Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 06

I pushed my mouth into her soft, clean pubic hair. Suddenly I was kissing her pussy, and Allison let out a bright growl. I squeezed her ass playfully and pushed her back onto the couch. I crawled up after her and began to lick, and then kissed, and gently touched.

She brought her knees up to my neck. "There..." she said, and swallowed the rest of her words. I swallowed her flowing juice. It turned me on just to be naked with her, and I still didn't consider it strange. I mean, yes, eating out my best friend, yes, it was not the norm for us. Never would be. But the two of us, in a soft, open way, had combined our fiery loneliness and decided to do something about it.

Allison's fingers brushed my hair and pulled me gently up. "Come here," she whispered. I kept my fingers on her clitoris and slid up on the couch. She kissed me, taking special care to lick the juices from my lips. I grabbed her breast, the way Tom would have, and squeezed her harder. She moaned, and combined with my fingers dancing on her pussy, that was enough to make her sigh and clench her legs together. "Yes," she said, kissing me, kissing me deeper. She came quietly, and when she did we held each other. She shuddered. Her legs wrapped around mine and I rocked her into the cushions until the waves ebbed.

"Fuck," said Allison. She opened her eyes wide. Then she gave me a hard look. "Alright, missy, well if we're going to do this lesbian shit then you might as well get a good fucking too."

Her earnestness made me giggle, and soon we were both tangled together on the couch, she working to remove my panties and I giving her heavy breasts another round of hungry kisses.

Allison groaned as my panties landed on the floor and slid her hands down my waist. "Dominate me," she said.

"What?"

"Do it. Sit on my face."

I'd never expected this from Allison, but I wasn't about to deny her. It took us a moment to figure out the best configuration, but we finally decided that if she laid straight on the couch and I kept my hands on the armrest and straddled her head with my knees, I could lift myself off without hurting her.

"Just don't fucking smother me," said Allison between my thighs.

"You do a good job and I might not be able to help it," I said.

"Ho," Allison mumbled, and suddenly I couldn't see her. I couldn't see anything. Allison must have eaten me out the way she'd always wanted a man to eat her. One minute she was grumbling and the next minute I felt like my pussy was on fire. She nibbled at my clit, reaching up to balance my ass and drag my labia over her nose. My knees sank deeper into the cushions and I had a black, sinister image of her parents coming home to the horrible stains we were leaving on this cushion. That was soon knocked out of my mind by the bright white pleasure of Allison's fingers and face.

I rode her. I rode her tongue and pictured Tom watching me from the foyer. He'd love to see me like this, nipples hard, body covered in sweat, Allison beneath me giving me the best oral sex I'd had in my life. She was good, I'd say even better than Tom, and that was one hell of a benchmark. I came hard and quickly, rubbing my pussy into my best friend's face.

I climbed off of her and climbed back on top of her, the two of us sharing the couch, covered in nothing but sweat and cum. Allison smiled at me and then shook her head.

I wanted more kisses from her. I took them. We slid our bodies together, the sweat making it even better, more lubricated. Our legs entwined, and we brought our vaginas together in hot, shivering rhythm.

"You're good at this," Allison told me between my teeth.

"Shut up," I said. "Get up on all fours."

"Mmm, that's it." Allison slid out from under me and got up on the couch. However, we both soon tumbled off the side, thankfully landing in the quilt. "Okay, try again," she giggled. She got up on her hands and knees and wiggled her butt at me.

I sat up on my knees and slid my fingers up into her snatch. The first thrust brought a cry of longing from Allison's throat. The second thrust brought a spanking with it. "Fuck," Allison groaned. "That. Do that... Do that again."

I alternated fingering her and spanking her ass, and Allison threw back her hair and gasped. "I feel drunk," she said. "Go..." She lowered her head. "I have a dildo in my room. Go," she said, "go get it."

"Are you sure?" I said.

"Honey I haven't been fucked in months. Please, don't ask me to ask you to fuck me again." I gave her ass a firm smack. "Unh!"

