Tom meets a ginger movie enthusiast named Amelia
Rasputin’s is our local used dvd store. Tv box sets, video games, cds in uncracked jewel cases. The collector in me appreciates having copies of my favorite movies. It’s very unnecessary, but the way I see it, adding a movie to my collection further reinforces my love for that movie. The hunt for new additions is just as fun. Going through the foreign films section. Taking a $3.95 risk on something unfamiliar. Flipping through the Criterion Collection for hidden gems. Googling a performer’s film list, then hunting the upright stacks of plastic cases.
It’s a Friday evening, and I’m done with work early. An uneventful weekend lies ahead. The perfect time to drop by and find a bundle. Maybe I’ll find something special.
The parking lot is nearly full. Starbucks next door. In-N-Out across the street. At the entrance, a man fumbles bags of dvds, which I’m assuming he’s planning to sell or exchange for store credit. I always go for the store credit. I let him in first, then nod to the security guard upon entry.
Rasputin’s dvd aisles look the same. Now though, music t-shirts decorate the walls. A used vinyl section. Briefcase record players. Their own merchandise. Special box sets at the purchasing counter, now separated from the trade-in counter. I won’t have to wait too long; I always take my time, anyway. The place is well-lit and smells like rain water. The employees walk around in black t-shirts, slow and cool. Some local hip-hop, Hieroglyphics, on the store speakers. The thought crosses that I can stay all night.
Friday the 13th, the perfect night for a horror movie. I do the dvd store shuffle, where you look at the titles with unresolved eyes because there’s simply too little time to focus on each one. I’m an instinctive shopper, anyway. A cascade from A to M. A lot of the movies seem pretty new. I’m not really sure what I want, but it’s something else. When I turn the corner to start N through Z, I bump into a black and red blur. My glasses fall off. The blur drops a stack of dvds.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say.
I stack the dvds into the hands of the blur. I put on my glasses, resolving the sight of an employee. Her hair is copper and full of waves. She puts her free hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t think I can ever forgive you.” She shakes her head and walks past.
I chuckle and look at her from behind, at which point she lifts her hand and says, “Ever!”
I return to the Ns through Zs but struggle with indecision. Horror is one of those genres that exposes its own flaws blatantly. If a horror is really poorly written or acted, you can very clearly see that it’s really poorly written or acted. Not nearly as subtle, compared to say, a drama or thriller. A lot of risk-reward. This fact makes me hesitant to commit. The redhead finishes her job and approaches me as I stand around R. Her waves bounce.
“Am I forgiven?” I ask.
“Mm, time will tell. Time heals wounds, they say…” She looks down then hits me with large gray-blue eyes. She’s at least six inches below my eye-line but it doesn’t feel like it. “Can I help you with something?”
I really like her freckles. They’re mostly on her nose and cheeks. She even has a few just above her upper lip.
“Yeah, actually. I’m looking for a good horror recommendation.”
Her freckled arms point towards the exchange counter. “We have some employee recommendations at the corner, there.” Her faint blonde arm hairs reflect the light from the ceiling.
“I saw those,” I say. “I dunno, I’m looking, I guess, for an older horror. But one that isn’t cheesy, if that makes sense.”
“Hmm.” She looks up to nowhere in particular, pressing her lips together. She seems comfortable in silence. I find her body language refreshing. “Have you heard of…the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari?”
“Oh yeah. That movie…” My expression is flooded.
She talks with her hands. “Those sets, right? Tim Burton-esque.”
“Way ahead of its time,” I say.
“Right? It’s such an influential film, and not just for the genre,” she says.
“But…,” I say.
“But there’s a ‘but’…,” she says. She tightens her eyes. “–it wasn’t scary enough?”
“Ok…ok…” She rocks back and forth, hand to her chin. She shuffles a few feet to my left into the titles that start with P. She hands it to me.
“Possession?” I ask.
“Everyone’s different…you never really know what someone will like or dislike…but…I think this is what you’re looking for.” I really like the way she talks. Bright, energetic, inflections that rise and fall in interesting places. She speaks like a teacher. A good one.
“Where’ve you been all these years?” I ask. “This is the kind of stuff I’m talking about. Hidden gems, you know?”
She is counting fingers now. “It’s weird. It’s terrifying at times. It’s…so intense. It takes place in Cold War Berlin…the wall…is in many shots. Sam Neill. This is your movie.”
“The hype master,” I say to her.
She gives a slight smile with her mouth barely open. Her two front teeth are noticeable. “I’m here Fridays and Saturdays…evenings.”
“I’m usually here before work,” I tell her.
“Ah…” When she exhales she goes *hmm* the way one does when gathering themselves on a nice sunny day. I realize that she’s been doing this the whole time. “Well,” she says, “hope you enjoy it!”
“Thanks a bunch,” I say. She bounces away, freezing for a moment before adjusting some misaligned movies near the Zs.
I grab some In-N-Out on the way home. By the time I settle into my couch, I have a plate full of fries, animal-style of course, a burger, a vanilla milkshake, and Possession on pause, ready to start. I press play.
I’m the type who will watch the same movies over and over. The simple truth behind this is that I just really enjoy those movies. Why mess with a classic? It’s fun to look at those same movies through new lenses, see things never seen before. The consequence of this, intentional or not, is that I’ve become a movie rationer. Hidden gems, yet to be unearthed, waiting for my personal excavation. As the credits roll on Possession, I’m happy that I’ve found another. Exactly the kind of movie I was hoping to see. Those familiar feelings of fulfillment, excitement, and inspiration now course through me. An instant classic.
I’m still thinking about it. It is the next morning now. I’m also thinking about her. Her judgment and passion is attractive. Her cute freckles don’t hurt, either. While I busy myself throughout the day, a part of me thinks about returning to Rasputin’s as soon as possible. Maybe I’ll wait until the evening, instead.
Around 6pm I enter the store, my eyes on the hunt for a flame of red. I stroll around the t-shirts. Flip through some vinyl. Horror, drama, comedy, thriller, international, A to M, N to Z, Z to N, M to A. No luck. Maybe she’s sick. I feel a bit sad that I’ll have to wait a week to run into her again.
I’m in the Criterion Collection now, which is near a black curtain that separates the main room from the adult video section. I once walked in there and was hit with a cold vibe that propelled me outward. Ingmar Bergman felt warmer, even though his movies take place in Sweden. I keep flipping through, then laugh out loud when I see Armageddon has its own Criterion. It makes me happy because it’s one of my favorite movies. The curtain ruffles and she emerges, now with curls.
“Well hey there stranger,” she says.
“The hype master! Nice to see you again.” We shake hands. “Tom.”
“Jerry,” she says.
“No,” she says. “Amelia.”
“I like your curls, Amelia.” She smiles and sees me holding Armageddon. I tell her that I can explain.
“There’s no need to!” she says. “It’s a perfect example of a movie that is so fun you can’t help but enjoy it. Even though it makes no sense. It doesn’t particularly matter. Fun story, fun characters.”
