Love in the Age of Chemicals Ch. 05

I awoke late on New Year's Day, despite having gone to bed earlier than usual. But then I reminded myself that going to bed no longer necessarily meant going to sleep. Retiring to bed at nine o'clock used to mean falling asleep soon after. Last night, however, it meant getting into bed, enjoying the closeness of Miranda's body, having sex with Miranda, talking with Miranda, and only then going to sleep.

When I finally did wake up, it was to an empty bed, and I was surprised to feel saddened at that. My sadness was all the more acute because I was still naked, and having a warm body next to me would have felt very pleasant. I scrambled out of bed and dressed in casual clothes. I could hear Miranda in the kitchen, and when I went out to greet her, she smiled broadly and exclaimed, "Breakfast waffles!" She seemed as happy that morning as she had seemed sad the night before. Meeting me at the fridge, she gave me a long hug from behind and said, "Thank you, Deke. Last night was really good for me in so many ways."

When she pulled back, I commented, "You're wearing my favorite shirt." She indeed had on my gray button-down shirt that I had worn for so many years.

"I know, but it was easy to grab when I got out of bed. I can change if you- "

"No," I stopped her. "What I mean is: that's the shirt I most like to see you in. My favorite."

She stopped short and gave me a curious look. Then she smiled again and said, "Oh! OK, then. So I can keep it on?"

"I would like that."

Miranda spun away and started humming as she returned to making waffles.

A few minutes later, when we were sitting and eating, I felt something strange. Several times, I looked down at my body to make sure I was still clothed. I had the persistent sensation of being exposed, as if in the middle of a dream when one just begins to realize that one is naked in public. It was awkward, and I felt the urge to be alone. There was nothing to account for such feelings - I was even wearing familiar clothes.

Miranda, oblivious to my inner struggle, maintained a slight smile throughout our meal, occasionally looking over at me and smiling wider. When we were nearly finished, she said, "I don't suppose you have any New Year's resolutions, do you?"

I thought of resolutions I had recently considered. "I've resolved to propose a more stringent campus policy against mobile-phone use in classrooms," I stated. "And to evaluate final exams from the past three years to identify consistently missed questions, in case they are indicative of shortcomings in my own efforts to communicate the material."

Miranda shook her head, still smiling. It was a familiar expression that told me I had misunderstood something. "No, Deke, not your plans. New Year's resolutions. Things about yourself that you're going to change. New things to try. Ways to improve."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off, "things not having to do with work. Personal things."

Rather than object to the distinction between "work" and "personal" (because who else was working if not the person?), I thought more.

"Like, for example," she said, munching on a bite and trying to keep the syrup from dripping out of her mouth, "I'm going to try to start doing sit-ups every night, so I can tone this area up." She lifted her shirt and patted her belly, making a loud smacking sound. "Would you like that?"

"I like it very much the way it is," I said softly, but my preference went unheeded.

"I figure if I can just work off about eight or ten pounds it would look flatter. And I'm going to finally start an actual savings account. So... things like that. Have you ever thought of any way to improve yourself?"

"I've considered beginning to learn a foreign language, perhaps Arabic or Korean, in order to sharpen my mind. Activity that stimulates a different region of the brain can have indirect effects on other regions. Languages that are more dissimilar to one's native tongue force the brain to utilize areas that are more dormant."

"OK. That's good. And what about..."

"I've also resolved to initiate sex more often, so that you have no cause to feel insecure about your attractiveness."

"Oh!" she replied, her eyes widening. "That's..."

"Though I'm still not clear how to do that without making you feel compelled to perform sexually when you would prefer not to."

"As long as I'm free to say no, then you're never compelling me to do what I don't want to do."

"But if you feel a sense of obligation..."

"Then I'm still ultimately choosing what I want. We talked about this in Ethics last year. We're each oceans of turbulent, competing desires. Nobody wants just one thing. Each individual wants a lot of things, and usually those things vie for the 'right' to make us act. So you're always choosing what you want, but only what you want the most. Like if I cut back on pancakes and waffles... which miiiight not be a bad idea if I'm serious about tightening up my tummy. I still want that syrup. But I also want a flatter tummy. If I choose not to eat, it's because the second desire was greater than the first, even if only by a smidge. I'm not denying my desires, I'm prioritizing them."

