by Jillian Boyd
It was clear she hadn’t been around a girl so bold before, but she played it cool. She knew when I was coming on to her and she rolled her eyes a little, or glanced off the side with a laugh. I liked that she let me flirt, that she didn’t freeze up, and when I was done, how she turned to me, pushing her thigh flush against mine and said, “Okay, so now I know how to tie the left one, but how do you do it on the right shoe?”
I asked for her number. I wasn’t even coy about it. I just said, “I want to see you again. Can I call you?” She teased me for liking phone calls because I was old, though I’m only six years her senior, then gave me her number and told me to text instead.
I was smitten. But I didn’t fall completely until our third date, or whatever kids call dates these days. Our third time hanging out. I met her on a Wednesday evening because I couldn’t wait until the weekend to see her. We wandered around the city until she dragged me into a taqueria she’d been wanting to try.
There was a rowdy group at the table next to ours. Jenna waited through three bouts of obnoxious laughter and shouting, clearly getting more and more irritated, before she stood up and yelled, “Hey, we’re having dinner. Can you be respectful of the other people in here?”
This huge guy stood up and half-apologised, half-defended himself. Jenna was having none of it. They argued back and forth, getting animated. Then the huge guy let his hands swing too wide and knocked over her water cup.
The guy turned away and threw up his hands, like he was done with the whole situation. Jenna grabbed his shirt by the shoulder seam. That was when I jumped in my seat, ready to intervene. I guess I stayed put because I didn’t want to get in Jenna’s way. She started this fight, after all. Jenna jerked this huge guy back around and snarled at him, “Clean it up.”
The guy stared at her and she flung her words in his face. “You think you can shit on people because they won’t push back. So fucking entitled that you can’t even apologise for being rude.” She stuck her finger out, her gestures sharp and angry, “Now clean it up like a decent person would. Prove you’re not the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”
Jenna turned her ferocity on a passing waiter and demanded, “Get a towel.”
Then we sat there, me watching her and her watching this guy on his hands and knees, mopping up water. He backed away when he was done without a word.
She was fuming for the rest of dinner but I didn’t care. I was so wet I wouldn’t have been able to hold up my end of a conversation anyway. Seeing her go off on that guy made everything inside me fizz. I loved it. I loved how unequivocal her anger was, how certain she was that she was in the right, how she demanded he do his penance right in front of us. She knew what most women don’t: that power is yours for the taking. When you come across a weaker will, all you have to do is push, and it will bend.
I walked her home, handsy and weak-kneed. We ended up making out by the mailboxes just inside her building’s front door. Everything was push, pull, grip, grind, except our kisses, which were soft and urgent. She took me upstairs and I went down on her for hours.
I wasn’t planning to stay the night, but she fell asleep in my arms. So we slept together on her floor, half-dressed and tangled up. That’s when I fell hard. Head over heels. I made her scrambled eggs in the morning, put coffee with a sprinkle of cardamom in a thermos for her, stared at her while she brushed her hair, and made her leave her apartment half an hour late.
She’s a funny cat. More of a kitten around me. She sees me as strong, calls me tough. She thinks I’m out of her league. That’s what she said one night when we were whispering, that she thought about me when someone said ‘aspirational crush.’ She says she likes the tattoos that cover both my arms and I say, “I know. That’s why I got them.”
Jenna gives me a cocked-eyebrow look and says, “You got these years and years ago, to impress me today?”
“Yeah,” I nod back at her.
She has these big green eyes, so I call her my little leprechaun. I swagger when I’m with her because I want to be what she wants me to be. I sent her a picture of me astride the motorcycle I rode in college, back when I thought you had to be a cocky asshole to pick up women. She made it the background on her phone.
Jenna wakes up when the boat docks. She snuggles into the crook of my neck and my stomach lifts weightlessly. I close my eyes so no one else gets to see what her touch does to me. I carry all the bags without being asked. In fact, I like that she doesn’t ask.
