Her Gift

I hear the hiss and screech of another train arriving at the platform down below the main level of Alewife station, the end of the Red Line. A metallic smell rises up the stairs on the gust of hot air displaced by its arrival. The doors open with a whoosh, and the clamor of passengers starts up the stairs and the escalator. My stomach clenches as the first faces come into view and the travelers file toward the turnstiles. The Saturday afternoon herd is thin, so it's easy to dismiss the men who come up from the platform: not alone, too short, dark hair, headed straight for the door.... The process of elimination continues until it's clear to me that that was not your train. I exhale audibly, realizing that I'd been holding my breath. I laugh at myself and shake out my hands, which are tingling and slightly damp.

I know you'll be here soon; you called from Harvard Square to say you were headed into the T. I turn to pace a little, and stare blankly at the headlines on display at the newsstand. The thought suddenly occurs to me that you were on that last train, but decided to stay on board and take the return trip back into town and to your hotel room rather than to come and meet me as we've planned. I have to wait only a few minutes with this notion in my head before the next train arrives, and I feel a pang in my chest I spot you just as you make it to the main level. I catch your eye, and as you approach, we get our first live look at one another. Our eye contact is broken up by your fellow passengers' walking between us, but each time you come into view, I see on your face a mirror of the smile that has developed on my own.

When we are finally face to face, I instinctively put out my hand to shake yours; even as I do it, I think, How awkward, but your hand meets mine, and as we say hello, our first touch sends a thrill up my arm. We let go, lunge into small talk, and ride the flow of people out of the station and into the garage. I'm flushed with nerves, stealing every look I can at you. I watch a variety of expressions pass over your face, and, when we reach my car, I drop into the driver's seat with a sigh of relief because I haven't yet seen any sign of disappointment from you. I don't want anything, least of all your assessment of me, to take away from the pleasure I hope this evening will bring you.

I tell you, teasingly, that among the many preparations I've made for your visit, I've brought along the take-out menu for Udupi Bhavan, a southern Indian place near my house. If that sounds good, I say, we can call from the road and pick up our dinner on the way. You agree enthusiastically, not that you know other options, and I feel a minor swell of success that I've made a good choice. I'm not ready to talk about the rest of what's to come, and you're graciously following my lead. You're just as quick and funny in person as you were online and on the phone, and, bit by bit, my anxiety is replaced by anticipation, and I hope to myself that you are feeling that shift as well.

You get a glimpse of my city, which you've heard of, but never before visited, as we swing by the restaurant and head for my house, a tiny, mid-century modern ranch in a quiet neighborhood. You stand close behind me on the steps as I let us in, and hearing your breath close behind me makes the hairs on my arms are stand on end as we cross the threshold. I'll give you the tour after we eat, I tell you.

It's when we're sitting at the table that we finally break through to talking about more intimate matters, talking about our chats, how surprisingly intense they've been, and how arousing. With every glance at you, and with every exchange of words, that same effect kicks in. Neither of us eats much, and before long I'm packing up what's left. I offer you the bathroom and some towels so you can freshen up, and smile goofily behind you as you pull your toothbrush out of your backpack. Good man, I think. When you're done, I follow suit. Before I leave the bathroom, I take an uncharacteristically close look at my own face in the mirror, trying to recognize the new version of myself that invites men she's met online to her house for sex, especially of the sort we've discussed. When I come out, you're standing in the living room, looking out the big front windows at the darkening evening, and you turn toward me.

The mood is charged now, and I cross right to you, my heart beating a little faster. I reach out a hand to touch your side, and as I do, I ask, Okay? I want you to give me your explicit permission to follow my instincts. You put your hands on my shoulders and say, Of course, and with just your fingertips, you move me toward you. You bend your head down to kiss me, moving your hands to the middle of my back and pulling me tight against you. My arms are around you, pulling you into me in return; our mouths seem locked together as the combined energy of our anticipation is conducted through this embrace. With each exhalation, we press ourselves more tightly together, and at the first graze of the front of your jeans across my belly, I sigh into your kiss, my lips opening. Your tongue grazes my parted teeth and you move to deepen the connection, letting your tongue find mine.

