Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 02

I think as long as you love someone there is enough to talk about. But for Bobby and I, the longer we were apart the less we seemed to have to say to each other. I called Bobby the day after Tom and I had done the deed in my living room, and I felt weird about it, but I didn't feel...bad. I didn't feel guilty. Tom had seemed pretty business-like about the whole thing and when I saw him at the gym he pretended like he didn't know me, or gave me the briefest of waves and went back to whatever he was doing.

I talked to Bobby and we went over his days, what he was studying, the jobs he was already interviewing for. I talked about my lame secretarial job and how I was trying to find a place.

"A place?" he said. "Weren't you saving up for graduate school?"

I was but I wasn't sure if I wanted to do that now - if I even could do that now. So it made more sense for me to do one thing at a time. I didn't know if it was the right thing to do but I was going nuts trying to justify living at home with my parents when every day I was less sure I was an adult. So Bobby and I had a few things to argue about but we didn't really have much in common. The next week was his midterms so we stopped talking altogether.

It was also nearing the day when I'd have to decide if I could follow through with Tom's agreement. He said put myself on display and bring him a token.

You know, for about a week I was sure I wasn't ever going to do that again. I'd let him pay me for sex, and that was weird, and kind of exciting in its way. Would I? Then the next week rolled around, and I didn't want to call Bobby, and Allison had been going to the gym less since Sara got back in town. Mostly they wanted to smoke or hit the bars and, as much fun as that was, I was still trying to save money, which was hard to do when you were going out every night.

As the day approached I had to decide if five hundred dollars was worth an hour of sex. Was it worth it to Tom? That was something I was curious about. He certainly seemed to enjoy himself last time.

I thought about that as I got dressed. I slipped my socks on and squeezed into my panties. Then I stopped. I looked at myself in my nightstand mirror, with just my panties on and my fingers against my hips. Then I wormed my way out of the panties and went to my dresser. I pulled out my tightest pair of shorts: a purple spandex thing with silver piping. I'd stopped wearing them and was actually going to give them away soon. Since I'd been doing squats and bends, leg lifts, and running more often, my butt had gotten rounder, firmer, and the shorts molded to my body in a way that was great at parties but drew the wrong kind of attention at the gym. What the hell, I thought.

I slid them up my legs and turned around as I pulled them over my ass. If I were wearing panties I would have had very distinct lines. But I didn't have the panties so there was just my ass and the material that hugged my inner thighs and...I faced the mirror. No, they weren't quite riding up my middle. But if I started jogging or doing sit ups these things would go...high.

I fished around in my underwear drawer until I found it, a sports bra from when I was in high school. I don't remember why I kept it; I'm usually pretty good about throwing that stuff away, but my bust had grown since my junior year. Not much, but just enough to make the material tight against my chest and push my boobs out. I finished the outfit with a white tank top. The black sports bra was very visible under the thin material and I looked like I'd just thrown together something and run out the door to the gym. As I spun in the mirror I saw that my cleavage was a little out of control. That's alright, I thought to myself, my ass balanced it out.

Gathering up my gym bag and walking down the stairs I guessed I was about to bring Tom home again. I opened the table drawer and pulled out the hairbrush. I stuck it in my bag and left the house.

* * *

When I got to the gym I didn't see Tom there, so I warmed up, did my stretches, then got on the mats and started working out on the exercise ball. I did a short, quick set of 100 crunches and then did some easy yoga stretches. Still no Tom. The gym instructors were passing by and saying hi. We both pretended they weren't scoping out my ass and I went into my squats.

I saw Tom at the free weights. He was working his triceps, so I worked my triceps. I checked the mirrors at the far side of the gym instead of the one right in front of us. He was using the mirrors on the other side of the gym to check me out. When I set my weights back into the rack and got another pair I glanced to see if he had an erection. Either his pants were looser than they looked or he wasn't affected. A few younger guys (I guessed they were tall for their age because they had that goofy emo thing going on) did not share his stoicism. They were gathered in a huddle on the gym floor and talking over the bench press instead of actually using it, and I could see them rearrange themselves surreptitiously. I smiled and left Tom, going to the thigh machine and sitting down to spread my legs and work out.

Tom saw that.

