Psychological Nudity
I'm starting to worry. Monday night was good, it really was. It was fantastic to see Sam and even CJ. It was even better to see Josh. I don't know what it is about that man that can make me feel like a teenager in love. I anxiously await phone calls from the campaign even when they're not from him, thinking perhaps he sent a message along with the caller. I look for photos of him on CNN. I hate that the infatuation has begun again. This is where all the problems started in the first place.
I've been in Texas since Wednesday and it's damn hot. It's Saturday, I'm getting a well deserved three hours of rest before I'm meeting campaign volunteers in Ft. Worth. I haven't actually talked to Josh since I left DC on
Wednesday morning. And the conversations that I had with him between the Royal Vinter and my departure for Texas wouldn't exactly win any relationship awards. The conversations were short and only about the campaign. Josh seemed skittish and more than a little cold.
I think he may be changing his mind about the possibility of us being together. It all happened too much, too fast. There's all this pressure, you know? I know Josh feels it. I definitely feel it. It's pressure to perform up to
the expectations of many years worth of potential. It's pressure from the people around us to keep our wits about us as we explore this uncharted territory. Not only do we have to protect ourselves from failure, but we have to protect the people around us. That's quite a burden.
Is it worth it? Well, I tend to think it is. But we went from zero to sixty in a week. I shouldn't be surprised that Josh needs some time to process. Hell, I could use some time to process. I don't want to back off completely and make him think I'm not interested. When I think about it, that's exactly what's he done to me. I hope it wasn't intentional. I really wish I had someone to talk to.
I'm startled when as soon as I make that wish, my cell phone rings. I look at the caller ID, but the number is unfamiliar. "Donna Moss."
"Hey lady, so how have you been?"
"Sam?"
"Such as I am." He sounds very happy. "I have a favor to ask of you."
"Sure! What can I do to help?" his happiness is infectious.
"Well," he sounds bashful, now, "When I come out next week, Sierra's coming
with me."
"Sam, that's great!" I know that he's planning on moving back into the townhouse he owns in DC. I'm glad to hear that Sierra's coming with him. He seems crazy about her.
"The thing is, she's not going to know anyone in DC. Do you think you could meet her, show her around a little, give her someone to talk to other than me?"
"Of course! Is she coming to stay?"
"I certainly hope so. I know you don't have a whole lot of time, but if you just work her into your schedule a little, I'm sure she'd really appreciate it."
"Consider it done. She really sounds great; I'm looking forward to getting to know her."
"Thank you Donna, you're really the best, you know that?"
I laugh. "Thank you." He hems and haws for a couple of seconds, makes polite chit-chat, but before long I just can't take it anymore. "Oh, spit it out already!"
"I wanted to talk to you about Josh." The words just tumble out in a rush.
Well, this could be good. "Okay. Then you must know why he's been so distant this past week."
"I think I do. After you left the Royal he and I stayed and talked for a while. He sort of...flipped out a little bit."
"What do you mean he 'sort of flipped out'?"
"Well, after you left it hit him how quickly this was happening. I don't think he's really upset, I just think he's still not sure he wants."
"You mean we're back to that?" This is very exasperating. "It finally seemed like he was okay with us being together, and now he's back to being unsure what he wants. Jesus Sam I can't take any more of this. This back and forth is just going to kill me."
"It's not that he's not sure what he wants, I guess I misspoke. It's that he really didn't think that it was gong to happen this fast. He's ready, Donna, he really is. I know it doesn't seem like it right now. Just, try to be little
understanding." Sam chuckles. "He thinks you have this insane hold over him. He thinks that you have the power to make him feel things and think things that he wouldn't normally think or feel. You know, without your influence."
"That's absurd."
"You know that, and I know that, but Josh is grasping at straws. He's scared. This has a huge potential to not work, you know that?"
"You don't think Josh and I can be together?"
"I'm just saying that maybe the perception of a relationship with Josh is greater than the reality."
"You think I haven't thought about that?" I have thought about that. A lot. "It's only been a week, Sam. We went from not speaking, to him hating me, to my confession, to 'let's be friends', to potential lovers in a very short span of time. Not to mention we've got a lot of history to deal with."
"Is there any reason to rush?"
"No, I don't guess there is."
"Without sounding like I'm asking you to back off, do you think you could just give him some space? Let him think and stew a little. Maybe just let him come to you."
"Yeah. That works great for him, Sam, but what about me? I realize he's a little freaked out. I'm trying my best to be considerate of his feelings, but I have feelings too. A lot of very deep, very strong feelings that I'm struggling with. I need a little understanding too. It seems like all I've done since this has come about is placate Josh, to give him what he wants. He wasn't sure he wanted a relationship so I offered him sex. I actually told him we could have a purely sexual relationship, if that's what he wanted; all he had to do was let me know. But, I did that for him. I'm afraid that's the option he's going to choose. And, damn it, I'm going to be powerless to him if he decides that's all he wants. And if that is all he wants, it's going to break my heart."
"I have to admit to being a little uncomfortable with this conversation, Donna." He does sound uncomfortable.
Yeah, well, I need someone to talk to. "Suck it up, Sam. You're the closest thing to a girlfriend I've got anymore. Trust me, I'm as anxious for Sierra to get here as you are."
"Somehow," he says wryly, "I doubt that."
"Goodnight, Sam."
"Night, Donna. Just, think about what I said, okay?"
"All right. I will. Thanks for the talk."
"Anytime." He says sincerely. And, I know he means it.
I do think about what Sam said. I've thought about it endlessly since he and I spoke. The more I think about it, the more I believe I've gotten the raw end of the deal. I've been giving Josh space. Not only have I been giving Josh space, but I've been trying to do it in such a way that he doesn't think I'm not interested anymore. There's just no good way to go about this. It's now Tuesday. Josh and I have not had a decent conversation in well over a week.
Sam and Sierra will be here tomorrow. I'm thinking that will be helpful. Naturally, when the four of us do things together Josh and I will be thrown together in only the way the two "single" people can be when they're with two people who are together. A week ago I would have told you that Josh and I were all but together. Now, I'm not even sure we're on a path toward together. This is just monumentally frustrating!
After everything that's happened, how can this happen? It's that Josh and I stopped talking. We did really well during the time that we were talking. Even if we were fighting, at least we were talking. We were making an effort. Not talking has made it really easy not to make an effort. I think it's time for another little heart to heart.
I log off my laptop, kick off my heels and wander off in the direction of his office. I know he's still here…above the diehards that remain in the campaign office, even though it's eleven o'clock, I hear the din of CNN. Only Josh listens to CNN at that decibel level. On the way to his office I stop by the coffee maker and grab a Styrofoam cup and pour myself some lukewarm sludge. When I take a sip I find out why the sludge is still there. It's beyond awful! I pour it out, and set the pot up to brew. While I wait for it to perk a cup, I check the bulletin board for tomorrow's schedule and reconcile the campaign's schedule with my own. I'm picking Sierra up from the airport tomorrow at five. Sam's coming in in the morning, but she wasn't able to leave quite that soon.
When the pot's brewed enough, I grab my cup and re-pour. Then, again, I set off in the direction of Josh's office. As I approach I hear the sound of his slow, but methodical typing. It's actually kind of soothing in its familiarity. I really do miss working closely with him. Let me qualify this by saying that I do not, however, miss working for him. He's extremely engrossed in whatever it is that he's doing. I'm able to study him from the doorway. It's late, and as is usual when he's in the office late, his tie's long gone and his shirt sleeves are rolled haphazardly up his forearms. He looks much less tired than I would have imagined. He actually looks sort of invigorated. It's a good look on him.