I use the dvd to playfully walk it along Amelia’s arm, mimicking Ben Affleck’s move to Liv Tyler, except they did it with an animal cracker. My voice becomes Affleck-ian. “Do you think people on other planets are having the same–”
“–Oh goodness,” she says. “Don’t do it.”
“For you Amelia, I won’t,” I say. “By the way, your recommendation was an absolute hit.”
Amelia touches my arm with affection. I realize now how close she’s standing to me. “Right? That’s a top 5 horror for me.”
“I can’t disagree,” I say.
“You can if you want to,” she says.
“I don’t want to,” I say. “That movie…it’s the equivalent of putting a cinder block on the gas pedal, letting go of the wheel, and seeing where it takes you.”
Amelia puts her hands on her hips and smiles at me, saying nothing at first. Her demeanor makes me feel comfortable in silence. “Hmm…I really like that, Tom. That’s an interesting way to put it.” When she says my name I feel some flutters inside and I like it.
“It’s immediately intense,” I say.
“Yes. I definitely had that feeling early, when Sam Neill is in that rocking chair, for example.” She tells me I must be a real movie buff.
“I mean, when I like something I really like it.”
“I can see that…” She twirls her hand through her curls. “Does your partner like movies?”
“Most of my closest friends are really into them,” I tell her. “It’s definitely a common thread. But I’m single.”
The Girl from Ipanema is playing in the background. I notice it now. The place is surprisingly not busy for a Saturday. An employee with gray dreadlocks and sunglasses strolls past us, wearing a store shirt of Charlie Parker that says Rasputin’s Jazz & Soul. He gives me a nod and smirks at Amelia.
“So…is that your choice for tonight?” she asks. Her finger rests on the plastic while I hold it.
“I’ll probably get this,” I tell her. “But I dunno, I’m looking for something old. Like, a movie with a classic Hollywood actress, maybe.”
Amelia invites me to walk this way, to a tiny section I hadn’t seen before. She puts her hand on the display and her other to her hip, crossing a leg and posing so overtly casual that it loosens me up as I realize she has butterflies too. “Well…you can’t go wrong with Marilyn.” She points to Some Like It Hot.
“Isn’t she a terrible actress, though?”
Amelia drops her hands. “That’s a terrible take, Tom. You should know better than that.” I start to wonder if she actually was a teacher…
“My bad. I didn’t know you–”
“–No. No, Tom. Marilyn was a goddess, and a massively misunderstood one at that. We all have different opinions, but…how many of her movies have you seen?”
I tell her I’ve only seen clips of her most famous scenes.
“Well…since that’s the case, your opinion isn’t based on too much, isn’t that fair to say?” she asks.
“It’s fair,” I say. She pulls out The Seven Year Itch and Don’t Bother To Knock and puts them on top of Armageddon. “You’re getting these.” She begins pushing me towards the counter.
“This is borderline harassment,” I playfully say. She tells me to hush. I laugh to myself because I’m feeling I’ve fallen into some sort of surreal bizarro-world where the customer can go fuck himself and give away his money, while he’s at it. I pay for the movies, which Amelia takes and hands to the massive security guard who silently swipes a yellow sharpie across the receipt. I walk through the security scanner and she keeps pushing me out the door. I begin to actually feel a little bad over the idea that she’s simply kicking me out. But she follows me and we’re outside now.
“That was aggressive,” I tell her.
“I’m the hype master, Tom. You should trust me,” she says. She pulls out her phone. It’s past sunset and the walkway along Rasputin’s is lit by large light bulbs above. Moths are circling the one directly above us. I look at Amelia and her hair glows like fresh lava flows. She simply stares at me, her blue eyes soft now, her freckles like the splatter from her volcano. She hands me her phone.
“You’re cute,” she says. “I like the way you think.”
I type in my number, careful not to press anything else when handing it back to her. When she takes it our fingers touch for a moment.
“With the exception of your Marilyn take,” she says.
“Pobody’s nerfect,” I tell her. Her laugh is her hmm with a little hitch at the end. She texts me immediately. A man says excuse me as he walks in between us, dragging a waft of weed and In-N-Out. Amelia and I don’t break eye contact.
“Watch Seven Year Itch first, please. Even though it’s later.”
“Be honest. It’s ok not to like her, but at the very least…it should be based on experience, right?”
“Ok, then…,” she says. She’s playing with her hands now. “I’m probably going to have myself a movie night tomorrow…maybe you’d like to join?”
“Even if I don’t like Marilyn?” I ask.
A little laugh. “Yes, sure,” she says. She reaches her hand out and we shake. I hold it for a bit longer than I probably should. I feel scared as I lean into her, worrying that she’ll flinch or back off, but she doesn’t and I kiss her on the cheek. I feel really good now.
“I’ll let you know,” I tell her.
She smiles then walks inside. I exhale big. The cars across the street look like fireflies in the night. I join the swarm, full of energy, en route to my apartment.
When I pop in The Seven Year Itch, I realize I’m not over Possession from the previous night. Those hidden gems, just like any great piece of music or art, really get to me. I see things with renewed eyes. In the case of Possession, I’m inspired that a horror movie can bludgeon me into admiration through its layers of relentless intensity. It’s hard to do that, especially without resorting to jump scare after jump scare. I want more. I want to be saturated in that world. I’m not ready to leave, yet. Marilyn Monroe seems like a very different vibe that I’m not particularly in the mood for. But I press play. Amelia’s line Time will tell lingers in the air.
The breeze is cooling down my apartment. It’s the end of the night now and there’s no possibility I’m falling asleep anytime soon. I’m overstimulated. Now I’m in bed, on my tablet, googling and wikipedia-ing and “researching” but not actually researching everything I can about Marilyn. There’s so much I didn’t know. My thoughts now conglomerate. A voice inside tells me to go to sleep. I get out my phone.
wow. i have so many thoughts, would love to share. take u up on movie night tmrw?
I put my phone out of reach, stomach churning. Maybe if I fall asleep soon I won’t have to hear the silence of her nonresponse. A pillow over my head now. Sound machine on. Drown out the rejection until at least the morning. Ten minutes pass and I hear a buzzing. But that’s an email. Text vibrates stronger on the dresser wood. Thinking about the distinction wakes me up anyway. Tossing and turning. I get up, change the sound machine from tv static to something more like a strong ocean howl. The wall is cool and I put my legs against it. My hand is under my pillow; it feels pretty cozy. Soon I don’t really notice how it feels. Soon I don’t notice anything.
A motorcycle revs down the street, which sets off the frustratingly sensitive alarm of a sun-stained Toyota 4Runner. Fifty-two honks at seven in the morning. My stomach picks up where it left off the previous night as I unhook my phone. I have a text.
Hmm, a bit mysterious! I’d love to know! 7pm work?
