bonk
Mr. C and I went to an art museum yesterday.
We were to meet at two. I was late for a couple reasons. Running errands took longer than expected because I had to go to more stores since I had the wrong place for an errand for my mom, and a different store I visited was sold out of menstrual cups (doggie ate mine) and I had to make another unexpected stop, then I got on the wrong freeway but didn't realize it for miles. I texted Mr. C each time I realized I'd be a half-hour delayed.
I waited at his door a minute after ringing his doorbell and was about to call his phone when he unlocked the door as he was putting on his t-shirt. He's a very last-minute kind of person. Easily distracted. He mentions his A.D.D. / A.D.H.D. with a fair amount of regularity.
Then he invited me in and said he needed to put on his shoes and asked if I wanted anything to drink. He's considerate that way. I declined, but did need to use the restroom. When I got out, he was in his room, and said I could come in if I wanted, and proceeded to say that his room was like a 12-year-old's, and perpetually messy, and something about his side and his sister's side of the room, and "this is my bed and my posters and my shrek figurine and my over-sized monitor I thankfully don't have to replace" and I was a bit confused why he was pointing out everything visible in a single room. I didn't ask but, in the hopes that the show and tell would end before the museum closed, did interject an apology for being late and that I hoped we had enough time at the museum.
We walked somewhat awkwardly. I could sense he didn't know what to do with himself and didn't want to impose on me. I didn't know what to think of the random stuff and laundry piles on the floor of his room or the taped posters on his wall or the basically twin XL bed that looked like a queen in the picture I mentioned a few entries ago. He'd previously described his bed as a custom one that his dad told him would last a long time, but it looked like a basic dorm bed. I shook off the random questions that could be a simple matter of semantics or mis-information given to an uncertain teen, and focused on the more important issues. I asked if his space would forever be messy. He seemed to think about it and said that it's not how he wants it forever to be, and mentioned that he'd like couches or someplace to sit in his room other than his computer chair and bed. That led me to ask if he'd tried Craigslist and he didn't believe me that people post free stuff all the time.
I described my room. My wall color is a mix of green and brown that either looks like mud or old avocado. I have a dresser I painted silver that only has paint brushes, markers, frames, scrapbooking, and I can't recall what else in its drawers. Between the dressers, desk, bed, closet, door and windows, on what's left of my walls, I have tall mirrors, sail boat art (prints of a watercolor and an acrylic painting, and black and white photos) and landscape painting -- all save one canvas painting are framed.
He and I both settled in a nice rhythm of chatter. I peeled and ate an orange while we walked the few miles to the museum.
At a stoplight, I slid my fingers along his hand and he seemed to relax a touch. An ease of breath.
I hadn't stopped for lunch earlier and I was too hungry to wander through the museum, so we stopped at a quaint and surprisingly romantic Callender's. We had the whole downstairs section to ourselves. I chose to sit across from him in a surprisingly large booth, but immediately wished I'd gone with the other option, he felt too far away. The waiter was there to take our drink order, so I felt less inclined to play musical chairs. I had sticky orange residue on my hands anyway, so knew I could excuse myself to the restroom and, upon my return, request a new seating arrangement. When I told him I wanted to sit next to him, he scooted over and pat the seat. He wanted me to lean against him, but needed to scoot over more to support himself against the wall. I could stretch my legs completely on the seat. His finger tips played along my forearm. I nearly forgot we were in a restaurant when the waiter came with our food.
At the museum, I'd hoped to see the light installations on view, but it was a special ticket event. Well, actually, I wanted him to kiss me amidst the fields of colored light. Maybe up against a neon wall or in the sea spaces. Our bodies awash in colors, our eyes flooded in alternative hues.
Instead, we strolled along a massive and undulating ribbon of steel. In one of the curls, I'd leaned against the metal and we chatted a bit. Then he pressed his hands on either side of me and leaned in. It was exactly what I wanted but I was looking at the floor and didn't see him coming, and him that close like that, caught my breath, heart aflutter, instant heat. Then a moment later, just as I started to lift my head and reach for him, he apologized profusely and backed off and started saying that it would look like I was being attacked and security guards would come, and I both appreciated and cursed his neurotic courteousness, and wish I could have gotten a word in edgewise to let him know how much I liked it, but I couldn't quite speak coherently yet, and besides, he wasn't listening to me.