When I've had my fill of looking at him I wander the rest of the way into his office and sit down in a canvas chair that's designed to be folded up and carried to sporting events and the like. It's the only available seating in his crowded office. "I wondered when you'd finally come in here." He continues typing.
I blush, though I'm not sure why. "I was just observing."
He finishes what he was doing, makes a few clicks of his mouse and then I hear the whir of the computer as it powers down. "Observing, Donnatella?" He's playing coy. Why?
"Yes. Even, surveying, perhaps." Two can play at coy. He smirks at me a little. "So tomorrow's going to be a full day."
He nods. "Yes, it is."
"You're picking up Sam at seven thirty, right?"
"I am. And you're picking up Sierra at five."
"I am." I echo. I fiddle with an imaginary string on my slacks, gather my resolve, and then give him a strong look. "I've missed you this last week."
He signs resignedly. "Yeah." He reaches across the desk. My heart flutters until I realize he's reaching for my coffee. Oh hell, I think as I tear up. I hand the coffee over anyway. He sips then hands it back. "It's just—"
I cut him off. "It is what it is, Josh. I'm tired of playing 'I want this I don't want this' with you. It's pretty easy, Josh. Either you do want it, or you don't want it."
He studies me quietly. His eyes harden and his decision is made—that fast. "Then I guess I don't want it."
But somehow hearing it is crushing. I suck in my breath hating that it's ragged. This conversation can't end like this, though. "What about everything before now? What about everything else we've talked about?"
"It's too fast, Donna. Please don't get me wrong. I do love you." His eyes lock with mine. "I love you very much. I know you gave me the option of sex without a relationship, but I don't just want one without the other."
"Then you do want a relationship." I'm confused.
"I don't know." Now he's exasperated. "Why do I have to make up my mind right now?"
"Because." Well, why does he? I've started this now, though, so I have to finish it. "Because I can't just wait around for you to make up your mind. Either we are or we aren't. If we aren't, then cut me loose. Please, Josh. I got over you once before, I can do it again."
I watch his heart break in time with mine. "Okay, then. You're free."
~*~
Son of a bitch. What just happened here? I just told Donna that it's not going to happen. I basically just told her to move on. What am I going to do if she does? She was crying when she walked out of here a moment ago. What the fuck was I thinking? I never mean to hurt her, but I always do. I told her when this whole thing started that I wasn't sure what I wanted. I mean, I know I want her; it's just a really big step. Every time she puts a little pressure on me, though, I buckle.
It's never been this hard before. The first time I saw Mandy, I knew I wanted her. She was attractive, smart, witty, strong, funny…she's was exactly the kind of woman I've always been attracted to. And, in the beginning, she was a great girlfriend. We complemented each other well. But then I got busy, and she got busy, work started to be more important—for both of us. When it was over it was over. There weren't any tears or theatrics; there was just a short exchanging of personal items and a final farewell.
With Amy it started the same way. Everyone knows how it ended. There was a short time where I thought that maybe we could reconcile. Rather, my penis thought we could reconcile.
With Donna it's completely different. We didn't come together in the same way that Mandy or Amy and I did. With Donna it's always been more real, more special, more important. There have been a lot of years and a lot of times for us to hurt one another without the ways to fix it that are available to couples. We weren't in close quarters, in the same bed, in the same car or any of those places or situations where you're forced to work things out with a significant other. There weren't any tender kisses when words failed. There weren't any raucous nights of make up sex when it seemed like that was the only way to get the aggression out at the same time you got the affection in. There wasn't anything except her continued refusal to bring me coffee and my continued refusal to give her a raise. She wasn't impervious to being fired; truthfully we were impervious to each other.
So what exactly is this thing we've been chasing around for so long? Is it just sexual chemistry? A hormonal curiosity? Was it just chemical? Maybe there was never anything between us more than our bodies knowing that we'd be a perfect complement. And, if that's the case, why do I have this overwhelming feeling that I'm in love with a woman I just let walk out my life? Why does it feel like life as I know it is over? I've got to find her.
~*~
Why do I continue to let him do this to me? I started feeling the same things again. I bang my hand against the steering wheel; it leaves an angry red line across my palm so I do it again and again until my hand stings even in anticipation of the impact. When that hand is too sore to continue I start in on the other. Before long, that hand's too sore too and I'm at a loss for what to do next. So I finally just break down and cry. Cry like I haven't cried since I realized I had to leave Josh or lose myself.
I'm sobbing too hard to really realize what's happening when Josh pulls me out of my car. He must have come down after me. I haven't been out here that long. He pulls me against him and even though I don't want to, I cling to him. His arms are tight around me. Between the gasping between sobs and the tight band of his arms, I'm finding it difficult to breathe. But somehow the suffocation is cleansing. It makes me feel like I'm not hiding in plain sight anymore.
"Damn you to hell, Joshua. You son of a bitch." I beat against his chest as I choke on the words I've wanted to say for so long. "I love you, you bastard. I fucking love you." He lets me abuse him, verbally and physically. "You're a coward. And you play the victim. You're victimized because I love you? What the hell is your problem? You're victimized because I want to share myself with you? What is so horrible about me that taking me for what I am is some sort of punishment?" I can't look at him while I say these things so I throw my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. He just holds on to me tighter.
"Donna, I think I should take you home with me. I think we should really talk. You need to know that I don't want to end this thing between us, whatever it is. You need to call me names, let it out, tell me how you really feel. We're going to sort this out completely. Tonight." He pulls back from me, puts his hands on my shoulders, and looks into my eyes. "Tonight, we're either going to move forward or lay this thing to rest because I can't take anymore of it either. I'm too tired to keep playing games with you Donna."
I'm shocked that he's taking control of this situation. It's been like Josh to run from it. But he sounds so sure that we're going to make peace with all of this and that we're going to do it tonight that I can't do anything but nod mutely at him.
He grabs my purse off my passenger seat, locks my car doors and puts his arm around me, leading me to his car. I'm still gasping a little, trying to catch my breath, but my sobs have turned into hiccups. I lean against him as if I can't stand on my own. In a way, I can't. Not until we fix everything. When we reach his car he presses the keyless entry button that dangles off my purse, even after all this time. The locks flip over and the lights flash. I jump, though I don't really mean it. He holds the door open for me as I climb in, waits for me to be securely inside, and then closes the door.
We ride in silence. I think he's afraid that at any moment I'll make him let me out. When we arrive at his building he has to circle twice for a parking space. Still there's not a word said between us. It's not until he turns the car off that he turns to me, looks at me, really sees me since I sat across from him in his office. "Come on," he says gently, "let's go up."
I move by rote force. I can't look back into those brown eyes. Not right now. Not while I hate him. If I associate those beautiful eyes with this feeling that I have right now, there's no going back. So I push the car door open and make my way towards the door of his building. I have a key but I wait for him to unlock the door. Somehow, letting myself into his home feels too raw against my psychological nudity. He steps through the now open door but I'm having difficulty putting one foot in front of the other. "Please, Donna, I just want this next little while." He sounds tired and resigned. This is not what either of us wants to be doing tonight. Tomorrow is going to be long and arduous. And somehow—either together or apart—we're going to have to deal with our
friends.
I do follow him the rest of the way into the building, and then through his front door. I even follow him into his living room where he throws his suit jacket on the coffee table and kicks his shoes off next to a chair. "I'm going to make some coffee. Make yourself at home, I'll be right back." This feels uncomfortably intimate. I'm not sure if he notices that I'm not really speaking. Everything seems disjointed and more than a little surreal.
