I've never been with a woman in this way before, but feeling her smooth, soft skin, hearing her little gasps, and seeing her get visibly aroused in front of me is doing all sorts of things to my attention.
This is what it must be like to be a guy, I think, wrapping my arms around her back and kissing into her neck. To feel such soft skin, to see them react like this, with those gasps... it's electrifying. It's amazing. I want to keep doing this. There's a lot to be said in a good sexual experience. They say that all relationships need to have good, varying sex for it to work. That was the issue of my former boyfriend.
However, the issue I might have with Jordy is that we'll burn each other out from the amount of exercise we're doing under the covers.
“You really want to be the one on top this time, don't you?” Jordy pants, dazed as I suck at her neck, feeling her heartbeat hammering at the same speed as mine. I'm drunk with desire, and I want to feel everything she has, and for her to touch me, again and again. Those long fingers curling inside, hitting the g-spot just right, and her hot and heavy breath misting over my neck, or the sweet words she sometimes whispers in my ear, as she caresses me and takes me to the best places my body has to offer, it's a dream come true.
Maybe I've died and gone to heaven at some point. Or maybe I need nothing else in life except this.
“Yup,” I whisper into her neck. “You feel amazing right now. So soft. I could get used to this...”
Jordy seems to melt into my touch, before she decides she's had enough of me taking the lead. “No. I'm the boss here when it comes to the art of lesbian sex – you don't get to overpower me, Clarissa. Not until I decide you're ready. I get to take you. As much as I want.” With a grunt, she forces me to the bed and tips me onto it, before springing on top, falling onto me and kissing me roughly and passionately. I love this. It makes me burn up as she grinds against me, as she stops me from trying to regain the lead by pinning my wrists to the bed. Her hot breath melds with mine, and as she grinds, she slowly pushes me further alone the bed. The friction between our clothes scratches my skin, makes me fight harder to try and buck off Jordy so I can try my hand at being dominant. My fingers briefly hook into her pants, but she pushes them aside, still not planning on giving me the lead.
Then, grinning impishly, she peels off my top, unclasps my bra, and tugs me out of my shorts and panties in one go. The clothes come off with expert practise, the bra off in a simple flick of her wrists, a pinch of fingers. It's even faster than how I can unclasp it myself. There's so many things I want to do with her, and it frustrates me on a level that she stops me from doing them, and making her feel good. She claims that making me feel good is the only thing that matters – but I want more than just obtaining an orgasm by myself.
It's only a moment after my clothes are gone for us to both be fully naked, and to explore each other's bodies for the first time, to feel our skins touching as we press and kiss and sigh. Jesus Christ but she feels good, and seeing her on top of me, that gorgeous body sinuously moving against mine, and her strength pinning me down sends me wild with desire. There's something more intense happening here, holding power over me, and I can't quite explain how. My fingers brush against her blonde hairs down there, and she shoves them away, saying, “Nuh uh. I intend to make you enjoy this so much that you black out.”
I let out a mewl of irritation. I want to see her come, to make her enjoy herself first, because I like it when she gasps and writhes, and to hear the little moans that emits from her throat. When her hazel eyes lid back in lust, the expression itself is enough to make me wet, to trigger off the early mechanisms that eventually lead to climax. She's not doing that now, though.
She's instead devouring me from head to toe by sight, and licking her lips salaciously, as if she's imagining every single thing she wants to do.
I gasp when she brushes her fingers against the tiny bundle of nerves down there, spreading my wetness, and I'm equally shocked with how turned on I am, to have her long fingers slide so easily.
She's gentle with the nub, lightly using one finger to find and stroke it, and bolts of pleasure streak through me with each touch.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. This is insane. Not only is Jordy aesthetically pleasing to look at, she's most definitely a demon in the sack as well. I can't handle the feeling that's rippling inside with each touch, to have her body still merged with mine, to have her soft lips pressing into my neck, and I moan and shudder, tension coiling in my thighs. My muscles ache from being tense for too long, and they tremble when she runs her other hand over the soft flesh of my thighs. The electricity shooting down my spin and firing up my brain is making it hard for me to say anything coherent at this point.