I listened intently, mostly amazed that Miranda had taken sex and waffles and woven them into a philosophical discussion.

"So when you initiate sex, and I'm not totally into it at that moment, but I feel a sense of obligation, you're not forcing me to do anything. I'm following my greater desire at that moment, which is to make you happy."

My eyes darted back and forth, processing and analyzing her logic. It seemed... sound.

"Besides," she said, lowering her voice as if we needed to be concerned about someone overhearing us, "I'll tell you a secret. Something that... uh... a wise friend once pointed out to me."

I leaned in, mostly responding to her own body language of secrecy and conspiracy.

"Nine times out of ten, even if a woman is just going along with sex and wasn't that interested, if the guy takes his time and is considerate, she'll be pretty into it before they're done." Then she leaned back and resumed a normal voice. "The body wants sex, and the mind and heart do, too, once certain obstacles are removed."

"You know I don't make distinctions between 'body,' 'mind,' and 'heart,'" I told her. "Mere semantic distinctions with no bearing on scientific reality."

Miranda held out her hands and shook her head. "All the more reason that I'm right! You can't fight the chemicals!"

I wanted to chide her oversimplification of what she knew to be a much more complicated and nuanced system, but her flippancy made it clear she wasn't trying to engage me at a scientific level.

"In any case," she said, standing up and collecting our dishes, "I'm happy you plan to initiate sex. It will be really good for you, and I'll be able to enjoy the benefits, as well."

I followed her to the sink and we began our routine of washing dishes. I noted that Miranda was much less clumsy with the water now.

"So, Deke," she began in a clearly more serious tone. "Do you think one of the reasons you are afr-... hesitant to initiate sex is because of what happened to you on that night you told me about?

The feeling of nakedness returned. It seemed to be a sense of exposure related to having disclosed my story to Miranda. Was there such a thing as emotional nakedness? The irony of feeling more exposed to her now, while clothed, than I did last night, while naked, worried me.

"You know..." Miranda prompted, "Your first sexual encounter, and the girl was being forced to participate... as were you, of course. I mean, doesn't that mess with you? Are you afraid that I might feel the same way as she did about being close to you? That my mind is saying no, even if something else is making me go along with it?... Because that'll never happen."

"I don't consciously think of it that way. I only know that when you used your mouth on me after the dinner party, I had difficulty not experiencing a high level of anxiety. It was dark, and my imagination supplied images from that night."

"Oh God, I didn't even think of that. We need to try to work on that. Maybe, if you feel up to it later, I can give you a blow job in the full light of day. And I'll give you plenty of other images to make sure your mind is focused on me. What do you say?"

"I... I'm not optimistic about it," I answered.

"But we can try, right? And if you get too uncomfortable, you can stop me at any point. I'll listen."

"Will you let me think about it?"

"That's not one of your think-about-its that goes on for weeks and weeks, is it?"

I sighed. It probably would be, if it wasn't Miranda I was dealing with.

*******

While Miranda made no further mention that morning of her desire to attempt oral sex, she was more physically affectionate than usual that day. Frequent touches of her hand, standing closer to me than necessary, unsolicited hugs, and an insistence on wearing only my gray shirt all day were all ways in which I could tell she was hoping to have my mind distracted by desire. If I had been planning to work that day, I might have been frustrated with her, but having no other plans for the day than to clean around the house, I found her teasing only mildly annoying. Or perhaps not even annoying, since it held the promise of something more to come.

"Let's go out for dinner," she suggested that afternoon.

"We don't have enough food here?"

"We're bored being here all day," she replied, slumping her shoulders and leaning against me as I folded clean laundry.

"We are?"

"Yes. We definitely are," she said. "Finish this up, go shower, and we'll have a nice evening out. My treat."

"Somewhere quiet? No crowds?" I asked, not sure if she knew how much I hated the noise and feel of a crowd.

