by M. E. Carter
He pauses and looks up at me, a playful grin on his face. “You know that phrase, ‘It’s not the size of the wave, it’s the motion of the ocean?’” I bite my lip and nod. “I’m about to show you why it’s all true.”
And that’s what he does.
Four times.
He’s lying on his back, gently rubbing my arm. I’m lying on his chest, absentmindedly rubbing his abs. We’re still naked and all tangled up in each other. And I’ve finally found a reason to be happy I’m childless every other weekend.
I’d forgotten what it means to laze around in bed with a man and enjoy the feel of each other. I think I had that with James a few times before Fiona was born, but it was so long ago, I could very well be making up memories.
Regardless, this is my current reality, and I couldn’t be more content.
“It really doesn’t bother you?” Greg asks quietly. My hand freezes, mid stroke, as I try to figure out what he’s talking about. It’s such an open-ended question and my brain is still mush from all the orgasms that it takes a few seconds to figure out what he means.
Slowly, I push myself up until I’m leaning my head on my hand, my elbow on the bed next to him. “Are you talking about you’re… um…” I wave my hand in the general direction, not sure what to call it.
He smirks. “My dick? Cock? Penis? Lots of words for you to choose from, Elena.”
I roll my eyes at him, even though I can feel myself blushing. “We haven’t talked about what you want me to call it, so I don’t know.”
He shifts until he’s facing me. “How about you call it my Johnson?”
“What are you, a frat boy?”
He chuckles mildly, then his face turns serious. “I’m serious, Elena. If I’m not giving you what you need, I want you to tell me. I never want to not be good enough for you.”
“Because of your penis size?”
He tries to smile because he knows the words sound ridiculous out loud, but he looks sad instead.
“Why does this bother you?” I ask, genuinely concerned about where this is coming from. We just had amazing non-sex. Why would he even question whether or not I’m satisfied?
He grabs a lock of my hair and begins to play with it absentmindedly. “Libby used to throw it in my face all the time. Whenever we would fight, that was her go-to argument. That I wasn’t a real man because I couldn’t satisfy her during intercourse. But she never wanted to try anything different to make it work, ya know?”
“Well that’s stupid on her part. I’ve never had an orgasm during intercourse either, and James was probably on the above-average side. Didn’t make a difference at all.”
“Really?”
“Really. My body isn’t equipped for that, and he wasn’t interested in making the effort to try other things on my behalf.”
“What a dick,” Greg grumbles.
“I know. He really thought being well endowed automatically made him a good lover. He was so, so wrong.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s not about where you stick it. It’s about paying attention to your partner’s needs and likes. It’s about noticing what makes them squirm and moan and get that look on their face.”
“What look?”
“You know the look.” He smirks. “The one where your eyes roll in the back of your head and your mouth falls open and your head falls back.”
I feel flush as his words turn me on again. “Do I make that face?”
“Oh yeah.” He smiles really big as I blush.
“Great.” I drop my face onto his shoulder. “Now I’m self-conscious.”
He chuckles and rubs my back. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a huge turn-on.”
We lay silently for a few moments, him dropping kisses on my head every once in a while. Me, enjoying the quiet. But he can’t let it go.
“Um, how much of this are you going to tell Callie?”
I pop my head up and look at him with confusion. “You mean besides the fact that I had the best sex of my life?”
“We didn’t have sex.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down at me, making me smile.
“I know. That’s the most amazing part of it all.”
“I guess I’m wondering what else you’re going to tell her.”
And it hits me. He’s worried I’m going to blather on to her about the thing he’s most ashamed of. The thing he’s most embarrassed about. I sit up quickly, situating myself cross-legged with the blanket over my legs. I don’t care if it’s made of actual gold, no woman needs to sit naked and cross-legged after having been diddled by her boyfriend. A relaxed vag isn’t necessarily an attractive vag.
“You think I’m going tell Callie about… your size?”
He grimaces. “It’s a micro-peen, Elena. Call it what it is.”
“Stop that,” I reprimand. “It’s not that small, so I don’t want to hear you say that about yourself again. I’m trying to get to the heart of the matter here.” I shift closer to him. “Why would I tell Callie that? Why would I do that to you?”
He sighs and I know this has to do with Libby again. In this moment, I hate her more than I’ve ever hated anyone. “She used to make fun of me in front of our friends all the time,” he grumbles, like he’s ashamed to say it out loud. “We’d be out at a club or something, and we’d all be joking around and she’d make a snide comment like, ‘Well if I got to hump more than a hot dog every night.’ She’d say something like that almost every time we went out.”
I crinkle my nose. Partially because that’s insulting to him. Partially because that’s insulting to my favorite barbeque food. She could do worse than a hot dog.
“I love hot dogs,” I say under my breath.
“I know you do. Medium well. Don’t burn it. At least two.” He smiles for a second, but then continues. “At first, I thought it was her way of being funny with the crowd or whatever. But then I started noticing her girlfriends would look at me and laugh just a little too hard. Raise their pinkies at each other and stuff. At that point, I knew they were laughing at me. I got used to rolling my eyes and playing it off, but it still stung. It wasn’t even because these other people were laughing at me, as much it was that my wife was purposely trying to humiliate me. And not privately. But in front of other people.”
