The sheer curtain doesn’t hide the morning very well. It seeps in through all angles, diffused, but present. I sit up and check the time. Six-eighteen. Another entire night of tossing and turning, gone. My sleep-mate rolls over towards me, stretching out her paw as if to tell me to keep trying, just lie down and see if sleep will finally find you.
I rub that spot on the bottom of her ears that she always seems to lean into and quietly tell her good morning.
“Hello, sweet girl. You hogged the beg again.” Her eyes are barely open and she sighs, loudly. “You’re terrible, honestly, just the worst.” I smile down at her as she seems to fall asleep again, almost instantly.
Across from me, in a bedroom entirely too large, is another bed. But the occupant is still lightly snoring and he is less friendly when woken from slumber than my current cuddle buddy. The internal debate begins: should I try? Should I slide into his bed, snake my arm around his, and see if he’ll have me? Is failing worse than wondering?
Even though everything inside me, including recent memories, screams, “YES – failing is worse,” I slowly lift off my covers and place my feet on the floor. I look back at my sheddy companion and realize my stirring fully woke her. She is still lying down, but her head is up and paws ready to launch her off the bed. I glanced across the room again, longingly, and then back to her.
“What do you think?” My body slid off the bed and I kneel on the floor, folding over at the waist to lay my hands on her fluffy face. “You think I’ll at least get a ‘good morning’ pat on the head?” I tap her head and she squints, seemingly without enjoyment. I wonder if she would caution me too. After all, her fur tends to play catch-all for my tears, fears, and frustrations. Her eyes are barely open, and the human part of me wants to say she looks annoyed. Annoyed that I am having this debate, annoyed that she can’t remind me how much it hurts to be rejected, annoyed that I probably wouldn’t listen if she could.
I scratch that spot on her ears again and she leans into it, lying her head back on the bed. When I figured she would stay put, I slowly pull my weight off the bed, and stand to look at him again.
It’s cold in my bedroom. I love sleeping in the cold. Something about wrapping yourself in blankets, even if you have to occasionally shove a dog over in order to pull the covers up. But my nightmares make me a pain to sleep with. I toss too much, I turn too frequently. Its why I don’t wear shirts to bed and it is also why there are two beds in this bedroom. That, and a million other argument-fueled discussions that end up being lazy responses to a question I get too anxious to ask. Not because I don’t know the answer, but because I hate the lie he uses to put his own consciousness at ease.
I look around for my shirt that I usually toss on after waking up and then thought better of it. Maybe if he felt my skin on his, it would trigger something. Not one to do things half way, I slide my pants to the floor and walk over to the second bed.
He was sleeping on his side, turned towards the closet door and away from my bed. For as much as I wish I could pry his arms apart and put them around me, I figure that would for sure wake him up. So I lift the covers behind him, slowly, and sat down on the bed, trying as hard as I can to not jostle the mattress. I inch into position: my chest to his back, my arms wrapped around him, my legs resting on his. I lay there, as motionless as possible, and wish he would grab my hand or pull me tighter around him. But he remains a statute, an honored citizen of Dreamland. I close my eyes and rest my head against his broad back.
I am not sure how much time passes before the morning seems to catch up to him, too. His legs flex and I can feel his hands on mine. At first, he seems confused and a few wordless sounds come from his mouth. Then, he grabs my hands and brings them to his lips, gently kissing my fingers. Did that just happen? Is he… does he know it’s me?
“Hey…Good Morning”. I whisper. Trying to see if he is aware of the affection he just so easily tossed in my direction.
“Shhhh..” comes his soft-spoken reply, broken only by his continued kisses of my hands.
Without even feeling it come on, I realize I’m wet. Really? That’s all it takes? Fuck, I am ridiculous. But I take his instruction and keep quiet.
He flexes his legs again, causing mine to fall off his thigh and onto the bed. His hand reaches back, wrapping around my knee and he pulls my thigh up onto his waist. His hand lingers and then starts tracing lines on my skin, traveling as far back as his position would allow.
“Are you… naked?”. His voice, soft and filled with sleep, sounds intrigued. He isn’t chiding me. He’s excited.
“Do you want me to be?” I ask, trying to display anticipation without overdoing the playfulness.
“I think I might.” His hand wrapped around me, grabbing a handful of my exposed ass. I was wearing a thong, but he couldn’t feel it. In the time it took me to get annoyed at myself for not just taking it off, he starts rotating his body towards me, all the while gripping and pulling at my athletic posterior.
