The Tempest Tossed

Chapter Fifty-Five:

It happened two weeks before Christmas, back at her apartment as I suspected it would. We’d actually pulled off “dating” for almost three weeks. I was able to not act like a pathological liar and in return she was relatively calm and relaxed. There were minor arguments, but no major blow ups or drama- a rare success for us.

It happened moments after Santa Claus is Coming to Town ended, ironically enough. Who would have thought that Jolly Old Saint Nicholas was really an aphrodisiac?

I suppose it is stereotypically manly of me to put such a strong emphasis on the first time we had sex in years, but at least that’s proof I really am male. My dramatic outbursts and intense emotions sometimes threaten to prove otherwise I find.

I had my back against her couch, sitting on the floor with a cup of hot chocolate in my hand. It was cliché, but we’d never gotten to do anything Christmas-y as a couple. It was exciting and everything felt sentimental. She was slouched down next to me, my other arm around her, watching as Kris Kringle married whatever the hell her name is and they became Mr. and Mrs. Claus. I love how screenwriters can manage to turn even a childhood cartoon into a chick flick, don’t you?

Gabrielle laughed, never one for sentiment or sap herself. “Jesus… this is supposed to be a Christmas story isn’t it…? Not a modern romance…”

I smiled because I was thinking the same thing. I always wonder if we’ve known each other long enough that we’ve influenced each other’s brain waves, or we’ve just always been that much alike.

“I wonder if that’s a Versache gown….” I said pointing at the blushing bride “Mrs. Claus” on the screen.

She laughed and put her face into my side a little. “Oh my god…. You’re such a homosexual…”

I smiled. I embraced my inner woman. It exists in all men whether they like to admit it or not. I like to think I’m confident enough with my sexuality to ramble off designer names like the best of them.

“A fag could never make love to a woman like I can,” I replied.

She laughed again. “Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“Make love. That’s so cheesy.”

I smirked and looked over at her. It was cheesy…. But whatever. I’m sometimes a cheesy kind of guy- its good for the soul. “Make love, make love, make love.” And an immature kind of guy at that.

“Not a turn on….” She muttered, rolling away from me onto her back onto the intricate rug.

I smiled and took a sip from my hot chocolate. I spent 4 years making my family ask “What is wrong with him…? What does he need to be fixed?” and all along I knew what it was. I insisted it was Gabrielle. What do you know… I was right. I could have saved myself a few thousand dollars in therapy. I hadn’t felt happier than I had in the past few weeks. I felt like myself again… maybe slightly more cynical and bristly than I had been as an 18 year old, but more or less, myself.

I set the hot chocolate down on the floor and pulled myself onto my knees, walking on them over to her and straddling over her, looking down at her. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm….”

“Not a turn on you say…? Some women like it when men use romantic phrases like make love and… oh, I don’t know… you complete me…”

She laughed and closed her eyes for a moment. I loved when she laughed like that. She looked like a model in a fucking L.L. Bean catalogue when she laughed like that- gentle, warm, happy. You’ve seen them- sitting on a pile of firewood with their hunter green jackets and their golden retrievers- dimples around their mouths and sparkly, glowing eyes. I’ve been known to develop deep and slightly bizarre crushes on the women in L.L. Bean catalogues. They’re seriously the perfect women…. Outdoorsy, rugged, but beautiful, soft, and womanly. What more could a man want? Anyway…

She laughed and closed her eyes as she did, like I said, and then she said, “Oh god yeah Taylor…. Say it again.”

I smirked again. Her crudeness made me happy. I leaned down over her and held my lips to her ear, whispering in a raspy, sensual tone, “Baby…. You complete me… let me make love to you…”

She laughed and cringed, shoving at my chest a little. “I never want to hear you say those words ever again…. Especially if you ever expect to get laid.”

I raised an eyebrow. Interesting. A very interesting comment indeed. “Do I?”

“Do you what?”

“Expect to get laid.”

“You’re a man. And you’re a Hanson. I’ve known you all long enough to know how you Hanson men are… you’re all horny bastards…”

I laughed at that and leaned down, beginning to kiss her neck. We’d kissed a lot. We’d touched. At the risk of sounding like a 13 year old girl at a jr high sleepover, we’d rounded second base. And yet somehow the sex hadn’t come. I hadn’t been avoiding it… god knew I wanted it. But when you spent four years anticipating something, trying to remember how something was and how much better it could be now that you’re more… well, well endowed, it puts a lot of pressure on it. Somehow that pressure made it easier to resist. It made both of us more hesitant.

I began kissing her- first her neck, then her jaw, then her lips, back to her neck again. She let her hands wander underneath the back of my t-shirt, over my skin, her fingers resting at the waist of my jeans in back. Just her hands on my flesh made me erratic. I began speeding up my pace, sliding my hands down to her pants.

Let me tell you something about Gabrielle. She spends all of her time outside the house wearing these hideous long,, hippy skirts. I’m sure by now you’ve heard me bitch about them enough. She would be able to redeem herself if she came home and changed into jeans like a normal person would. Nope. Yoga pants. It’s really sad that I know what yoga pants are, but after the years of knowing her, I can spot yoga pants from a mile away. It sickens me really to think about because its so fucking… “crunchy”, but I learned a long time ago to let her do her own thing and only make fun of her BEHIND her back. I will say this, Yoga Pants. Your only redeeming quality is you’re easy to pull off. No buttons, no zippers, no bunching at the ankles- quick and easy, just how I like it.