I finished my work out on the treadmill with a short fifteen minute run. I set the incline way up and tried to sprint the last four minutes. By the time I was finished my heart was beating and I was covered in sweat and Tom was working on the rowing machine near the door. I zipped open my bag as I headed for the door and I tossed the hairbrush on his bag. If he saw it happen he didn't betray a single glance. I just went outside and rounded the corner of the building.

Tom showed up about five minutes later and handed me his helmet. Inside was an envelope. I opened it and looked inside: five crisp bills. I stuck the envelope in my bag and shook my hair out, pulling his helmet over me and stepping behind him after he swung up on the bike.

He knocked the kickstand out and revved the engine. I squeezed myself against him and he put his hand on my thigh. We lit out of the parking lot like we were already late for an appointment.

* * *

When we got to my place Tom told me what he wanted me to do. He didn't want to see me get dressed, so I told him he could wait downstairs. He asked if he could have a glass of water, of all things...

I went upstairs and I showered (Tom said that was alright after I told him I didn't want to get my clothes sweaty). I shook a little as I cleaned under my armpits and my legs, going so far as to scrub between my legs until my wet pubes snarled against my clitoris. I got out, toweled, and walked to my room, glancing down the stairs and the bannister at Tom, who sipped idly at his drink and watched me pass.

When I got into my room, I rubbed down my hair (it was pointless, I thought, since I would probably be showering soon again anyway). Then I got a silky blouse, one that showed plenty of cleavage. And since I didn't see a reason to wear a bra, I was all but falling out of the thing. Then I pulled one of my shortest skirts off the hanger and stepped into it. I hiked it up over my hips until it was snug and then looked at myself. I looked ridiculous; hadn't put on makeup, had just come from the shower, and if my father (or Bobby) had seen me walk out of the house with my tits hanging out like this they'd tackle me to the pavement. I brushed my hair back as much as I could and then I sat down and put on a thin layer of foundation, then did my eyelashes and finished with a bright red lipstick (that's what he asked for).

When Tom saw me coming down the stairs it looked like he was about to whistle, then thought better of it. I padded down to him in my bare feet and he swept his hand over mine on the bannister.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"Mm." My heart was thudding in my chest. I didn't know what he wanted this time but I wasn't prepared for it, not mentally.

He drew his fingers through my hair and slid them down my neck. His eyes drank in everything, from my face, to my shoulders, to my breasts, down to my stomach showing between the skirt and the blouse, and my legs.

"We started off fast last time," he said. "This time..." he drifted off. He was fixated on my lips.

Without another word he took my hand and led me around to the couch. He pulled off his jacket and folded it, slinging it over the arm rest. Then he pulled off his gym shirt. I watched his pectorals flex and his stomach twist as he bent down to get his sneakers off. Then his socks (my pussy suddenly felt tickled by my pubic hair, as if the skin had suddenly come alive), then...oh.

Tom was already very hard. His long dick stuck out from his pubic hair like an angry red pike. He sat down on the couch, condom wrapper already in hand. I watched him get comfortable, then he tore the wrapper and rolled it down his dick. Before I knew it he had tightly wrapped it up in the white, lubricated latex. He crossed his legs and sat like a buddha on the couch.

"Is it alright if I'm naked on the furniture?"

I ignored him. "What do you want me to do?"

He patted his thigh and reached out his arms. I came forward tentatively, not taking his hands. I hiked up my skirt gingerly and shuffled over him on the couch. I grabbed his penis and angled it toward me when he took my wrist and gently made me let go.

"What?"

He squeezed my buttocks and brought me to a siting position on his thick thighs. My legs were splayed over him and my feet pointed up on the cushions. My head was above his and he was more or less eye level with my boobs. He smiled up at me.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yeah, I guess."

He reached up and touched my neck again, slid his fingers down my throat, down my clavicle, down into the impressive dip of my cleavage.

"Take them out," he said.

All I had to do was shrug and my tits rolled forward. I hooked my fingers into the loose collar and they fell the rest of the way. He reached for them and grasped them gently.

"Put your hands over mine."

I did. His hands were cool.

I was glancing down at my small hands over his large ones (each one fairly covered each breast, and I'm not small) and didn't realize he was waiting for me to look at him. When I glanced up he regarded me with little expression; but his eyes shone in the dark half light of the living room.

"Tell me about when you lost your virginity."

I could feel his dick against my belly, just above the curl of my pubic hair. He shifted a little and the head brushed up against the inside of my skirt.

"Did you shave your vagina?" he said.