I found it easily and used it on her. It was hell on my wrist and I was clumsy with it, not wanting to hurt her and never using one on someone else before, but it was more the act itself than the penetration that got her off. And when she was finished, she did the same for me, only I preferred to lie back and let her gently ease it up and wiggle it around in me. We both came, several times, and it was awfully dirty.

And a lot of fun.

When we were done we stripped off the couch covers and dumped them, with our clothes, into the washing machine. We showered together, not without a few kisses and gropes shared, and when we were done, and drying our hair and getting our clothes back on, we both felt much better.

By the time her parents came home we were sitting on her bed, the television on but neither of us watching.

Allison had not lost her mischievous smile all afternoon. "That was nice," she said quietly.

I nodded.

And then she sighed. "I think I would turn gay for you, you cunt." That set us both to laughing, and we snuggled. We ended up falling asleep together, and in the morning we reset.

We never had sex again, though Allison and I would make out from time to time, in the successive years, when either or both of us was feeling particularly lonesome, or sad, or horny, or drunk. I loved her deeply, and I was glad to see, as time went on, Allison break away from her former shell. She didn't quite give up acting but she persuaded her parents to send her back to school and get a Communications degree. She did, I'm not happy to say, get back together with Ryan a few months later. That's how these things happen, I guess, and she's still with him today.

Before I left that morning I asked Allison if she knew where Tom lived. And she did, and was willing to give me his address. I thanked her for that, even though both of us knew it might not have been in my best interest. She asked if the great sex was the price she paid for giving that information up. I assured her that the great sex was great sex, and no one could take that away from us. She called me a "ho," which was fair, and we kissed goodbye.

The kiss was on the mouth, not unusual, with tongue, a bad habit (one I did not correct).

* * *

He lived downtown, near the water. That's not too specific, since so much of this town is by the water. I buzzed his apartment. And I had to wait a minute before a tired voice buzzed back. "Who's it?"

"It's me," I said into the intercom.

I waited for him to say something. He wouldn't ask how I found him; he was smarter than that.

The intercom buzzed. "If I told you I was busy," his voice crackled, "would it make a difference?"

"Am I interrupting sex business or work business?"

"Some kind of business," he said. "But I don't expect you'll leave unless I call the cops."

"I might go in an hour," I said. "It's cold out here."

He buzzed me in. I was too nervous to take the elevator, so I took the stairs. Even after so many years on the stairmaster, I still felt winded at the top.

I reached his floor just as I saw him shaking hands with two men in dark suits. They were talking quickly, and one of them noticed me. He nodded politely and slid a brimmed hat over his head. I hadn't seen a man wear a hat like that since I was a little girl and my father went to work. The last time hats like that were in fashion was the '70s (hadn't stopped my father from wearing them well into the '80s).

Tom slid a manila folder into the other man's hand, and with a quick goodbye they left his door and went to the elevator. The man with the manila folder looked at me but didn't say a word. The man with the hat said, "Evening," and that was all.

Tom waited for the elevator doors to close before he turned to look at me. He was wearing a buttoned up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, slacks wrinkled and loose on his hips. He looked tired and thin, his eyes were red and he had more stubble than I'd ever seen before.

"Have you been sleeping?" I asked.

"Not really," he said pleasantly. His eyes stayed on my face. And yet his whole body, from the moment he saw me, eased into an open stance, as if greeting me was a full body experience. He took a moment to peer back into his apartment. It was a loft, a wide open space, with a brick wall and a long desk, and one bright lamp by the bed.

We stood in the doorway for a long time. He didn't invite me in.

I watched him drum his chest with his fingers, and tried to imagine the thoughts swirling around behind his eyes. The drumming was a new one to me; Tom's hands always seemed so sure before.

"My place is a mess," he said.

"Big though," I said.

"I had to cut so many throats to get it," he said.

"Is that what you do?"

"Papercuts," he said. "I move a lot of paper around. Some consulting on the side."

"The way you say it," I said, "it almost sounds interesting."

