weight?”
I opened my mouth and stared at him but then closed it, remembering my
promise from last week. This man had better be a genius doctor, because he
really sucked as a diplomat. Part of me was actually touched that he seemed to
care about my wellbeing, but his delivery just made it sound like he was mad at
me. I had no comeback. We simply stared at each other. It was like I was a
little kid, waiting to see who was going to blink first.
“Perhaps we should discuss this in my office.” He said and started
walking away. When I didn’t stand he turned around and looked at me with a
smirk. “Would you like to come, Stephanie?”
If I’d had half a brain I would have stayed right there. Of course, I
wasn’t thinking with my head. Even when he was being a jerk, my body tingled
and throbbed as I sat there. I wished I didn’t react the way I did, but after a
lifetime of being numb to feeling anything. I couldn’t ignore it when I felt so
much.
I kissed my mom, got up and once again followed the good doctor to his
office. This time, when we got in there, he didn’t wait at all. He was on me
the minute the door closed. It was like he couldn’t get to me fast enough, and
once he did, he couldn’t get enough of me. His lips, his teeth, his hands, he
was like a man possessed the way he pressed up against me, kissed me, grabbed
me. I was lost in the intensity of his actions, the pure need. My body
responded to his like it had the time before. My heart pounded so hard I was
sure he could feel it, and everywhere he kissed me, everywhere he touched me made
my skin feel like it was on fire.
He moved us backwards until my legs hit the couch. We broke apart only
long enough so that he could pull my sweater off before he dipped his head back
in and nibbled on my neck as he unclasped my bra. As he took one nipple into
his mouth I moaned and sank a little.
“Careful.” He whispered against my lips as he steadied me.
I wish he hadn’t spoken. It wasn’t just his voice that jarred me back
to the present, it was the word itself. A warning. I’d never been careful when
it came to men. Safe sex, sure. But when it came to my emotions, I never took
care of myself. I worried that if I ever asked for anything — care,
tenderness, love, the type of treatment that most women asked for —that
all too quickly I’d turn into my mom. Weak. Desperate. Accepting of whatever
crumbs tossed to her by the many men in her life. I vowed I’d never be like
that. Problem was, I got what I asked for.
I pulled back and looked down, trying to reconcile the jumbled thoughts
in my head with the sensations all over my body. He still held my arms, and as
I tried to pry myself out of his grasp, his grip tightened. Instinctively, I
looked up at him. The intensity was still there, but along with it was concern.
His brows pulled together before his expression softened. He scanned my face,
looking for an answer while he gently stroked my cheek with the back of his
fingers. It was such a tiny gesture, but to me, it felt like he was giving me
exactly what I should have had the guts to ask for. I had no practice at this,
though. The sex part, yah. Too much practice. Sex was easy. But the feelings
part was totally new. And his damn stare just made me crumple. I had to look
somewhere else, do something that could focus both my mind and my body.
I reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt, forcing his arms to
fall to his sides. Once he slid it off, he cupped my face and slowly, tenderly,
leaned back in. The fact that I started undressing him should have been his
answer, but it seemed his kiss was the final question. It was tentative, sweet,
waiting. In the 20 plus years I’d been having sex, I never experienced
tentative or sweet. I’d always approached it like a sport, or a challenge. An
activity where there was a winner and a loser. For an act that was supposed to
be intimate, I always thought of it as adversarial. Until now.
Whether it was him, or
I opened my mouth and stared at him but then closed it, remembering my
promise from last week. This man had better be a genius doctor, because he
really sucked as a diplomat. Part of me was actually touched that he seemed to
care about my wellbeing, but his delivery just made it sound like he was mad at
me. I had no comeback. We simply stared at each other. It was like I was a
little kid, waiting to see who was going to blink first.
“Perhaps we should discuss this in my office.” He said and started
walking away. When I didn’t stand he turned around and looked at me with a
smirk. “Would you like to come, Stephanie?”
If I’d had half a brain I would have stayed right there. Of course, I
wasn’t thinking with my head. Even when he was being a jerk, my body tingled
and throbbed as I sat there. I wished I didn’t react the way I did, but after a
lifetime of being numb to feeling anything. I couldn’t ignore it when I felt so
much.
I kissed my mom, got up and once again followed the good doctor to his
office. This time, when we got in there, he didn’t wait at all. He was on me
the minute the door closed. It was like he couldn’t get to me fast enough, and
once he did, he couldn’t get enough of me. His lips, his teeth, his hands, he
was like a man possessed the way he pressed up against me, kissed me, grabbed
me. I was lost in the intensity of his actions, the pure need. My body
responded to his like it had the time before. My heart pounded so hard I was
sure he could feel it, and everywhere he kissed me, everywhere he touched me made
my skin feel like it was on fire.
He moved us backwards until my legs hit the couch. We broke apart only
long enough so that he could pull my sweater off before he dipped his head back
in and nibbled on my neck as he unclasped my bra. As he took one nipple into
his mouth I moaned and sank a little.
“Careful.” He whispered against my lips as he steadied me.
I wish he hadn’t spoken. It wasn’t just his voice that jarred me back
to the present, it was the word itself. A warning. I’d never been careful when
it came to men. Safe sex, sure. But when it came to my emotions, I never took
care of myself. I worried that if I ever asked for anything — care,
tenderness, love, the type of treatment that most women asked for —that
all too quickly I’d turn into my mom. Weak. Desperate. Accepting of whatever
crumbs tossed to her by the many men in her life. I vowed I’d never be like
that. Problem was, I got what I asked for.
I pulled back and looked down, trying to reconcile the jumbled thoughts
in my head with the sensations all over my body. He still held my arms, and as
I tried to pry myself out of his grasp, his grip tightened. Instinctively, I
looked up at him. The intensity was still there, but along with it was concern.
His brows pulled together before his expression softened. He scanned my face,
looking for an answer while he gently stroked my cheek with the back of his
fingers. It was such a tiny gesture, but to me, it felt like he was giving me
exactly what I should have had the guts to ask for. I had no practice at this,
though. The sex part, yah. Too much practice. Sex was easy. But the feelings
part was totally new. And his damn stare just made me crumple. I had to look
somewhere else, do something that could focus both my mind and my body.
I reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt, forcing his arms to
fall to his sides. Once he slid it off, he cupped my face and slowly, tenderly,
leaned back in. The fact that I started undressing him should have been his
answer, but it seemed his kiss was the final question. It was tentative, sweet,
waiting. In the 20 plus years I’d been having sex, I never experienced
tentative or sweet. I’d always approached it like a sport, or a challenge. An
activity where there was a winner and a loser. For an act that was supposed to
be intimate, I always thought of it as adversarial. Until now.
Whether it was him, or
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