Love in the Age of Chemicals Ch. 01

Examined rationally, there was nothing unsuitable about it. We were both willing participants, and she was undoubtedly very attractive. Examined from any moral perspective, there was nothing anyone could find objectionable. We were, after all, married. Not even my parents could find anything morally objectionable in that.

But there still remained that fear. The fear of rejection. The fear of being undesirable. The fact that it was Miranda who initiated this, Miranda who first expressed desire, still did not abate that fear. I also noted the fear of not measuring up -- of comparing unfavorably to Miranda's past sexual partners. Would I simply be making a fool of myself in her eyes? Or in my own eyes? There was also the fear of further disrupting the stability of my life as I had lived it so far. Not wishing to be consumed by the addictiveness of sexual activity, for the sake of my own equilibrium I had thus far even shunned pornography. Not on any so-called moral grounds but in order to forestall any addiction that would detract from my work. But now, it seemed, not engaging in sex was causing my work to suffer.

And so, by the end of the third week, I decided to accept Miranda's suggestion. I told myself it was strictly for the sake of my research, for the sake of helping me to restore my focus. It was for the purpose of removing from my mind the great distraction that had plagued me these past several weeks. Convincing myself of that probably involved a fair amount of self-deception, but I could not bring myself to see it otherwise.

But by the fourth week, I had still not worked up the courage to inform Miranda of my decision. Our discussions over research were somewhat strained for me, though she seemed extra playful and even flirty. I felt at the same time helpless and more powerful. But I still couldn't make a move.

It was Miranda, of course, who solved the problem.

Her weekend excursions had all but ceased, and on the fourth Friday evening following her offer, as we were sitting on the couch and going over her notes from that week, I commented on the corresponding increase in her productivity.

"I hope you intend to reward me for that," she said playfully. I parted my lips to answer but had no words. I looked at her helplessly. I wanted to say something. To tell her I had concluded that we should move forward with our plans to become sexually active. But looking into her eyes, I felt paralyzed. Any resolve I had worked up quickly dissipated. I wanted to plead, "Help me," and that reticence must have been obvious to her.

As if reading my mind, she stood up from the couch and extended her hand to me. "Come on," she said softly, nodding towards her bedroom with a smile.

I took her hand and stood up. She pulled me slowly down the hallway and into her room. I was surprised at its appearance, having not looked in there since she had moved in nearly three months earlier. It had a small bed, neatly made, and a little furniture that made it seem quite comfortable. Sheets concealed my shelves like tapestries, allowing the room to feel like a living space and not like a library with a bed. Even the old couch was covered neatly with colorful fabric.

While I had been distracted by the new look of the room, Miranda had taken off her sweatshirt, revealing a tight-fitting spaghetti-strap tank top underneath. In truth, any such shirt would have been tight-fitting on her chest. Her stomach wasn't flat, but it had a slight, feminine curve to it.

"Lights on or off?" she asked with a smile. Night had fallen.

Caught unaware by her question, I quickly replied, "Whichever you prefer."

Her lips twisted to the side in an expression of concentration. "How about this?..." she said, stepping out into the hall and turning on the light there. Returning to the room, she switched her lamp off, leaving the room dimly lit from the hallway. I could still see the outline of her lovely form but was denied the details.

Miranda moved close to me and began unbuttoning my shirt. I tried to force my breathing to slow, and I tentatively reached up to cup her elbows in my hands. She giggled and touched her forehead to mine, continuing to work her way down my shirt. As she unfastened the final button, she pressed closer for a soft kiss on the lips. I instinctively pulled back at first, then consciously moved forward to meet her mouth with my own. We stood that way, her hands at the bottom hem of my unbuttoned shirt, mine gripping her elbows, our lips touching and releasing in a slow motion.

Slowly, she crawled her hands up my shirt until she could pull it off my arms. Dropping the garment to the floor, she untucked my t-shirt and lifted it over my head. I felt instantly self-conscious about my slender frame (Did she think me scrawny? Was she disappointed?), but Miranda made no comment. Instead, she ran her hands slowly up the front of my body, taking deep breaths as she did so. The cool air in the room and the thrill of her touch made me shiver.

