One Little Question

"This was not how I wanted the first time I said it to go. I wanted to... I dunno. At least bring you flowers or something."

The mattress shifted and suddenly Laura was pulling herself into my lap. When I opened my eyes, her face was directly in front of mine, and her eyes were watering.

"You already show me how you feel," she said. "I already know."

I half-laughed, my throat tight. "I love you, Laura."

"I love you too, Seth."

It may not have been the way I wanted to tell her, but that was okay. She still leaned forward and kissed me, and she still wanted me, and she let me hold her close and indulge in the warmth and comfort of her arms. I kept one arm around her waist, holding her in place so she didn't slide backwards off my knees, and brought the other up to her face, brushing her hair off her cheek as I lost myself to her lips.

"Baby?" I murmured after we'd been making out for a while.

"Mmm?" came the dreamy response.

"I still want to try doing it."

She opened her eyes and studied me. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Just... just let me see if it's still... you know."

"Gross?" she said helpfully.

"It's not gross," I protested.

She giggled and brushed her lips against mine. "If you really, really want to. And you're at least, like, sixty percent sure you won't puke on me."

"I'd say it's closer to seventy. Maybe seventy-five." I swallowed nervously. "Please don't be mad at me if I still don't like it, though."

"I promise," she said, then ran her fingers through my hair. "I know that's a normal thing that happens after chemo, Seth. My grandma couldn't eat black jellybeans after she had cancer, and she was one of those weird people who loved them."

I half-laughed. "Chemo improved her taste, then."

She giggled. "And even if it wasn't, even if you just didn't like going down on me, that would be okay too. Okay? I want you to know that."

Somehow, even though she'd maintained that point of view the entire time, hearing her say it just then was the comfort I needed.

"Okay," I said, then kissed her one more time before making her shriek with laughter as I leaned forward, slowly dropping her to the bed on her back.

Once she was there, I couldn't stop smiling. Nervous as I was, it was like a weight had been lifted. I kissed her breasts again, then ran my hands along her outer thighs and hips before pushing her legs up so I could pull off the tiny panties she was wearing beneath the flannel pajama shirt.

Then, after putting her legs back down on either side of me, I stared at her pussy.

It wasn't like I'd never seen it before. But knowing I was about to put my mouth there made for a different perspective. Laura had a beautiful pussy, with thick lips and a pretty little hole that was still slick with her juices. I waited, worried my stomach might turn again as I thought about licking her, but it didn't.

Which was my first sign that it was all in my head.

Not all of it. I mean, the aversion to licking pussy had been a very real thing. And the fact that chemo changed my sense of smell and taste was also very real. But something I hadn't thought to consider was time.

Because yeah, I'd loved ranch dressing as a kid and hated it after chemo, and yeah, I still didn't love ranch dressing... but I didn't despise it the way I used to. Most of my distaste for it was based on memories of putting something I used to enjoy in my mouth and having it taste completely different from what I'd expected.

"Would it help if I wasn't watching?" Laura asked when I hesitated, still staring at her pussy as I waited for the nausea that wasn't coming.

I frowned, then tilted my head to the side thoughtfully.

"Then you don't have to worry about making a face or something," she said. "I wouldn't be mad anyway—I mean, I know it's nothing personal—but this way you can be sure of it."

Which was true. So I nodded and she lifted her hands to her eyes, covering them as she waited for me to taste her.

I swallowed hard, then put a shaking hand on each of her thighs before lowering my head. My breath was coming in short puffs through my nose, but even as I drew closer, I couldn't... you know. Smell anything. It wasn't until I was in licking distance—literally at a point where I could have stuck my tongue out and tasted her pussy—that I noticed a scent of any kind, and it wasn't an unpleasant scent. She just smelled clean. There was a slight saltiness to it, something very natural and mild, and I frowned.

Amanda's scent had been much stronger. Or it had seemed much stronger. Or maybe I just remembered it that way. Suddenly, I wasn't really sure which.

I leaned in closer, then closer, then my lips were pressed against Laura's mound. She shifted, but didn't move her hands away from her eyes. I knew that because even as I poked my tongue out of my mouth and took a small, tentative lap at her folds, I was looking at her to see if she was watching.