The grin looked good on his tired face. "I can't let you in here," he said.

"Why? Your wife in there?"

"I don't have a wife."

"Girlfriend? Fiancee?"

He shook his head and shook his head.

"Because you're busy?"

"Extremely."

"I don't mind. I have some shit of my own to figure out."

"There's that, too," he added. "I'm not part of that. It's not fair to either of us. If you're here I guess it's over with you and Bobby, but it's going to take you some time to get over that."

"It has," I said, "and it's still happening. It's an ongoing process. But there are some things that need to start now."

"Like?"

"I'm coming inside."

"I won't stop you," he said.

I walked past him into the apartment. There was a coatrack next to a closet, and I hung my jacket on that. I hung my purse on it, too, and slid my boots off and set them beside his shoes. He watched me and softly shut the door, and I took in his sparse but clean living space.

Across from the long desk was a full sized bed, a rumpled black comforter askew on the sheet. He went to his chair and sat on it. The compressed cushions hissed.

There were few personal touches about, few things I could point to and say he had chosen himself. Most of it was exposed brick, steel fixtures, mahogany... I didn't see any paintings that didn't look pre-furnished, and the two that I did see were on the floor leaning against the wall. But on his desk, there was a framed photograph. A polaroid, actually.

It was of a girl. From across the room, it wasn't easy to see what she looked like, but it was easy to see she was in nothing but a skimpy pair of bra and panties. And it was easy to see her, easy to see the laugh emanating from her, to see the redness in her cheeks, her embarrassment diminished by the silliness she must be putting up with from the man on the other side of the camera. Tom made no move to hide it. And if he had, it would have been too obvious; there were no other frames on the desk. Just the girl, smiling, in motion. She was running, bent at an angle that wasn't particularly sexy, the picture caught in the candid moment.

I recognized the polaroid, though I had no idea how he'd managed to sneak it past me. Blame his sly hands.

"I'm thinking of going back to college," I said. "I've saved up enough money to enroll in a few classes. There's some places in the city I'd like to apply to, but it might take me a year of working before I get the credit to earn a loan. Do you like it in the city?"

"It's fine," he said. "I spend a lot of time working, and I'm not often here. You can check my fridge, there's almost nothing inside."

I nodded. "I can cook a few things. I usually get back from work around 4. I start at 7 in the morning, but I'm looking at some new positions. I don't have a lot of clothes," I said. "I mean, I don't need a lot of them. I can donate most of them."

"There's a closet over there," he said, and pointed. "I was going to build a gym last year but I somehow never got around to actually putting it together. If I sold that thing there'd be a lot of room."

I smiled. "Isn't there a gym right around the corner?"

He nodded. "Yeah but there's a nice one outside Lakeview. It's farther away but...it's worth it."

I pulled my shirt up over my head. I sat down on his bed, rolled my socks off my ankles, and balled them up. Then I pulled my pants off.

I got into his bed and I crossed my arms. "You can keep working if you want, but I'm tired."

He remained in the chair, staring at me like I was some kind of optical illusion. I smiled wryly and slid onto his pillow. It smelled, strongly, of him.

I listened to him get up, and where the floorboards squeaked. I heard him approach the standing lamp, and heard him drag his hand over the lampshade. "Will you be here in the morning?" he asked. He reached under the lamp. I didn't answer. I let him turn it off and slip under the covers with me. He put his arms around mine. He pushed his face into my hair.

"This might not work for us," he said.

"Maybe," I allowed. "Just hold me? We can fuck in the morning, I promise. After that..."

"After that?"

"Just hold me."

"Is that really what you want?"

For the first time, Tom and I lay side by side. He still had his shirt on, and his pants. Outside, the sounds of the city, the train on the tracks, the cars sweeping by. And the two of us, breathing, so loudly. Everything was telling us something. There were signs and messages everywhere. His hands on my bare stomach, his nose under my neck. And I eased back into him and warmed against his body. "Tell me you love me," I said.

"I love you."

THE END