I moved my hands up her arms and onto her shoulders, delighting in the novel sensation of bare skin. Miranda's hands had reached my shoulders and were draped around me, loosely resting behind my neck. With a sudden smooth motion that nearly startled me, she reached down to my belt buckle, undid my pants and dropped them to the floor. As I stepped out of them, she pulled me slowly towards her, backing up as she did so until we ended up next to her bed.

Thinking I should have some role to play, I reached for the bottom of her shirt and tried to lift it slowly. Miranda immediately grabbed my wrists to stop me, and I could see a pained expression on her face. "No," she breathed, then quickly pulled her arms through the straps of her tank top and folded the top of it down, concealing her abdomen but revealing her breasts. My excitement reached unprecedented levels. I wanted to caress and feel them, but I also wanted to sit back and admire them. I felt the closest I had ever come to experiencing worship. It didn't bother me in the least that her shirt still covered her torso. There were treasures enough on display.

Miranda must have sensed my hesitation. Taking my wrist, she raised my hand up until I was cupping her breast, testing its firmness and measuring its fullness. While I was thus engaged, she slipped her pants down and off. I hesitantly put my hand on her lower back, just above the swell of her bottom. She reached behind herself and moved my hand lower. I froze for a moment, unable to process the rush of chemicals assaulting my brain.

"Come on," she whispered, pulling us back. She sat on the edge of the bed, then lay back. She pulled the pillow from behind her head and tossed it on the floor, then reached behind her neck and fanned her hair out. I was unable to take my eyes off the way her breasts bounced around with every little motion. Then, pulling the covers out from underneath, she spread her arms and legs and smiled. "Come on," she beckoned again.

I climbed on top of her with some trepidation, not wanting to hurt her with my body weight. But once we were again face to face, she wrapped her arms around my back and pulled me onto herself. It seemed she wasn't bothered by the pressure of having me resting on top of her. But neither did we stay still in that position. Our lips found each other again, and I tried to follow the lead of her hands, which explored my body with great eagerness.

My palms found her thighs -- her gloriously firm and smooth thighs. As I ran my hands along them and tested boundaries by slipping my fingers under the edges of her panties, Miranda pushed my head down until my mouth was suckling the tips of her mounds. My erection strained against my briefs and the age-old instinct to thrust began to move my hips against the body beneath me. Miranda pushed my head, gently urging me to pay equal attention to both breasts, and I eagerly explored the other twin.

I slid my hands upwards, yearning to experience every area of flesh available to me. My hands began to move up her sides, sliding toward each other under her shirt. Miranda quickly took hold of my wrists and redirected my hands. "Not there. Just don't touch me there," she cooed, guiding my hands instead to her rear. She raised her hips up to give me access, and slid her panties off once I was holding her rounded cheeks. Tossing her panties to the floor, she starting pushing at the waistband of my own final barrier. I lent my efforts to my complete exposure, wincing as my member rested against the soft hair of her most intimate area.

Slipping her hands along my thighs and around my waist, Miranda exhaled slowly and whispered, "OK?"

"Yeah. Yeah, OK," I answered, not sure exactly what she meant.

"Normally," she whispered, interspersing kisses with phrases of speech, "I'd prefer... (kiss)... a lot more... (kiss)... foreplay. (kiss) But I'm guessing... (kiss)... that tonight... (kiss)... you don't want to wait... (kiss)... any more... (kiss)... than I do." As she spoke, her hands roamed over my back and upper arms, picking up speed and driving my subconscious thrusting to match her pace.

"I... I'm not really sure what that means," I confessed with no sense of shame. Shame didn't feel possible in that moment. "But I feel a very strong urge to... (kiss)... advance this to, uh, to the next phase."

Miranda tried to pull her head back, which was not possible in her position. She moved her face to try to make eye contact with me, her eyes searching mine with questions she didn't dare ask. Then her body relaxed and her hand slipped between us. I gasped when I felt her fingers wrap gently around my firmness. She moved it gently until I felt a warm wetness at the tip. Miranda seemed to watch my expressions the whole time. Her hand released me and moved slowly around to my bottom.

"I'm feeling that same urge, too," she assured me. "Go ahead and... advance."

