Heat- A Short Story

We have a date tonight, our third this week. That’s uncommon for me because every woman before her had only required one a week. This isn’t an issue; I enjoy spending time at her side. She makes me feel good. I haven’t felt like this in a long while.

I think she’s crazy about me. No words had ever been said on the subject but, I don’t know. There’s a light in her eye I hadn’t noticed until fairly recently. One reason I am happy. It’s nice to feel wanted, desired.

Speaking of desire there is another light that seems to shimmer in those brown eyes of hers- lust. We’ve had sex already. We’ve been dating several months now so our bodies aren’t new to one another.

She, however, seems to want my body more than any woman I’ve been with combined. I don’t know how to handle this.

It isn’t a matter of not wanting her or a sort of lesser attraction towards her. She’s beautiful. Her touch alone sends chills throughout my body. I suffered a few embarrassing erections on her behalf. I simply think its due to my desire to just BE with her without it always turning into something sexual. My male friends think I’m crazy for not taking advantage of this.

“She wants your dick, you have no trouble getting hard, yet you wont fuck her?”
“Dude, she’s fucking stunning. Fuck her before she cheats on you.”
“You gay, man?”

The last statement makes me laugh. I never defend myself because there isn’t a need for it. But why should my not always wanting sex equate to being homosexual?

The second statement. Now there’s an interesting, and scary, possibility. Men have cheated for that very reason. Or even when they’re getting it enough, it just isn’t enough. How large of a percentage of women would do the same…?

I picked her up fifteen minutes early. She was ready and dressed to kill. Her face was void of makeup save for the lip gloss on her slender, small lips. Her eyes are naturally smoky. Her skin the color of a light and sweet cup of coffee, and tasted just as good. Her long, flowing curls bounced with every step she took. Her slender legs smooth, freshly lotioned. A smile that could stop traffic. Curves just right in her little black dress.

A hint of lavender wafted from her hair. Her lips pressed against mine. I wanted to possess her right there. It had been a couple weeks since we last had sex. Judging by the way she was playing with my tie, tugging at it as if it needed adjustment, she must have been imagining it wrapped around her own neck as I took her from behind.

“I’m excited for tonight.” She said, a slight accent hinted with her Hispanic background and Bronx drawl. I had received two tickets to the opera from someone at work who couldn’t use them so why let them go to waste right?

It was our first time out on a fancy date on top of it being our first opera. I, too, was excited. So much so that I ordered a limo to pick us up. She squealed like a little girl in the pony section of a toy store. Neither of us went to our high school proms. It was a night of firsts.

We arrived at the theater a bit early. We took our seats- fifth row from the stage, middle seats. We sat down. She caressed my thigh suggestively. Upon turning in her direction the smoky, lustful stare I had began falling for had placed me under a spell.

The lights began to dim leaving two circles cast on the stage. In the circles were a man and a woman. They were contorted into positions as if in a desperate battle of succumbing to one another’s desires for each other. I placed my hand on her thigh, slowly moving up until the fingertips of my index and middle fingers were kissing the fabric of her cotton underwear. She put her lips to my ear. “Naughty boy,” she said in a hiss that suggested she wanted them inside her. Let her want it. I enjoyed teasing her, as she with me.

Three hours later the show concluded but we weren’t quite ready to head home. The limo circled around Manhattan. As I said it was a night of firsts. Well, the sexless streak ended in that limo.

Panting, she slid back to her seat as I mixed us some drinks. We toasted, she then rested her head on my chest.

“Why don’t we do this more often?” She asked.
“The date, or have sex?”
“The latter.”

I didn’t want to lie but it also felt as if telling her what I had been feeling might send her into confusion. She might blame herself. That’s the last thing I wanted.

“It has nothing to do with you, but-”
“Statements like that tend to have the opposite effect.”
“I don’t know how else to start this.”
“How complex is the reasoning?”
“Depends on your willingness to keep an open mind.”
“Very well.”
“It isn’t about my lack of attraction to you because that isn’t the case. Nor am I ‘getting it from someone else’ if that ever crossed your mind.”
“It has once or twice.”
“I sincerely apologize.”
“So, what, you just don’t wanna fuck me?”
“Sometimes I don’t want to. I mean, I’ll sport an erection that would say otherwise. But just being there with you is more important than being inside you. If that makes ANY sense.”
“It doesn’t, and yet it does. So, you want me all the time. But fight so that you can, what, savor it for next time it happens?”
“That’s actually better than I could have put it.”
She kissed me. “You’re so weird sometimes.” Snuggling into my chest she added, “but I like you.”
“You’re not offended?”
“I can’t tell if I am, or flattered. I kinda don’t like having to wait for you to wanna do it but women have been doing that sort of thing to men since the beginning of time. So, I kinda understand.”

Silence, then, “you aren’t going to cheat on me are you?”
“Because you like practicing self control?” Laughing she said “if I weren’t happy I wouldn’t be here.”

I was making her happy. That made me happy. To show her just how much we never left my bed one night three weeks later- our eight month anniversary.


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