We enter my apartment together: hands clasped, the heat between us rising with every step. As soon as the door closes behind me, Ben's lips are back on mine, his hands in my hair, his body pushing into me as I brace myself against the door, against the wall. The virtual darkness of the hallway robs me of the ability to see, and my other senses go into overdrive. We're doing it. And I have to get us further than kissing. My dirty fantasies are coming true.
Ben's roaming hands are everywhere, but to my mounting frustration, he isn't stopping anywhere long enough to allow friction to do its job. The layers of clothes dampen the effect of his touch, and I discard my jacket to grant him better access. I tug on the bottom of his hoodie, and both of my palms land on his abs.
The smell of Ben's sweat is no longer unpleasant. It fuels my frantic attempts to feel more of him. His hoodie soon joins my jacket on the floor, and so do our shoes, and both of our T-shirts. With our pants firmly on, Ben is trying to move us down the hallway and into the living room.
"This way." I pull him toward the door to my bedroom. He dives for my mouth, back at tasting me but not touching any other part of my body. My tongue slides up and down his and he swirls it around mine, exploring.
Our mouths remain linked when we stagger into my room. My fingers creep up and feel the light fuzz of hairs on his chest, I've been fantasizing about since my dangerous proximity to Ben's naked torso in the elevator. I follow the trail down his stomach. His skin is warm and taut over the hard muscles of his abs. I want my tongue to follow where my hand has just been.
I detach my lips from his and plant a kiss on his pecs, then another one an inch lower when Ben's hands intercede.
"Wait." His breathing is heavy.
What am I doing wrong here? Has it been too long? Have I lost my mojo? The only thing I've ever gotten from guys when I went for their crotch is 'more' and 'faster.' And that's exactly what I want. I groan. His lips are back, and his tongue is stroking mine, lighting up another fire. I burn and ache, desperate for more. I understand my exes because I want more, much more, and faster, much faster. We need a better position. I pull Ben onto my bed. Maybe I need to keep going with my hands, I'll show him, I can make him feel good. I return my fingers to the spot where his happy trail disappears under his jeans and move the belt.
"Slow down." Ben says against my lips. "I'm supposed to be leading, remember?"
If my hands can't access more of him, how about I offer more of me to his touch. My bra is in the way, and I tug one hand out of Ben's and move to undo my front clasp, but Ben stops me.
He interlaces our fingers again and lowers his face down to mine. What's going on? I love the kisses but why aren't we moving past them? What am I missing here? I lean my head back and away from his searching lips.
"Why are you stopping?" Ben asks.
Exactly my point.
"Why are you"—I jabbed my chin into his chest—"stopping me?"
"Not stopping. Slowing you down. I would prefer we don't rush." Ben closes the distance between our lips. "Can we re-focus on kissing?"
"Just kissing? Again? How about second base?" How slow are we going?
"It's not a race." He moves his hands to my lower back. "Let me appreciate this stage a while longer."
Not a race, he says. Damn. Lust is a powerful feeling. Powerful enough to treat tonight precisely as a race. When was the last time bringing a guy to my bedroom didn't lead to sex? Ten years ago? I know what's wrong. How didn't I get it earlier? I break away from Ben and bury my face in my hands.
"I'm sorry." Taking it slow didn't even cross my mind. Selfish. I'm selfish and dumb and I was supposed to be the one helping him. Guiding him. Making him comfortable, not getting myself to the finish line. "I shouldn't have rushed you." His first kiss was three days ago, and I'm trying to have sex with him. "I forget all of this is happening to you for the first time."
The cool air between us reminds me of the wall we've broken through several days ago. I hate that wall. I don't want the wall back.
"I should go home." Ben angles toward the door when I put my fingers on his shoulder.
"Don't go yet," I ask. "No more rushing. I promise to take it at your speed." Keeping things at his pace is going to be an exercise in patience. "Just lie down, and we can hug for a while, be next to each other."
"Just lie next to each other? Is it something people of our age even do?" Ben sounds skeptical, and he has good reasons. If I could have my way, we would be doing a lot more than lying next to each other, but I'm committed to slowing it way down.
"People do it at any age. It's called cuddling, Ben," I say. "We can lie in silence, or you can talk about something if that would make you more comfortable. I was hoping to learn more about your parents, or anything else you wanna tell me. Sounds good?"
A desire to be next to Ben reminds me of my early dates with my first boyfriend, Alex. My sixteen-year-old self spent every minute of the day thinking about being physically near him. It's the same with Ben. Even stronger, if that's possible. His presence makes my skin tingle. Keeping him close to me for a little bit longer is a need, not a want. I'm not ready to let our night together end.
I tug him to my bed and this time he doesn't ask me to wait. We lie on our sides, facing each other, and Ben is a good arm's length away. I move closer, cutting the distance in half, allowing him to make the final move. He inches to me, our noses touch, and I inhale the smell that is Ben, my arm ends up on his waist and his sneaks up onto my hip, and its weight is welcome. We breathe in each other's air, feeling each other's skin under our fingertips, and at that moment, it's more than enough. The precious feeling of calm, ease, and surrender envelops me and lulls me to sleep.