When I hesitated, she added, "It's OK. I'm safe." The extent of my own naïveté was revealed in that I hadn't for a moment considered the question of safety. What all did she mean by "safe"? I had to trust her. I don't know that my hormones would have let me do anything else in that moment.

With a soft but insistent pressure on my backside, Miranda guided my hips towards her. I felt the warmth at my tip begin to spread. It covered the head of my member, then moved slowly down the shaft. I pulled back a bit, then pushed back in, eliciting a moan from Miranda. A glance at her expression, though, told me it was a moan of discomfort rather than pleasure.

I feared I was doing something wrong and tried to apologize. "I'm... I..."

"It's OK," she said quickly. "Just gimme a sec."

I held absolutely still for as long as I could. I felt myself trembling -- from excitement, from lust, from the exertion of propping myself up on my elbows above her. I turned my gaze away from her face and down to her chest, and observed raised bumps around Miranda's nipples. The nipples themselves were pointed and hardened, and I longed to reach down and suckle them again. But fear of hurting her kept me from moving a muscle.

I focused on the sensation coming from that most sensitive spot, and without intending to, I flexed it inside her. Miranda giggled and said, "OK, OK. Don't get impatient." Then she responded with a squeeze of her own, followed by a small upward rotation of her hips. I instinctively pushed into her and began a slow thrusting motion. That was the extent of what I knew to be involved in sexual intercourse, and I hoped there wasn't anything else I needed to do.

"Just like that," Miranda sighed, tightening her arms around me. Still not wanting to crush her, I kept myself propped up on one elbow while letting my other hand search out exposed skin. I began to wonder about her reluctance to expose her abdomen or to be touched there. I wondered if she felt self-conscious about her body, a concern I could empathize with, even if it made no sense for a beautiful woman to have such feelings. But just as I was beginning to feel self-conscious about the lack of muscle on my chest, Miranda's hands slid from my back to my front, and her fingers started to trail lazily among my dark chest hair.

After a few minutes, she pushed firmly on my chest, forcing me to raise myself up from my elbow and onto my hands. That changed the angle at which I was entering her, and the new stimulation propelled me towards release. Suddenly, it was as if my whole world was focused on the spot of our union, the warmth of her intimate tunnel, the tension at the base of my cock. The wet sounds of our insistent joining, the aroma meeting my rapid breaths. My knees fighting for leverage, my thighs straining with new demands.

What was I supposed to do? Should I wait for some cue from her? Should I ask if she was ready? Could I stop at this point? The drive within me was relentless, and I didn't think I could stop myself. Propped up as I was, I could look down and see her fleshy mounds bouncing with every thrust, moving in response to my attack on her body. I felt primal. I looked in panic at her face, sensing I was reaching a point of no return.

She sensed it, too. Her eyes were fixed on mine. She smiled serenely and nodded. That was all I needed. Dropping back to my elbows, I pressed hard, letting my release overtake me. I cried out as my senses were overwhelmed. I wanted to take it all in, to be the objective observer. But it was impossible. I fell even lower, dropping my whole body onto hers, feeling her soft chest press against me as my hands gripped her waist. With violent fervor, I pulled her towards me, knowing only that I had to be deeper. I pulsed several times in rapid succession, releasing my seed inside a channel that had been designed to receive it. Even when I had finished spending myself, I still felt the urge to press deeper, to seal our union.

Slowly, I came back to my senses. I realized I was gripping Miranda's waist more tightly than she might find comfortable. I was resting my full body weight on top of her. I was panting heavily right next to her ear and might have yelled there, too. I felt embarrassed. I relaxed my grip and raised my body. I couldn't make eye contact with her. I didn't want to pull out, but I knew I had to. I didn't feel welcome anymore, as if the foreignness of my flesh inside hers was suddenly apparent.

Miranda had a single bed, only wide enough for one person to lie down. As soon as I slid out of her, shivering with the intense sensations on my overly sensitive tip, I lowered my leg over the side of the bed and stepped onto the floor. When my other leg followed, Miranda suddenly grabbed my wrist and said, "Wait." I looked longingly towards the door, wanting to escape, to feel safe. "I'm not done yet," she insisted, a smile evident in her voice.