I began to slide her pants down and usually she’d stop me- drag me to her bedroom as if it was some sexy endeavor. She always does that. I begin to undress her in the living room and then she forces a sexy smirk and begins to drag me to her bedroom as if that’s supposed to be a big sensual turn on, when really she’s just awkward and embarrassed about being naked in the brightness of her living room. Even though I think sex in the living room and actually getting to see her body in the lamp light versus the dark is exciting, I play along usually and raise an eyebrow and give some really suave line like, “Oh…. I see how you want it…” At least, I personally think that’s really suave. Then again, I think rose petal trails are suave too and I’ve been told otherwise a handful of times.

Believe it or not at that moment she allowed me to take her pants off, sliding her underwear down with then, pushing them off her ankles with my own legs. I leaned over her and began sliding my hands up her tank top. That’s also a nice part about dating Gabrielle- when she’s home she likes to be “free” and relieves herself of bras and other wordly shackles.

I have to admit something. I will never get over the feeling of a woman’s nipples under my palms. I’m a boob guy, I always have been. They fascinate me. Let me correct that. When Natalie had babies and had those huge ginormous nursing breasts? Those didn’t do it for me. I shuddered when she whipped those babies out. Regular nipples though- small, perky, carefree nipples- those I fucking love. It fascinates me that woman’s bodies are so different- that they have breasts! I suppose at heart I’ll always be a 12 year old boy looking at his first Playboy.

I slid my palms over her breasts, fascinated by the fact that she was laying almost naked in the living room and a. I was fully clothed and b. it was bright and I could completely see her. I loved it though and judging by the fact that her legs tangled with mind and her lips were parted and eyes closed, I believe she did too.

I don’t really remember my own clothes coming off. Isn’t that funny how sex is? You remember taking each article of clothing off from your “lover’s” body, but can’t remember how the hell you got your socks off. Unless you’re one of those men who like to fuck with their socks on. Public service announcement to all of you men.. what the fuck are you thinking and how the hell do your girlfriends ever get off? That’s right they don’t. Amateurs.

Eventually we found ourselves naked with the credits of Santa Claus Is Coming To Town reeling over the screen in the background and “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” playing through the television speakers. Skin against skin, flesh against flesh. I’m not ashamed to say how much I enjoy the sensation of feeling her skin against mine… sometimes that’s all I need. Okay, sometimes not.

My lips were pressed against hers and then her neck and then trailing down her chest, swirling my tongue around her nipple… but not for too long. I read in one of Natalie’s Cosmos once that women don’t like it when you suck on their breasts like a hungry infant. That’s actually kind of a relief to me to hear that they don’t. I always wonder if women get a little turned on when their children suck on their tits. How fucking creepy would that be? They’re nursing their baby and getting wet at the same time?

Alright, tangent… sorry. I think I’m getting nervous and awkward about replaying through all the bare details and finding ways to procrastinate the actual story of the penetration. I shouldn’t use the word penetration. That isn’t hot is it?

Her body was warm under mine and I kept lifting up my face to press my lips to hers every few moments like I couldn’t get enough. When they were apart from hers they ached. My chokers were pressing down against her chin as I rocked towards her and kissed her and I kept having to move slightly so that they wouldn’t get trapped between our lips mid-kiss… because that would be such a turn on I’m sure.

I slid my hands down her sides in a way I hadn’t in years- in a way I had only been able to do once- feeling every curve of her body, touching every inch. She was only mine at that moment- my territory and I’m sorry if that sounds really alpha male, but its an incredible feeling to have a beautiful women underneath you wanting you. Its intoxicating.

“I might have missed this the most…” she said quietly after a moment.

I smiled and lifted my lips from kissing the side of her jaw. “Oh really…? So you really do just want me for the incredible sex… as I suspected…”

She smiled and rubbed her hand against my lower back, over the part of my back that dipped in, then up over the back of my ribs. “Being with you. Close to you. It was a shame we only really got to… once.”

I should have been thinking about how yes, it was in fact a shame, but the fact that she referenced how we only got to have sex once, that one night, made me realize that this was my opportunity. She wanted it. I knew she wanted it.

I leaned down and attached my lips to her neck again because I was scared to say anything to fuck it up. I’m not a very good multi-tasker so although for some men it’s easy, kissing and touching isn’t a simple task for me. I have to concentrate on it.

I slid my hand down over her thigh, caressing it with the tips of my fingers, sliding my hand up higher with each movement of my hand, trying to gage her eagerness. She began to spread her legs more and I felt myself positioning between her. Oh my fucking god. My mind was spinning- swirling- sucking up my thoughts, fogging.

Everything was fogging. I thought I might remember each detail. I wanted to. I wanted to remember every jolt of electricity through my body, every motion of our hands, every sharp breath she took.

Instead I just remember pressing my face into her neck as I lowered down into her, gripping the base of my dick as I carefully guided myself in.

I’d like to tell you it lasted for hours, but I think I was done within about 10 minutes pathetically enough. The entire situation was overwhelming and my performance wasn’t exactly my best. I don’t know about her, but I however enjoyed every spectacular moment of it. It was nothing like sleeping with Natalie. Acting passionate towards Natalie is forced and uncomfortable and I used to feel I was constantly having to watch my own behavior to make sure I seemed enthusiastic enough. With Gabrielle, I have to hold back how much I love it. It felt amazing to feel that way again.

What surprised me most about the evening was that as incredible as the sex was, it really wasn’t THAT great. It was fucking orgasmic, sure, but it didn’t compare to dinner with her. It didn’t compare to holiday movies and hot chocolate with her. Sex with her didn’t and never will beat having her, holding her, knowing she’s mine. It’s simply not comparable.

With that said, I’m hoping for a whole 20 minutes next time. That’s not too much for a man to root for right? Premature ejaculation when you’re finally fucking the woman you love for the first time in four years…. That’s my life.