It was only as the flavour of her filled my mouth that I looked away, my mind swirling with confusion.

It didn't taste bad, which was good. It didn't taste like much of anything. I'd expected something tangy or musky or salty, but there was no distinctive flavour that stood out or overwhelmed me. Frowning, I lapped at her again, then again, dragging my tongue along her slit until she moved her hips and moaned.

"Seth?" she whimpered.

I looked up at her. "Hmm?"

She moved her hands off her eyes, then looked down to see me with my head still between her legs. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," I said, punctuating the word by sticking my tongue out again.

She giggled. "Good. Because it feels... well. Really good."

I couldn't stop smiling.

I tried to since it made licking her a pain in the ass, but I was elated. She reached down, winding her fingers through my hair as she moaned and ground her clit against my tongue. I lavished the little bud with attention, trying to remember all the things I'd "researched" when I'd wanted to do this before. I alternated between licking her pussy and sucking her clit, getting into the feel of her skin and the noises she made when I did something she liked. And I almost couldn't believe it, but my cock started getting hard. My fucking cock got hard as I indulged in her, finally doing something I'd resisted for years because I was so scared of someone reacting the same way my ex reacted.

It was a goddamn Christmas miracle.

We talked about it after, me and Laura. About how so many things could affect the way a woman tasted; everything from her diet to medications to what day of the month it was. I mean, she taught biology and shit, so she had a better understanding of it than I did, but it made sense. I still assumed what had happened with Amanda was based on me being just a few months out of chemo and not anything about her hygiene or what she ate or anything, but it was reassuring to know that if things seemed to change, that was normal.

But just then, it didn't matter.

What mattered was making Laura come on my tongue, which I did.

Because that was what I'd always wanted. That was what my obsession had been when I'd wanted to eat a woman out so badly. I wanted to feel her clamp onto my head, to experience the way her pussy would tighten around my fingers, to listen to the cries of bliss as she arched her back and trembled around me.

And God, it was fucking amazing.

It almost felt as good as Laura sitting up when she finished and practically tearing my clothes off before pushing me onto my back. Almost, because once she'd done that, it was her turn to kneel between my knees and take my cock in her mouth. And it was while she was bobbing her head on my cock that I reached down to cup my hand around one of her giant breasts, groaning in appreciation at the feel of her hard nipple pressed into my palm.

"Your tits are so beautiful, baby," I mumbled as she sucked me, her gorgeous eyes locked on mine. "I love them so much."

She moved her mouth up my shaft slowly, releasing my tip with a loud 'pop' before wiping her lips.

"How much do you love them?" she asked.

I smiled, despite the fact that my cock was no longer in her hot, wet mouth. "Completely."

"Enough to fuck them?"

I almost came on her out of sheer surprise. "You'd let me do that?"

Her pretty lips curled up into a roguish smile. "I'm surprised you haven't already asked, to be honest with you."

So that was how I ended up with Laura's tits surrounding my cock, holding myself back as I thrust between them and then completely losing it when she bowed her head and took the tip in her mouth.

"Gonna come," I grunted, and she released the head of my cock and started moving her breasts up and down just in time for me to watch ropes of cum splatter her chin and neck and chest.

And honestly, she looked so fucking hot with my cum dripping off of her that I... well.

I fucked her like that. And didn't stop until I came again, which was after she'd come twice more.

What could I say? I was in bed with the most beautiful woman in the world, a woman who loved me and who I loved back, who accepted me, forgave me for my faults, and let me literally fuck her tits.

My cock didn't even have a chance to consider going soft before I was ready to fuck her again.

When we finally finished and I'd stumbled to her bathroom to get a towel to clean us up, it was too late for me to bother going back to my place. Instead, I curled up in bed with Laura naked in my arms, my heart full and my mind blissfully empty.

"I think we're on the naughty list," Laura mumbled out of nowhere.

"Huh?" I asked, already half-asleep.

"The shelf elf," she said. "He spies on people and reports back to Santa and I'm pretty sure Santa would consider the things you did to me tonight firmly on the naughty list."