"OK," I answered, unsure why we were still whispering, or why it had felt inappropriate to do other than whisper during our whole encounter, even though we were the only ones in the house.

"Over here," she instructed, tugging my wrist and pulling me towards the side of the bed that was butting up against the wall. "Lie down on your side, facing me," she said in a voice just above a whisper. As I got situated, I heard the sound of a drawer sliding open. After a few seconds of rummaging, Miranda seemed to find what she sought and closed the drawer again. Rolling onto her back, she said, "Under the circumstances, we'll just go for quick and easy."

I had no idea what she meant, and figured I was safe in saying, "Just tell me what to do."

She giggled and said, "That's a good husband." Then I heard a quiet click followed by a mechanical hum. In the dim light, I could see that Miranda had one hand near her vagina, and the hum came from something small concealed in that hand. "Just touch me," she said softly.

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. Kiss my boobs. Rub my legs. Nibble my neck. Whatever strikes your fancy. I'll take care of the rest."

Lying on my side, I had only one arm free. I reached out and tentatively stroked her arm. My eyes were still fixed in curiosity on her hand busily at work. My stroking was mindless, mechanical. After less than a minute, the humming clicked off and Miranda twisted to face me.

"Deke," she said in an irritated tone. "You just had your penis inside my body. Your entire naked body was touching me. You don't need to be shy. Touch something other than my arm, OK?"

"Sorry," I whispered in embarrassment.

"Just... try to treat this like you want to convince me to have sex with you again sometime."

"Oh. OK." I had no idea how I would do that, but I didn't want to risk agitating her further by asking questions.

The buzzing resumed. Wanting to use more than one hand, I risked sliding an arm under her, propping her head up on my bicep and giving my hand access to the breast that was farthest from me. I was encouraged when Miranda moaned and hissed, "Yessssss" in response. My other hand stretched out and began rubbing her belly, but I quickly drew back when I remembered her sensitivity about that area. Instead, I reached down and rubbed her thigh, firmly, as if giving a massage. I listened to hear breath speeding up and watched her hips begin to roll.

Finding my face close to hers, I took her earlobe between my lips and teased it with my tongue. Miranda giggled and pushed her head towards me. She turned to face me and gave me a kiss. Her tongue sought mine, and her urgent moans vibrated on my lips. Her legs began squeezing together and her free hand reached up to grab my arm. She broke our kiss and lay back, clenching her eyes and sucking in air. As her moans increased in pitch, I heard her saying, "Oh God... Deke... Deke... I'm... Oh!..."

And then, after a silent pause where she was frozen still for two seconds, she lurched forward, gripped my arms and looked directly at me, her face visible to me only because she was so close. Her expression was burned into my memory: she appeared panicked and helpless, a victim of the surge of chemicals brought on by her... by our... activities. Our eyes met for just a second as she uttered a wordless cry that I would have taken for pain in any other context. Then she dropped back to the bed and moaned softly as her legs twitched and trembled. She pulled the mechanical stimulation away and let it drop to the mattress. For at least another twenty seconds she writhed and cooed. She pulled my head towards her, and I kissed her neck. She whispered, "Yes... yes... yes..." many times over, inviting me to continue everything I was doing. Only when she inhaled deeply and slowly one time did she finally say, "OK. OK, that's good. That's good, Deke." Then she rolled to face me and gave me one deep kiss before pulling my hands off her body.

"I take it that was what you wanted?" I asked, unsure of my own reading of her signals.

"Yes, baby, that was perfect," she said dreamily. "What did you think?"

"I think that last part was... probably the most amazing thing I've ever seen," I said, still unsure how to process it all.

"Oh, now you're going to make me all self-conscious. I meant before that. You didn't seem disappointed. Think we can do it again sometime?"

I gazed into the dim room. Part of me wanted to say Yes! Yes, we can do it again right now! But I felt too exposed, and too subjective. I wanted to collect my thoughts, consider what had happened, evaluate things in the light of day.

"Need time to think about it?" she offered.

"Yes. Yes I think I need to... recollect my wits," I said, grateful to be understood.

"Well, don't take a whole month this time," she warned before emitting a sigh of satisfaction.
"And what about you?" I asked. "Was this sufficient to keep you from 'going crazy?'"