If you would have told me a few years ago that all I had to do to get Josh to open up with me was to open up with him, I would have told you that you didn't know Joshua Lyman very well. Then if you would have told me that I'd turn into that clingy, pressing girl, I'd have told you that you didn't know this Donnatella Moss very well. But I think we're all floored that when I finally do lose my mind over all of this that he's the one who's not only willing, but is forcing us, to pick up the pieces.
A few minutes later he comes back carrying a tray with two cups, a carafe of coffee, a pint of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream and two spoons. Somehow, this makes me laugh. This man knows me so well. My laughter brings a smile to his face for the first time since I dropped the bomb shell on him in his office. That smile breaks down my reserves and I start crying.
"Donna, what is it?" He sets the tray down on the coffee table and walks over to where I'm standing—the exact same spot he left me when he went to make coffee. He takes his chances and puts his arms around me. He feels good and he smells good and I just want him so bad.
I let the air rush out of me, hoping to find strength in the emptiness. "I just love you so much, Josh." I punctuate my statement by flattening my hands against his back over his shoulder blades as I press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his neck, just below his ear. I felt him harden against me almost in the same instant I made the decision to do this. We're pretty in tune to each other for two people who can't seem to figure each other out.
He hisses his approval then winds the fingers of one hand into my hair. The pull when he closes his hand into a fist is delicious. He uses this new found strength to pull my mouth away from his neck. I'm sure that he's going to have a mark there tomorrow. His eyes bore into mine; his normally brown eyes are black with desire. "Never underestimate the depth of my love for you." He steps toward me and I step back instinctively. This small maneuver has me backed against the living room wall. He steps into me, completely erasing any thoughts I may have had about personal space. "Never." The heat is rolling off him in waves. I'm sure that I'm giving him much the same sensation.
Suddenly I'm overpowered by the desire to be dominated by him. I'm know it's so cliché and it's not "woman-power" or all the other things it's supposed to be, but there's something sinful about being dominated by a man.
~*~
I see something in her eyes I'm sure I know how to deal with. From the moment she laid her lips on me I knew that tonight we were going to fix this in an old, time honored method. I also knew that the sex would be aggressive. I did not anticipate this look in her eyes. I know that look. This could actually be a good thing. Though, I think I'm a little old for this…
I drop my voice to the timbre I know excites her. "Take off your shoes. Take off your jacket." She hesitates because it's part of the game. "Do it. Now." My first choice of location for the upcoming attraction would be this hardwood floor. The bite of the wood makes a certain impression. But I'm not entirely sure I can handle that anymore. I meet her eyes again and see them on fire. To hell with my knees, we're doing this thing on the floor.
This game is all about trust. I have to play my cards very carefully and yet still tip my hand. "Get on your knees." This I don't have to ask twice. She's on her knees, hands hovering somewhere around my waist when it hits me that this is actually going to happen. Holy shit.
~*~
I'm shaking in anticipation. He knows. Somehow he knows exactly what this needs to be. He's not running from this. I needed that.
His eyes are closed as if he's concentrating. I won't touch him until he gives me permission. I can't help but focus my gaze on what's right in front of me. I can see the hard ridge of him straining against the cotton confines of his dress pants. I ache to reach out and touch him, to run my hand down his length, just to feel him, just to take in the sheer impressiveness of this situation. I feel it as soon as he fixes his eyes on me again. "Touch me." He says in that low, gravelly voice that makes my stomach flip. It's the tingle that starts in my belly and settles deep between my legs, though, that drives me. I put one hand on his hip. I flatten my free palm against his hardened shaft. I rub down to his base and then up to where I can feel the flared tip of his head. Suddenly I'm grateful that he's Jewish.
She's toying with my zipper, waiting for permission. I've never seen a woman so excited to suck my cock before. It's something every man should see at least once in his life. Her mouth hasn't closed since I ordered her to her knees.
She and I are playing a game with each other. We've never played it before and yet we're both playing by the same rules. That should tell us something very profound. I don't even recognize my voice as I utter three words that would have gotten me slapped when I was with Amy. "Suck my cock." Somehow Donna knows this isn't meant to be demeaning. This is meant to give her what she wants. This is meant to instill a little trust. And if a person can trust you while you're ordering them around sexually, where you're pushing limits and exuding authority in situations where you don't have any, that's real trust.
Her fingers are electric as they grasp for the tab of my zipper. She pulls it down achingly slow because right now, it's still not real. As soon as she touches me, skin to skin, no matter how this thing comes together or falls
apart, we're going to share something amazing. Then she does something completely erotic, something that in all my time receiving blow jobs has never happened to me. She leaves my pants buttoned, reaches gently through the fly of my pants and boxers, wraps her hand solidly around my length and pulls my cock out. There's no waiting period, there's no rush of cold air, because as soon as she's freed me from my pants I land hotly in her mouth. The sensation is dizzying. I'm forced to flatten my palms against the wall over her head. I
realize the leverage this is going to give me and smile wickedly.
She's making long strokes with constant, mild suction. She engulfs me, buries her nose in my pubic hair then hollows her cheeks as she pulls back. I watch her do this three or four times before it hits me that she's deep-throating me. The thought that she can do that while in this position makes my knees buckle. I catch myself by placing my hand on the back of her head. My eyes widen as I realize that I've pushed her hard down my shaft. I'm expecting retribution in the form of unpleasant teeth action. Instead, she moans deep and loud, the vibrations running down my shaft. Again, holy shit.
~*~
I've got a dirty little secret.
The words bounce around inside my head accompanied by one of those sing-song voices from a childhood playground.
I love to give head. I'm good at it. I'm especially good at it because I'm one of few women blessed with absolutely no gag reflex. It sucks when you're sick, but it's great when you want to do this. This entire situation is perfect. He's forceful and commanding. He tastes amazing. And then he does it. His hand lands on the back of my head as I make my upstroke. The force slams me back down his shaft where his head bumps against the back of my throat. That feeling right there is exactly why I love giving head. I can't help the moan that escapes me. My nipples tighten painfully against the satin of my bra. Wetness floods my center, liberally coating the crotch of my slacks. I either should have worn underwear or a skirt.
I push back against his hand. He lets his fingers wind into the silky strands there again. He knows how I feel about the hair pulling now, that's a good thing. The hottest thing a man can do to me is pull my hair and breathe hotly into my ear. He allows my withdraw then pushes me slowly back against him. I whimper in frustration. He takes note because on the next stroke he uses more speed and more force and lets his hips thrust a little. Mentally, I smile at the thought that I'm undoing about twenty five years of the good work of women who taught him not to do that. Well, I'm not most women. I'm more of a "fuck me hard" kind of girl.
This is quickly becoming a means to and end, and that's okay. The only unfortunate thing is I'm not getting to use any of my really cool tricks to make him shudder. But I think the sheer force and powerfulness of it all is really doing it for him right now. And, that's kind of the idea.
After a few more thrusts he steadies my head with both his hands. I know what's coming and I'm trembling with excitement. He looks down into my eyes. With his cock protruding from my mouth I merely nod. That's all it takes before he's thrusting strongly into my mouth. I don't have to move or suck or lick or think. It's completely hot, what he's doing right now, and I'm just one long, constant moan. I feel the vibrations of my sound travel though him. That is so fucking erotic. I can't help but reach down between us and press against my clit to alleviate a little of the pressure building there. My fingers come away wet; I've completely soaked through my pants now.