"I promise. We'll find a place that nobody likes."

Though her last comment seemed facetious, she otherwise seemed determined to get out of the house, which seemed important to her. And so it was important to me.

"OK," I agreed.

"Yay!" she exclaimed, leaping up and shuffling briskly away. "I'm going to pick out our outfits."

My ears perked up at the mention of "our" outfits, but I shrugged it off, realizing that my appearance seemed much more important to her than to me anyway.

*******

The water for my shower was just beginning to warm up. I waited until the steam began to fog the mirror before stepping in. After a few minutes of washing, I heard a knock on the bathroom door. Not waiting for a response, Miranda entered the room. A moment later, she tapped on the sliding glass door between us.

"I'm in here," I announced.

"I know that, silly," she said, sliding the door open just a crack and putting her mouth at the opening. "I was hoping I could join you."

"I don't think I'd be very comfortable with that," I told her, rinsing out my hair.

"We do a lot of things you're not comfortable with at first," she argued, sliding the door open a bit more. I could see she was already naked. Leaning in so that I could see a breast, she said in a sing-song voice, "I'll bring my booooobies with me!"

"Well you can't very well leave them behind," I said flatly.

"I'll let you touch them..."

I tried to sigh, but the water in my face just splattered, causing Miranda to laugh. That sound lightened my mood, and I reached over to slide the door open. Miranda stepped carefully in next to me, even though there was more than enough room for both of us to stand and maneuver.

Producing a sponge that she had brought with her, she said, "I figured you wouldn't be keen on sharing shower supplies, so I brought my own. Now, can you soap me up?" By "soaping her up," Miranda meant more than just giving her soap. She wanted me to wash her body, an activity that was much more enjoyable than I expected. The way her skin felt while soapy and wet was a novel sensation. For some reason her body felt much better than mine did in the shower. I paid extra attention to her belly and breasts, and Miranda backed up against me so that I could wrap my arms around her while I washed.

As would be expected, I was soon very aroused. Miranda wiggled her bottom against my erection, then turned around and gripped it with one hand. Adjusting the water spray to a different angle, she knelt in front of me.

"OK, Puppy," she said, looking at my crotch, "let's see what I can do."

Moving slowly towards me, she kissed just the tip, then looked up for my reaction. She trailed little kisses down my length, using only her closed lips to touch me. She kissed all the way down to my base and then once gently on my scrotum. At that point, I couldn't see what she was doing, so I gasped in surprise when her tongue ran all the way back up to my tip. She covered me with kisses again, this time opening her mouth a bit and lightly teasing me with her tongue in between kisses.

My eyes were following her every move, and my hands pressed against the wall on one side and the glass door on the other. After a few minutes of acclimating my penis to being touched by her mouth, Miranda stood up, sliding her body along mine. I looked questioningly at her eyes, wondering if she had finished. But she giggled and said perkily, "Booby break!" Arching up on tiptoes, she pressed her breasts towards my face, and I eagerly kissed them. Her hand on the back of my head massaged my scalp and held me close as she urged me on with moans and whispers.

The break ended all too soon, and she knelt in front of me again. I was even harder than before, and Miranda slowly took me into her mouth with no preamble. She moved up and down, fitting a little more than half of me past her lips each time. Her hands held my butt cheeks and she would sometimes pull me towards her face as she tried to press more of me into her mouth. The sensation was quite pleasurable, as long as I watched her at work and didn't let my imagination or memory have room to work.

However, at one point, she pressed too far and gagged. She pulled away and took a breath, but that sound - the gagging and the sharp intake of breath - was enough to make me uncomfortable. It was too reminiscent of the sounds that young lady made all those years ago.

"I'm done, Miranda. Please stop," I said.

"No, I'm fine. Just testing my limits," she replied, pumping my shaft with her hand. "I'm going to practice and practice on you, Puppy, until I'm a blow job expert. It'll be great - all the experience, none of the regrettable encounters."

"Miranda... please!"

She looked up at me in surprise, the shower water running over her shoulders. Then she jumped up and pressed her body against me. "I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down. "I forgot." She looked so disappointed and dejected, that I feared I was in danger of ruining our evening already.