I like being the strong one. The problem is, she’s the strong one too, just not around me. It’s like I don’t get to have all of her. I don’t want to change anything we have; I just want more. She’s a hothead and I want to see her burn.
It’s mostly my fault because I love ravishing her. When I get her naked, I can’t help myself. I’m all over her, moving her however I please, kissing and tasting whatever and wherever I want. I keep her going until I get my fill.
I don’t know how to pull back and let her drive. To be honest, I’ve never had to tell a fiery girl how to take control. They all try something eventually, like grab my wrists or pull my hair, and all I have to do is gasp, “yeah, like that.” Then we slip into that delicious give and take. They learn how to make me wait, how to order me around. I take it all and beg for more. I just sign a blank cheque for their wants, asking them to take as much as they can.
We’ve been together for four months and I can’t figure out how to light that fire. I can’t recapture any glimmer of that spark from the night she made a man kneel down with her words alone. I want to feel that again. I want to feel her heat, that no bullshit, I-get-what-I-want certainty. I don’t know how to ask for it. I’ve told her to get rough with me in bed, but she asks me what to do, or how to do it, and I don’t want to have to tell her. I want her to want it too, to let her own desires guide her.
We take a shuttle to our hotel. I booked a modest suite with a real kitchen: fridge, freezer, oven, the works. You have no idea how important kitchens are until you can’t find any food you want to eat. Jenna falls asleep while I unpack. I draw the curtains and curl around her in the dark.
I wake up in the morning to find her bustling around the hotel room in her bathing suit.
“Are we going to the beach?” I ask.
“Yes!” She swats at the blanket. “Get up, sleepyhead!”
Once Jenna gets an idea it’s hard to slow her down. I have to pin her to the bed to cover her in sunscreen. I empty half a bottle and cover her twice but it’s not enough.
Jenna loves the sun and we spend all morning soaking it up. By the time she gets hungry and shakes the sand off her towel, I can already see pink across her shoulders and back.
We don’t realise the extent of the damage until we get back inside. She takes a cold shower and I buy overpriced aloe from the hotel gift shop. By dinner time, her whole backside, from the back of her neck down to her ankles, is bright red. She can barely sit down.
The older, more experienced girlfriend is unsurprised by this hiccup.
We go to sleep early again and Jenna barely makes it two hours before the pain wakes her up. She nudges my shoulder and says, “Alex?” When I focus on her face, I see her looking back with these take-care-of-me eyes.
I strip the blankets and pillows off the bed and lay her out in a big X, face down on the mattress. I feed her ibuprofen and cover her in huge, wet swipes of aloe. The ocean air blows through our windows and chills the gel liquefying and pooling on her skin. I watch her fall asleep. I don’t know what else to do.
In the strange stillness of the middle of the night, I fill up the ice moulds in our freezer with bottled water. I sleep in the pile of blankets and pillows on the floor, with my phone under my ear. When my alarm goes off at 4 am, I wake her up with two more pills and a glass of water.
The next day feels more like what I’d call a vacation. We li
e in bed with the curtains closed and watch TV all day. I go out for meals and bring them back to her. Jenna lies on her stomach with a pillow under her chin, her head towards the TV and her feet at the head of the bed. I’m propped up on pillows at the head of the bed, staring at her naked body from behind. I’m fine until she pulls her knees up on either side and props herself up on her elbows. The sight of her spread pussy is irresistible. My hands get twitchy tracking the bright red tan line from her bathing suit over the curve of her ass. My wind wanders from the movie we’re watching and I lose myself in daydreams. I imagine crawling forward, moving so slowly that she doesn’t hear or feel me until I press my tongue to her clit. Then I’d lie there, eating her out while she pushed her hips back against me, until I made her come.
I’m so horny I’m having a hard time laying still. My desperate mind is rifling through possibilities. I can’t flip her over; she’s still much too tender. I think up some half joke about how she’s going to have to top now, but it peters out before I can find it funny.
