Electric

After months of video dates and a great deal of back-and-forth over the decision, we agree to meet, planning carefully to protect his immuno-compromised health. We quarantine seriously for a full 14 days, then we’re each tested twice, each found negative twice. All this to pretend for an evening that the world is not burning around us, both for good and ill. We are desperate to make this true for ourselves, even just for a few hours, to revel in touch and in what it can reveal between people.

We’ve shared much in the meantime: my background in dance, his in music; an appetite for politics, which we both work in. We tease one another over our preferences for opposite coasts, ultimately a joke on both of us, since we currently reside in Madison, Wisconsin. I assure him the town has much more to it than what he’s seen so far—he arrived just weeks before safer-at-home orders went into effect. We plan dates to my favorite restaurants, nights out at small local arts events I know, a drive through the stunning, hill-rich Driftless Area to the west—when all this is possible again, of course.

We’ve also shared more intimate details of ourselves. Past relationships and what we’ve learned from them. His unusual appreciation for lingerie, he wants to linger over what most men just want to take off. My recently found enjoyment of a bratty sub role, asking for and insisting on permission for certain desires. Photos, too, by request, lightly artful abstractions of ourselves. He wants a single breast in profile, the curve of its weight on my ribs, or my collarbone, neck stretched long and languorous above it. I want his jaw in a five-o-clock shadow, punctuated with a sly dimple. I want the bulge of his hand down his pants.

At last, our two week quarantine ends, and we’ve planned a late afternoon date. The hours creep by impossibly slow. I shower and lotion, enjoying anew my light curves, thinking of how his hands will meet them soon. I pull on some lingerie I think he’ll like, finding my nipples already plump with anticipation. I tie up my unruly curls, even as I imagine him tugging them back, loosing them down and over my neck. I make myself up for the first time in months—dark eyes and bright lips, then a spritz of a sultry perfume I’ve missed wearing and a small black dress cinched around my waist. I don some black heels and my wool dress coat against the dry cold outside and head out the door, realizing as I lock up that this will be the first person I’ve touched—actually touched—in months.

It’s a quiet few city blocks’ walk over to his place, mask secure over half my face. Incredible that he’s been so close all this time. He is waiting for me in the lobby, also masked, opening the door with his elbow and inviting a brush up against him as I enter, which I take. A shiver passes through me.

“Well, hello,” I smile. We are both giddy with disbelief, eyes mischievous above our masks.

His cologne is woodsy with a gin-sharp edge, and he walks me to the elevator with his hand gentle yet electric on my back. We stand on opposite sides of the elevator, taking one another in, and can't help but grin and ogle, finally sharing space and feeling our hum of connection across the small car. We attempt niceties ("so, how was your day?" "how was the walk over?”), only to interrupt each other and laugh a little nervously at how little we in fact care about the answers to these questions. Entering his apartment, we swiftly remove our masks and wash our hands and forearms, our respective perfumes mingling from the friction over his kitchen sink. There’s easy, sweet music playing in the background.

And then that quiet, dangling moment as we wonder together what exactly is next, and how. It’s the waiting and withholding game we’ve been playing, now at a hot crux, and I flush with want. Though we’ve played a bit at sex by texts and photos exchanged, having it before us now is suddenly baffling. Was this a good idea? Do we in fact…?

I can feel my eyes shining as I look up at him, my mouth doing that anxious half-smile of anticipation. And then I just do it: lean over to kiss him, at which he pulls me in to him, against his warm broad chest I'd been imagining, his heart pounding through his dress shirt and his hands finding their way around my waist, then my breasts. It does feel right and good chemically. We have something. I pull back for a moment.

"Sorry, I—" he starts, but I smile and shake my head—“I’m glad you did,” I assure—then take a step back and loosen the tie around my dress. It falls open and down over my heels to a puddle on his kitchen floor, revealing the lacy, black, floral one-piece below, thighs cut high over a g-string and its balconette just containing my breasts. His eyes widen as he takes it in, then look back up at mine, incredulous and desirous at once. I let out a little laugh, then take his hand and lead him over to the couch in front of his window, letting him appreciate the high-cut rear view on the way over. I sit him down and straddle him, remove his glasses and set them aside, kiss him again as I unbutton his shirt a bit, nip at the jawline I've ached for over our video calls.

The music slows as I lower myself down over him, holding his wrists to his sides before freeing one to unbuckle his belt and open his pants. I glance up to see his eyes wide, his head shaking a helpless "no," but I just smirk and nod playfully in return, feeling his cock already hard and hot through his black boxer briefs, just under my chin. I yank his pants down just enough and find the pre-cum starting to bead at the top of his cock. I blow on it, gently run my fingernails down his inner thighs, then begin to kiss and lick his cock, making my way slowly over its inches and sides before taking it fully in my mouth.

At which he drops his head back and groans. I play with him for several minutes, deep-throating his full length here and there to grunts and jerks from him. He looks down at me, still in my lingerie and heels, with my hips rolling gently to our rhythm in the fast-darkening window behind me. It overlooks the downtown’s Capitol Square, catches sunset edges and afterglow as he watches my curves through the lace, my skin now reflected in the glass as I greedily suck and blow.