He releases my hand and wraps his arms around me, letting me lay my head on his chest. I quickly tilt my had back and start nuzzling into his neck, feeling his untrimmed beard tickle my nose. His eyes are closed, and his fingers start tracing up and down my spine. I wonder if he feels the goosebumps, the anxiety, the anticipation.
And now, I am filled with questions. Do I start kissing his neck? Do I run my hands up his thighs? Do I release these soft moans that sit so heavy on my lips? Or can I just accept that this is what he is willing to give, can I calm myself down enough to just enjoy being in his arms? Can that be enough for me?
As my brain is filled with thoughts running into each other, he drags his hand down my back again, over the thing strap of my thong, sliding his fingers under my thigh and pulling me closer to him. His arm wrapped around my leg, his wandering fingers noticing how excited I am. As soon as he touches me, I hear him stifle a laugh. I tilt my head back further and see him smiling. I always thought he looked his best when he smiled.
“You’re uh… already ready to go, huh?” I couldn’t tell if he was upset or not. I didn’t know if answering in the extreme affirmative would push him farther away from me or not. How can you know someone so well and yet still be so unsure of where you fit?
“Umm… sorry.” I spoke low enough that if he misheard, I could change my answer. But he didn’t ask, and I quickly nuzzled my head back under his chin, kissing gently at his neck.
“It’s ok.” He had moved his hand to my head, and pushed it back slowly, to see my face. I reluctantly looked up at him, nervous as to how this rejection would go.
“I don’t mind.” He continued, and brushed my hair back behind my ear. Did I just hear him say he didn’t mind?
“Oh!” I fought hard to control my smile, but was easily losing the battle. “You um, you don’t?”
“Being woken up by you, naked, and wet? Why is that a bad thing?” He was still smiling. He wasn’t even angry at me for assuming he’d be mad. He was being… reassuring. And he mentioned me. Not just woken up by someone. Woken up by me.
“I… I guess I don’t know.” I gave up trying to hide myself and dropped my hand to rest of his thigh. I started writing messages to him with my middle finger on his skin, wondering if he would ever read them.
His hand played in my hair a bit before resting at the base of my neck. He leaned forward slightly and pulled me into him, kissing my cheeks and temples before placing his lips on mine. He hadn’t kissed me like that in years. Years and years. I had flashbacks to dating, to laying on his bed with his roommates in the kitchen, to parking lot rendezvous during lunch hours, to that old, velvet futon I had in my first apartment. Flashbacks to the times I felt wanted, needed even. To when I was his favourite. To when he was mine.
He inhaled through his nose as he pushed his lips further into mine, his hand still wrapped gently around my neck, his thumb on my jaw. It felt like the first time he ever kissed me and I instinctively wrapped my fingers around his wrist. He pulled away, his forehead touching mine, and paused. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, filling my lungs with sweet, shared air. His hand ran across my face, his fingers touching my lips. I reached my tongue out playfully.
“What are you doing?” His question was soft, and unassuming.
“I don’t know.” I smiled as I spoke.
“No… **What** are you doing?” His voice was harsh, rude. So familiar I didn’t need the flashbacks.
I opened my eyes, my head still on his back, arms still wrapped around him. His elbows flinched, shoving my arms off him, and I pulled them back to me as he sat up in bed. Had I fallen asleep?
“What are you doing?” He turned and looked down at me. His face was hard, his smile gone, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Oh, sorry. I … I couldn’t sleep.” There it is. Theres that wonderful hit of pure, unadulterated, straight-from-the-source anxiety. The nervousness. The insecure way to exist in my own home.
“You couldn’t sleep so you… got naked and came here?” His eyes ran up and down my body in a clinical way. “Aren’t you cold?”
I rolled off the bed, my arms wrapped around my chest, and found the shirt I had left at my own bedside. I heard him yawn loudly and say a cheery hello to one of the other four-legged balls of fur that wasn’t fortunate enough to sleep on a bed. I stepped back into my sweat pants and pulled them up.
Once I heard the shower running and the restroom door close, I knelt in front of my bed, my hands holding the fuzzy face of my still-sleepy companion.
“You were right.” I whisper into her ear. “Failing hurts worse.” I smile at her sweet face, and she starts licking at the corners of my eyes.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/r515yk/unwanted_mf_vanilla