I crawl forward and lay next to her, “Hi, jelly bean.”
She smiles at the pet name and hides her face behind her hair.
“Do you want to try a cold bath? Might suck, but it might feel nice.”
Jenna considers a second, then nods. She’s soft and pliable as I help her up. I run a bath while she watches with her arms wrapped around herself. The posture pushes the top curve of her breasts up into the most seductive shape I can imagine. She gasps when she sets her foot in the water. She looks at me with wide eyes and I look back.
“Is it too cold?” I ask.
Jenna looks down at the water, her face serious. She shakes her head.
We ease her body in a few inches at a time. Goosebumps ripple over her skin and her nipples stand up, erect, pointing off at slight angles. I’d fuck her in the tub. I’d get myself off just looking at her body. But she’s exhausted and I’d be a fool to miss the opportunity to see what she’s capable of when her guard is down.
I leave Jenna in the tub and say I’m going out to get dinner. I search through my bag before leaving the room, to see what I remembered to bring. A dildo and a bottle of lube. That’ll work. When I elbow my way back into our hotel room an hour or so later, I have dinner in one hand, a bag of groceries in the other, and 20 feet of cotton rope tucked into the back of my pants.
I spoon-feed tamale to Jenna while she lies on the bed. Her eyes are closed and she’s making content little noises. I wait for her to finish chewing and open her mouth, then feed her the next bite.
Everything comes with chips and salsa here. I scoop salsa onto a small chip and whisper, “Wake up, this one’s crunchy.” She snorts and opens her mouth with a smile.
Making her laugh makes my pussy swell. I hope she feels well enough for this. I’m too wet to waste time. Jenna drowses on the bed while I rearrange the blankets on the floor. I make her a pillow platform in the middle of the spread then drag it to the foot of the bed. I take off my pants and the rattle of my belt buckle makes Jenna look up. I shuck my shirt. “Come here.”
My hands feel light and my legs exposed, too sensitive to the air. I sit at the foot of the bed and tie one ankle to the bed post. Jenna kneels on the pillow throne I made her and watches. I tie up the other ankle so my legs are spread, a little wider than is comfortable. It’s been over a year since I’ve done this, but my right hand still remembers how to tie up my left wrist without help.
I throw the last bit of rope at Jenna. She stares at me. The room is tense and she’s looking at me like she’s out of her depth. I hold my right hand up against the bed post.
Her eyes flick back and forth to my face, “You want me to tie you up?”
I’m too turned on. My words come out thick, “I want to fuck.”
“I can’t.” She looks tired just saying it, like everything is too much for her right now.
“I won’t touch you,” I promise. I’m already leaning into my restraints, leering a little. I love being tied up.
Jenna looks me over again. She ties up my right wrist without a word. Now the real power struggle begins. To be honest, I’m not sure who will bend. But I’ll never know if I don’t push. Jenna studies me, resting on her hands and knees so no sunburned skin rubs against other sunburned skin. “What do you want me to do?” she asks.
I tip my chin at my bag. She walks over to it and looks inside. The dildo and lube are obvious, sitting on top of my clothes. She picks them up and tosses them to the floor in front of me. We watch each other from a distance. Come on, Jenna, I beg her with my eyes, I know you can do this. I’m stretching the fabric of this relationship, of what’s normal, of what we’d call sex.
Even with red splashed across her lovely skin, she looks commanding. I watch her take a deep breath and let it out. Then she wanders off. My pussy competes with my mind to figure out what’s going on. My body says yeah, that’s sex, make me wait, and my mind curls up in frustration, thinking she’s refused my invitation. Jenna comes back with a book.
She sits gingerly in front of me and gives me a flat look, “I don’t feel like fucking you.” Then she slips her finger in next to her bookmark, splays the pages, and begins to read. I look at the top of her bowed head and listen to the quiet. A long beat passes. Then she turns the page.