"That's okay, baby." I yawned and snuggled in closer. "You don't need a gift from Santa. He'd just bring you something cheap and stupid, and I already gave you a pearl necklace."

She slapped me on the arm, but we were both laughing so hard it was a while before we got to sleep.

I should just take it off.

That's what I kept telling myself.

Take it off. Crumple it in a ball. Shove it back in the stupid muted pink bag it had come in, put the bag in one of the eighty bajillion purses I owned, and tuck that purse into the back of our closet. Then in January, when Miguel insisted we start the new year by clearing out the clutter and miscellany of the previous year, put that purse in a garbage bag to donate to the thrift store in Calgary. No one would be the wiser.

Except for whatever poor sap opened the purse and found a bag containing wrinkled red lingerie, leading them to wonder with mild disgust if it was unworn or not.

I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath in through my nose and letting it puff out through my mouth before opening it again.

"Why did I buy this?"

The mouth of the girl in the mirror moved in sync with mine as I whispered my lament yet again. Lingerie was not my thing. I'd told Olivia that countless times in the past. Every time Lacy Pleasures had a sale, she wanted me to buy something, and I'd decline. Or she'd end up with an extra-special-super-savings card and try to pass it off to me, and I'd tell her where to shove it.

Politely, of course.

Lingerie was her thing. My older sister had always been obsessed with pretty stuff. She was the one who'd loved makeup and hair and sparkles while growing up. The one who had multiple boyfriends, who got drinks bought for her every time she was at Whiskey Sours, and who loved me probably far more than most older sisters loved their younger sisters.

We'd never fought growing up. Or, well, hardly ever. I supposed every set of siblings have a few fights, but ours were few and far between. Instead of tagging along and annoying her and her friends, I was usually buried in a book, and Liv would come drag me out of my room to play with her. She included me in everything, making a point of ensuring I felt welcome and wanted and... well... loved.

I had an awesome sister.

But try as she might, I was always destined to be the introverted one. Liv was tall and outgoing; I was short and shy. She would pull me into her room and do my makeup as she chattered about boys and music and movies; I would try to explain the plot of the latest book I'd read, which I never seemed to do a very good job of.

She would always listen like I was saying the most interesting thing in the world, though.

Even as adults, Liv tried to pull me out of my shell. And sometimes, she succeeded. Like when we'd gone to Whiskey Sours a few years earlier and she saw me drooling over the hot bartender mixing our drinks. I'd never be able to truly thank her enough for hyping me up and plying me with the exact number of margaritas I needed to approach the bartender without making an ass of myself. Because if she hadn't, Miguel would have never asked for my number, and I would've missed out on the passionate, tender, caring man that was the love of my life.

Miguel.

I stared at myself in the full-length mirror in our bedroom closet, heat crawling up my chest and neck. I was ass-over-teakettle in love with that man. And he... well.

He was probably neck-in-neck with Olivia when it came to which of them loved me more.

In different ways, of course.

Because Miguel definitely did not see me as a sister. I stifled a laugh at the thought, pressing my lips together as I examined the lingerie I was wearing for the bajillionth time.

Before him, I'd only had a couple of boyfriends and Liv, despite being the main person in my life urging me to date, had hated all of them.

"You deserve better," she would tell me as soon as whoever I brought home to introduce to my family for the first time was gone.

"What's wrong with Insert-Whatever-His-Name-Was-Here?!" I would ask.

She would fold her arms across her chest, anger and hurt flashing across her face. "He just doesn't treat you the way you deserve."

"He treats me wonderfully."

"Every woman deserves a man who worships her," she would say.

And I didn't know what that actually meant until I met Miguel.

I didn't know what it was like to be with someone who loved me for how I looked, not in spite of it.

Growing up, I'd always been chubby. For years, I tried every diet I could think of. I tried working out. I would go out for dinner and then come home and sob, wondering why all my friends could eat an appetizer and an entree and a dessert without ever seeming to gain a pound, and I couldn't eat one without feeling it pile onto my hips and belly and ass. Liv would try to tell me that there was nothing wrong with my weight, that it was okay to be curvy, and I tried to believe her.

I tried.