“Someone's turned on,” she purrs, increasing the pace of her fingers, and taking a moment to delve inside me fully, one finger, then two fingers. I cry out. She plays with me there for a moment, doing the beckoning movement that perfectly hits my g-spot, gauging by the sound of my moans and my coiling body how much it affects me, before returning to the bundle of nerves, gently teasing it for a moment. My body relaxes from the torment of earlier, before suddenly striking up a fast but sure pace, the pressure still light. She knows not to strike me there too hard, to make me flinch in pain rather than pleasure.
It's too much. My body shakes, jerks, and I'm finding it difficult to hold onto any logical thoughts at all as an orgasm roars inside, covering every limb.
One does wriggle its way through, and that's the fact that this is probably one of the best orgasms I've had in my entire life. If not the best.
I fall limp under her, everything wobbling like jello, and I smile in a dopey way at her as she stops touching me down there, and kisses me on the cheek. Her warm breath sends floaty tingles to mix with the release of chemicals.
We lie next to each other for a moment.
“I think I love you,” I say in a breathless voice. I'm floating, drifting. I've never come so hard before. I wonder what she will feel like under me, what sort of cries will come out her throat, what her face will look like when she orgasms.
“I think I love you too,” she replies, gently kissing me on the lips. Then, one eyebrow quirks in mischief. “But you didn't black out yet.”
Help me, I think, as her hand creeps across my stomach, and reaches down there again. I throw my head back on the pillow, whimpering in pleasure as she begins her magic again. I'm not not how much I can take, but Jordy DeWitt is certainly planning to make me run the extra mile, until my body shuts down from lust overload.
I fall asleep about two hours later, exhausted, but enduring sweet dreams. I dream that we're sitting together, and I'm singing about how much I love her, and she strums along, smiling. She's also rather naked when she plays her guitar, and as I'm singing, I'm running my hands over her immaculate sides. I sing about how I can't stop touching her and how I wish she would be mine forever, and she simply keeps playing, her fingers plucking the strings, squeezing out a beautiful melody.
I feel certain in my dream that the lyrics I come up with are brilliant, and will be an instant best seller when the whole world hears about them.
When I wake up, however, basking in the memory of the dream, I quickly conclude that the lyrics are utter crap. Also, Jordan DeWitt is gone. It's 6.30 in the morning. I stare at the empty spot where she was laying, where we embraced one another, felt our heartbeats thumping together, and dwelled in the afterglow of our orgasms. Yes. Orgasms. I think I must have had at least three. She had about two, and I'm planning to make up for that as soon as I can.
I'm hooked to the feeling of her. And, one of these days, I'll be the one to initiate and follow through the sexual act first. I'll be the one to overpower her. I mentally tell myself that it might be worth going to the gym at some point so I can do weightlifting lessons to strengthen my muscles. That way, she won't be able to stop me.
I assume at first that she's just gone to the toilet or something, but when I hear nothing approach after a
few minutes, I decide to get up and explore the apartment. I quickly reach the conclusion that she's vanished, since she's nowhere to be found, and her coat and boots are gone.
This confuses me. She never mentioned anything about needing to be somewhere, and as far as I'm aware, she earns money by her gigs. There's food in her fridge, so I can't imagine that she might have popped out to grab stuff for a breakfast, unless she's planning to get a McDonald's breakfast or something.
There's no note, either, by the bed or on my phone. I wait for a few moments, close my eyes for a bit, and sometimes stare at the empty space where she should have been lying, before I grab my cellphone and send off a text.
Where r u?