“Greg, if it wasn’t that, it would have been something else,” I remind him. “Libby is a back-stabbing whore who will use anything to hurt you as long as she gets what she wants.”
“I know that.” He rolls on his back and puts his arm over his eyes. “But you can understand why it makes me nervous that you tell Callie everything.”
I stare at him while he lays there, his jaw clenching. His cheeks are still red from a blush that hasn’t gone away. It occurs to me that this is something that really bothers him. Not in a “I hope we’re on the same page” kind of way. He’s been wounded by Libby as deeply as I was wounded by James.
The difference is, in today’s culture, it’s almost a given that women fight back. Social media explodes when women body-shame each other. There are articles written for women about loving your body and being proud of what you’ve got.
The same isn’t true of men. Sure, there is some talk about not shaming either gender. But it’s mostly about abs and receding hairlines. I can honestly say I have never once run across an article titled “Be proud of your penis, no matter what size it is!” But I have seen multiple articles talking about breast size. And while women may cry to their best friend about the pain they feel, the same can’t also be said of men.
So this beautiful amazing man has suffered alone over his insecurities. He’s been body-shamed for years by the person he was supposed to be able to trust with his secrets. It breaks my heart. All I want to do now is make him understand how much more he has to offer than that one little part of him.
No pun intended.
Slowly, I climb over and straddle him, my saggy breasts and lumpy belly on full display. “I’ve always been insecure about my body. Always.”
He swallows, but doesn’t move. “When I was a gymnast, I had a tight little butt, but no boobs. And I hated that. Then I got older and the boobs never grew in. Instead, I had a big butt, cellulite, and still no boobs. Then I nursed three babies and ended up like this.”
Greg swallows, but still doesn’t move.
“When James told me he was having an affair and was leaving me, he said it was my fault. That if I had only had a boob job or had a flatter stomach or took better care of myself, maybe he wouldn’t have had to go find someone else to turn him on.”
“James is an idiot,” Greg grumbles.
“And so is Libby.” I grab Greg’s arm and try to pull it off his face. It takes several tugs, but he finally gives up and moves his arm to the side. “Greg, I will never, ever disrespect you like that. I will never humiliate you like that. What we’ve shared, that’s between you and me. No one else.
“Sure, I’m going to tell Callie that you gave me the best orgasms of my life…” He finally smirks. “And I’ll probably tell her once we finally do have anal because she’s as curious as I am…”
He grimaces. “Don’t ever tell me if she tries it, too. I don’t want that visual.”
“Ben has a low-libido anyway. I think you’re safe.” He looks me in the eye as I run my hands across his beard. “But I’m making you a promise. I will never shame your body. Any part of it. Not even when you’re old and wrinkly and you can’t get it up anymore.” That comment elicits a chuckle from him. “It goes against my entire character to use something intimate and personal as entertainment for others. I promise you. If you please promise that you won’t make fun of me either.”
He looks up at me, nothing but genuine care and, dare I say, love in his eyes.
“I hate that James made you feel less than because of something I think is beautiful,” he whispers as he rubs his hands up and down my sides, his thumbs brushing over the spare tire around my waist.
“And I hate that Libby has such an aversion to hot dogs.” He laughs and grabs me, rolling me over to my back, him on top. “Seriously, what is her deal? They are the ideal food. Not too big. Not small. Putting one in my mouth always puts me in a better mood...”
“Are you finished?” he growls, kissing all over my neck.
“…Especially if you put ketchup and relish on it. Ohh! We should bring condiments to bed! That could be fun.”
“You’re ridiculous. And I really want to be inside you.”
“I’m not stopping you.” My eyes roll in the back of my head like he said would happen. Then he pushes inside me for the first time, making me gasp in delight. “And you’re amazing,” I breathe.
That’s no exaggeration. When Callie asks, because he and I both know she will, I can’t wait to tell her his package comes with the biggest gift I’ve had in a long time—him. Because it’s the truth.
“How was it? Is he amazing? Is he hung?”
Callie immediately begins asking the questions Greg feared as soon as I answer her call. I will never understand how she knew he and I had finally gotten down and dirty, but she claims she can hear it in my voice. Something about me sounding relaxed or whatever. Who knows. With Callie, sometimes it’s better to smile and nod.
Yes, Callie and I have been best friends for a couple of years now and we share more with each other than with anyone else. But I meant what I said to Greg—intimate details about his manhood isn’t her business. He didn’t share that with her. He shared it with me. That’s a trust I don’t plan on breaking.
“You are a total perv, ya know that?” I shoot back at her, watching as Fiona warms up with the rest of her gymnastics class. I’m sitting on the same bench that I always use, and once again, butt bruises don’t lie. But this time, it’s a wonderful feeling because I got these bruises the fun way.
Oh geez. Next thing you know, I’m going to want my own red room of pain. I’ve officially crossed the line to insanity.
“Come on, Elena,” Callie whines. “I’m living vicariously through you now. You know my sex life is practically non-existent.”