But the world isn't always as nice as your sister is, you know?

It wasn't until I was in my early twenties that a doctor finally believed me when I brought my food journal in and broke down in tears, explaining how hard I was trying to lose the weight they kept telling me I needed to lose. It wasn't until then that they tested my hormones and did some scans and told me I had PCOS, and that was why I'd always had a hard time losing weight. With a bit of medication and guidance, I started to see some results, but the chances of me ever being thin were...

Well, close to zero. Especially when I said that enough was enough, that I shouldn't have to spend so much of my time dieting and exercising how I was, even with the medication. Liv had celebrated that day because she'd been trying to tell me that for years, but it's a lot easier to say those kinds of things in a normal-sized body like she was.

I'd never quite gotten to a point where I loved my body. I was smaller than I used to be thanks to the medication regulating my hormones and all that, but there were still years of horrible thoughts stemming from the horrible words people said about me to undo.

But I was at the point where I didn't hate my body. And that was progress. It wasn't perfect, but it was a lot less painful than it was to despise how I looked.

Miguel, on the other hand, loved my body. He loved it now as much as he had when it was a little bigger, before the medication had helped me go down a few sizes. He loved it when I wore jeans, and even more when I wore skirts, and when I was naked... whew. I'd never had someone look at me the way he did, like I was perfection personified.

Like he couldn't get enough of me.

It astounded me some days, honestly. Miguel was... I didn't even know if there was a strong enough word to describe how phenomenal he was. He was born in Brazil, but his family had moved here when he was a kid. So while his parents had strong accents, he didn't speak with much of one unless he was talking to them, usually in Portuguese. He had warm brown skin, sparkling brown eyes, and a wide nose that I absolutely adored. His hair was a bit curly on top, but he kept the sides cut short, and he usually had neatly trimmed scruff on his cheeks and chin. Add in strong arms and a broad chest and just the nicest ass you've ever seen on any guy ever, and that was Miguel.

That was my man.

My perfect, gorgeous, absolute panty-dropper of a man. On my more self-conscious days, I marvelled at the fact that someone as beautiful as him was with me. Not that I ever said that out loud; Miguel would have hated hearing it.

Miguel would have hated hearing the thoughts I was having just then, too.

I bit my lip. The girl in the mirror did, too, and mimicked me as I brushed my long, black hair over my shoulder. Part of me could understand that I was arguably not unattractive. I did have nice skin and pretty eyes and shiny hair. And my body was... was...

I grimaced.

I wanted to say my body was beautiful. That my hips were wide and soft and curvy. That my ass might have been on the larger side, but it was round and perky. Or that my breasts had a lovely shape and big, pretty nipples and enticing cleavage. And that the red babydoll-and-thong lingerie set I'd let Olivia and Candice and Trish talk me into buying looked amazing. I wanted to tell myself it contrasted both my hair and my skin, and when I added the pink lipstick I'd smeared on before standing in front of the mirror, I almost looked like a naughty version of Snow White or something.

But when I looked in that mirror, what I saw was dimples on my thighs. Stretch marks on my ass. Breasts that were too saggy for someone who was only twenty-seven. And that belly.

Always that belly.

"I should just take it off," I said to myself.

But I didn't want to.

I wanted to wear it for Miguel. I wanted to feel pretty and desirable. I wanted all of the contradictory feelings to go away. Wear it because I wanted to look sexy. Not wear it because I doubted I could. Keep it on and tell those intrusive thoughts where to stick it. Give in and take it off and go back to the comfortable flannel plaid pajama pants and racerback tank top I usually wore to bed.

How one person had the capacity to feel so many opposing things at once was beyond me, but overachiever that I was, I somehow managed.

I swallowed, trying to soothe my dry throat. This was something I could do. Miguel loved me and my body. It didn't matter that I was only seeing stretch marks and rolls; he would see something entirely different. And he was going to be home soon. He'd texted me to say he was just finishing up his closing tasks and that he'd be on his way. Then I could just seductively walk out of the bedroom and go up to him in the kitchen and—

"Nope," I said, then turned on my heel as I started trying to untie the front of the babydoll. "Nope, nope, nope."