I'm a little irritated as well. When Jordy doesn't answer the text, I phone her once. Then twice. I leave a voicemail on the third time, and try to keep it sounding calm, though at this point, I'm more than slightly panicky. I've been acting annoyed, but what if something bad has happened, and that's why she's not answering me?
A deeper, insidious thought comes to mind as well. What if she's seeing someone else? What if she's with Noelle right now? My mind refuses to rest. I've just gone from a super high with everything that happened with Jordy last night, and the idea that maybe she's falling in love with me as much as I am with her, to a confused low. On the other hand, I remember she seemed a little off before we ended up in bed together., and committed ourselves to a fun night.
Is she okay? Is she cheating on me? Am I bad for even thinking that? Maybe I should just relax and stop worrying. It's early in the morning and it's a weekend. Just relax.
I try again to sleep, but it's restless, because my mind's too busy running through all the scenarios, and I keep compulsively checking my phone.
Jordy returns to the apartment when it's around eight in the morning. When I hear the door click open and shut, I'm in the bathroom rinsing my face, preparing to leave, since there's not much I can do if I don't get any responses, and I have no one else in Jordy's family to contact to ask for her whereabouts. My annoyance and concern melts into sheer happiness and relief that she's returned, and Jordy is just walking through the living room when I dash out and pounce. She almost collapses because of it, but holds onto me tight, and I sniff her hair which has the lingering odor of coconut. I feel a tiny bit dismayed that I didn't get to share a shower with her this morning, because I would have loved the opportunity to lather up her body with soap, and to watch the suds drip down her naked breasts, which, naturally, I'd need to clean up.
“Jordy! You're okay!”
“Uh,” she mutters, awkwardly patting me on the back. Her tone of voice alerts me, and I move away to look into her hazel eyes. The distant, guarded expression makes mine fall. The desire fans out in knowledge of the new situation.
“Jordy?”
She glances away as if guilty, then says, “You better sit down. I have to talk to you about something.”
I hate those words; I have to talk to you about something. Whenever someone uses them – including me, admittedly – it always spells trouble, or the beginnings of a breakup. You know what I mean. “I love you, but because my pet hamster died, I can no longer be with you. Some kind of excuse to justify not dating the person you're with anymore.
I sit, facing the women that kissed me and made me feel the best I've ever felt in years, and she says, “I've been in touch with Noelle.”
Fuck, I think, all my fantasies of continuing this developing relationship crashing before my eyes. Fucking knew it. “You're going back to her?”
Jordy grimaces. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, 'not exactly?'” I retort, emotions sinking like the Titanic.
“I mean,” Jordy says, holding up her hands in an imploring gesture, “that I've been offered a chance to get in on her recording contract. I might be able to make it big after all.”
My face darkens at this statement. Freddy's words of warning come back to slap me in the face. He had suspected something like this might happen. And I had chosen to not believe him, and plunged straight into bed with her.
What an idiot I am.
“It doesn't have to change anything between us,” Jordy says, hastily trying to reassure me, but I'm having none of it. Rage courses inside, and I slap away her attempt to pull me close into a hug.
“No. Fuck you. I'm tired of sharing people who need more than me. If you want to go off with Noelle again, go ahead.”
“No, Clarissa, wait. That's not what this is about,” Jordy says, reaching forwards to try and hold me again. I struggle in her grasp, and she keeps wrestling to keep me still, but I lash out viciously, smacking her in the face, and she falls away from me, utterly stunned.
Cheeks burning, eyes erupting in tears from guilt and shame and humiliation, I dash away from the apartment, sobbing.
I didn't mean to hit her so hard. I didn't mean to make her so shocked.
All I want to do is curl up at home and sob my heart out.
Chapter Six
Later on that day, I'm at Café Fix, even though it's not my shift, and I'm sobbing into Freddy's arms. My whole world feels like it's crashing down around me once more, and he's awkwardly patting me on the back, murmuring words of comfort.