We both leaned against the wall and had some more random conversation. I think I said I liked the rust. [ ...? I'm shaking my head at myself as I'm recalling the nonsense filler.] I was about to encourage him to get a little closer, when, "Bonk."
That's what he uttered when he tapped the end of a rolled up poster against my left breast mere minutes after backing off that incredibly sexy lean-in.
"Bonk."
I slugged his torso to push him back out of arm's reach, "I can't believe you just did that."
Mr. C proceeded to say many things like "Ow. I'm sorry. I can't believe I just did that. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." and so on.
I started walking out of the art and told him he wasn't allowed to touch me for a while, and when he started walking beside me, I obviously stepped away to create distance. Though I was indeed startled by the odd, juvenile, act, and wasn't appreciative of it, I was intentionally being over-dramatic because it was one of many in the immature vein that I'd been mostly ignoring.
He kept saying that he didn't know why he did that. I suspected that it was probably the combination of hitting stuff that sticks out and he actually wanted to get personal, but didn't say anything about it. Instead we went to the next art piece and talked about it a little.
When he apologized again, I told him he really screwed up because I thought the lean-in was hot and hoped he do it again, and in that 'bonk' moment, I'd wanted to kiss him. And that really seemed to bum him out, but I think he didn't quite catch that I hoped he'd get close and hot again, and instead chose to focus on the blunders.
I could see that he was really kicking himself, and asked "Want a do-over?"
We walked back to the curved walls and eventually he does lean in, but this time he does wall push-ups over me and I laugh and half think of the up-down of sex. And the earlier moment cannot be recaptured, but I was glad we could discuss it and be comfortable. He puts his arm around me as we check out the other exhibits until they close.
He wanted to sit on a bench and cuddle and talk. He was very insistent upon that. The wind chill stole away any warmth I had, and every bench was in the open, and we leapfrogged around the park and museum grounds, on the little planter wall, on the steps, by the entrance, in a tree, and I kept requesting we try to find someplace more sheltered, but either every decent spot was taken up by other people trying to stay warm for the night, or it was dark and "I want to see you."
Finally my protests are heeded and he says we can go to a café and suddenly cocoa sounded like the most magnificent thing ever. So we walked around the museum grounds toward the street and found ourselves in a grove of lampposts.
He's bored.
Seen it a million times. He lives around here.
I tell him I want to linger.
The wind blows.
He brushes the hair out of my eyes and let his fingers trail along my face. I rubbed my cheek in his palm.
His hands, both of them, slid along my neck, brushes of exquisitely wonderful sensations. My lids flutter closed. My lips part, I want him, I struggle to open my eyes, he's not paying attention, looking off. I sense he's someplace else in his mind. I stop trying to compose myself and give in to the sweet, soft, delicate caresses along my jawline and cheeks. His hands must be large. They don't look it. But there's no other way he could simultaneously cradle my neck, creep his fingers in my hair, and brush my cheeks like that if his hands were any smaller. So much of him. So much man. Such a delicate touch. Electric. I forget to breathe.
He could have taken me right then and there in the field of lampposts, such desire, I was so wet.
Even now, the memory is white hot. My mouth waters. My breasts tingle. I shift in my seat.
I didn't think I could desire him ay more.
If this is him absent-minded...
Holy fuckoly I'm already putty in his hands, I can't fathom the power he'd wield when we're alone and trying to be more intimate.
We wind up at a restaurant and I ask where he wants me -- in his arms, of course. He tries to get me to be fully back to him, but the angle is weird to lay back since I'm not between his legs and my ass doesn't readily bend over someone's whole thigh. After pulling me back a couple times and me telling him whatever he's doing isn't working, I finally turn to point out that his knees are basically where by butt needs to be if he wants me to lean against him. We both sit up more and put our legs more under the table and were finally comfortable, except when he shifts and his pocket contents dig into my side. I stare at the menu but get distracted as his hands play along my arm. I stare at the same page for many minutes but never read a word.