The sum of your touches—lips, tongue, hands, and especially the press of your stiffening erection through your jeans and my skirt—have the heat rising in me. My head swims as I feel the first twinge and the first wetness signaling my arousal. It suddenly seems urgent to get to the couch, and I force myself to break the current running between us to steer you down onto the soft cushions. It's almost a relief to let air between us. I remind myself to be careful, that I have an idea of how I want to move us through this night, and that my main goal is not my own satisfaction. That noble thought does little to cool me down, so I walk blindly into the kitchen to get us some water. When I return, the sight of you leaning back on my couch sends another surge of heat through my body, and when I sit down, I run my hand up your thigh and give you a squeeze to make sure you understand the effect your presence is having on me. You respond by leaning further back and extending one leg so that I can move up between your thighs and come in close, and I do. I feel like I've performed some kind of magical act to bring you here, and you read the satisfaction on my face.

Because, in our short acquaintance, words have proven so erotic, I want to exploit them in the context of this physical encounter. As I slide up to you, and take in your expectant expression, I feel a thrill of power knowing that I'm aiming to draw out your excitement as much as I can. I press my hands into your chest, lean in for one quick kiss, and take your shirt in my hands. As I lean back, you put hands on my hips, running your fingers across the soft fabric of my skirt, then taking a tighter hold. I want to watch you as I describe what's to come, to take the fullest possible advantage of your imagination and your willingness to place your fantasy—and your body—in my hands. I undo a few of your shirt buttons and, in a low voice, tell you, I'm glad you agreed to make this trip. You respond, Me too, definitely, and I undo the buttons on my blouse. I undo the rest of your shirt buttons and push the material aside. I rest my fingertips on the sides of your throat and feel your quickening pulse for just a moment, then rake my fingernails lightly down the length of your torso, across your chest, making sure to catch your nipples, and over your stomach, watching the tiny contractions of your muscles and feeling your fingers clench and tighten on my hips as my fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans. I retrace my motion back up your body, laying my hands flat on you now, applying pressure to your skin and feeling it move under my palms. I reach up into the arms of your shirt to grasp your strong shoulders, and you crunch forward so that I can slip your shirt down off of one arm and then the other.

You have to take your hands from my hips so that I can get your shirt off, and when each hand, in turn, is free, I take you by the wrists and slide your hands into my open blouse and onto my breasts. You run your fingers over the lacy material of my bra, see the black fabric stark against my light skin, and readily find my stiffened nipples. You spread your hands, catching my nipples between your fingers and then squeeze, grasping my flesh so firmly that I close my eyes and let out a moan. Beautiful, I hear you murmur, and I know it's my reaction you're describing, but, still, I blush to hear it. I take a deep breath, and feel my breasts swell in your hands, and then a contraction deep inside my pussy. I open my eyes again, wondering if you can tell the effect you're having on me. Your sweet, open expression is the reminder that I need to keep my focus on your pleasure.

With a smile meant to convey my renewed sense of purpose, I reach for your belt and unfasten it. I move my hand down and rub your erect cock through your jeans and lean in to whisper along side your ear, I want to feel you inside me. You make a noise I interpret as agreement; when I lean back to undo the button and the zipper of your jeans, I finish the thought, just a little flatly, But that's not the main reason we're here, is it? As I ask, I give your hardness a light squeeze and feel it jerk in response, then take my hand away. I know I'm walking a fine line. I want you on the verge of orgasm, I want to keep you there, I want you to hold on to that feeling for as long as possible. Is it, I repeat in a steady voice that lets you know the question is not rhetorical. You are looking right at me, but your eyes unfocus slightly now when acknowledge, after a breath's pause, No.