"Could we... keep going... with something else?" I asked, moving my hand in between her legs. Miranda squirmed and twisted at my touch. She looked up and giggled.

I pressed my lips to hers and she breathed out through her nose. Her hand gripped my erection once again, and pointed it towards her entry. "I've never had shower sex before," she said huskily.

"Me either," I joked.

Miranda laughed at that as she tried to line us up for entry. Then her face turned serious for a second.

"Wait..." she said urgently, pulling her hips back. "I've just been assuming that... I mean... there's no one else... sexually... that you're involved with, right? I didn't, like, open up this whole new world for you that you've been exploring with someone else, right?"

"No, of course not," I answered, unsure why that idea had even occurred to her.

"Good," she said, rising up and placing me at her entrance. "Because we'd need to have a whole different conversation about protection if that weren't the case."

"I can't even begin to conceive of relating to another woman in this way," I confessed.

"Good," she grunted, wiggling her hips and slowly sliding down onto my erection. "Now this," she said, twisting her face in exertion... "is one advantage," she pressed down harder, finally encasing me in her warmth, then sighed and smiled as her features relaxed, "...of being a tall girl."

Because my knees were slightly bent to make our coupling possible, Miranda did look tall. I knew she was only around 175 cm compared to my 181, but that was above average for women, especially in a culture where shortness seems favored.

The sound of Miranda's heavy breathing drew my thoughts back to the moment, where water was cascading over her shoulders and down between us. I looked at her wet breasts squished against me and instinctively squeezed the full globes of her bottom. Miranda's breath caught and trembled as I did so.

"Now," she whispered, smiling haltingly as her arousal seemed to overpower her, "Now we do whatever comes naturally." I pulled back to thrust and Miranda quickly added, "Carefully... I'm not stable like this... You've got to keep our balance."

I evaluated the problem, recognizing that an obvious solution would be to either sit down (which wasn't appealing), change positions (also undesirable in that moment), or...

"ooOOOWHOAH!" she yelled as I lifted her up a tiny bit and swiveled us around. Now that her back was against the wall, she was more stable, even on her tiptoes. That gave me the liberty to run my hands along her wet body, accompanied by her soft moans. Assured that she was sufficiently held up, I began moving in and out. The motion felt less natural than when lying down, requiring entirely different muscles. I found it less stimulating, and decided to pause my efforts while buried deep inside her. It was much more enjoyable to continue touching her body with my lips and both hands. Her thighs, her ass, her breasts, her arms, her neck, her face - all slick with wetness, all warm to the touch.

I found myself thinking as I touched and kissed each spot, "This is beautiful... and this is beautiful... and this is beautiful... and this... and especially these... and I've never noticed how beautiful you are here..." Meanwhile, Miranda grinded herself against me, her legs close together but spread slightly at the top. She wrapped one arm around my back and massaged my bottom with the other. "Don't stop," she whispered, "don't stop saying that." I realized that my thoughts had moved to speech at some point. It was easy to continue - every square centimeter of her body excited me.

I felt her walls clenching and releasing rhythmically. She pulled me tighter and waited for my lips to be close enough to kiss. Our tongues danced frantically for a few moments until Miranda pulled away and moaned, her entrance still pulsing tightly around me. I explored her neck and shoulders with my lips, rubbing her thighs with my hands. Miranda lifted one leg and tried to wrap it around me. I slipped my arm under it and supported her under her knee. That opening gave me a different angle to explore, one that made thrusting more possible. Miranda reached out an arm to the wall in order to support herself as I thrust upwards. I felt my procreative urge building, but I also felt too unsteady. Miranda was still crying out, still squeezing me, her hands gripping me painfully tight at times.

She pushed down with her leg, and I let her regain her footing. We returned to the position that had me buried inside her, unmoving. Miranda nodded vigorously to show her approval and resumed making small, forceful circles against me with her hips. She was gasping for air, each exhale a small cry. Both of her hands moved up to cradle the back of my head, beckoning me to look at her.