Prom Night Ch. 05

His hips rocked upwards, involuntarily trying to force me down deeper on him with every thrust. I bobbed my head faster, trying to suck him harder through the burning in my cheeks. I was determined to make him blow. His hands fidgeted with purchase on the bed as he continued to thrust into the pleasure I was providing him, until finally when it seemed like he couldn't take it anymore he grabbed the back of my head by the hair and roughly guided himself home as far down as I could take it in my throat.

Then he tensed and whimpered as his dick shot spurt after thick, creamy spurt deep down my throat. Lost in the orgasm, James rammed his dick into me a few more times, and I tried to relax to take it. But after a while it was too much and I pulled my head back to let it slip from my mouth. I looked up at him and found his chest heaving with exertion. His fingers loosened their grip on my hair, and I grinned. I loved turning him on.

"Holy fuck," he finally breathed. "You really know how to say goodnight."

I laughed and kissed the tip of his deflating organ. "Let me stay, and I'll show you how I say good morning," I teased.

James tittered, "You're so bad, you know that?"

"Maybe," I smiled while I crept back over him. "But just for you."

He shook his head and softly kissed me, wiping his tongue across my lips to get the stray remnants of his fluid from me. Then he licked his lips and grinned. "Come on, you. If I don't get you home now, I don't think I ever will."

***

I wish I could say more happened after that, but the truth was that the power came back on minutes later, anyway. We blew out the candles and dressed, occasionally getting sidetracked by me running my fingers across his chest or him giving my ass a playful smack. Then he walked me to the door, my hair a mess from the passionate sex and my clothes disheveled while he wore only his boxers and a half-open dress shirt. We halted there just outside the screen door; the rain having settled into a steady drumming against the slate roof of the porch.

"I had a terrific time tonight," I said.

"Me too," James nodded, staring at me. "You know, maybe we can do this."

"I think we can," I said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. "I mean... I'd like to try."

James took my hand to his face and kissed my palm. "Me too. I'd like to."

I blushed, and he let my hand drop. Then he playfully flashed his eyebrows at me. I just about melted.

"You ever go to Secrets from China over in Hinkley?"

I blushed. "No."

"Well... Maybe we could go there sometime... I don't know, maybe like a—"

"—date?" I finished for him.

James nodded, his gaze not leaving mine.

"I'd like that," I said. Then he crossed the distance between us and kissed me goodnight.

The whole drive home I was giddy. It didn't matter to me that it was storming or that there were sizeable puddles in the road. I let my Plymouth charge through them, blowing little sheets of water this way and that like fireworks. He had asked me out; I couldn't believe it. What had started as a pretty shitty evening and an awkward conversation turned out pretty fucking awesome. It had gone way better than I ever could have hoped.

But don't forget, a voice inside me said, there's still room for it to get fucked up in the morning. It was the voice of reason, the all great grounder that would remind me we'd had a terrific evening together before. That I shouldn't get my hopes up too high. But something was different in him, perhaps even different in me. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was there.

The warmth of him—both emotionally and leaking out of me—accompanied me all the way home and stayed with me until I parked my car in the garage and headed inside. I tried to be quiet coming in, but there was a light on in the living room. I couldn't make my way to my room without passing the entrance to it, so I took a deep breath to control the grin plastered on my face and went in to face the music.

If I expected to get in trouble, I was to be greatly surprised. My father sat alone in his recliner, watching a rerun of Will and Grace. By his side on the end table between his chair and the couch, a half-empty bottle of beer sat in a ring of sweat. As if it had been there a while.

"Hi, Dad," I forced a smile as I took a seat on the sofa. I took a breath and then added, "Sorry I was out later than I expected."

My father said nothing, his brown eyes never leaving the television screen as he nodded. Then as if he finally had the courage to speak, he sighed and said, "Don't worry about it. You know that's more of your mother's rule, anyway."

I nodded, relieved that I wasn't in trouble. But something was different about my father; he wasn't the kind of guy to watch Will and Grace or, honestly, any show featuring gay people. His tastes, as far as I could remember, always lingered in the realm of anything from the original Magnum PI to JAG. But, figuring that this was lurking dangerously close to a discussion about when he caught me jerking off...and where my fingers were while I was doing it, I let the silence hang in the air. Waiting to see if he'd break it.

He bit his lip a few times, as if searching for the right way to lead into it. Then, finally, he told me, "The news was on earlier; I watched that. Then, after your mother went to bed, I was just flipping channels...and I found this."

I drew my knees close together, wishing I had just gone straight to my room. Hoping to distance myself from anything he'd say. The night had been so wonderful that I didn't want to have this conversation right now, especially when I could still feel James leaking out of me. Fortunately, my father took a swig of his beer and paused mid-thought, as if he could sense my discomfort. We sat there for a minute, both of us seemingly too afraid to make the first move. And I longed to be anywhere but on that sofa at that moment. This was not something I wanted to be real between my Dad and I.

He looked down at his lap, took another sip of beer, and then started again. "You know, it's an okay show, though... Just was never my thing, so I never watched it. But...that doesn't mean it's not okay, Dom."

"Dad..." I stared at the floor, the laugh track to the sitcom haunting me in the awkwardness of the situation. I knew what he was trying to tell me, but I wasn't quite ready to hear it. It was one thing to act on these feelings with James, to share them. But it was another thing, entirely, to speak about them to someone removed from the situation. Talking made them real. I wanted to tell him that, to express how difficult it would be for me to discuss this with him right now, but I couldn't. So, I said nothing more.

"It's okay," my Dad repeated. "I mean...they seem really happy. And that's all that counts." He trailed off then, his eyes still not looking at me. I knew he meant well and that he loved me, but I didn't think myself a strong enough person to confront the topic just then.

So, with moisture welling in my eyes—not quite tears but far from nothing—I swallowed hard and nodded my understanding. Knowing by his silence that this was a hard subject for him to broach too. Then I took a deep breath and said, "I'm really tired, Dad. I have to get some sleep."

I felt bad for closing him out when he was trying the only way he seemed to know how. But I didn't wait for him to respond; I couldn't. I left him there and went to my room. Not even bothering to turn back when he told me he loved me.

To Be Continued...