No, I repeat, it isn't. I lean back and look you over, your shirt off, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, your jeans undone and your cock rigid and straining against your underwear. I'm glad that we're reminding ourselves why we're here, because I'm strongly reconsidering the plan in favor of taking your dick into my mouth right then and delivering the blowjob of a lifetime. I look away to try to erase the thought, and when I look back, your tight smile tells me that you are relishing your status as a nearly irresistible temptation. I can't help but smile in return, but I know it's time for me to move things along, so I let the moment of amusement pass as I look into your face, watching your smile relax away, and feel my own do the same, as we listen to each other breathe. When I sense that this pause allowed your arousal to ebb just a bit, I exhale deeply. Because your fantasy has lived for so long in words and as mental images, I want us to examine again what they mean to you, before we bring them into being. I say, Listen, because I'm going to tell you what's going to happen, what we talked about.

You close your eyes and bite the insides of your lips, and though we're not even touching, I'm sure I feel a pulse of heat come from you and almost hear your heart press against your ribcage. You keep your eyes closed, but nod to tell me you're listening. I begin, Okay, then. Unless you tell me not to, in a minute, I'm going to call my friend. Like I said before, you don't need to know his name. He probably won't say much, either, he's not talkative, especially not in these circumstances. Once I call, in about ten minutes, he'll be here. I've told him about your fantasy, and he's only too willing to oblige.

You wince slightly at the thought of me discussing your most private desire with another man, and you take a short breath. I touch one hand to your face and say, I know, it's okay. I feel the small tremors there as you accept what I've done, knowing that my fundamental intention is to help you know yourself in a new way. You nod again, and I continue, softening my voice, When he gets here, we're going to make sure he's ready for you. You're going to tell him, and you're going to show him, what you need from him to make sure he understands. Isn't that right?

You tilt your head back as if to nod, but hesitate, and now I want to look directly into your eyes, I want you to let this out of your own head, and I want to see you let it pass from fantasy and words into being. I stroke your face again and ask you gently, Please open your eyes. You do, and the look on your face is so unspeakably personal and raw that my chest tightens. I am sure I've never seen that expression on any person before. A second's doubt enters my mind, and I bite my lip to keep a tiny cry from escaping. When I close my eyes and say, It's okay, it's okay, I don't know which of us I'm trying to reassure.

Even as I speak the words, a wave of responsibility for your happiness occupies my mind, and I'm distracted by how strange and powerful that responsibility makes me feel. I open my eyes and look at your face again, and feel an urgent need to put us back on course before I lose my nerve. I place my hands on your chest again—I can feel your heart thumping—and continue, speaking low and holding your gaze, not waiting for your responses now, He's going to come here for you. You're going to let him know what you want, aren't you? You're going to invite him to take you, to fuck you. When he's done, he's going to cum in you. He's going to fill you up with his cock, and he's going to cum inside you. If this is not what you want, tell me. If you want this, if you need this like I think you do, trust me, and come to bed with me now.

I'm fighting to keep my voice steady, and to keep my legs steady as I stand up from the couch, and put out my hands to pull you up. When we're standing face to face again, I put my arms around you. I wonder if I've gone too far, frightened you, or hurt you. You draw me in and kiss my neck. The touch of your lips is so tender, such a contrast with the words I've spoken, which I fear sounded too harsh. I am suddenly afraid that I might be interfering with something that I don't fully understand. You kiss my neck again and I have the awful thought that you're kissing me goodbye. My mind is frantically working for a way to apologize, to stop you from going, to keep you kissing me, when you put your hand on the back of my head, press your lips to my hear, and whisper, Call. Relief floods through me, and I turn my face into your chest and lay a string of soft kisses across it. As I do, you slip my open blouse back off of my shoulders, and I take my arms from around you to let it fall to the floor. I had thought, talking to you and planning this night, that I had a sense of my own role in this, but in this moment, my certainty wobbles. You unhook my bra and I let that fall to the floor, too, and I press into you again, feeling the slightly damp warmth of your skin against mine. The balance of need, desire and vulnerability between the two of us is shifting unpredictably now, flowing palpably back and forth through us, refusing to settle into a singular, namable proportion.

I look up at you, say, Okay, and turn to walk to the phone. Your arms are still around me, and when I step forward, you don't let go. I turn my head quickly to see if I've misunderstood, but, in a generous show of humor, you are smiling at me. You slip your hands down to the front of my hips and pull me back to you, pressing your erection into my back just at the top of my ass, and I draw in a sharp breath and push back against you, exhaling with a small groan. My breasts sway forward as I arch my back, and I feel the wetness run out of my slit. I hear what sounds almost like a laugh from you, and I am dizzied by your grace, your honesty, and your sexiness.