"What?"

He shrugged, keeping his hands on my tits. "It seems like you would."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean," I said. "But yes..."

He waited patiently.

"You really want me to tell you?"

"Yes," he said.

I sighed.

"It was in high school. I was dating Tony Bra-" I stopped. "Oh my God, I can't remember his name. No. It was Tony Braccho. Tony Brogan." I pulled a hand off my tit and pressed it to my mouth. "What the fuck."

Tom laughed.

"Shut up! It's not funny."

He didn't stop laughing. "Not a good way to start."

"Well he wasn't that good."

"Who did you want to lose it to?"

I gave him a sidelong look. "I know you won't believe me, but I'm not a whore."

"I didn't say that."

"Well it's not like I fantasized about getting fucked all day."

Tom laughed again. "Guys do."

"Yeah. That's not a mystery."

"Can you put your hand back on mine?"

I had forgotten. I slipped my hand back over his and found that it had warmed some. And my nipples were getting harder under his rough palms.

"But I imagine - I could be wrong - that you had fantasies. Most do, guys and girls."

"Uh huh," I said. I squirmed down his thighs a little, rubbing the muscles of my inner thighs against his legs to get some circulation back. "Can you uncross your legs?"

He did. I slid back until my ass was on his thighs and his dick (still hard) was against my stomach.

"Who was it?"

I sighed. Why not tell him the truth? "You can't tell anyone," I said.

He smirked but didn't say anything.

"Right." I sighed again. "I had this fantasy that the guys' tennis coach would, uh..." Tom's face was turning red. I realized he was trying to keep from laughing. "Fuck you!" I said. I started to get up.

"I'm sorry- I'm sorry-" he said, not hiding his laughter at all. "It's just that, first of all, he's the tennis coach but, secondly, Righart was gay."

"Well duh, everyone knows that now," I said, awkwardly slipping my ass back against his legs. "But back then he was just this really funny, really young guy and he was really, really good looking."

"So how did you imagine it?"

"Well," I said, not really thinking about it, "I had actually asked him for some private lessons. Obviously he was the guys' coach but he would sit in for the girls - I think he used to be pro - and I actually tried to flirt with him. I thought I must have been really bad at it because he never even came close to calling me on it or getting uncomfortable, he'd just laugh and tell me to ease up on my swing or tell me I didn't need private lessons. But I finally got him to give me an hour after school and..." I think the only person I'd ever told about this was Allison. "I actually dreamed about this. I dreamed that he'd find me in the locker room before I went out there or I'd be all sweaty after he lobbed a bunch of serves at me and he'd catch me right before I got to the shower-"

"And then what?"

"Sometimes, I don't know, sometimes I'd imagine he'd be rough. He was never rough in my dreams but when I imagined it, later-"

"Later-?"

"Um, sometimes after school, I'd, when I took a shower-"

"You did it after that practice?"

I shook my head. I was embarrassed but all the heat seemed to be leaking down to my bottom. "I didn't even shower when I got home I just went straight upstairs and-"

"And what?"

I could feel his dick pressing against my stomach. I wasn't sure, though, if he felt the first drip leave my body and hit his leg.

"I touched myself. Oh, God, I was so mad. I was so mad at him for not wanting to fuck me - even though that's ridiculous - and I was so mad at myself for asking for the private lesson - I couldn't concentrate at all the whole time, I was too busy trying to flirt with him or bending over in my skirt. Oh my God, I actually did that!" Unconsciously, I'd started to rub my thighs against his. I wasn't even rubbing my privates against him; I'd just started moving back and forth; it started out as a way to keep my circulation going but... "That was the first time I actually put my fingers, uhm, inside myself."

"Really?" Tom's hands were slowly, very slowly, slipping down my breasts and skating down the silk blouse. He paused over the tan skin at my hips and kept going down to squeeze my ass. Instinctively, I rolled further into his lap.

"Before, I-ah-I just touched my clit but that day I had to have something- had to have something-" Did I realize too late what he'd been doing or did I realize it just in time. As I spoke I actually had reached down and grasped the tip of his cockhead. I found it slippery and hard in my palm, the whole shaft soon between my fingers.

"Had Tony fucked you before this?"

"Yes," I whispered. What was I going to do? I was getting very wet.

"How many times?"