“I'm so stupid!” I wail into his shoulder. “I keep fucking up with the same mistakes every time, even though you've warned me so much. I'm better off just hiding in the shadows, really, so no one can see me, and I can't see anyone who I'll mess up things with. It's like I have something wired wrong in my brain.”
I don't think he understood much of what I said, but he squeezes me tight, and says, “Look, Clarissa. Shit happens. But don't sell yourself short because things didn't work out the way you wanted. If you sink into a pool of your own misery, you're going to end up being a miserable person. You need to stop.”
“But how?” I sob, having drenched his shoulder at this point in salty tears. My face is ruined by streaked crying, and my cheeks are puffy and swollen. “I really thought I was falling for her and she was for me, you know?”
Freddy lets out a sigh. Although it's Saturday, there is an open-mic afternoon performing, though no one's taken the lure of the empty stage. “Hey. Clarissa. How 'bout you stop this crying of yours, freshen your face up a bit so you don't look like a pug, and sing for us?”
I hiccup. “Sing?”
“You're not exactly the worst singer around.” He leans back to give me a small grin and a wink. “I bet the people here would love to hear you. I know I would!”
“What?” I bluster, gaping at my best friend. “I don't have any music to back it up!”
“And? Go on the stage. Sing. No one will judge you. Now.” Freddy ushers me to the staff bathroom, where I splash my face with water and dry it off. Then, bemused, halfway between panic and disbelief, Freddy keeps coaxing me. “You don't need someone else to be a better person. You can be a better person by yourself. That's what I want you to sing for. Yourself.”
I'm not sure what to make of his words. It's true I've never been so good at being alone for long, and it's also true that I tend to be a harsh judge.
Freddy liked my singing. Jordy did as well. The only person who seems to dislike it is me.
I reluctantly make it to the stage, with no idea of what I should sing. The audience swim in front of me, as I try to calm myself down. Then, starting off nervously, I attempt a rendition of Truth of Love. It's nothing more than a cappella version, with just my soprano voice ringing out over the crowd.
The singing relaxes me, and by the time I finish the tune, the audience are clapping. I think about Jordy and what she means to me. I smile, and walk off the stage, and Freddy hugs me, telling me, “See? See how well you did? You don't need anyone else to feel special. You're already special by yourself. Speshul,” he adds with a horrible lisp, which makes me laugh.
I stay in Café Fix for the rest of the evening until it's near close time, and I plan to head over to Freddy's house to finish off Stranger Things. H
e's determined to do everything in his power to stop me from moping like a sad loser, and the mention of that show definitely brightened things up, enough for me to talk to him about that disappointment of a book I got from the shop, with the serious lack of dragon erotica in it.
However, just as he's cleaning up the tables with the other two staff members on duty, Jordy appears from the side where the bathrooms are, hovering by the entrance. Freddy and I glare at her, and, face glowing slightly, she approaches me. If anything, she looks as miserable as I've been feeling.
“Back off,” Freddy growls, stepping in front of me. I'm touched by his defense, but pat him on the shoulder.
“It's okay. I can take care of myself. I want to see what she has to say.”
With a smile for me, and a death-glare for Jordy, Freddy withdraws, giving us some space as he finishes off cleaning the tables. The chagrined expression on Jordy's face is the only thing that stops me from lashing out at her again. Instead, I muster, with as much dignity as I can, “What are you doing here?”
Jordy, with those beautiful hazel eyes, that glossy blonde hair and the scent of summer on her skin, licks her lips as she says, “I wanted to congratulate you on your performance earlier.”
Whilst Freddy is scowling daggers at her, I say, “Huh? You were here?” When she nods, I add, “I'm surprised you were even listening to it. I just did like one song then ran off.”
“I heard every note.” Jordy doesn't take her gaze off me for a while.
It makes me uncomfortable, because I'm aware of how attractive she is, and I end up breaking the contact by saying, “So, what's happening with your plans for the future with Noelle? That recording thing?”
Steamy Dorm Page 34