Everything settles. I text her back and feel the previous thrills re-establish themselves within. Distraction, I reason, is the best path forward for the rest of the day. I watch How To Marry A Millionaire. Then I stream Gentlemen Prefer Blondes while munching on Blue Diamond almonds. I should eat light because she’ll be making dinner. Bring carrots and green onions.
I cross the bridge into the city. There’s a small shop near Dolores park that has fruit stands outside. People pass by eating ice cream and carrying loaves from Tartin, while I stand on the sidewalk munching on a pear. My hands are sticky but it’s perfectly ripe. I begin thinking about the words I’m going to say when talking about movies, which makes me realize I’m nervous now. Forget about it. Enjoy her company.
In front of her apartment is a tree that sheds a particular red fruit that seems very juicy. It looks like there are blood splatters on the white car parked underneath. It takes me about 10 minutes doing loops to find a spot. Like many San Francisco apartments the building is narrow and the porch has many steps. Right before I press the button I hear myself formulating more lines. I say shuttup out loud. The buzzer sound hits me deep in the chest.
The foyer is softly lit and everything is brown doors and vintage tiles. Amelia says up here. At the top of the stairs I do that thing where you close your mouth and shovel the air through your nostrils so it doesn’t look like you’re gassed. My heyyy is prolonged so I can exhale some more. Her wavy hair falls to either side of her white top. Her black shorts have a sunflower on one side. We hug and I rub her back as we shimmy through the brown door into a narrow hallway with yellow, blue, and white diamond linoleum. Inside smells like rosemary.
“You sure have some commute to Rasputin’s,” I tell her.
“Well…yes. But it’s worth it, in many respects.” Ahead there’s a common room. We turn left short of it, into the kitchen.
“Good for the soul,” I say.
Amelia grabs some tongs and points them at me. “Yes. That’s definitely a part of it.”
She offers me an old fashioned. It’s the way they do it at House of Prime Rib, she tells me. The jar of maraschino cherries in the fridge is caked with syrup. We take turns with the top, doing impressions of guys who like to open jars. Our physical contact feels like an excuse. Tanya, her apartment mate, joins the festivities. She has many tattoos and hot pink hair. The jar is open now. Tanya takes a saucer of cherries back to her room as she studies for her architecture exam.
We tip glasses and exchange glances through our sips. I like how fair Amelia’s legs are. I think she notices that I notice her legs. It’s a really good drink. I ask her if she wants to put me to work. The carrots and onions are for the salad. Roast chicken in the oven. Get to chopping.
Carrots are peeled. I’m chopping them now. Amelia cracks open the oven. It smells wonderful. Ten more minutes. She comes up behind me, watching me chop. Her hand is on my back. I’m chopping and she’s rubbing my back and none of it feels subtle, so I stop what I’m doing. Her eyes are large.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask her.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Your aim was a little bit off yesterday. You think you can fix that?”
“I think so.”
There’s warmth in the kitchen. I’m enjoying the sound of our lips to the ticking of the timer. Amelia tells me she’s glad we got that out of the way. I really like how her lips feel. Now get back to chopping.
She’s spooning the natural sauce of the chicken over itself. I just love the smell of rosemary. I see some freckles on her lower back just above her shorts. I wonder if they continue down below. Just a few more minutes. She closes the oven and puts the mitt on the stove. I put my hands around her waist. She puts her hand to my chest and looks up to me before closing her eyes. I sense her passion through the way she kisses. Now our hands are exploring each other. Her body is incredibly soft. I want her body to melt with mine. I’m very excited and I press it into her shorts. She looks down at what’s happening and pushes her shorts back into it a bit.
“Yes,” she says. We need to be pressing ourselves into each other right now. We both are certain of it. This mutual understanding gets me even more aroused. I’m aiming myself right to where I should. She’s watching to make sure I’m on target. The burner grates are rattling as we dry hump against the stove.
“Oh goodness, Tom…oh goodness…Fuck.”
I can feel my precum. Some sense hits me and I remove myself from her. “Sorry, my mind disappeared for a moment there.”
She chugs a glass of water. “Well….mine did too!” Her laugh is open, different from before. When she opens the oven my eyes wander to her butt again and I tell myself to get my shit together. I help cut and prepare the chicken. I knock on Tanya’s door and hand her a plate of chicken and salad. This is a surprise to her. She grabs Amelia and gives her a tight squeeze.
Amelia and I take our food to the common room. I apologize to her once again for getting so physical.
“You don’t need to apologize,” she says. “I’m glad it’s out in the open, actually. I don’t like games.”
“I like you. It’s out in the open, no question,” I say. “Look at it!” I point off in the distance. “It’s out there!”
Amelia chuckles. “Well…I appreciate that you’re expressing this. It’s a relief to not wonder…I’m in my head too much to begin with.”
“Communication is a big deal to me,” I tell her.
“I had a feeling…”
The chicken is so tender that its juices get the salad a bit soggy but the flavor is still very good. We’re sitting a few feet apart on a navy blue L-shaped sectional that faces a huge tv. It tingles my eyeballs when I look at it. The Renoir print on the wall softens them.
“Life is too short for mind games,” I say. “Habitual dishonesty, too. I don’t want to waste my limited energy dicking around like that.”
“Yes. I agree. There are too many people in unhappy marriages…partnerships in general, a better way to put it…at a certain point it’s not calculus.”
“Shouldn’t it be a joy, bottom line? If it feels that difficult, maybe it shouldn’t be happening.”
“Right?” she says.
My hands are covered in juice. As Amelia returns from the kitchen, the light in the hallway reflects upon her hair and I see flashes of her fire. She hands me a paper towel and sits next to me. Her hands are pale and rosy, unlike her cheeks, which seems uncommon for a redhead.
“I have to tell you, your freckles are just wonderful.”
“Thank you! I made them myself.”
“Good job,” I say. “So what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Talking things out is a big deal to me. What’s something that you’re looking for, what’s your big deal?”
She gives herself time to think. “I’ve been with a couple partners without that communication and it was incredibly difficult. So I want that too,” she says.
“That sucks you had that. It sucks not to be heard.”
“Yes. It feels like you’re aimless.”
“Like being in an impossible situation?”
“Well, at least one that’s incredibly challenging. I’d like to think nothing should be impossible, in terms of that. Have you experienced something similar?”
“Definitely. That’s why it’s beyond a preference, having the verbal communication. It’s a necessity for me.”
“It must go beyond that as well, right? You’re saying it’s a priority.”
“Yeah. The number one priority, basically.”
“That’s good. A lot of other issues can be addressed, too, if the two people are talking about it…trying to talk about it.”
“I’ve been my own worst enemy,” I say. “I’ve realized I invite people in who I struggle to communicate with. I seem to have an initial attraction to ambiguity, or mystery.”
“That’s interesting,” she says.
“You don’t have that ambiguity, just to be clear.”
“I know,” she says. “So, what, I’m not a mystery? You’ve solved me?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m kidding,” she says.
“I just mean…I tend to gravitate towards partners who are really hard to read. It’s almost like a challenge I seem to want to take on.”