His thrusting is becoming faster and harder. He's close now, though, so at the end of each stroke, just as he bottoms out, he slows long enough for me to stroke the underside of his shaft, that long, thick vein that runs the length of him, with the flat of my tongue. He grunts the first time I do it. Four more strokes and he makes motion to pull out of my mouth as he comes. That won't do. I grab his hips to steady him, forcing him to empty himself down my throat. Each burst of his climax is punctuated by a slight, "Ah, ah, ah" sound. When he's
done he's still hard. Something I've heard about—read about—but never seen. Oh yeah, this is going to be good.
He slips himself from my mouth and just as I can see that he is still hard, I can see that the urgency is gone. I see that "we should talk" look in his eyes and resign myself to the fact that it's going to be a while before I can play with him again.
He somehow tucks himself back into his pants—I can't help thinking what a shame—and the reaches out a hand to help me up. I accept and stand, now shorter than him without my heels on. The thing I love most about physical Josh? The fact that he's not a large man but he can still manage to make me feel tiny. I exert myself and press a kiss to his lips. He presses me up against the wall again, but this time it's all just a little more tender, a little more loving. The kiss is almost chaste considering what we were doing a few moments ago. Our
tongues do not engage. This is just a mutual meeting of the lips. There's something so normal, so ordinary, so beautiful about it. He studiously ignores my body that's toying with him for more attention.
"Come on," he says in that still gravelly voice, "the coffee's still hot and the ice cream's still cold, and I still have a few things I want to talk to you about." He entwines our fingers and pulls me after him over to the couch. We both sit. I'm having a hard time keeping my hands off him. He hisses as the pads of my fingers make contact with one of his nipples. And I'm still fascinated with that hard ridge of him, hidden beneath his trousers, even though we're now intimately acquainted. But, this is Josh, this is the man who knows me and knows how to get my attention. "Stop or I'll tie you up." That voice is going to be the end of me, I just know it.
~*~
I'm very surprised by this woman. I never would have pegged her for a woman who enjoyed this kind of sexuality. But then she's the kind of woman who always has it together. She's a woman who works very hard to project an image. I guess she would like to lose a little control every now and again. I really hope we can work this out because this dark sexuality is something I'd really like to explore with her.
She won't stop touching me though. When I threaten her with tying her up her eyes darken further. Damn, she's actually excited about the prospect of being tied up. We're definitely going to have to explore that further.
But for now, we need to really talk. I pour two cups of coffee and hand her a cup. "You want to go first?"
She contemplates me for a moment, takes a sip of her coffee and then nods. "Do you remember the night we first talked and I described what it felt like to be in love with you?" I nod at her. "Well, I willed myself not to let that happen again, I told myself we were going to take this slow. But, you're like an obsession for me. And all the time I'm trying to tell myself that it's unhealthy I have to wonder why it is."
I understand where she's going with this. "I'm afraid of losing myself in that kind of feeling you talked about. I think I'd be powerless to you."
She chuckles ruefully, "If what happened over there," she points at the wall, "is any indication of what's it's going to be like, I'd say that you're anything but powerless."
Amazingly, the sex feels like the safer conversational ground right now. "I don't want to ask why you never told me, because I know why, but I have to know why you never gave me any indication that that's what it was like for you."
"You want to know why I like the things that other women would slap you for?"
I can't help but grin. "Yeah."
"Well, I wasn't raped or abused or anything heinous like that." I feel my eyes widen, that's not what I was thinking really, but it was definitely in the back of my mind. "I like the feeling of someone wanting me so much they can't control themselves. Most men, at least the men in my past, have run from that. No one is comfortable with it. Then, on the heels of my obsession with you not only are you comfortable with it, but you embraced it."
She sets her coffee cup down, closes her eyes and leans back against the cushions of the couch. "I don't know how you knew, but you did." I'm mesmerized by her hand—her fingernails are lightly scratching her thigh, slightly bunching the soft material of her grey slacks. Her other hand falls at the hollow of her throat, her wrist dangling between her breasts. I don't know if she realizes she's done it, but her legs part slightly. I can't help but look. The telltale dark spot between her legs causes a surge inside me that makes me painfully harder than I already was. "Somehow you knew that I wanted you to take over, make me do things."
I try very hard not to sound strangled when I say, "I saw it in your eyes." The hand that was on her thigh travels to between her legs. Her long elegant middle finger presses against what I'm sure is her clit. I'm transfixed. She's making tiny little circles that are almost imperceptible. The hand that was at her throat makes the short trip to her breast. She just cups the supple flesh. I can't believe I'm sitting on my couch watching Donna masturbate in front of me.
"That night we talked, when I ran from you, I didn't know how to handle it all. When I can't find someone else to abuse me, I abuse myself, can you imagine? I ran up to my hotel room, stripped and then masturbated hard until I came." I think back to that night and to the slight tang that was in the air in her room. I didn't try to place it. I wonder why. "I've probably done that hundreds of times during our time together."
I imagine her in hotel rooms, in her apartment, in my apartment during that summer. I imagine her with her hand buried between her legs, the other hand pinching her nipples or maybe even clamped around her throat. I feel the tell-tale twitch in my cock, just before I come. "Fuck."
Her eyes fly open and she stops touching herself. She watches as my hips flex rapidly in response to my intense orgasm. Then she looks where the dark spot is forming near my waist band and actually giggles. Well, hell, two can play at this game. I stand in front of her. I toe off my socks, because really, socks and no pants is a long way from hot. I undo my belt and then my trousers and step out of them, throwing them in the general direction of my bed room. I realized belatedly that my cock is hanging out of my boxers. It's not so much
hanging as it's pointing—straight at Donna. Leave it to him to know exactly what he wants. She stares. I wrestle with my tie and dress shirt. Once both are gone I rearrange myself in my boxers and undershirt. I use my dress shirt to wipe away some of the mess I've left on my boxers. If I were a more confident man I'd just strip completely and sit across from Donna naked. Judging from the way she's looking at me right now, I think it's safe to assume she's happy with my physical self. That makes me very happy.
I sit down next to her. I know my boxers are gaping open because she's staring. I feel myself stir again. What the hell is up with this? I'm way too old for this kind of performance. It's also been a long time since I was able to come without tactile stimulation. What this woman is capable of doing to me is amazing. I've got to get this back on track.
"So what you're telling me is that the rough sex isn't about being abused?"
"No, it's really not. It's about a heightened sense of feeling. A heightened sense of self." She looks in to my eyes. "It's about finally being able to lose myself in something."
"I know I keep telling you I'm not sure what I want, and that's really true. But I do know what I don't want. I don't want us to not be together. Every time this comes apart I'm frantic to pull it back together. Then, when I get it pulled back together, I give you hope that what I want is a deep, meaningful, lasting relationship. I think that's what I want too, then you start to put the pressure on and I panic, so I push you away. Then I'm frantic again about pulling it back together. So, no Donna, I'm not entirely sure what I want. But, I can tell you with the utmost certainty that I don't want us completely apart."
She looks confused. "There's something fundamental about this that I don't understand. Why are you not sure how much you want from me? You know you don't want to be without me but you're not sure you want to be with me. How does that make sense? What are you so scared of?"
"That I'm going to lose myself down that black hole you talked about. That the feeling gets too intense and I get lost in it."
"Josh, I hate to break it to you, but I think that's what love is."
"I've been in love before and it never felt like that."
"Well, I have been in love before. With you. And it completely felt like that."
"So now what?"
"You make a decision."
"It's come back down to that? Why am I always being forced to make a decision?"
"Because I've already made my decision!" She's yelling. This is good, this is what we came here for. "I've already decided that I want you. All of you. The good, the bad and the ugly, Josh. I want you. You seem to vacillate between wanting me and being afraid of me. At some point you have to make a decision."