When we're saying our goodbyes, he asks if I will join his family for Sunday dinner. He says he has this idea of bringing home a woman for the first time. I tell him I think it would be lovely but it may be a little too soon since we haven't even answered some questions ourselves. He wonders, "like what?" and I say, "I'd go as what?" He says "as my girlfriend..?" and I say we kinda need to date first and maybe have a first kiss, and a few other important moments of connection pop into my mind but I don't list them aloud.
We cuddle and hug a while and don't want to say goodbye just yet and try to stave off the night air, and I lightly kiss his neck goodbye before getting into my car.
Tonight, we've texted a little. He asked if I wanted him to call me once he got home from hanging with his chums.
I did, but thought I'd be long asleep -- turns out I was wrong. In typing this up, I can almost feel his hands on and around me.
And these waves of desire aren't merely from being hormonal.
"I can't get to sleep. I keep thinking about your hands cupping my face and your fingers brushing along my jaw line. Exquisite sensations"
Mr. C "You make it sound like a delicacy"
"It is for me. A breath catching one"
Mr. C "Lovely to know it's something you enjoy"
"It's so very deliciously remarkably enjoyable that I now feel guilty because I don't think I even remotely reciprocated that level of marvelousness"
Mr. C "Wow I really don't know what to say that can top that, you're so very descriptive about it"
"...ah, so then I am correct in the one-sidedness"
Mr. C "For now"
And my jaw nearly dropped. Holy fuck. I ... So smooth. And, fuck me, I can't fathom ...if this is how I feel now, with him so nonchalant... so unfazed while I am so aroused...
"Holy fuck I'm in deep trouble with you"
Mr. C "Why?"
"One sided for now... I find myself nearly putty already"
He misinterprets my use of trouble.
"Ha ha, no, I meant because it feels so nice, I'm in trouble, and doubly so because I like to give as good as I get and... you can make me forget to breathe"
Mr. C "I entice you so much, don't I?"
"Far more than I could ever say without blushing"
Mr. C "Never knew I'd ever have such an effect on a person"
"That you can affect me so, and all not intentionally, is how I know I'd be well and truly sunk once you do try."
And his next reply makes me wonder if he understood what I meant by putty and forgetting to breathe, "Just wanting to be mindful and respecting of you is all"
"And my skin is happy to receive your mindfulness and respect"
Mr. C "Happy to know it does :) "
We were to meet at two. I was late for a couple reasons. Running errands took longer than expected because I had to go to more stores since I had the wrong place for an errand for my mom, and a different store I visited was sold out of menstrual cups (doggie ate mine) and I had to make another unexpected stop, then I got on the wrong freeway but didn't realize it for miles. I texted Mr. C each time I realized I'd be a half-hour delayed.
I waited at his door a minute after ringing his doorbell and was about to call his phone when he unlocked the door as he was putting on his t-shirt. He's a very last-minute kind of person. Easily distracted. He mentions his A.D.D. / A.D.H.D. with a fair amount of regularity.
Then he invited me in and said he needed to put on his shoes and asked if I wanted anything to drink. He's considerate that way. I declined, but did need to use the restroom. When I got out, he was in his room, and said I could come in if I wanted, and proceeded to say that his room was like a 12-year-old's, and perpetually messy, and something about his side and his sister's side of the room, and "this is my bed and my posters and my shrek figurine and my over-sized monitor I thankfully don't have to replace" and I was a bit confused why he was pointing out everything visible in a single room. I didn't ask but, in the hopes that the show and tell would end before the museum closed, did interject an apology for being late and that I hoped we had enough time at the museum.
We walked somewhat awkwardly. I could sense he didn't know what to do with himself and didn't want to impose on me. I didn't know what to think of the random stuff and laundry piles on the floor of his room or the taped posters on his wall or the basically twin XL bed that looked like a queen in the picture I mentioned a few entries ago. He'd previously described his bed as a custom one that his dad told him would last a long time, but it looked like a basic dorm bed. I shook off the random questions that could be a simple matter of semantics or mis-information given to an uncertain teen, and focused on the more important issues. I asked if his space would forever be messy. He seemed to think about it and said that it's not how he wants it forever to be, and mentioned that he'd like couches or someplace to sit in his room other than his computer chair and bed. That led me to ask if he'd tried Craigslist and he didn't believe me that people post free stuff all the time.