“I wonder why,” she says.
“I don’t really know,” I say. “I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s a self-sabotaging mechanism. Make it hard on myself, so I can’t succeed.”
Amelia takes in my words, a silence hanging over.
“That’s very interesting,” she finally says. “I think it’s admirable you’re trying to understand yourself. But you could also be too deep in your head. That’s coming from me!” She laughs.
“Yeah, true. I had that issue right before I rang your buzzer.”
“Ooh, do tell,” she says.
“It was stupid,” I say. “My mind was wandering and trying to form the way I wanted to say my opinions on Marilyn. I was nervous.”
“That’s adorable and a little sociopathic. No, I’m just kidding. Nearly everyone does that, to an extent…Are you feeling nervous now?”
“A little. But, ya know, in the sense that I’m always a little nervous meeting people, doing new things. You?”
“I think…our activities in the kitchen helped.”
We both laugh.
“But yeah,” she says, “when there isn’t that communication…some people shouldn’t be in relationships. At certain stages in their lives, I mean. Everyone should have the option if they want, of course.”
“A lot of people stay together out of a fear of loneliness.”
“Yes, you’re right. Also, I’m saying this as we’re on a date,” she says. “Not the smoothest, Amelia.”
“Wait we’re on a date?” I ask. She throws a piece of green onion at me. We spend the next few minutes catching up on our food. It is quiet but I don’t feel empty. I’m full now. Amelia finishes her food and sucks juice off a finger. I happen to notice. We silently exchange glances, not certain if the other saw it as sexual. But this dance of exchanges makes it sexual, regardless.
“I’m having a real good time with you, Tom,” she says.
“Me too, truly.”
“Do you…” She seems to stop herself. Exhales. “So…besides movies, what occupies your time?”
“Uh, I’m an editor for Scientific American. But I also write for fun on the side.”
“Oh, like science fiction?” she asks.
“A little bit. I’m working on a novel, but it’s very stop-and-go…Alright, I want to share something with you, but it makes me a little nervous.”
“You don’t have to,” she says.
“No, I want to. I’m just saying that now to sort of help myself be cool with it. It’s just that I probably wouldn’t share this with just anyone. So, some of the stuff I’m writing these days…well, I like to write erotic fiction, for fun.”
Amelia is mid chew when I say my words. She covers her mouth when she’s eating. It’s cute. Her large eyes get larger now. She puts down her plate and waves to her mouth, as if to tell herself to hurry up.
“Really? Oh, Tom, that’s amazing!” She scoots very close to me. Rubs her hand onto my shoulder. “I’m happy you’re sharing that with me. That took some courage, I imagine.”
“Seriously, though. I think that’s fascinating. So is the other stuff…But, I think Tanya’s rubbed off on me. Sexuality in its spectrum is so interesting. So. Fucking. Interesting. Are your stories…good?”
I laugh. “Probably not! They’re good to me. I just do it to entertain myself, if that makes sense.”
Amelia’s arm is resting behind my back. Her hair smells clean. I twirl her waves in my fingers. I’m feeling pretty fearless now. Or at least the illusion of it.
“I’m not exactly sure what you mean,” she says.
“So, I’m assuming most people get turned on by lots of different things. But for me, I get really, really turned on by talking about and writing about erotic stuff.”
“So you do it for the fun of writing…but it also arouses you while you’re making it?”
“So you like dirty talk?” she asks.
She looks off for a moment then smiles. She returns to my eyes, using her hands to talk now. “So us talking about this right now, is this a turn on in itself? Do you get turned on over people talking about getting turned on from others who are getting–”
“–Yeah yeah, that’s exactly the idea.” She looks down at my pants. Now to me.
“Have you ever seen the movie Persona?” she asks. I tell her I haven’t.
She puts her hand to my chest. “That’s a top 10 movie for me, I must say.”
“I’ve seen Wild Strawberries and Seventh Seal,” I say.
“Persona is my favorite of his,” she says. “Anyway, it has a scene in it that I often tell friends about…it’s very sexually charged. But there isn’t any nudity.”
“In a way, yes,” she says. “Would you like to see?” She points to the tv.
I nod my head. “Wait, is this ok, I mean, what about Tanya?”
“Oh goodness…don’t worry about that,” she says. “Tanya is a pansexual goddess who cannot get embarrassed…As long as we’re respectful…Let me cast this from my phone.”
The clip is on pause now. “I probably don’t need to say this. But…just fall into it like any other movie you’d watch. I want to see what you think, good or bad.”
“Even when you’re not hyping, you’re still hyping.”
She smiles. “Ready?” I nod my head. She presses play.
Everything is in black and white. Two women in their bedtime gowns. One on her bed. The other on a couch nearby. The white in their gowns and a nearby lamp are the only sources of light. The woman on the couch is whispering now. A story. About this one time she was at the beach with her friend, sunbathing naked, if it wasn’t for their towels. Swedish sounds like the pitter-patter of those first raindrops on a pond before the downpour.
The story goes, at the beach, two boys were watching them from afar. The girls both knew. The friend took off her towel and presented her backside to the boys. The more daring of the two boys approached her friend. There was momentary tension. The friend was offering herself to the boy. She helped the daring boy take off his pants and underwear. He was already hard. They started having sex. The friend guided him in and encouraged it harder and faster. She watched, all the while.
The woman on the bed is frozen like a statue, a cigarette in her hands. The ash is long now.
It’s getting pretty hot now. I’m feeling it in my pants. Amelia is watching it happen to me. I’m biting my lip, looking at Amelia. She’s breathing heavy, motioning me to keep watching.
The woman on the couch turns her head in embarrassment.
She said that she started having sex with the other boy. The shy one. At first it hurt so much. Then it didn’t. Meanwhile, her friend took sperm in the mouth from the daring boy.
She interrupts her own story, lights a cigarette.
Amelia is rubbing me over my pants now. My hand is squeezing her thigh. Amelia scoots closer. I’m rubbing her between her shorts.
In the story, the girl and the shy boy were watching her friend and the daring boy. It turned them on so much they began another round fucking each other. The boy came inside her, and the woman said it felt amazing. Pitter-patters of Swedish.
Amelia is squeezing then letting go. My hand is sliding inward along the warmth.
The woman on the couch opens a curtain and it’s raining outside. The downpour. She expresses longing for that sex again because it’s not the same with her husband now. The Movieclips chime comes in and the scene is over.
I exhale massively and Amelia is rubbing me still. She’s projecting an aggressive energy that’s intimidating but I want the confrontation. I roll over to her and get on top, pinning her against the couch. We lock lips. I’m so hard. I grab her legs and spread them now. She looks up at me now like she’s innocent. But she’s really bad. She’s a naughty girl. Her creamy white thighs look nice spread apart. I’m grooving into the black fabric in the middle. She’s matching my rhythm. We’re watching it together. Soft presses. Unhinged moaning.
She pushes me away. We pop off the couch, standing, exhaling.
