by Anne Whitney
Emboldened, I slide my underwear down and let it fall to the floor, then I open my legs a little further. He freezes against my neck. Now it’s my turn to take charge.
I’ve done this once or twice before on my own, the sort of uncomfortable experiments you do as a teenager when the bubbling tensions of adolescence first arise. It had been relatively pleasant but a touch sore since I had no idea what I was really doing or how to do it properly. Following those brief moments, I’d never had the desire to explore further.
Until now.
His fingers move against me and one slides inside me. It’s an uncomfortable mixture of pleasure and pain, one I’m entirely unused to, but I hide my discomfort as he slides in another finger. I want this so much and I don’t want him to even consider stopping now. Another finger rubs against me in just the right spot and I gasp loudly. Inside me, his fingers rub and thrust and form a rhythm quickly. I don’t know how he knows exactly where to touch me or how hard or soft to touch me, but he does. Oh, he does it so well.
The pleasurable sensation builds up until I can’t take it anymore. I force Fitz’s mouth against mine and ferociously kiss him as I come with a strangled moan. The pressure has disappeared and now I am left clinging to Fitz, barely able to stand without his help as he wipes his wet fingers up and down my thighs.
“Wow,” I gasp, catching my breath. Fitz’s laugh is warm against my lips. I’m shaking like a leaf and wonder if I’ll ever walk in a straight line again. In the end, Fitz has to help pull my panties back up as I can’t even kneel down - wow, he’s good!
When we exit the bathroom, there is a queue of angry and agitated looking women waiting outside. We walk past them, not even bothering to look embarrassed as we grab our things.
“Sorry ladies,” Fitz announces to them. “Bad coffee. Couldn’t hold it in any more.”
I laugh loudly. People are staring - although the gawking young man in glasses is nowhere to be found - but I don’t care. Not after that, anyway. With Fitz’s arm wrapped around my waist, we leave the cafe and head somewhere to find better coffee.
CHAPTER 24.
I can still feel the tingles from the coffee shop creeping over me like creepy crawlers inching their way up my skin, even two days later. Our original plan to take things slow didn’t go quite as planned, but after the bathroom incident, we decided to stick to it as much as possible. That meant staying with Viridian and not moving my pitiful collection of things back into Fitz’s apartment, much to his disappointment and much to Viridian’s relief. She approached the subject of Fitz and I dating (I now felt pretty sure that we were officially dating) cautiously, happy for us but still with a warning.
“Just know what you’re getting yourself into, sweetie,” she told me after I filled her in on the details. Well, most of the details. At the time she was doing my roots and trimming my hair, so sharing the bathroom shenanigans with her seemed like an incredibly bad idea. She still ended up chopping off a good extra inch. It’s a wonder I don’t have a crew cut yet thanks to her. “With his issues and that family, you’re verging closely into soap opera territory.”
“I think I’m way ahead of you all on that front, V.”
Derek’s warning had been in a similar vein, only with more copious use of the word ‘fuck’. His talk with Fitz had been very interesting, or so he told me. I wish I could have witnessed that one.
The next two days passed quickly, with both of us too busy to spend a lot of time together; Fitz in the gallery trying to set up things for the big opening (although I’m still not sure how much prep a nude performance artist really needs), and me rushing between Rachel’s cafe and a particularly opulent dress for Derek’s next show. He wanted something in the style of ‘The Great Gatsby’, which I’ve never read, and was very precise in his specifications. He wanted beads. Lots and lots of beads.
Keeping busy means I have less opportunity to leave the studio, which we all felt was for the best given the splurge of news coverage my ‘kidnapping’ had inspired lately. I feel safer indoors, in this ramshackle box of a studio I share with Viridian, countless art supplies and enough sequined fabric to drown in. Going to work sends a shiver of panic up my spine, but I refuse to let it overwhelm me. I couldn’t truly build my new life without the money needed to do so. The cheerful drudgery of waitressing work also helps me to continue believing that maybe everything would be okay, just for a little longer.