Whether she means it or not, it’s sex. Arousal washes down my legs and up my stomach. Just to be tied up and left wanting, that’s enough. I wonder if she can hear the unsteadiness of my breath, how the inhale chases the exhale. The uncertainty of this moment, where I’m not sure if she’s taken control or rejected it, is erotic in its newness.
I’m ready for it. Happy with anything, but hoping for more. Jenna reads and time passes. I watch her blink.
When she finally sets down her book, I feel like I’m being fucked. Like there’s something inside me, stroking me the way I want. She reaches for the dildo and I breathe out shaky. Jenna slicks the silicone and lowers the tip to my pussy. I shudder out loud as she pushes it in. There are no words for the pleasure of being touched after wanting touch for so long. She watches the dildo disappear inside of me before she looks at my eyes.
There’s too much there for me to pick apart. She looks tired but aroused, and there’s something in the way she holds her head that says she’s unsure and trying not to show it. Her cheeks are flushed, but just about everything makes her flush.
Jenna sits back, her arm extended straight through the air between us, still holding the dildo inside me. She eases onto her hip and leans back on the pile of pillows. Then she carefully replaces her hand with her foot. Jenna picks up the book again.
Now we’re nearly mirror images. Her legs are resting open and wide like mine. One foot rests against the dildo that’s filling me up and the other lays sideways on the blankets. She slouches back on the pillows and opens the book.
Pleasure surges, right on cue. It rolls up and over me and takes me out with the tide. My eyes roll and my head falls loose on my neck. My mind keeps holding elements of this scene up, one next to the other in my mind’s eye, like flint and steel. She’s fucked me full and left me here to wait again. She’s spread herself in front of me while I’m tied up, powerless to do anything but look. She’s turned her eyes away from my needy gaze. Each one makes a spark.
My body swells around the dildo and the pressure alone is enough to push me higher. My breath is too noisy now, full of little gasps and hungry sounds. Aside from my whimpers, we sit in relative silence. I think, this is all I want, just like this. My body is buzzing like it’s missed this feeling. Let’s do this forever.
I roll my hips once against the dildo. It shifts just a little inside me. Enough to send my nerves rippling. I start to rock back and forth, fucking myself in shallow little pulses. I see Jenna smile but she doesn’t look up from the page.
I lose myself in it. I’m getting myself off and
she’s not even watching. My laboured breathing next to her nonchalance is more erotic than the fucking. I try to stay quiet but a wave catches and I moan with it.
Jenna looks up. I’m suddenly very aware of how I look. My face is hot and my eyes are heavy. I’m panting and shaking my head. I feel vulnerable. Does she recognise me? Is the mess in front of her too far away from the tough girl who takes care of her?
Jenna stands up and I tense. The dildo slides out a few inches. She walks away. I start to bring my mind back into focus, preparing to talk things out, the way I probably should have in the first place. Unfortunately, I’m still tied up and too embarrassed to call Jenna back to untie me. I angle one wrist and start working its knot loose with my fingertips.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jenna reappears. I look up to see her mouth curled up in a curious little smile. I leave the knot alone.
Jenna kneels down again and sets a bowl between us. It’s full of long, thin ice cubes from the moulds in the freezer. Jenna pushes the dildo back inside me and sets her book at its base. My eyes roll back and I huff, trying to be patient, give her space.
Jenna picks up an ice cube and sets the narrow tip in the hollow of my collarbone. She draws a slow line down to my navel, then starts at the top again. She draws another line, and another. I close my eyes. I’m not expecting to feel her knuckles brush my pubic hair and I jump when she pushes back the hood of my clit with her thumb. I choke on a groan and strain forward against the ropes. Jenna’s eyes flick up to my face, and back to my clit. She lets it go, then pulls the hood back again. Jenna strokes me, big wet stripes with one hand and tiny tugs with the other.