I think about it for a minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Fifteen minutes now we've been sitting in silence while I think. Finally, I come to a decision. I just hope to hell it's the right one.
I've been in Texas since Wednesday and it's damn hot. It's Saturday, I'm getting a well deserved three hours of rest before I'm meeting campaign volunteers in Ft. Worth. I haven't actually talked to Josh since I left DC on
Wednesday morning. And the conversations that I had with him between the Royal Vinter and my departure for Texas wouldn't exactly win any relationship awards. The conversations were short and only about the campaign. Josh seemed skittish and more than a little cold.
I think he may be changing his mind about the possibility of us being together. It all happened too much, too fast. There's all this pressure, you know? I know Josh feels it. I definitely feel it. It's pressure to perform up to
the expectations of many years worth of potential. It's pressure from the people around us to keep our wits about us as we explore this uncharted territory. Not only do we have to protect ourselves from failure, but we have to protect the people around us. That's quite a burden.
Is it worth it? Well, I tend to think it is. But we went from zero to sixty in a week. I shouldn't be surprised that Josh needs some time to process. Hell, I could use some time to process. I don't want to back off completely and make him think I'm not interested. When I think about it, that's exactly what's he done to me. I hope it wasn't intentional. I really wish I had someone to talk to.
I'm startled when as soon as I make that wish, my cell phone rings. I look at the caller ID, but the number is unfamiliar. "Donna Moss."
"Hey lady, so how have you been?"
"Sam?"
"Such as I am." He sounds very happy. "I have a favor to ask of you."
"Sure! What can I do to help?" his happiness is infectious.
"Well," he sounds bashful, now, "When I come out next week, Sierra's coming
with me."
"Sam, that's great!" I know that he's planning on moving back into the townhouse he owns in DC. I'm glad to hear that Sierra's coming with him. He seems crazy about her.
"The thing is, she's not going to know anyone in DC. Do you think you could meet her, show her around a little, give her someone to talk to other than me?"
"Of course! Is she coming to stay?"
"I certainly hope so. I know you don't have a whole lot of time, but if you just work her into your schedule a little, I'm sure she'd really appreciate it."
"Consider it done. She really sounds great; I'm looking forward to getting to know her."
"Thank you Donna, you're really the best, you know that?"
I laugh. "Thank you." He hems and haws for a couple of seconds, makes polite chit-chat, but before long I just can't take it anymore. "Oh, spit it out already!"
"I wanted to talk to you about Josh." The words just tumble out in a rush.
Well, this could be good. "Okay. Then you must know why he's been so distant this past week."
"I think I do. After you left the Royal he and I stayed and talked for a while. He sort of...flipped out a little bit."
"What do you mean he 'sort of flipped out'?"
"Well, after you left it hit him how quickly this was happening. I don't think he's really upset, I just think he's still not sure he wants."
"You mean we're back to that?" This is very exasperating. "It finally seemed like he was okay with us being together, and now he's back to being unsure what he wants. Jesus Sam I can't take any more of this. This back and forth is just going to kill me."
"It's not that he's not sure what he wants, I guess I misspoke. It's that he really didn't think that it was gong to happen this fast. He's ready, Donna, he really is. I know it doesn't seem like it right now. Just, try to be little
understanding." Sam chuckles. "He thinks you have this insane hold over him. He thinks that you have the power to make him feel things and think things that he wouldn't normally think or feel. You know, without your influence."
"That's absurd."
"You know that, and I know that, but Josh is grasping at straws. He's scared. This has a huge potential to not work, you know that?"
"You don't think Josh and I can be together?"
"I'm just saying that maybe the perception of a relationship with Josh is greater than the reality."
"You think I haven't thought about that?" I have thought about that. A lot. "It's only been a week, Sam. We went from not speaking, to him hating me, to my confession, to 'let's be friends', to potential lovers in a very short span of time. Not to mention we've got a lot of history to deal with."
"Is there any reason to rush?"
"No, I don't guess there is."
"Without sounding like I'm asking you to back off, do you think you could just give him some space? Let him think and stew a little. Maybe just let him come to you."
"Yeah. That works great for him, Sam, but what about me? I realize he's a little freaked out. I'm trying my best to be considerate of his feelings, but I have feelings too. A lot of very deep, very strong feelings that I'm struggling with. I need a little understanding too. It seems like all I've done since this has come about is placate Josh, to give him what he wants. He wasn't sure he wanted a relationship so I offered him sex. I actually told him we could have a purely sexual relationship, if that's what he wanted; all he had to do was let me know. But, I did that for him. I'm afraid that's the option he's going to choose. And, damn it, I'm going to be powerless to him if he decides that's all he wants. And if that is all he wants, it's going to break my heart."
"I have to admit to being a little uncomfortable with this conversation, Donna." He does sound uncomfortable.
Yeah, well, I need someone to talk to. "Suck it up, Sam. You're the closest thing to a girlfriend I've got anymore. Trust me, I'm as anxious for Sierra to get here as you are."
"Somehow," he says wryly, "I doubt that."
"Goodnight, Sam."
"Night, Donna. Just, think about what I said, okay?"
"All right. I will. Thanks for the talk."
"Anytime." He says sincerely. And, I know he means it.
I do think about what Sam said. I've thought about it endlessly since he and I spoke. The more I think about it, the more I believe I've gotten the raw end of the deal. I've been giving Josh space. Not only have I been giving Josh space, but I've been trying to do it in such a way that he doesn't think I'm not interested anymore. There's just no good way to go about this. It's now Tuesday. Josh and I have not had a decent conversation in well over a week.
Sam and Sierra will be here tomorrow. I'm thinking that will be helpful. Naturally, when the four of us do things together Josh and I will be thrown together in only the way the two "single" people can be when they're with two people who are together. A week ago I would have told you that Josh and I were all but together. Now, I'm not even sure we're on a path toward together. This is just monumentally frustrating!
After everything that's happened, how can this happen? It's that Josh and I stopped talking. We did really well during the time that we were talking. Even if we were fighting, at least we were talking. We were making an effort. Not talking has made it really easy not to make an effort. I think it's time for another little heart to heart.
I log off my laptop, kick off my heels and wander off in the direction of his office. I know he's still here…above the diehards that remain in the campaign office, even though it's eleven o'clock, I hear the din of CNN. Only Josh listens to CNN at that decibel level. On the way to his office I stop by the coffee maker and grab a Styrofoam cup and pour myself some lukewarm sludge. When I take a sip I find out why the sludge is still there. It's beyond awful! I pour it out, and set the pot up to brew. While I wait for it to perk a cup, I check the bulletin board for tomorrow's schedule and reconcile the campaign's schedule with my own. I'm picking Sierra up from the airport tomorrow at five. Sam's coming in in the morning, but she wasn't able to leave quite that soon.
When the pot's brewed enough, I grab my cup and re-pour. Then, again, I set off in the direction of Josh's office. As I approach I hear the sound of his slow, but methodical typing. It's actually kind of soothing in its familiarity. I really do miss working closely with him. Let me qualify this by saying that I do not, however, miss working for him. He's extremely engrossed in whatever it is that he's doing. I'm able to study him from the doorway. It's late, and as is usual when he's in the office late, his tie's long gone and his shirt sleeves are rolled haphazardly up his forearms. He looks much less tired than I would have imagined. He actually looks sort of invigorated. It's a good look on him.
When I've had my fill of looking at him I wander the rest of the way into his office and sit down in a canvas chair that's designed to be folded up and carried to sporting events and the like. It's the only available seating in his crowded office. "I wondered when you'd finally come in here." He continues typing.