“Ok,” she says, fanning herself. “So you liked it.”
I laugh pretty loud. “Damn woman. What are you doing to me?”
She says, “Listening.”
We’re having water in the kitchen now. Amelia suggests we should get some air. There’s a Korean market a block away open late. The moonlight glows. We walk slowly along the sidewalk, which is lit by double-parked cars with their emergencies on. We take some time experimenting with hand holding. She doesn’t like it when her arm gets dragged. Interlocked fingers with her hand on top works best. She’s amazed at how warm mine are. She’s always cold. I like how our fingers feel together. I like the quiet vibe we project when walking amongst the people.
We enter the market right before it closes. Grab some mint, she says. I meet her in line and she has a bag of C&H sugar. We’re going to make some mint juleps. Amelia is recognized by the cashier. They are friendly to each other. I like that.
The mint juleps are very hard to make but it’s fun making mistakes with her. Crushing mint the right way is a challenge in itself. We shouldn’t have chopped it first. Tanya walks into the kitchen and offers her muddler. Amelia uses a step ladder to reach it.
“Not gonna lie, kids. I peeped through the door earlier,” says Tanya. “I like your guys’ kink.”
This comment brings out some laughs and leads into a short but fascinating conversation about sexuality. Tanya takes her mint julep to go. Amelia and I return to the couch. The apartment has lingering heat but the mint julep cools me down. It hits me that we haven’t even talked about Marilyn. I stretch out along the couch. Amelia cozies into me, her head settling into my chest. I’m feeling the mint julep now.
“This feels quite nice,” she says.
“Which part you like the most?” I ask.
Amelia turns herself around and looks at me with stern eyes. “For such a nice guy, you’re a little bit of trouble.”
“I’m innocent, I tells ya.” My best attempt at a Transatlantic accent, like the one in old movies. “Now you, kid, you’re the one who’s trouble. I must say, though, you’re quite the strudel. A strawberry strudel, at that.”
Amelia sits up, mouth open. “You watched Millionaire? Marilyn must have really made an impression on you, then.”
“Well…speaking of which…” She scoots close. “Take off your glasses, please. I have my suspicions…”
I oblige. “Well, hello,” she says. “Those eyes…quite impressive, Tom. Your lashes are nothing but trouble. Do you ever wear contacts?”
“Hmm…well…you should consider it!” She’s smiling now. I look off to nowhere in particular.
“Oh, why do you say that?” As I finish my words I dart my eyes playfully, right back to her. It’s my only “move”, really.
Amelia gasps then smiles. “You’re trouble!”
“Alright, you got me.” I give her the look again. I feel it below. There’s a bulge now. She sees it. But she’s acting like she won’t acknowledge it.
“They’re playing Maltese Falcon at New Parkway on Wednesday,” she says. “I was going to ask you…” In a subtle way, her two front teeth are more prominent than the others. She’s unstoppably cute.
“That sounds great,” I say. “I was going to ask to see you before Rasputin’s.”
“Are we calling it a night?” I ask.
“Well…,” she says, “I do have class in the morning, though it’s not until 9…”
“Oh what are you taking?”
“A film class at CCSF.”
“Soak it up like a sponge, huh?”
“Certainly! You can always learn more…my degree is in film studies…but I’ve got an idea I’m trying to breathe life into.” She looks at her phone. “Perhaps we should call it. This could send us deep into the rabbit hole.”
Along the argyle linoleum of the hallway we take very slow steps that sound sticky. Our shadows add momentary patterns to the streaks of moonlight plastered across the walls. I feel really happy. At the brown door, I turn around.
“I’m really excited to see you soon,” I say.
“This feels wonderful,” she says. “I know that first impressions aren’t everything, but…I feel happy.”
“You’re really something.”
“Kiss me, Tom.”
My back is against the door and she is pressed into me. It starts soft and quiet. But now our tongues are involved. Amelia is breathing and moaning a little differently, like she’s no longer holding back. I’m excited. She squeezes it.
“Feels nice,” she says.
We part lips and for a moment her tongue is still hanging out. I see it. She sees that I see it. We dive back in, now much more tongue. I like her taste. My hands are on her butt now. It gives in so easily. I’m imagining how fun it would be pushing into it. Her hand guides mine underneath the shorts. She’s chuckling softly under her breath while she looks at me. I can feel her butt through her panties. I decide to slide my fingers underneath those as well. Now same thing with the other hand. She lifts a leg and puts her foot onto the wall next to the door. She’s more flexible than I imagined. Her warmth is more accessible. So I press into it. Easy. She’s not looking at me, but looking at our presses, trying to guide herself just the right way onto it. I think she finds the spot she wants because she’s now looking at me again and smiling. Feels so good.
“Maybe…you should stay the night,” she says.
I put her leg down even though another part of me doesn’t want to. “Do you feel any worries of rushing into things?”
“Well…a part of me does,” she says. “But with a hypothetical person on a first date. I don’t feel that at all with you. But I wonder, perhaps, if those should still be treated the same.”
“I think that’s a good question,” I say. “I also don’t think I should answer that for you.”
There’s a clock in the common room and I hear it now. Amelia raises her head, grabs my shirt collar, and pulls me close. “Stay the night with me, Tom. If you want, that is. I can only tell you how I feel about it.”
“I want to,” I say. In the darkness and cool hues of the hallway, there are flashes of moonlight that illuminate her fire.
We’re in the bedroom now. The blanket is tucked in perfectly into the bed. The pillows are sitting up like they do in those magazine shoots. There’s a bedside table with a lamp on it, nothing else. A desk with a laptop and a writing pad, nothing else. The closet is closed. Nothing on the floor. No stacks or piles of anything. A neatly organized bookshelf to the left of the closet. Amelia flips a switch and white Christmas lights now glow all around. She seems like she’s into minimalism, if it wasn’t for the wall decor, which is everywhere, prints and hand-made pieces, personal pictures, and posters. I recognize one from the movie Parasite. I turn around and she’s against the door, which she now backs into and closes.
“You’re beautiful,” I say.
“Thank you. I suppose you’re not too bad either.” She sits on the bed next to me. My hand is on her thigh when we kiss.
“I wanted to tell you…I very much enjoy when we hump,” she says.
“It’s such a turn on,” I say.
“Right? Practically as much as the full act,” she says.
“Is that one of your favorite things to do?” I ask.
“I wish it would last longer.”
“Being intimate is limited if it’s just the main act.”
“Promise me, though,” she says.
“Don’t let it turn into sex,” she says. “At least not this moment.”
“Yes. Let’s communicate.”
“I’m putting that responsibility on you, just as much as to myself. Please be a gentleman.”
Amelia looks at me with a kind smile and lifts her white top off. Her B cup breasts settle in a metallic periwinkle bra. Her skin is so fair. I’m surprised that she has very few freckles on her upper body. I rub her shoulders all the way down to her fingertips.
“You can get comfortable. Take off whatever you’d like, if anything,” she says.