I described my room. My wall color is a mix of green and brown that either looks like mud or old avocado. I have a dresser I painted silver that only has paint brushes, markers, frames, scrapbooking, and I can't recall what else in its drawers. Between the dressers, desk, bed, closet, door and windows, on what's left of my walls, I have tall mirrors, sail boat art (prints of a watercolor and an acrylic painting, and black and white photos) and landscape painting -- all save one canvas painting are framed.
He and I both settled in a nice rhythm of chatter. I peeled and ate an orange while we walked the few miles to the museum.
At a stoplight, I slid my fingers along his hand and he seemed to relax a touch. An ease of breath.
I hadn't stopped for lunch earlier and I was too hungry to wander through the museum, so we stopped at a quaint and surprisingly romantic Callender's. We had the whole downstairs section to ourselves. I chose to sit across from him in a surprisingly large booth, but immediately wished I'd gone with the other option, he felt too far away. The waiter was there to take our drink order, so I felt less inclined to play musical chairs. I had sticky orange residue on my hands anyway, so knew I could excuse myself to the restroom and, upon my return, request a new seating arrangement. When I told him I wanted to sit next to him, he scooted over and pat the seat. He wanted me to lean against him, but needed to scoot over more to support himself against the wall. I could stretch my legs completely on the seat. His finger tips played along my forearm. I nearly forgot we were in a restaurant when the waiter came with our food.
At the museum, I'd hoped to see the light installations on view, but it was a special ticket event. Well, actually, I wanted him to kiss me amidst the fields of colored light. Maybe up against a neon wall or in the sea spaces. Our bodies awash in colors, our eyes flooded in alternative hues.
Instead, we strolled along a massive and undulating ribbon of steel. In one of the curls, I'd leaned against the metal and we chatted a bit. Then he pressed his hands on either side of me and leaned in. It was exactly what I wanted but I was looking at the floor and didn't see him coming, and him that close like that, caught my breath, heart aflutter, instant heat. Then a moment later, just as I started to lift my head and reach for him, he apologized profusely and backed off and started saying that it would look like I was being attacked and security guards would come, and I both appreciated and cursed his neurotic courteousness, and wish I could have gotten a word in edgewise to let him know how much I liked it, but I couldn't quite speak coherently yet, and besides, he wasn't listening to me.
We both leaned against the wall and had some more random conversation. I think I said I liked the rust. [ ...? I'm shaking my head at myself as I'm recalling the nonsense filler.] I was about to encourage him to get a little closer, when, "Bonk."
That's what he uttered when he tapped the end of a rolled up poster against my left breast mere minutes after backing off that incredibly sexy lean-in.
"Bonk."
I slugged his torso to push him back out of arm's reach, "I can't believe you just did that."
Mr. C proceeded to say many things like "Ow. I'm sorry. I can't believe I just did that. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." and so on.
I started walking out of the art and told him he wasn't allowed to touch me for a while, and when he started walking beside me, I obviously stepped away to create distance. Though I was indeed startled by the odd, juvenile, act, and wasn't appreciative of it, I was intentionally being over-dramatic because it was one of many in the immature vein that I'd been mostly ignoring.
He kept saying that he didn't know why he did that. I suspected that it was probably the combination of hitting stuff that sticks out and he actually wanted to get personal, but didn't say anything about it. Instead we went to the next art piece and talked about it a little.
When he apologized again, I told him he really screwed up because I thought the lean-in was hot and hoped he do it again, and in that 'bonk' moment, I'd wanted to kiss him. And that really seemed to bum him out, but I think he didn't quite catch that I hoped he'd get close and hot again, and instead chose to focus on the blunders.
I could see that he was really kicking himself, and asked "Want a do-over?"
We walked back to the curved walls and eventually he does lean in, but this time he does wall push-ups over me and I laugh and half think of the up-down of sex. And the earlier moment cannot be recaptured, but I was glad we could discuss it and be comfortable. He puts his arm around me as we check out the other exhibits until they close.
He wanted to sit on a bench and cuddle and talk. He was very insistent upon that. The wind chill stole away any warmth I had, and every bench was in the open, and we leapfrogged around the park and museum grounds, on the little planter wall, on the steps, by the entrance, in a tree, and I kept requesting we try to find someplace more sheltered, but either every decent spot was taken up by other people trying to stay warm for the night, or it was dark and "I want to see you."