I blush, though I'm not sure why. "I was just observing."
He finishes what he was doing, makes a few clicks of his mouse and then I hear the whir of the computer as it powers down. "Observing, Donnatella?" He's playing coy. Why?
"Yes. Even, surveying, perhaps." Two can play at coy. He smirks at me a little. "So tomorrow's going to be a full day."
He nods. "Yes, it is."
"You're picking up Sam at seven thirty, right?"
"I am. And you're picking up Sierra at five."
"I am." I echo. I fiddle with an imaginary string on my slacks, gather my resolve, and then give him a strong look. "I've missed you this last week."
He signs resignedly. "Yeah." He reaches across the desk. My heart flutters until I realize he's reaching for my coffee. Oh hell, I think as I tear up. I hand the coffee over anyway. He sips then hands it back. "It's just—"
I cut him off. "It is what it is, Josh. I'm tired of playing 'I want this I don't want this' with you. It's pretty easy, Josh. Either you do want it, or you don't want it."
He studies me quietly. His eyes harden and his decision is made—that fast. "Then I guess I don't want it."
But somehow hearing it is crushing. I suck in my breath hating that it's ragged. This conversation can't end like this, though. "What about everything before now? What about everything else we've talked about?"
"It's too fast, Donna. Please don't get me wrong. I do love you." His eyes lock with mine. "I love you very much. I know you gave me the option of sex without a relationship, but I don't just want one without the other."
"Then you do want a relationship." I'm confused.
"I don't know." Now he's exasperated. "Why do I have to make up my mind right now?"
"Because." Well, why does he? I've started this now, though, so I have to finish it. "Because I can't just wait around for you to make up your mind. Either we are or we aren't. If we aren't, then cut me loose. Please, Josh. I got over you once before, I can do it again."
I watch his heart break in time with mine. "Okay, then. You're free."
~*~
Son of a bitch. What just happened here? I just told Donna that it's not going to happen. I basically just told her to move on. What am I going to do if she does? She was crying when she walked out of here a moment ago. What the fuck was I thinking? I never mean to hurt her, but I always do. I told her when this whole thing started that I wasn't sure what I wanted. I mean, I know I want her; it's just a really big step. Every time she puts a little pressure on me, though, I buckle.
It's never been this hard before. The first time I saw Mandy, I knew I wanted her. She was attractive, smart, witty, strong, funny…she's was exactly the kind of woman I've always been attracted to. And, in the beginning, she was a great girlfriend. We complemented each other well. But then I got busy, and she got busy, work started to be more important—for both of us. When it was over it was over. There weren't any tears or theatrics; there was just a short exchanging of personal items and a final farewell.
With Amy it started the same way. Everyone knows how it ended. There was a short time where I thought that maybe we could reconcile. Rather, my penis thought we could reconcile.
With Donna it's completely different. We didn't come together in the same way that Mandy or Amy and I did. With Donna it's always been more real, more special, more important. There have been a lot of years and a lot of times for us to hurt one another without the ways to fix it that are available to couples. We weren't in close quarters, in the same bed, in the same car or any of those places or situations where you're forced to work things out with a significant other. There weren't any tender kisses when words failed. There weren't any raucous nights of make up sex when it seemed like that was the only way to get the aggression out at the same time you got the affection in. There wasn't anything except her continued refusal to bring me coffee and my continued refusal to give her a raise. She wasn't impervious to being fired; truthfully we were impervious to each other.
So what exactly is this thing we've been chasing around for so long? Is it just sexual chemistry? A hormonal curiosity? Was it just chemical? Maybe there was never anything between us more than our bodies knowing that we'd be a perfect complement. And, if that's the case, why do I have this overwhelming feeling that I'm in love with a woman I just let walk out my life? Why does it feel like life as I know it is over? I've got to find her.
~*~
Why do I continue to let him do this to me? I started feeling the same things again. I bang my hand against the steering wheel; it leaves an angry red line across my palm so I do it again and again until my hand stings even in anticipation of the impact. When that hand is too sore to continue I start in on the other. Before long, that hand's too sore too and I'm at a loss for what to do next. So I finally just break down and cry. Cry like I haven't cried since I realized I had to leave Josh or lose myself.
I'm sobbing too hard to really realize what's happening when Josh pulls me out of my car. He must have come down after me. I haven't been out here that long. He pulls me against him and even though I don't want to, I cling to him. His arms are tight around me. Between the gasping between sobs and the tight band of his arms, I'm finding it difficult to breathe. But somehow the suffocation is cleansing. It makes me feel like I'm not hiding in plain sight anymore.
"Damn you to hell, Joshua. You son of a bitch." I beat against his chest as I choke on the words I've wanted to say for so long. "I love you, you bastard. I fucking love you." He lets me abuse him, verbally and physically. "You're a coward. And you play the victim. You're victimized because I love you? What the hell is your problem? You're victimized because I want to share myself with you? What is so horrible about me that taking me for what I am is some sort of punishment?" I can't look at him while I say these things so I throw my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. He just holds on to me tighter.
"Donna, I think I should take you home with me. I think we should really talk. You need to know that I don't want to end this thing between us, whatever it is. You need to call me names, let it out, tell me how you really feel. We're going to sort this out completely. Tonight." He pulls back from me, puts his hands on my shoulders, and looks into my eyes. "Tonight, we're either going to move forward or lay this thing to rest because I can't take anymore of it either. I'm too tired to keep playing games with you Donna."
I'm shocked that he's taking control of this situation. It's been like Josh to run from it. But he sounds so sure that we're going to make peace with all of this and that we're going to do it tonight that I can't do anything but nod mutely at him.
He grabs my purse off my passenger seat, locks my car doors and puts his arm around me, leading me to his car. I'm still gasping a little, trying to catch my breath, but my sobs have turned into hiccups. I lean against him as if I can't stand on my own. In a way, I can't. Not until we fix everything. When we reach his car he presses the keyless entry button that dangles off my purse, even after all this time. The locks flip over and the lights flash. I jump, though I don't really mean it. He holds the door open for me as I climb in, waits for me to be securely inside, and then closes the door.
We ride in silence. I think he's afraid that at any moment I'll make him let me out. When we arrive at his building he has to circle twice for a parking space. Still there's not a word said between us. It's not until he turns the car off that he turns to me, looks at me, really sees me since I sat across from him in his office. "Come on," he says gently, "let's go up."
I move by rote force. I can't look back into those brown eyes. Not right now. Not while I hate him. If I associate those beautiful eyes with this feeling that I have right now, there's no going back. So I push the car door open and make my way towards the door of his building. I have a key but I wait for him to unlock the door. Somehow, letting myself into his home feels too raw against my psychological nudity. He steps through the now open door but I'm having difficulty putting one foot in front of the other. "Please, Donna, I just want this next little while." He sounds tired and resigned. This is not what either of us wants to be doing tonight. Tomorrow is going to be long and arduous. And somehow—either together or apart—we're going to have to deal with our
friends.
I do follow him the rest of the way into the building, and then through his front door. I even follow him into his living room where he throws his suit jacket on the coffee table and kicks his shoes off next to a chair. "I'm going to make some coffee. Make yourself at home, I'll be right back." This feels uncomfortably intimate. I'm not sure if he notices that I'm not really speaking. Everything seems disjointed and more than a little surreal.