She undoes her bra and her breasts bounce gracefully. Some freckles around her nipples. My body language tells her I want them. Hers tells me to have them. My mouth, then, fills with her flesh, hints of musk surrounding, while my hand plays with her free nipple. She’s smiling like a Cheshire cat. Now change places. Breathing. Chest heaving. She likes it when I pull on her nipples a bit. Not too hard.
Now I’m decorating Amelia’s room with my clothing. Shoes to the door, shirt to the floor. The belt smacks against her closet. There’s apprehension on Amelia’s face, which must be because the room is messy now. I’m unbuttoning my pants. Got those tight European-style boxer-briefs, purple with a neon green trim. There’s no subtlety to the tent I’m pitching. Look at it, Amelia. She wiggles her black shorts down her hips. To the pile. I like the orchids on her white panties.
“Oh goodness,” she says. “Someone’s excited.”
“You have only yourself to blame for this,” I say. She chuckles. Amelia scoots up the bed, against the arrangement of pillows. I crawl up to her, on top of her, kissing. We part lips and I look down below. I can somewhat see her bush through the panties. She is soaked.
“You have only yourself to blame for this,” she says.
Her legs are pale and beautiful. I pull them apart. When I press the head of my boxer-covered cock into her panties, her wetness soaks a bit through the fabric. She looks at me flushed and helpless. I fall onto her body. She wraps her legs around my back. We are wet and warm together underneath. Sometimes when I masturbate, I will stroke my cock over my boxers the entire time, never actually touching it directly. I find that feeling to be unique and full of sensation, nearly as much as skin-to-skin contact. I’ve cum that way, too. I’m reminded of that feeling now as we grind into each other, fabric against fabric. It feels so much better with the shared intimacy of someone else.
Sometimes I’m pushing into her and keep pushing, like I want to break through. She pushes her heels into my backside to encourage more of it. I like it. At one point we are watching my boner swirl into the florality of her panties. Lots of moaning. We both pause in a moment of self-awareness. How peculiar we sound. We share a laugh. She gets on top now.
“Does this feel good?” she asks. I nod my head.
My shaft is pinned against my belly because she’s sliding her wet panties along it. Her weight presses hard and hot. She is making cute little gyrations, short but fast. The band of my boxers is wet with precum. We are interlocking fingers while she slides on me. The pace picks up now. Amelia seems intent on a particular friction.
“Fuck, Tom. I’m going to cum like this,” she says. “Hold on.”
Concentrate on her face now: eyes closed, quick breaths, in sync with her humps. Now the breaths stop. Her mouth, still open. Pressing me hard. The silence breaks with a loud yelp, something wholly unfamiliar from a girl of her demeanor. She slides slowly along me, strong and with intent. Eyes open. A few more humps along my cock, finishing what needs to be finished.
“Wow,” I say.
She lets out a big breath. “Quite better than a pillow.” She laughs. “Your underwear is ruined.”
“A good problem to have,” I say.
“Thank you for not going too far,” she says.
“I want to go further,” I say. She gets off of me and lays close to my face.
“Hmm…what did you have in mind?” she asks.
“I’d love to see you without underwear on,” I say.
Amelia puts her face into the pillow. “You’re making me blush.”
“I’m a curious boy.”
“Well…you have to, as well,” she says. “But again, like I said…”
“Yes.” I rush my boxers off and he springs forth. Amelia raises an eyebrow.
“Straight as an arrow, huh?” she says. My cock rests on her thigh. That is until she lifts her legs, pulling at her panties. She slides them from underneath her butt, up along her legs now, to the pile. From where I am I can see a fiery bush of bright rust, somewhere between orange and red, unkempt and wild like morning bed hair. I scoot down the bed and spread her legs. She is hairy to the sides of her pussy lips but trimmed very neatly.
“Wow, beautiful…You’re so small!”
“Do you like it?” She looks at me with cautious optimism.
“Tanya told me the same thing,” she says.
“Oh! Have you and Tanya…?”
She laughs. “No, no. She’s just…a sexual scholar, I suppose you could say. She wanted to see what a redhead looks like.”
“You look really good Amelia.” I give her a kiss. My lips track from her cheek along the length of her neck. Down to her breasts. Down to her belly. I give her a look. “Can I go further?”
“Ohh, Tom,” she says. “Yes, please.”
Amelia puts her knees up on either side of me. I get to the bottom of her belly, right before her bush. She smells like pussy. A healthy pussy. She’s looking down at me and her hands are touching her nipples. I cover my fingers in saliva and give her pussy a little rubdown first. Always a good idea.
“Talk to me,” I say. “Tell me what feels good.”
I bring my fingers back to my mouth and get accustomed. More saliva. Rub it along her lips. Thumb rubbing her clit. I adjust myself, taking one hand and brushing back her rusty bush. I dive in and give one solid lap from the bottom up, along her lips. She’s already very wet. She tastes both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. I let the saliva from my mouth dribble into my hand, and use it to get her even more wet.
“Tastes good,” I say. She’s looking at me with anticipation. I press my lips onto her clit and the skin surrounding, and watch her inhale the moment I do so. I suck it a little bit.
“Yess,” she says. “Feels gooood. Not too much.”
I kiss to the left side of her clit. I move to the right and give that spot a kiss. She sees what I’m doing. I center myself and head directly towards her clit, and then at the last moment I stop and move back to the left, giving it a kiss.
“Ohhh, Tommm, you teeease.”
I part from the left side and head towards the right again, but this time I dive onto her clit and suck it. Her pubic hairs tickle my nose. They smell like sex.
Now I’m flicking her clit with the tip of my tongue. I look up at her.
“I like swirls more,” she says. “Please.”
S’s and O’s and C’s. Stroking letters onto her canvas. Amelia grabs my hair and forces my mouth onto her clit again.
“Oh goodness, that’s it,” she says. “Oh fuck. Suck it, Tom. Oooh ooh ooOOOhhh.”
I don’t taste anything now. Or more accurately, the tastes and scents are all over me and I can’t discern anything that isn’t pussy. I fucking love it. I love that I’m making her uninhibited. She tells me to suck on her clit and I do it. But then I detach and start licking between her lips. I look at her when I stiffen my tongue and stick it into her opening for a moment. She smiles. I stick it in again. I latch back onto her clit. She likes her G’s and b’s, too.
“You wanna taste yourself?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “But you can put a finger in.”
“Ring finger? Middle?–”
“–finger me, now,” she says.
I go with the middle. Effortless to slide in. I’m sliding in and out now, while I lick arches along her hood. Amelia is doing a lot of the work, grooving her crotch into and out of my face as my tongue reaches out. I like it when the scents of her pussy get trapped in her pubic hair, the musk hitting me when she pushes back into my face. Pussy is so good to eat once you lose yourself to it.
I start experimenting and she pushes my head off of her.
“Your beard hairs hurt,” she says. “Suck my clit, please.”