After two days of no contact, I head straight to Fitz’s apartment after work. He made vague comments about cooking dinner, but having seen his previous efforts in the pristine kitchen he’s barely touched, I have a feeling I’ll be doing most of the work. I honestly don’t mind; cooking is one of the few things I’m good at, although I haven’t really had the chance to make a proper meal since coming to the city.
Fitz lets me into the building and I make my way up to his apartment, carrying some cupcakes left over from work. He’s in the middle of an excitedly frantic phone call when I enter, motioning dramatically with his free arm. Sometimes watching him is like watching a dancer on a sugar high. He repeats ‘Yes’ and ‘Thank you’ a lot while talking to someone called Tracy. My interest is piqued at the mention of her name.
“Yes!” Fitz yells as he hangs up, punching the air in celebration. “My ass is saved!”
“Good news?” I ask, putting the cupcakes on the kitchen table.
“I have a collaborator for the big show. Finally! Seriously, it was much harder to find someone for the show than I thought it would be. Why would anyone turn down the chance to perform at the American Modern Art Museum?”
“I imagine the eight straight hours of nudity a day for ten weeks would be a bit of a turnoff to some.”
“These people are amateurs,” Fitz scoffs. “No endurance, no imagination. They all sneer and claim they could do what I do, but when you give them the chance to prove it? Suddenly, they’re all out washing their hair or something. Besides, we get a day off a week. Total walk in the park.”
“At least you found someone. So,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual. “Who’s Tracy?”
“Another performance artist. She does a lot of video art. Very personal stuff. It’s... Ugh, I don’t want to call it quirky, because that’s so dismissive and lazy. It’s about rejecting traditional forms of narrative and...”
“I only asked,” I interrupt him before he truly gets going. If he mentions the “human condition” one more time, I may have to scream.
“You’d like her,” he tells me. “She’s a lot of fun and thinks everything we do is ridiculous.”
“So, she’s... nice?”
“She’s pretty awesome. Really underrated.”
“Do you... like her?”
“Of course.” He looks bemused by my question. “You have to at least be on speaking terms with someone if you’re going to lie naked with them for the paying public.”
“Oh, okay,” I mumble, suddenly very interested in the bottom of the plastic bag I used to carry over the cupcakes.
“Marina,” Fitz laughs. “I do believe you’re jealous.”
“No, I’m not!” I reply far too quickly.
Oh for the love of... You are such a stereotype sometimes, Marina! How can you be jealous of some woman you’ve never met? It’s not like you want to take her place in the piece and have everyone staring at your boobs for hours on end. Get over yourself!
Fitz grabs my hand and twirls me on the spot.
“You’re being silly,” he says, rocking me back and forth in a lazy dance.
“I’m not jealous,” I insist weakly. “Why would I be jealous? That’s just stupid.”
“It is. You’ve nothing to be jealous about. Tracy has a very lovely girlfriend with a black belt in judo or karate or something, so even if I were interested, it would probably end badly.”
“I’m not jealous,” I say again, as if it will magically become true if I repeat it often enough. Okay, maybe I’m a little jealous, but it’s not as if I’m in
a common situation for most girlfriends. How many women have to deal with watching their boyfriends wave their privates around in public for supposedly artistic purposes? Clearly, I needed to befriend a stripper’s girlfriend to share stories and advice.
“Sure you’re not,” Fitz says, giving me a peck on the cheek. “Anyway, how was your day?”
“Exhausting,” I reply, glaring at him through the corner of my eye suspiciously. “But the same old stuff. What are our plans for tonight?”
“Dinner and a movie? Something cheap and sweet?”
“Sounds ideal.” I add after a few moments, “I didn’t know you had it in you to treat me like a princess.”
He snorts but doesn’t say anything.