If you would have told me a few years ago that all I had to do to get Josh to open up with me was to open up with him, I would have told you that you didn't know Joshua Lyman very well. Then if you would have told me that I'd turn into that clingy, pressing girl, I'd have told you that you didn't know this Donnatella Moss very well. But I think we're all floored that when I finally do lose my mind over all of this that he's the one who's not only willing, but is forcing us, to pick up the pieces.
A few minutes later he comes back carrying a tray with two cups, a carafe of coffee, a pint of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream and two spoons. Somehow, this makes me laugh. This man knows me so well. My laughter brings a smile to his face for the first time since I dropped the bomb shell on him in his office. That smile breaks down my reserves and I start crying.
"Donna, what is it?" He sets the tray down on the coffee table and walks over to where I'm standing—the exact same spot he left me when he went to make coffee. He takes his chances and puts his arms around me. He feels good and he smells good and I just want him so bad.
I let the air rush out of me, hoping to find strength in the emptiness. "I just love you so much, Josh." I punctuate my statement by flattening my hands against his back over his shoulder blades as I press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his neck, just below his ear. I felt him harden against me almost in the same instant I made the decision to do this. We're pretty in tune to each other for two people who can't seem to figure each other out.
He hisses his approval then winds the fingers of one hand into my hair. The pull when he closes his hand into a fist is delicious. He uses this new found strength to pull my mouth away from his neck. I'm sure that he's going to have a mark there tomorrow. His eyes bore into mine; his normally brown eyes are black with desire. "Never underestimate the depth of my love for you." He steps toward me and I step back instinctively. This small maneuver has me backed against the living room wall. He steps into me, completely erasing any thoughts I may have had about personal space. "Never." The heat is rolling off him in waves. I'm sure that I'm giving him much the same sensation.
Suddenly I'm overpowered by the desire to be dominated by him. I'm know it's so cliché and it's not "woman-power" or all the other things it's supposed to be, but there's something sinful about being dominated by a man.
~*~
I see something in her eyes I'm sure I know how to deal with. From the moment she laid her lips on me I knew that tonight we were going to fix this in an old, time honored method. I also knew that the sex would be aggressive. I did not anticipate this look in her eyes. I know that look. This could actually be a good thing. Though, I think I'm a little old for this…
I drop my voice to the timbre I know excites her. "Take off your shoes. Take off your jacket." She hesitates because it's part of the game. "Do it. Now." My first choice of location for the upcoming attraction would be this hardwood floor. The bite of the wood makes a certain impression. But I'm not entirely sure I can handle that anymore. I meet her eyes again and see them on fire. To hell with my knees, we're doing this thing on the floor.
This game is all about trust. I have to play my cards very carefully and yet still tip my hand. "Get on your knees." This I don't have to ask twice. She's on her knees, hands hovering somewhere around my waist when it hits me that this is actually going to happen. Holy shit.
~*~
I'm shaking in anticipation. He knows. Somehow he knows exactly what this needs to be. He's not running from this. I needed that.
His eyes are closed as if he's concentrating. I won't touch him until he gives me permission. I can't help but focus my gaze on what's right in front of me. I can see the hard ridge of him straining against the cotton confines of his dress pants. I ache to reach out and touch him, to run my hand down his length, just to feel him, just to take in the sheer impressiveness of this situation. I feel it as soon as he fixes his eyes on me again. "Touch me." He says in that low, gravelly voice that makes my stomach flip. It's the tingle that starts in my belly and settles deep between my legs, though, that drives me. I put one hand on his hip. I flatten my free palm against his hardened shaft. I rub down to his base and then up to where I can feel the flared tip of his head. Suddenly I'm grateful that he's Jewish.
She's toying with my zipper, waiting for permission. I've never seen a woman so excited to suck my cock before. It's something every man should see at least once in his life. Her mouth hasn't closed since I ordered her to her knees.
She and I are playing a game with each other. We've never played it before and yet we're both playing by the same rules. That should tell us something very profound. I don't even recognize my voice as I utter three words that would have gotten me slapped when I was with Amy. "Suck my cock." Somehow Donna knows this isn't meant to be demeaning. This is meant to give her what she wants. This is meant to instill a little trust. And if a person can trust you while you're ordering them around sexually, where you're pushing limits and exuding authority in situations where you don't have any, that's real trust.
Her fingers are electric as they grasp for the tab of my zipper. She pulls it down achingly slow because right now, it's still not real. As soon as she touches me, skin to skin, no matter how this thing comes together or falls
apart, we're going to share something amazing. Then she does something completely erotic, something that in all my time receiving blow jobs has never happened to me. She leaves my pants buttoned, reaches gently through the fly of my pants and boxers, wraps her hand solidly around my length and pulls my cock out. There's no waiting period, there's no rush of cold air, because as soon as she's freed me from my pants I land hotly in her mouth. The sensation is dizzying. I'm forced to flatten my palms against the wall over her head. I
realize the leverage this is going to give me and smile wickedly.
She's making long strokes with constant, mild suction. She engulfs me, buries her nose in my pubic hair then hollows her cheeks as she pulls back. I watch her do this three or four times before it hits me that she's deep-throating me. The thought that she can do that while in this position makes my knees buckle. I catch myself by placing my hand on the back of her head. My eyes widen as I realize that I've pushed her hard down my shaft. I'm expecting retribution in the form of unpleasant teeth action. Instead, she moans deep and loud, the vibrations running down my shaft. Again, holy shit.
~*~
I've got a dirty little secret.
The words bounce around inside my head accompanied by one of those sing-song voices from a childhood playground.
I love to give head. I'm good at it. I'm especially good at it because I'm one of few women blessed with absolutely no gag reflex. It sucks when you're sick, but it's great when you want to do this. This entire situation is perfect. He's forceful and commanding. He tastes amazing. And then he does it. His hand lands on the back of my head as I make my upstroke. The force slams me back down his shaft where his head bumps against the back of my throat. That feeling right there is exactly why I love giving head. I can't help the moan that escapes me. My nipples tighten painfully against the satin of my bra. Wetness floods my center, liberally coating the crotch of my slacks. I either should have worn underwear or a skirt.
I push back against his hand. He lets his fingers wind into the silky strands there again. He knows how I feel about the hair pulling now, that's a good thing. The hottest thing a man can do to me is pull my hair and breathe hotly into my ear. He allows my withdraw then pushes me slowly back against him. I whimper in frustration. He takes note because on the next stroke he uses more speed and more force and lets his hips thrust a little. Mentally, I smile at the thought that I'm undoing about twenty five years of the good work of women who taught him not to do that. Well, I'm not most women. I'm more of a "fuck me hard" kind of girl.
This is quickly becoming a means to and end, and that's okay. The only unfortunate thing is I'm not getting to use any of my really cool tricks to make him shudder. But I think the sheer force and powerfulness of it all is really doing it for him right now. And, that's kind of the idea.
After a few more thrusts he steadies my head with both his hands. I know what's coming and I'm trembling with excitement. He looks down into my eyes. With his cock protruding from my mouth I merely nod. That's all it takes before he's thrusting strongly into my mouth. I don't have to move or suck or lick or think. It's completely hot, what he's doing right now, and I'm just one long, constant moan. I feel the vibrations of my sound travel though him. That is so fucking erotic. I can't help but reach down between us and press against my clit to alleviate a little of the pressure building there. My fingers come away wet; I've completely soaked through my pants now.
His thrusting is becoming faster and harder. He's close now, though, so at the end of each stroke, just as he bottoms out, he slows long enough for me to stroke the underside of his shaft, that long, thick vein that runs the length of him, with the flat of my tongue. He grunts the first time I do it. Four more strokes and he makes motion to pull out of my mouth as he comes. That won't do. I grab his hips to steady him, forcing him to empty himself down my throat. Each burst of his climax is punctuated by a slight, "Ah, ah, ah" sound. When he's
done he's still hard. Something I've heard about—read about—but never seen. Oh yeah, this is going to be good.
