I shake my head and close the door into the bathroom behind me. His parting words on Wednesday morning were behind my spending an hour trying to decide what to pack in my overnight bag. My usual comfy PJs? We are not that comfortable with each other. And I want to seduce him, not lull him to sleep. The sexiest sleepwear items I own are a short lacy nightgown and sporty booty lounge shorts with a low-cut t-shirt. Both are revealing and short. Both seemed like a perfect pick when I put them into my beg. They still do. The shower washed away some of my fatigue. I let my hair down and I wrap a fluffy white towel around my boobs and tuck the end in, to hold it in place and stare at my clothes. I have to pick one. Dammit. How hard is it to choose one?
"Are you doing ok in there?" Ben asks from behind the door. "It's been fifteen minutes since you've turned off the shower. Do you need anything?"
"No. Or maybe yes. No, it's a no."
"Should I come in?"
I sigh. "OK."
Ben opens the door, takes one step into the bathroom, and stops.
"What seems to be the problem?" His eyes assess the clothes on the floor by my feet. "DMD again?"
"Yep."
He steps closer and examines the two options.
"The gown." His voice is sharp and resolute. Making choices looks effortless when he does it. "It's easier access." I'm not going to contradict that. He's thinking about access to my body. I shiver.
He picks up the gown and is about to hand it over when he looks up and sees me. His eyes scan the mess of my curls over my damp shoulders, the hollow under my throat, the top of my chest, the towel that loosened up and is sliding a little on the left. His eyes don't move any lower.
"Or this towel is also a good option." He drops the gown on the floor, and the kissing game resumes. His fully-clothed body presses against mine. My hesitation about what to wear or not to wear extends to my garments, but not to Ben's. His needs to come off. If we were to play strip poker right now, I'd lose instantly, and I need to level the playing field.
Removing his t-shirt is a piece of cake. The elastic waistband on his athletic pants is convenient for clothes removal as well. I tug it down and he pulls them all the way off. He has his boxer briefs on, and I am still wearing a towel. We're on equal ground. I hesitate, remembering how my impatience spoiled it for him last time.
But Ben's not pushing me away or stopping me. Rather, one of Ben's hands sneaks under my towel. That's way more than I was hoping would happen today, but I'm not complaining. I need some relief that's not done by my own hand. His creeps up the back of my leg to where my underwear would ordinarily stop it. I freeze in anticipation.
His lips move down to my neck, my clavicle, the valley between my breasts, where the towel impedes any downward progress. I want the damn thing off, but I let him figure it out. It's his speed I'm following today. Ben's lips retrace their way back up my neck. All my attention is at the path his lips are recharting up to my mouth. I'd rather they move down and explore my chest. His lips are back on mine. I'm into it, I'm tingling in all the right places, but I'm also distracted. I'm thinking. What's his next move? Why am I not doing anything? Should I undo my towel?
Ben's hand moves on from the back of my legs to their front and reaches the crucial point. The towel doesn't matter anymore. I rest my head on Ben's shoulder, bracing for what's to come.
What comes is not what I need. I might as well be a female anatomy model used for sex ed in eighth grade. I give him a minute to figure it out. Two minutes. Nope. Still not what I'm looking for. My experience has been with guys who knew their way around female anatomy. Not all were stellar performances but they were in the ballpark and did their job with minor adjustments. With Ben stage direction is a must if I am to enjoy any part of it.
The hesitation I've never experienced around sex sets in. I don't want to offend him. He wanted honest and open communication. Honest and open communication, I chant to myself. I lean away from his lips.
"Ben?"
"Huh?" His cheeks are flushed and his voice has the gruffness it had when I woke up next to him in the morning. It's almost good enough to make up for his hand. Then the hand moves again, and I reconsider.
"I'd like you to stop, so we can talk about what I want you to do to me before I get blisters."
"That bad?" His hand exits from under the cover of my towel.
"Truth?" I scrunch my nose and make an apologetic face.
"Yes, please tell me the truth."
"Not the best eff—"
"Sorry." He takes a step back and rubs his barely there hair with the hand that was not under my towel. He extends the other one in front of him as if it's been cursed. "I should 've started with something less complicated. I'm sorry."
"Hey, we talked about it—no apology necessary. It's very fixable." I take his excommunicated hand and tug him to the bedroom.
"Which side do you sleep on?" His side tables are pristine with no trace of the clutter both of mine have on them.
"The one by the window." He motions to the side opposite us.
I get on the bed, making sure my towel exposes as much of my bottom and legs as possible, and pat the place next to me.
"Let's begin. This'll hopefully be the best class of your life. Or the first one in the series of the best ones delivered by yours truly." I put my hand on my chest. "You ready?"
"Yes."
"Kudos on trying to get me off first—it's not always the case. Second, you have located the right parts, and you get that there should be friction, but that's not how I like it."
I take his hand and place it exactly where I want it. I guide his fingers in the rhythm, encouraging him every time he hits the spot just right, explaining the varieties of speed until he gets it. I'm thinking less.
"Oh, Ben, this"—my moan interrupts what I was going to say. Blood leaves my brain and pools low in my stomach. My last conscious act is to remove my towel. My body sings, and my vocabulary consists of yes, again, I just can't, ah, like it, that, more and an occasional fuck, with the 'uh' lasting as long as my exhale. I've created a monster. No one learns this fast, but Ben's tireless and keeps doing the things that work, with persistence I've not experienced before. It's paying off because I lose it. Between waves of pleasure, I catch that Ben's still wearing his boxer-briefs. I nudge him away.
"Did I do something wrong?" He's not banishing his hand this time but he sounds concerned.
"Nothing. Could you not tell I liked it? But fair is fair." I shift him on his back. "Let me know if you want me to stop and I will stop. But I think it's time for payback."
He nods.
I move to take off his boxer-briefs, but he beats me to it. Heat rolls through my body. Ben in shorts was an image I'm unlikely to forget. Ben naked is a revelation. He's lying on his back across the bed, propping himself up on his elbows, and I'm grateful to all the exercise he does. I want to lick him, but I restrain myself, aware how that didn't go well last time.
"Adequate?" Ben glances down at himself and then at my heaving chest.
"Uhu." I let my fingers do what my mouth wants to. I place my palm on his chest and run it against one then the other of his nipples. His chest is firm and moves faster up and down under my touch. I press onto him to lie down, and Ben complies. His arms fold underneath his head, his eyes on my hands.
My exploration continues across his stomach and lower. His breath hitches. I keep my movements going, and his eyes close. Yeh, baby, I do know what I'm doing. I lie down alongside him and find his mouth with mine. He shifts to enjoy both, and it doesn't take long for me to get him to the finish line. We're on the right track.
The cool air around us makes itself known after several minutes of post-release coma. I roll off the bed and head to the bathroom to clean up. Ben follows. We're naked, and it feels like that's exactly how it should be. My shower's quick and efficient, but Ben succeeds at picking up my nightgown, my booty shorts, and my t-shirt from the floor, folding them, and putting them into the duffle bag. When he's done with his cleanup, and we are both dry but very much naked, we crawl under the covers.
"I liked third base," Ben says when the lights are off. I press up next to him, finding a way to touch as much of his skin with my skin as I can.
"Well, we skipped the second one yet only reached base two and a half." I yawn. "But we have the morning to complete the remaining half."
"You are talking in riddles. Are you promising me oral sex in the morning?"
"I'm hoping we are promising it to each other if you are game."
"I'm game. I am definitely game."
Falling asleep on the five hundred count Italian milled Egyptian cotton sheets, naked, with Ben's solid body next to me might prove addictive.