The memory of our first date and all that came with it fills my mind. Being exposed like that, so stripped down with my primal instincts bare to all, is probably one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done, and yet I loved every second. I think of all the possibilities that could have unfolded that morning. What if Fitz had forgotten to lock the door? What if we’d gone further than that? What if I had had the courage to bring my hands into his underwear? For a moment I had been devoid of fear, a feeling almost as addictive as the pleasure Fitz gave me. I wanted to take control, I wanted more of that.
“Do you need to do any more practice for your piece?” I ask.
Fitz raises an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
I roll my eyes and say, “Meaning you have the biggest show of your life coming up. Don’t you need to practice it again?”
“Well, I do have some exercises and stuff I do if that counts as practice. You have to adjust to spending a long time frozen in one position.”
“Will you be doing those exercises with Tracy or do you need someone else to help you out?”
“You truly are the mistress of subtlety, Marina.”
“Hey, if you don’t want me to help you, then I’ll just go and get dinner ready.”
I turn to move toward the kitchen and Fitz grasps my wrist, pulling me back to his side. His smile is a mischievous one, one that signals trouble or a whole lot of fun.
“Come on, then,” he says, guiding me toward his bedroom. “You have to promise that you won’t laugh too much with this. I’m perfectly aware of how silly it all looks to the untrained eye.”
It can’t possibly be any sillier than everything else he does, I think, but decide to just nod along instead of saying that out loud. He clears the floor to give himself enough performance space and then begins removing his clothes. Of course he’s doing this naked. I wonder if he would consider posing in front of the mirror some sort of art. Knowing him, he probably would.
“Right,” he says with a clap of his hands as he pulls off his socks with his feet and kicks them across the wooden floor. I remove my own shoes, placing them neatly by the door. “We’re just going to do some relaxing stretches to get the blood pumping. You good with that?”
I nod and copy him as he stands on his tiptoes and stretches his hands as high as they’ll go above his head, tottering precariously on the spot. We stretch and bend and jump on the spot like energetic toddlers. It’s actually quite fun, although I fail to see how it prepares you for art. Then again, watching Fitz’s well maintained muscled form flex and twist is all too wonderful a sight. The jumping provides me with especially interesting sights. All this exercise reminds me that while I may be skinnier than I used to be, I’m still pretty unfit. Fitz’s exercises have me stretching muscles I didn’t know I had, and by the time we’re done, I’m wincing.
“The next step,” he informs me, “is the real warm up. This helps you to really open yourself up to everything you’ll experience and absorb all the information you’ll receive. Stop smirking.”
I open my mouth to protest, but realize that I am smirking. I can’t help it. Sometimes he just makes it far too easy.
“Just rub your hands together.”
I follow his lead, rubbing my hands against each other in a circular motion.
“Now place your hands against your eyes. Feel all the energy you created washing against you.”
I’m not laughing, I’m not laughing, I’m not laughing...
The warm friction created from the hand rubbing tingles against my eyelids as I stand here, looking like I’m taking part in the world’s oddest game of peek-a-boo.
“Just clear your mind,” Fitz says, sounding calm and very much in the moment. “Now bring your hands together again... And do the same to your ears.”
I bite my lip to hold back the snickers, trying to take on a pensive and serious expression as I do so. Even the ever charming and handsome Fitz can’t make standing naked with his hands cupping his ears look dignified. He rolls his eyes and the gasp of laughter I’ve been desperately holding back bursts out.
“You’re not going to take this seriously, are you?”
“Hey, I’m being very serious right now, Mr. Artist! You’re the one making that really difficult for me with all your energy and jiggling!”
He ignores my childish giggles and goes back to rubbing his hands together, which I obediently copy. His hands move up and down his bare arms and I follow suit. Maybe this would be easier without the jacket.
“Hang on a second,” I say, taking off my leather jacket and flinging it toward my shoes. Without thinking about it, my hands move to the zip on the back of my dress where they awkwardly twist until they manage to pull it down. When I eventually realize what I’m doing, I see no reason to stop and shrug off the garment, letting it crumple to the floor at my bare feet. It’s worth it for Fitz’s slack jawed expression alone. I may never get tired of this.