He slips himself from my mouth and just as I can see that he is still hard, I can see that the urgency is gone. I see that "we should talk" look in his eyes and resign myself to the fact that it's going to be a while before I can play with him again.
He somehow tucks himself back into his pants—I can't help thinking what a shame—and the reaches out a hand to help me up. I accept and stand, now shorter than him without my heels on. The thing I love most about physical Josh? The fact that he's not a large man but he can still manage to make me feel tiny. I exert myself and press a kiss to his lips. He presses me up against the wall again, but this time it's all just a little more tender, a little more loving. The kiss is almost chaste considering what we were doing a few moments ago. Our
tongues do not engage. This is just a mutual meeting of the lips. There's something so normal, so ordinary, so beautiful about it. He studiously ignores my body that's toying with him for more attention.
"Come on," he says in that still gravelly voice, "the coffee's still hot and the ice cream's still cold, and I still have a few things I want to talk to you about." He entwines our fingers and pulls me after him over to the couch. We both sit. I'm having a hard time keeping my hands off him. He hisses as the pads of my fingers make contact with one of his nipples. And I'm still fascinated with that hard ridge of him, hidden beneath his trousers, even though we're now intimately acquainted. But, this is Josh, this is the man who knows me and knows how to get my attention. "Stop or I'll tie you up." That voice is going to be the end of me, I just know it.
~*~
I'm very surprised by this woman. I never would have pegged her for a woman who enjoyed this kind of sexuality. But then she's the kind of woman who always has it together. She's a woman who works very hard to project an image. I guess she would like to lose a little control every now and again. I really hope we can work this out because this dark sexuality is something I'd really like to explore with her.
She won't stop touching me though. When I threaten her with tying her up her eyes darken further. Damn, she's actually excited about the prospect of being tied up. We're definitely going to have to explore that further.
But for now, we need to really talk. I pour two cups of coffee and hand her a cup. "You want to go first?"
She contemplates me for a moment, takes a sip of her coffee and then nods. "Do you remember the night we first talked and I described what it felt like to be in love with you?" I nod at her. "Well, I willed myself not to let that happen again, I told myself we were going to take this slow. But, you're like an obsession for me. And all the time I'm trying to tell myself that it's unhealthy I have to wonder why it is."
I understand where she's going with this. "I'm afraid of losing myself in that kind of feeling you talked about. I think I'd be powerless to you."
She chuckles ruefully, "If what happened over there," she points at the wall, "is any indication of what's it's going to be like, I'd say that you're anything but powerless."
Amazingly, the sex feels like the safer conversational ground right now. "I don't want to ask why you never told me, because I know why, but I have to know why you never gave me any indication that that's what it was like for you."
"You want to know why I like the things that other women would slap you for?"
I can't help but grin. "Yeah."
"Well, I wasn't raped or abused or anything heinous like that." I feel my eyes widen, that's not what I was thinking really, but it was definitely in the back of my mind. "I like the feeling of someone wanting me so much they can't control themselves. Most men, at least the men in my past, have run from that. No one is comfortable with it. Then, on the heels of my obsession with you not only are you comfortable with it, but you embraced it."
She sets her coffee cup down, closes her eyes and leans back against the cushions of the couch. "I don't know how you knew, but you did." I'm mesmerized by her hand—her fingernails are lightly scratching her thigh, slightly bunching the soft material of her grey slacks. Her other hand falls at the hollow of her throat, her wrist dangling between her breasts. I don't know if she realizes she's done it, but her legs part slightly. I can't help but look. The telltale dark spot between her legs causes a surge inside me that makes me painfully harder than I already was. "Somehow you knew that I wanted you to take over, make me do things."
I try very hard not to sound strangled when I say, "I saw it in your eyes." The hand that was on her thigh travels to between her legs. Her long elegant middle finger presses against what I'm sure is her clit. I'm transfixed. She's making tiny little circles that are almost imperceptible. The hand that was at her throat makes the short trip to her breast. She just cups the supple flesh. I can't believe I'm sitting on my couch watching Donna masturbate in front of me.
"That night we talked, when I ran from you, I didn't know how to handle it all. When I can't find someone else to abuse me, I abuse myself, can you imagine? I ran up to my hotel room, stripped and then masturbated hard until I came." I think back to that night and to the slight tang that was in the air in her room. I didn't try to place it. I wonder why. "I've probably done that hundreds of times during our time together."
I imagine her in hotel rooms, in her apartment, in my apartment during that summer. I imagine her with her hand buried between her legs, the other hand pinching her nipples or maybe even clamped around her throat. I feel the tell-tale twitch in my cock, just before I come. "Fuck."
Her eyes fly open and she stops touching herself. She watches as my hips flex rapidly in response to my intense orgasm. Then she looks where the dark spot is forming near my waist band and actually giggles. Well, hell, two can play at this game. I stand in front of her. I toe off my socks, because really, socks and no pants is a long way from hot. I undo my belt and then my trousers and step out of them, throwing them in the general direction of my bed room. I realized belatedly that my cock is hanging out of my boxers. It's not so much
hanging as it's pointing—straight at Donna. Leave it to him to know exactly what he wants. She stares. I wrestle with my tie and dress shirt. Once both are gone I rearrange myself in my boxers and undershirt. I use my dress shirt to wipe away some of the mess I've left on my boxers. If I were a more confident man I'd just strip completely and sit across from Donna naked. Judging from the way she's looking at me right now, I think it's safe to assume she's happy with my physical self. That makes me very happy.
I sit down next to her. I know my boxers are gaping open because she's staring. I feel myself stir again. What the hell is up with this? I'm way too old for this kind of performance. It's also been a long time since I was able to come without tactile stimulation. What this woman is capable of doing to me is amazing. I've got to get this back on track.
"So what you're telling me is that the rough sex isn't about being abused?"
"No, it's really not. It's about a heightened sense of feeling. A heightened sense of self." She looks in to my eyes. "It's about finally being able to lose myself in something."
"I know I keep telling you I'm not sure what I want, and that's really true. But I do know what I don't want. I don't want us to not be together. Every time this comes apart I'm frantic to pull it back together. Then, when I get it pulled back together, I give you hope that what I want is a deep, meaningful, lasting relationship. I think that's what I want too, then you start to put the pressure on and I panic, so I push you away. Then I'm frantic again about pulling it back together. So, no Donna, I'm not entirely sure what I want. But, I can tell you with the utmost certainty that I don't want us completely apart."
She looks confused. "There's something fundamental about this that I don't understand. Why are you not sure how much you want from me? You know you don't want to be without me but you're not sure you want to be with me. How does that make sense? What are you so scared of?"
"That I'm going to lose myself down that black hole you talked about. That the feeling gets too intense and I get lost in it."
"Josh, I hate to break it to you, but I think that's what love is."
"I've been in love before and it never felt like that."
"Well, I have been in love before. With you. And it completely felt like that."
"So now what?"
"You make a decision."
"It's come back down to that? Why am I always being forced to make a decision?"
"Because I've already made my decision!" She's yelling. This is good, this is what we came here for. "I've already decided that I want you. All of you. The good, the bad and the ugly, Josh. I want you. You seem to vacillate between wanting me and being afraid of me. At some point you have to make a decision."
I think about it for a minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Fifteen minutes now we've been sitting in silence while I think. Finally, I come to a decision. I just hope to hell it's the right one.