Swirls, sucks, flicks of her clit. I give up any inkling of resistance and kiss her clit like it’s the sweetest candy imaginable, like I’ve been aching for years to get a taste. Method to the madness.
“Yessss. Don’t stop that. Don’t stop. Keep going, keep going.”
I literally repeat everything. Exactly the same, no variation. The same. Again and again. Amelia’s moans turn into groans, into something louder and more aggressive. The breathing is heavy. She’s flushed red. She covers her face because she doesn’t want me to see how gone she is. The same. Again and again. My mouth is getting tired but I suck it up. I suck it up the same, again and again and…Her stomach muscles are convulsing. She grabs my hair and pulls me off.
“FuuuuhuuUUUUUUUUck.” She lets out a massive exhale. Her stomach muscles subside. I’m licking her clit a bit but as far as she’s concerned it’s redundant. Feels great to be able to do it for her.
My mouth is a sloppy mess. Amelia wipes my face and rubs the wetness on my arms.
“Good boy,” she says. “It’s so nice that you’re willing to do that.”
We kiss. Amelia fans herself.
“Anytime,” I say. My cock is still rock hard. She sees.
“I think we’ve played enough for tonight,” she says. “But I have an idea.”
I’m slowly stroking myself on the top side of my shaft. “Yeah?”
Amelia looks at my cock. Now to me. “If you cum right now, I’ll swallow it.”
“Oh! You’ve had me on the edge,” I say. “I can do it right now. Like, no joke.”
“Oh goodness,” she says. Amelia gets off the bed and falls to her knees. I’m stroking very fast. “Give it to me, Tom.” She presents her tongue. ahhhh
The inevitable hits me all at once. I’m cumming now. I slow down my strokes because there’s no stopping it now. I simply need to make sure I give it to her just the right way. I put my hand under her chin and use my other to guide the tip of my cock right to her tongue. The first shot goes in. The second mostly does, some hitting the bottom of her nose and dribbling to her top lip. I shoot one more blast, which coats her tongue, and the rest spills out all over it, filling her mouth. When Amelia wraps her lips around my head, I gasp and my knees nearly buckle. There’s a difference between a girl who gives you head because it is a task to do, versus one who wants nothing more than to be intimate with you. She is 100% the latter. I cum a little bit more while she suctions my tip. When I pull out, she uses a finger to shovel the rest of the cum into her mouth. She swallows and playfully shows me the result.
“All gone,” she says.
“That’s how much I like you Tom.”
“Fuuuhuck. I’m glad we were able to show that to each other,” I say. She gets up and we kiss.
“Hmm…you have a nice dick,” she says. “I can’t wait to play with him next time.”
“Next time?” I ask.
She laughs. “Of course. I think we both know where this is going. Assuming you want to, of course.” I sense a sheen of sadness behind her eyes, which surprises me in that moment.
“I want to,” I say. “I want to see where this goes, in terms of us.”
“That sounds nice,” she says with a resounding smile. She turns around to put on her panties and I notice that her butt cheeks are beautifully freckled, nearly as much as her face.
“Ohh wow,” I say.
She turns around. “What?”
“Your ass is sexy,” I say. “I love your freckles.” My cock is paying attention too.
“You like them?” she asks. “I must admit I’m a bit self-conscious. No one has commented before, which I’ve taken as a bad sign.”
“Uh, here’s your good sign,” I say, pointing to my friend below.
“You’re sweet,” she says.
I drop to my knees, behind her. I have both hands full now, each with the flesh of her freckled booty. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun, Amelia,” I say. I lick my lips, looking up at her.
She looks over her shoulder, smiling. “When you say that, I really believe it.”
“You should,” I say.
“Goodness, Tom,” she says. “Well…what did you have in mind?”
I give a coy smile.
The moonlight disappears from the windows and my eyelids become heavy. I help Amelia clean up the room, which seems to bring her unbridled joy. I didn’t plan to stay the night. So here I am now, swishing water and a dollop of toothpaste into my mouth, spitting into the sink, wiping my face with the last clean face towel, which is really a towel that has sat in a storage box labeled guest towels for what I’d presume is months. She looks nearly the same without makeup on, which I like. But I don’t tell her this because I don’t think it’s a compliment even if it’s intended as one.
In the bedroom now I fold my clothes into a neat pile on her table. I tell Amelia that I normally sleep in my boxers, which she says is ok. She’s wearing silk pajamas, teal with white trim. I get under the covers and she tells me to behave myself.
“I think I have the entire night,” I say.
“Perhaps,” she says. “For the most part.”
We take a minute to find just the right position. I’m the big spoon, closest to the wall. She fits into me perfectly, which I certainly notice and suspect she does too. She feels how warm I run, and is thrilled as she settles herself into my body.
“My goodness,” she says. “I wish I could have a body pillow of you, every night.”
“Tom-per Pedic,” I say.
“Wow,” she says. “Get out.” I hear some light giggles muffled into her pillow.
Her butt is nuzzled into my crotch. I’m in a situation where I don’t have a full erection, but I’m certainly filled up decently, so to speak. I figure, as long as I keep it like that, she won’t see it as an issue. She doesn’t seem to mind.
I’m starting to notice less details. I think my eyelids are heavy but I’m a little too sleepy to know for sure. My arm is around her waist and she touches it now, underneath the blanket. Less heavy now.
“So Tom…,” she whispers, “What did you have in mind? I don’t think you ever said.”
I yawn. “When is Maltese Falcon again?”
“Wednesday. I think at 6.”
“Pretty early,” I say. “I suppose we can hang out afterwards?”
“Hmm…I suppose so.” She laughs. “Tom-per Pedic…”
“So dumb,” I say.
“You are, yes.”
“Maybe after the movie,” I say, “I can show you what I had in mind.”
“You’re actually quite warmer than I expected,” she says. “Let me take these off.”
Underneath the covers she shuffles. She pulls out the teal bottoms and drops them to the floor. She nuzzles back into me. Her butt cheeks are pressing into it.
“Much better,” she says.
“I agree.” She laughs.
“So…you like my freckles, right? Did you get inspired, down there? I ask because that’s when you said we’re going to have some fun.”
“You want me to tell you?” I ask.
In a faint voice: “Yes, please.”
I lean into her ear and whisper my desires. She giggles.
“You can guess where I heard this from,” she says. “But I’ve heard that’s…quite nice.”
“Amongst other things,” I say.
She pulls my arm tighter around her waist and starts wiggling her butt into me, not with any semblance of subtlety. “Well…you want to see a movie with me, then take me back home and play with me?”
I’m full now.
“How am I supposed to behave myself?” I ask.
“Behave yourself, Tom…,” she says.
Now she’s backing her butt into my boner. She’s doing it fast. I take charge and thrust in between her thighs from behind, the top of my shaft stroking the undercarriage of her panties. My hands are underneath her silk top, squeezing her breasts. The moonlight is faint and the air is static and the void of silence, now filled with shifting blankets, frictional and fast.
“Fuck,” I say. “This is so hot.”