In this playful way, we take the steps to the phone, which is sitting on a low side table, and when I bend down to pick it up, you slip your right hand up under my skirt and run it over my ass and across my panties to the obvious wet spot, which you feel spread under your touch. I'm dialing, I tell you with a taunt, and as I do, you slip your fingers under the waistband of my panties and pull them down, stepping back to slide them to the floor. You hear a male voice answer the phone, and I say, Hi, it's me, come on over. The voice on the other end says, Okay, see you in a few.

I hang up and toss down the phone, step out of my underwear, and turn around to you. I take your hand and lead you down the hall to my bedroom. We never did take that tour, I say as I let you pass through the doorway before me. You take in the high, iron-framed bed and note how the dark green color of the walls absorbs most of the light from the amber table lamp that glows on the dresser. As you turn to look around the room, I step in front of you. You can easily continue to glance around the room over my head—you notice the stack of books on the nightstand and another on a tall cabinet and smile at that familiar feature—but your attention falls back to me when I drop to my knees in front of you and, taking care to slide my hand between the fabric and your erection, peel down your open jeans and your underwear all in one motion.

You rest one hand on the top of my head for balance as I pull off your shoes and socks and you step out of the rest of your clothes. When I kneel up again, your hand is still in my hair, and I rub my hands up the backs of your taught thighs and over your ass. I press my face in and run my tongue from the very base of your cock to the head, relishing your reaction as it twitches. When I sweep my tongue across the top of your head, I'm rewarded with a few, salty drops of pre-cum, and I lap across your sensitive head again, this time with just a bit more pressure. I look up at you, and you put your other hand on my head, but I remind you, We're just waiting now, staying ready. Right, you sigh, Ready. I give you one more lick, sighing myself because I would love to take you into my throat right then, but I find the will to resist and stand up.

He'll be here soon, I say, and I turn to start arranging the bedclothes and pillows. I've told you about this friend of mine, someone I've known for years and trust implicitly. The thought that he's about to arrive makes me nervous, though, because he's certainly never seen me naked, and it suddenly strikes me as strange that I could have just licked the cock of a man I'd met only a few hours earlier, but feel overwhelming modesty at an old friend seeing me naked. I reassure myself that he's only going to be here for you, anyhow. When I step away, you see that I've stacked a pile of pillows at the head of the bed, and placed two more halfway down the edge of the bed. You say, matter-of-factly, You've given this some thought, haven't you? I can't resist the urge to kiss you now. I grab you and pull you in and say, Yes, a lot—a whole lot. Still smiling, I stand on my toes to meet your lips as you tilt your face down to me. I'm on the verge of forgetting myself again; now, with only my skirt on, and your cock pressed against my stomach, the wetness runs out of my pussy and onto my thighs. You slide your hand back up under my skirt, cradle one of my ass cheeks in your hand and then give it a squeeze. I sigh raggedly into your kiss, and then we hear the front door open.

I break away from you with regret, invite you to sit down on my bedroom chair for a minute, and grab a t-shirt from the back of the door, holding it over my breasts as I step down the hall to meet my friend. You hear him laughingly say, Oh, my. You hear me hiss, Shut up. He laughs softly at the state I'm in. I know the cost of this favor is that I will be mercilessly mocked in perpetuity. I ask him, Are you ready? Born ready, he replies, patting the front of his jeans, showing me that he's already hard. You hear me say, Ugh, all right, come on, already, and hear us start down the hall. Though there's never been anything between he and I, I've always admired my friend's body, and, even more, his sexual confidence. I'm weirdly proud of having such a sexy man to bring you. I step into the room and immediately cross to you, putting one hand on your shoulder, and holding the t-shirt up with the other. He steps in behind me, looking at you appraisingly, partly out of delight at the sight of an unclothed and handsome man, but also out of curiosity at what creature could have me acting so out of character. I make the most cursory introduction I can think of, trying to watch both of you to read your reactions to one another.