“What’s next?” I ask. It takes Fitz a few seconds to come back to reality and reply.
“Oh, well... We repeat this action against the neck.”
We stand opposite each other, rubbing our hands and necks, completely ignoring the fact that we’re boyfriend and girlfriend and both of us close to being completely naked next to a very inviting bed. I copy his actions as his crossed arms move down his shoulders. He’s trying to keep his eyes forward but somehow they keep drifting downwards. I’m wearing a bra today, which must disappoint him.
“And then we move to the front.”
His hands move up and down his chest, a task made much easier when you don’t have breasts, however small they may be. Maybe this would be easier without the bra. Without saying anything, I unclasp my simple white bra and let that fall to meet my dress. Fitz’s focus has been zapped and now he’s openly staring at my breasts. I keep rubbing my hands up and down as instructed, pretending to be undistracted by everything in front of me.
“Oh, fuck it!” Fitz declares before forcing me against the nearest wall in a smothering kiss, his tongue completely dominating my mouth. Our fingers are clutching at every part of skin we can reach, as if we must touch every inch of flesh. I can feel his arousal growing against my thigh. I don’t panic.
This is it. I’m ready now. Oh, I’m so ready.
Fitz’s fingers roll against my nipples and I moan. Everything is sensitive and each touch is exquisite pain. My panties are yanked down and one hand skims down my back to grope my ass while the other pulls at my hair, angling my head just so as we kiss. We share moans and breaths, each becoming more intense as our arousals grow. I’m losing all control of my senses, my body entirely taken over by pleasure. Fitz is whispering something in my ear. I have no idea what he’s saying, but it sounds wonderful, whatever it is.
When he pulls away from me and dashes toward his bedside table, it physically hurts for a few moments. I swear he has imprinted on my skin. I can still feel his hands against me. It doesn’t take long for him to find what he’s looking for - an instantly recognizable small square wrapper of foil. He scrambles to rip open the wrapper and slide the condom over his erect manhood. It’s definitely going to happen now, and I couldn’t be more ready for it if I tried.
“You sure?” He asks me breathlessly.
“Yes,” I reply
, and I am.
He hikes one of my legs around his waist and readies me. I can feel his erection nudging me, coaxing me to open. I wrap my leg around him tighter, urging him to continue. I want this so much.
When it finally happens and he is inside me, it hurts. I expected it, too, but I’m still not prepared for the sharpness of it and I involuntarily grimace. The sensation of being filled is unlike anything I’ve experienced before. It’s not wildly pleasurable, but there’s something about it that makes me want more, even with the pain.
I hold Fitz against me, urging him to move. He wants this as much as I do, maybe even more. Slowly, he slides in and out of me, each thrust punctuated with a groan against my lips. The pain subsides with each movement, but there’s still some discomfort, but warm hands and soft lips against my bare skin make it easy enough to ignore. Our writhing bodies are creating so much hot friction against the cold cream walls. Soon, Fitz’s thrusts become more frenzied and erratic, and all restraint goes out the window. I can tell he’s close to the edge as his moans increase in volume and vibrate against my lips. My hands scramble to hold on and my nails dig into his back as he bites down on my neck with a climactic gasp. The movement stops and he remains pressed against me, a bliss infused expression on his sweating face. I bring my leg unsteadily to the floor, keeping my arms around his neck as we lazily kiss in between panting. Fitz looks so satisfied and I...
Well, I don’t feel any different. I’m a little sore and my skin tingles pleasantly, but I’m not overwhelmed with pleasure. I haven’t climaxed like Fitz. Then again, this is my first time. It’s supposed to be a little awkward and uncomfortable, right? I do enjoy the feeling of his bare body so close to mine. When he pulls out of me, I feel sticky from sweat and other things.