"It was a few months before, I- we did it a bunch of times but it was just, it wasn't really anything. I kept waiting to feel something and I never did. He just put it in me and we went at it- usually expecting to get caught. We broke up."

"What would you do if Rihart had come to you in the locker room?" He was slowly pushing his dick against the taut skin of my belly. I was also pushing his dick against me with my hand.

"I honestly would have fucked him," I said. There wasn't a trace of uncertainty in my voice. "He was older. He was so good looking."

"But you had to masturbate to him instead."

"Yes," I said. I had begun to rub my pussy lips against Tom's thigh and he took that as a sign to lift my hips and hold me against his dick. When I pushed forward, he pushed forward, and my lips slid back and forth over the base of his shaft. "Yes," I said again, just to let him know.

"Remember what you wanted. Can you remember what it felt like?" he asked. His breathing was stertorous.

"Sort of," I said.

"When you put your fingers inside yourself?"

"Yes..."

"It felt different than when Tony fucked you."

I closed my eyes. I had bit my lip and reached out to the back of the couch to steady myself. I was already leaning farther back, arching my back, pushing my hips against him. "Yes," I said. I don't know how he knew but he knew. That day, when I'd fucked my hand, my fingers felt like they were sending electric shocks up my cunt. When I'd fucked Tony it just felt like there was something in me. That day...

Tom's cockhead nudged against my clitoris. I bit my lip harder.

"Imagine him."

"Okay."

Maybe it was magic, I don't know. But Tom didn't exist anymore. I shut my eyes tight and I remembered what Aidan Brighart looked like. His big shoulders (like he played rugby, football, something far more physical than tennis demanded), his rocky back (alright, I'd never seen his back but I imagined the muscles grinding against each other whenever he swung into a return), his gold hair - all the girls were in love with him. I was not the only one who wanted to fuck him and there were more than one who claimed that they had. "Lying bitches," I murmured as I trailed my hand off the back of the couch and searched through Tom's (Aidan's) hair.

"Tell him what you wanted."

I remember moaning it in my dream. I remember almost praying for it in my bed that day. "I want you to fuck me, Aidan," I groaned in a half whisper, half sing song. Tom didn't ask but I reached for his shoulder and leaned forward until his dick slid under me so that it was almost parallel with my pussy lips. "I wanted him to press me against the shower wall..." I said.

I suddenly had this dick under me. If I kept my eyes closed it could have been Aidan's. It could have been high school again; I could have been naked in the locker room, my skirt thrown over the bench and my feet sore and naked on the white tile. Tom wrapped his left arm around my body; his right hand scooped under my ass cheek and opened me, spread my thighs apart...

"What if someone comes in?"

"No one's coming," I whispered. I hugged Tom, suddenly remembered that my tits were out and then they squeezed against his chest. The naked skin on skin contact thrilled me.

"What if you tell?" he said in a low, low whisper.

I just went with it. I kept my eyes shut tight and nearly bashed my forehead into his hair. "I won't," I hissed. "I won't tell!" I was running my cunt back and forth over his cock now, wondering why he wouldn't put it in, furious at myself that I wasn't more in control. But suddenly all these feelings for Aidan Brighart were flooding back into me and the overriding one was a true, undaunted lust.

"You're a bad girl," he whispered in the same, low, snake voice.

"Yes..." I imagined being naked in that shower, imagined him in there with me. Imagined his cock thick and pink and clean. I slung back my pelvis as far as it would go and felt the cockhead poke between my pussy and drove my hips down on it. "Ahh, God," I moaned. Tom's dick plunged into me and I was now directly in his lap, nailed to him. I drove him in and out, the wet condom sliding easily up into my hungry snatch. He met me more than halfway, driving himself up with a sure, dominating strength. The way Aidan would have. The way Bobby couldn't. Fuck Bobby.

Tom pressed his mouth against mine then and I would have protested. Except I wasn't imagining Tom there with me. I was imagining Aidan kissing me like that, kissing me like he couldn't take his mouth off me, kissing me like I knew he wanted to kiss me; I was young, I was hot, I was ready, I wanted him and wanted him to want me and his dick was inside me - a sharp throb reverberated through my legs - and his dick was deep inside me. Oh, was he deep inside me. I kissed Tom back and I was the first one to put my tongue in his mouth. I imagined my lipstick was smearing against his cheeks (but that was all I let myself imagine with Tom). I found myself talking; I never liked to talk during sex.