "I said they were sexy," she reminds me, grinning, her hair falling between us.

  This is true. I suspect that I am going to have to get used to this kind of compliment.

  "Oh yeah, anything else you like?" I ask her, stretching back, an eyebrow raised.

  She laughs. Her eyes running back down over my body, returning to my chest for a long moment. "I like your everything," she says, her voice rasping, a hunger in her eyes.

  Then her lips are on mine.

  She is kissing me with an intensity that is sucking the life from my lungs, the soul from my body. I no longer care, she is letting go of my hands. Her hands, her lips moving to my chest, nipples hard beyond belief, offering up my body to her. She can do whatever she wishes. Say whatever she wishes.

  Her hands are on my breasts, cupping, her mouth gently kissing my nipple and I groan loudly. Her eyes snap up to mine, her face serious, intent on me, her tongue reaching out to lick around the edge, a tiny smile on her face, my mind unable to even process this before she shuts her eyes and her teeth scrape across my nipple, solid as a pebble disappearing into her mouth.

  "Oh," I groan, desperately trying to hold onto my last shreds of conscious thought.

  My hands are gently resting on her shoulders, not pulling her body to mine as I want to, but my hips are unconsciously straining up, needing just a little pressure right there.

  Instead, she abruptly breaks her attention from my chest and sits back up, appraising me, swinging her leg off of my hips. Grinning at my agonised expression.

  Oh god, I hope she hasn't changed her mind about this.

  She smiles, amused, as if she can read my mind, taps the inside of my knee and my leg immediately and reflexively opens to her. She places a hand on the inside of my thigh to hold me there and moves to kneel between my legs. I reach up to her face with my hand, to pull her down to me and thankfully she accepts this direction, lets me wrap my legs around her hips, kisses me, kisses my neck, under my ear. Her hand moving with eagerness back to my breast, cupping, pressing my nipple between two fingers.

  Sliding her body down, her lips at my collarbone, kissing the the computer on my ribs, the edge of her smile pressed against the soft skin there and I know there are going to be questions about that later too, mostly why?, her tongue lightly touching the coin, teeth dragging across ribs as if she wants to consume me.

  I want that too.

  I don't expect her to keep going down my body because we haven't discussed this painfully enough yet. I haven't blushed as red as a tomato on this subject yet. So when her hips are between my legs and she is nibbling at my ribs, at my sides, tongue circling my belly button, kissing my stomach, thumbs pressing down on my hips, breasts pressing into my legs, her tongue tracing the lines of the poem, I am still expecting her to come back up at some point.

  I am not expecting her to lean down a little further and press the tip of her tongue right there. Tasting. A few exploratory licks and then without hesitation a longer deeper taste.

  "Oh, fuck, Jo," I groan hoarsely, writhing beneath her, this experience so surreal, her, in my bed, between my legs, her tongue right there.

  She looks up. Interested to see that she is having this effect. That she is doing it right.

  "Please?" I whimper, not wanting her to stop what she has started.

  It is a whimper. In the interests of telling the truth and all.

  She smiles and bends her head, her tongue sliding easily into an area so wet that I can feel each breath she is taking, shivering at her every exhalation. "Oh fuck," I groan again, "fuck." Pure bliss. The tiny sound of satisfaction in her throat as she licks deeply, rips me right to the core. My hips arching up to meet her mouth.

  Her hand sliding around behind me.

  Her thumb, bent back, the pad, pressing, asking for entrance.

  Guess I should have spoken about lub
ricant somewhere in that discussion.

  "Just there, is enough," I manage to get out. It is nice there. A little more pressure and it won't be.

  She is moving, slowly, languidly, her tongue carefully testing each part of me. Each movement, each exploration is pushing gentle waves of pleasure out, filling each corner of my body but not bringing me any closer. My hands are sliding involuntarily down the bed, fingers compelled to entwine through her hair, to show her what I want, to guide her.

  No. She will work it out.

  I may die first.

  I'm grinding my head back into the pillows, biting my lip hard, hands clenched white-knuckled in the sheets, on the edge of madness when she gets it. That she can be as aggressive as she wants with this.

  She draws my clit out, hungrily sucking back into her mouth, flicking her tongue back and forth.

  I'm reduced to mindless groaning as I come, hard, trying to suppress the tremors against her mouth, until she has that too. Gripping me around the hips, bracing me.

  Letting go.

  Complete white out.

  Oh god. That was good.

  She is moving up towards me, her pleasure gone, awkward, not know what to do about her face. The wetness.

  I pull her to me. Claim her, flip her over, kissing every last residue off her. From inside her mouth, all over her face. The taste of me on her addictive. Hard, sucking kisses until she is sighing against me.

  "Thank you," I tell her, my voice rasping, "that was amazing."

  A tiny smile. "Yeah?"

  "Yeah." Fervently.

  She is grinning at me now, relieved and I can tell she has more questions. Some more ideas.

  I have a few ideas of my own. My hands are moving to her body. Those places she has already demonstrated that she likes. That I like too.

  This time much slower, with hands, with lips, my body, until she is close, so close. Teasing her now, now that I know her. Making her wait this time. My mouth on that spot below her ear. Her groans, her breathing coming sharply, gasping, her skin burning underneath my fingers.

  Show her that my muscles aren't entirely ineffectual. Flip her over, her on top of me, straddling my hips. Her look of surprise. The look of intensity coming over her face, the desire. That she thinks because she is on top of me that she is in control. That the look on her face makes me want to let her.

  Almost.