“Puh-leeze. You know you have no interest in being with Ben.”
“You got me there. Neither one of us has a libido these days. It works for us. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about your love life.”
“Not gonna happen, babe.” The door next to me opens and I know instinctually that Greg came out of the office. I catch his eye as I answer Callie. “What happens between him and me stays between him and me.”
He winks and mouths “Callie?”
I respond with a smile and a nod. He knows what we’re talking about.
“He’s standing right next to you, isn’t he?”
I pull the phone back to look at it. “How do you know that? Do you have a camera planted on me somewhere?”
“Your voice gets all deep and sultry when he shows up,” she claims. I’m not dismissing the idea that she’s tagged me yet, though. She’s a sneaky one. “Since you won’t give me all the details, ask him if he’ll take us to the beach so I can ogle him in a bathing suit.”
I snort a laugh and cover the microphone with my hand. “She wants to know if we can go to the beach so she can ogle you from afar.”
“Not afar,” she yells in my ear, as Greg pushes his stomach out, rubbing a less than sexy pot belly. “I wanna ogle up close.”
“Sorry, Callie. I’m not sure you want to see what I’m looking at up close and personal. It’s, um… not quite what you think.”
“He’s mooning you, isn’t he?”
“No, he’s not mooning me.” Greg laughs and walks away, heading over to greet his students.
“I don’t wanna see a hairy ass, dammit! I want abs. And if you won’t give me abs, I want details on your bump and grind.”
“No.”
Callie continues to whine in my ear about what a terrible friend I am for not giving her all the juicy details. I know she doesn’t really expect me to tell her anything private, but ribbing each other is what we do best. Sarcasm and poking fun are our love language to each other.
I’m not hearing most of what she’s saying anyway. I’m too busy watching my man work. He doesn’t even realize how sexy he is, just by being him. As I watch him, memories of our night together come flooding back. It’s crazy how he’s awoken my libido and there’s no shutting it down, whether he’s trying to excite me or not.
For instance, when he crosses his arms, observing a student perform, it makes his biceps flex the same way as when he was holding my thighs apart, proving he is, in fact, a master at oral.
When he bends his knees and sticks his butt out, demonstrating how to stick a landing, it reminds me of the movement he made when he was thrusting in and out of me.
And when he wipes his brow with the hem of his shirt, which I have no doubt he does on purpose so I can see his abs in all their glory, all I can think of is how beautiful he is when he’s naked and how much I love running my hands down his chest.
“Are you even listening to me?” Callie barks at me.
“No. Sorry. I was sidetracked.” By my memories. But I don’t say that.
“Uh huh. I know you’re at gymnastics,” she lectures. “And I know you’re thinking all the dirty, dirty thoughts about how quickly he can get naked if you were to yank those athletic shorts down.”
Busted.
“Seriously? Are you sure I’m not bugged? Fine. You caught me. But I really am trying to watch Fiona, too.” Wherever she is. “I probably should let you go.”
“What? No! You have to give me something! Let me live vicariously through you!”
I chuckle under my breath and I know I’m going to cave. But really, was there any question that I wouldn’t eventually? “Ok fine.”
“Yeah!” she squeals. “Was he amazing? Just tell me he’s amazing.”
“Yes, he’s amazing.”
“I knew it!” she shrieks. I'm pretty sure she’s jumping up and down if the vibration of her voice is any indication. �
��And he’s hung right? Tell me he’s hung.”
I knew we’d come back to this. But I’ve been thinking about how to answer this question for a couple days now, so I’m prepared.
“He’s perfect. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
She sighs and that’s all I need to tell her. “I love that he’s perfect for you.”
He catches me watching him and winks. It makes my entire body feel warm and I realize… I’m falling in love with him.
Not lust-hazed, sex-fueled love. This is real, genuine, in it for the long-haul kind of love. Love that only desires to make him happy. The mature kind of love people who have been married for fifty years have.
And it doesn’t scare me at all. I’m under no disillusions that we both feel the same way or that he’s going to propose. But it certainly feels like what we’re building is deeper than a passing fancy. What we’re creating together could potentially last for the long haul. It feels right.
“I know, me, too,” I admit to Callie, but I’m not in the mood to talk anymore. I need to process through these feelings for a bit. “Hey, I need to let you go. I need to concentrate on Fiona.”
I’m lying, but it works.
We say our goodbyes, Callie still sighing like my life is her own personal chick flick. Me still in this new fog of emotion.
I finally spot Fiona working with Greg on the high bar. I guess Coach Zach is absent again. Shows you how much the blood hasn’t gone back to my brain yet.
Fi swings back and forth, her re-grip practically perfect. Her legs are straight, her toes are pointed, her abs are tight. She stumbles every once in a while, but for the most part, she has this nailed. And then, when I least expect it, she swings out, lifts her legs up, and pulls herself over the bar until she’s resting at the top, still in perfect form.
A pull over isn’t a hard skill. But when you do it from a swing, it takes timing and strength and coordination… all things Fiona’s been working hard on.
She’s beaming, Greg is praising her, and I’m feeling an immense sense of pride. Look how far we’ve both come with a little encouragement from this man.