Finally my protests are heeded and he says we can go to a café and suddenly cocoa sounded like the most magnificent thing ever. So we walked around the museum grounds toward the street and found ourselves in a grove of lampposts.
He's bored.
Seen it a million times. He lives around here.
I tell him I want to linger.
The wind blows.
He brushes the hair out of my eyes and let his fingers trail along my face. I rubbed my cheek in his palm.
His hands, both of them, slid along my neck, brushes of exquisitely wonderful sensations. My lids flutter closed. My lips part, I want him, I struggle to open my eyes, he's not paying attention, looking off. I sense he's someplace else in his mind. I stop trying to compose myself and give in to the sweet, soft, delicate caresses along my jawline and cheeks. His hands must be large. They don't look it. But there's no other way he could simultaneously cradle my neck, creep his fingers in my hair, and brush my cheeks like that if his hands were any smaller. So much of him. So much man. Such a delicate touch. Electric. I forget to breathe.
He could have taken me right then and there in the field of lampposts, such desire, I was so wet.
Even now, the memory is white hot. My mouth waters. My breasts tingle. I shift in my seat.
I didn't think I could desire him ay more.
If this is him absent-minded...
Holy fuckoly I'm already putty in his hands, I can't fathom the power he'd wield when we're alone and trying to be more intimate.
We wind up at a restaurant and I ask where he wants me -- in his arms, of course. He tries to get me to be fully back to him, but the angle is weird to lay back since I'm not between his legs and my ass doesn't readily bend over someone's whole thigh. After pulling me back a couple times and me telling him whatever he's doing isn't working, I finally turn to point out that his knees are basically where by butt needs to be if he wants me to lean against him. We both sit up more and put our legs more under the table and were finally comfortable, except when he shifts and his pocket contents dig into my side. I stare at the menu but get distracted as his hands play along my arm. I stare at the same page for many minutes but never read a word.
When we're saying our goodbyes, he asks if I will join his family for Sunday dinner. He says he has this idea of bringing home a woman for the first time. I tell him I think it would be lovely but it may be a little too soon since we haven't even answered some questions ourselves. He wonders, "like what?" and I say, "I'd go as what?" He says "as my girlfriend..?" and I say we kinda need to date first and maybe have a first kiss, and a few other important moments of connection pop into my mind but I don't list them aloud.
We cuddle and hug a while and don't want to say goodbye just yet and try to stave off the night air, and I lightly kiss his neck goodbye before getting into my car.
Tonight, we've texted a little. He asked if I wanted him to call me once he got home from hanging with his chums.
I did, but thought I'd be long asleep -- turns out I was wrong. In typing this up, I can almost feel his hands on and around me.
And these waves of desire aren't merely from being hormonal.
"I can't get to sleep. I keep thinking about your hands cupping my face and your fingers brushing along my jaw line. Exquisite sensations"
Mr. C "You make it sound like a delicacy"
"It is for me. A breath catching one"
Mr. C "Lovely to know it's something you enjoy"
"It's so very deliciously remarkably enjoyable that I now feel guilty because I don't think I even remotely reciprocated that level of marvelousness"
Mr. C "Wow I really don't know what to say that can top that, you're so very descriptive about it"
"...ah, so then I am correct in the one-sidedness"
Mr. C "For now"
And my jaw nearly dropped. Holy fuck. I ... So smooth. And, fuck me, I can't fathom ...if this is how I feel now, with him so nonchalant... so unfazed while I am so aroused...
"Holy fuck I'm in deep trouble with you"
Mr. C "Why?"
"One sided for now... I find myself nearly putty already"
He misinterprets my use of trouble.
"Ha ha, no, I meant because it feels so nice, I'm in trouble, and doubly so because I like to give as good as I get and... you can make me forget to breathe"
Mr. C "I entice you so much, don't I?"
"Far more than I could ever say without blushing"
Mr. C "Never knew I'd ever have such an effect on a person"
"That you can affect me so, and all not intentionally, is how I know I'd be well and truly sunk once you do try."
And his next reply makes me wonder if he understood what I meant by putty and forgetting to breathe, "Just wanting to be mindful and respecting of you is all"
"And my skin is happy to receive your mindfulness and respect"
Mr. C "Happy to know it does :) "