“Tell me why it’s hot, Tom.”
“Because…we weren’t going to do anything,” I say.
“We’re not doing anything,” she says.
“But we are,” I say.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We’re pretending like it’s nothing.”
“Are we?” she asks. She’s reaching her hand underneath and stroking my cock above my boxers.
“Pretending like it’s nothing,” I say. I thrust my junk while she holds me. “This is nothing.”
“This is nothing,” she says. “Nothing to see here…”
I take off my boxers in a hurry. She pulls her silk top off while I pull her panties down her ankles, breathing hard. Her hand emerges from the covers, dropping our clothes off the bed. Back under the covers now.
“We’re not doing anything,” she says. “Just cozying up for the night, Tom. Behave yourself.”
“I’m being a perfect gentleman,” I say.
I take my throbbing erection and slide it back to where it was. Now underneath her pussy lips. It’s so warm and she’s so wet. Her wetness is noticeable on my shaft, which makes it easier for me to slide against her lips. Again and again.
“I’m behaving myself,” I say. “I’m behaving. I’m a good boy.”
“You are a good boy,” she says. “You’re such a good boy. Oh goodness.”
She’s rubbing my wet cock with her hands when it slides closer to her. “Such a good boy, Tom. Here you go, for being so good.”
She holds her wet hand slightly open and I hump into it. I love the sound as my cock slides into the inviting creases of her sloppy hand. For a time there is nothing else to be heard.
“And this is for you,” I say. “For being such a good girl.”
From behind, I put two fingers into her pussy now. My fingers are sliding up into her and stroking her pussy walls with a *come here* motion. Such a good girl. Come here, girl.
“Oh no,” I say. “My fingers are dirty now. I better be a good boy and clean them up.”
She turns around and sees the wetness on the fingers that were inside her. She sees those fingers go into my mouth. She sees me suck them like sweet hard candy. “Did I do a good job?”
“Such a good job,” she says. Back to the little spoon. “You deserve applause for that.”
She takes my hard cock and slaps it against her pussy lips. Clap clap clap.
“I should give myself a clap, too,” I say. I hold the base of my cock and do some smacking against her tiny, puffy lips.
“Mmm…you’re such a good boy.”
My dick is now nuzzled into those lips tight and cozy. What a wonderful feeling. I cozy my head behind hers, kissing her neck softly. “Do you want it inside?”
“Do I want what inside where?” she asks.
“This,” I say, swiping. “This. Here.”
Amelia turns around and looks at me like she knows I’m trouble. She puts a hand to my chest to help herself get on top of me. She’s on top now, underneath the covers still. Her head is hovering just above mine. I can feel her hairy pussy stroking my cock down below.
“Tom, I think communication is key, don’t you agree?” she asks.
“I certainly do.”
I hear her wet pussy lips lapping my cock with her juices. The covers are moving up and down very softly.
“When we actually do the act itself,” she says, “I think it’s really important we communicate while we do it. Just like we did earlier tonight.”
“That was good.”
Amelia puts her finger to her mouth, a motion to shush me. Now, my cock head, which is attentive and fully upright, feels a wet gripping sensation wrapping around. I look at Amelia with arched eyebrows. A sly smile curls from her lips. Finger to her mouth. *Shushh*
“We need to talk things out,” she says. “We must.”
My cock is suddenly swallowed, something warm and embracing and perfect. Fucking perfect.
“Oh my goodnessssssss.”
“Oh my god Amelia.”
She shushes me again. “I know, Tom, communication is so important. Maybe after the movie on Wednesday, we can actually have sex. But as long as we talk it out, right?”
We are kissing and Amelia is slowly milking my cock with her pussy, very slow, up and all the way down. She feels unbelievably perfect. I feel like I can get it all the way in her, and that’s as deep as she goes.
“Fuck, Amelia. You’re right. Let’s talk it out. Let’s…Talk. It. The. Fuck. Out.”
“Tommmm. We should talk it out. Talk it out so fucking good. So. Fucking. Good.”
“It’s gonna be fun,” I say. “So fun…when I put my cock in your pussy.”
“Oh fuck, I can’t wait for you to…fuck my pussy.”
“Yeahhh, you’re gonna…take my dick.”
“Ohhh fuck it good,” she says.
“I’m gonna fuck it good. Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh.”
“Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh. So good.”
I hold it in her because she seems to shudder just the right way, like she’s running out of breath. She makes me feel like I’m in complete control of her, like she’s helpless to what I give her. It’s a feeling that simultaneously excites but terrifies me. I’m happy, though, because as her pussy grips my cock, I feel just as helpless, drowning in something so pure and earnest that I think she could destroy me this very moment and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I grab her hips from underneath the covers and guide her onto me more swiftly. Every now and then she catches her breath and swallows, like she desperately needs it to survive. We aren’t even attempting to talk now. Just breathing. Moaning. Her face is flushed red. The bottom of her two front teeth reveal themselves slightly like static tic tacs. Her eyes are closed. My face, I imagine, appears dumbfoundedly joyous watching her appear so pleased. At least, that’s how it feels right now.
“You’re gorgeous,” I say.
“Hey…,” I say. “What’s going on down there below?”
Amelia laughs. “Ignore that man behind the curtain.”
For a few seconds I squeeze her hips tight and pound into her hard. Part of me does it just to see how it feels. But I also want to see how she handles it. It’s better, I realize, when we go slow. It feels like we could be fucking at the speed of a sloth and it would be nothing but pure pleasure. Good to know. So when I slow down, it’s not surprising that I suddenly feel the feeling now, arising, swelling, tingling. The inevitable.
She slides herself off of me, and the ribbing, gripping sensation of her removal from myself puts me over the edge. I’m shooting load after load onto her leg and the blankets below, to the point that we both see splotches of wetness soaking through the blanket now. Amelia laughs and brings her head to mine, kissing me. Our tongues dance.
“Oh my god,” I say. “You’re amazing.”
“Thank you! Except…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I laugh and we kiss some more. Everything’s a bit messy but it feels real nice sharing in that mess underneath the blankets with her. We are sweaty, but the cool night air is helping.
“I must admit…I’m a bit surprised that happened,” she says.
“What happened?” I ask.
She giggles. “I do think you’re right, though…after the movies on Wednesday, let’s stick to the plan…talk things out.”
“I truly do want that,” I say.
Amelia plays with some of my chest hairs while I slide my fingers through her beautiful red waves. She looks into my soul. “Now…perhaps…are we going to talk about how amazing that was?”
“I’m more awake now than earlier,” I say.
“I’m buzzing all over,” she says.
“Something tells me that nothing needs to be said. But, it’s still important we communicate.”
“Maybe this is the one thing where we don’t need it as much. But I don’t want to presume,” she says. “Also, I still want to talk about it.”
“I can’t believe that happened,” she says.
“And yet it did.”
“Did it?” she asks. We share a laugh.
“Unspoken but heard, I suppose you could say.”
“Hmm…an interesting way to put it. Tell me more…”