I take a moment to catch my breath and run his cock down my breastbone as I look up at him, at which he swoops forward and lifts me up off the ground. Now he grabs at me more confidently, walking me backwards into his bedroom as I claw to remove his shirt and drop his pants to the ground. He pulls down one strap of my lingerie and bends down to kiss that breast, pulling just slightly with his teeth over the nipple. He burrows his nose through the lace over the other breast, his tongue finding the other nipple. Then he lays me back on the bed, hovering over me, his weight on one elbow to my side, his other hand slipping the piece’s g-string aside to find my clit, feel the wetness just below it, roll it around there with his fingers. He ducks his head for just a moment to blow on me and give the gentlest licks and sucks on my clit, then clambers back up to watch my face as he continues with his hand.

For several minutes, I shiver and squirm under his touch, biting my lip and whimpering with want. He ducks down again to more aggressively lick at me, pushing his tongue inside and shaking his head side to side while roaring some little exclamations into me, their vibrations carrying me higher until I’m panting and clutching at my chest. I make some breathless joke about having found new gratitude for his musical training, and he laughs into me: another delightful sensation.

Another minute and he pulls back, kissing my inner thighs on his way and peeling off the rest of my teddy; he leaves the heels on, then stands and grabs something from his dresser. I presume a condom, though we’d already talked about our most recent (and clean) tests and my IUD, but I go with it. He enters me slowly, stretching my insides patiently, even when I try to pull him in faster.

“No,” he gently chides. “This is what you said you need at first when it’s been a while…” he pushes in again, “so this is what you’ll have.”

I nod thanks, and we slow down for a minute or two to catch our breath and appreciate one another’s gaze and closeness, the heat and softness of our skin meeting, the light slick of sweat starting to build on both of us.

Slowly, we increase our rhythm, begin to pant with the effort. He pauses, his hand firm on my hip, and flips us over with hardly a beat missed, so I am on top. I roll my hips gladly over him, sitting upright and pulling my hair back quickly, my breasts lifted and bouncing over him until I have use of my hands again. They quickly find his chest, my fingernails pulling lightly through the hair there as I grind against him, building and building some pressure between us, breath quickening and—

He reaches down to his cock, does something, and I realize what he’d pulled from his dresser. It vibrates under me, pushing me almost instantly over the edge after all he’d built up in me already. But I pull him up under me, so he is now sitting, too, and kiss him in gratitude and mischief and—

“That’s it,” I cry. I clutch at his back, his shoulders, his neck, as I keep rolling over his cock, incredulous at the— “Ohhhhh.” I feel I’ve nearly bitten straight through my lip, so I just shout, filling the room as I come, him just following me through it, looking up from between my breasts for any direction I might give, which I can’t because the feeling is absolutely perfect in that moment, my legs shaking and back arched and everything helpless, given over….

He reaches down again, turns off the cock ring, and deftly slips if off and out from under me as I roll down to the bed, panting and dopey and starry-eyed at him, his generosity and skill. He lies next to me for a few gauzy minutes, tracing his forefinger around the curves of my waist and breasts as I gain control of my breathing again, let out a happy sigh. I turn toward him on my side, smiling.

“That was a good trick,” I say.

“Well, I remembered something you told me in one of our, um, racier video chats. So I placed a little online order, and...”

“Mm, thank you,” I respond. “And now... I want you in me again.”

“Well, that’s good,” he returns, “because I want to be in you again.” And he slips back into me, balanced again on his arm to the side. We watch each others’ eyes and smiles as he builds tempo. I pull my knees up to let him in deeper, which he takes and I emphasize further by pulling him in by his ass. He groans, keeps at it as I follow his lead for pace and pressure. He lets out small grunts with each push that delight me in their roughness—so different, I imagine, from the precision of his singing voice. I like having this part of him for myself.

He is moving faster, deeper, and I pull my legs up completely so he can spread them further as he likes. He puts one of my ankles at his shoulder, grips the calf with his hand and kisses it, never missing a beat in the rhythm we’ve built. More, and more, and then… he slows just slightly as he lets out a final cry, coming in me with three concerted thrusts. I can feel the change and I delight in his warm, wet cum filling me as I smile up at his lost face, his own momentary helplessness. The miracle of being able to create this for one another is total.

He pants as he comes down, smiling, a quick laugh at himself as he slows his breathing and collapses onto me, somehow mindful not to let his full weight onto me, though I wish him to. I ask him to stay in me a minute, which he does, another shudder moving through him as a hand finds one of my breasts, grips it as if for balance. When he slips out, I reach down and gently collect the remaining cum at the tip of his cock on my finger, roll it over one of my nipples as I smile at him. I grab some extra from between my own legs and build a sweet slick across my chest.

“May I just… quickly come again?” I ask him. Watching him come has me fully worked up again for the second orgasm I can often manage.

“Please,” he says, rolling to his side to watch. We know neither of us needs the other’s permission to enjoy the pleasure we’ve built together, but he knows, too, that it thrills me to request it sometimes.

I smile at him, reach down to feel his wetness mixed with mine, and my face flushes. I pick up his cock ring and place it again at my clit. Not three or four rotations with my fingers and I am there, my other hand gripping his shoulder next to me as I arch and cry out and shiver, holding the pressure… then exhaling. His warm hand now takes my waist, his lips graze my forehead, and he pulls me in toward him as I come down again, my breath and heartbeat slowing against him. My hand finds his chest and rests there, a reliable tether back to reality.

Photo by Murat Esibatir