Rekindling an old flame (MF) (slow) (masturbation)

Part 1, more to come.

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“I had a dream of you last night.”

    I watched the text cursor blink a few times, then hit send.

    The blue chat bubble popped up on my screen and my stomach did a little flip. I hadn’t talked to Trey in years. We’d circled around each other in high school, making nervous, awkward conversations until we’d exchanged emails and started chatting online. He was a goof, and so was I. We grew used to each other online, and it made us more bold in person. Slowly we became friends. With the buffer of our computers between us we’d started exploring with each other, as young people do, but that was as far as we went. I knew the way he thought about me, but I just wasn’t ready to have a physical relationship, and there was no way he wouldn’t want one from me eventually. So after a while we drifted away from our explorations and our friendship settled back into platonomy. Every so often I caught him looking at me with those eyes, but he wouldn’t push on me what I didn’t want.

    A few years ago I’d seen his face on Tinder and I was excited to see my old friend, because that’s what he’d been before he was anything more. I messaged him, eager to catch up and maybe reconnect. I hadn’t expected the torch he held for me to still be burning, and when I realized it was, I let the conversation die.

    But last night he was in my dreams. Again. This isn’t the first time, but it doesn’t happen very often. Usually we find ourselves on some crazy adventure that only makes sense with dream logic and I can laugh as soon as I wake up at the absurdity of it all. Or there’s nothing much at all going on and I’m just relaxing with an old friend. 

But every now and again the dream is different. He comes into my mind, and our bodies come together. That slow smoulder that I saw in his eyes so long ago is sparked into an open flame and we burn together. His hands are on me, his mouth, his strong body, and I wake up aching.

This morning, as I worked through that ache, I found myself wondering if I’d made a mistake when I stopped talking to him on Tinder. I wondered what it would actually be like, what I could possibly be afraid of. He wasn’t a show stopper, certainly, but he wasn’t bad looking. Deep set, intense eyes, wide mouth always in a smile, shaggy eyebrows to give him character. His long, thin nose matched the rest of him; his long hair, arms, legs, fingers. I wondered what else might be long.

When I’d looked him up on facebook I’d been disappointed to see a photo of his dog as his profile picture, and a little more disappointed to find no pictures of him anywhere else. But he’d always been one of those people that didn’t trust his private life to sites like facebook. Smart of him. I’d meant to just look over his profile for a while, see how his life was going, but there was very little to see. I was left more wanting than I had been when I started. Absently I wondered if all his smiling had left crows feet at the corners of his eyes yet, and lines around his mouth. I wondered if I’d made him smile when I messaged him on Tinder. Could I make him smile again?

For a few minutes I stared at the blue chat bubble, waiting to see if maybe he’d read it immediately. But he didn’t, not that I’d necessarily expected him to. So I stood up from my computer and walked away to find something to keep myself busy.

As I watered my garden I felt almost wired, like I’d had too much caffeine. I noticed that my hands quivered ever so slightly, barely noticeable. And once I’d seen that, I recognized that I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. He made me nervous, or maybe my own boldness did. I took a deep breath, I knew the feeling would pass.

I’d already done yesterday’s dishes and I was halfway through the prep work for tonight’s dinner when my phone dinged at me. My stomach did another flip and my heart jumped into my throat. I dropped my knife to the cutting board and rinsed potato starch off of my hands as fast as I possibly could. When I unlocked my phone there was a chat head sitting right there with a picture of his dog on it. I tapped it.

Trey: Yeah?

I could hear myself breathing faster and thoughts flew through my head. I was over the moon that he’d responded, I just hoped he wasn’t tied down. If I knew him, he was unsure where this conversation was going, but he knew where he wanted it to go. He didn’t steer the conversation away from what I’d said with greetings, and he left his response open ended so I’d be able to continue with whatever I wanted to say. I appreciated him for that.

He’d know I’d seen his message, just as I’d known he hadn’t seen mine earlier. Playing mind games by waiting wasn’t my style, and I couldn’t take very long to formulate a response or he’d wonder what was up. I should have thought this through earlier.

You: Yeah. It’s not the first time.
Trey: I dream about you, too, sometimes. What did you dream about?

Shit. I’d had all the nerve in the world earlier. In my dreams I always lured him to me with sultry looks and clever poses meant to just barely give a view of what I had to offer. In reality, I wasn’t so brave, nor so skilled. Where the hell would I find the courage to talk to him about this?

But I knew how he had felt about me. After the way he’d jumped at the chance to talk to me again a few years ago, I suspected he still wanted me, even after all this time. Surely he would, right?

We used to do this all the time, how hard could it possibly be? But I didn’t know him anymore, didn’t know how he’d respond. And I didn’t want him to judge me, as stupid as that sounded.

You: About all of those things we used to talk about. Do you remember?
Trey: Of course I remember. How could I forget? 
You: Do you ever think about it? The way we used to talk?
Trey: Was it just talk for you? I remember doing more than that.
You: No, you’re right. Did I ever tell you that I popped my cherry while we were chatting one day?
Trey: Really? No, I had no idea. That’s… really sexy.
You: What, my hymen breaking?
Trey: No, that I was the one you were playing with when you broke it. 

I smiled at my phone. My nerves were settling down, thank goodness. He was clearly into this, receptive. He wouldn’t reject me. It wasn’t as smooth as sultry looks and sexy poses, but it would do.

You: Do you want to have a drink sometime? I’d love to catch up.
Trey: Yeah, I’d like that.
You: How about this weekend?
Trey: I’m free Saturday, does 7pm work for you? Where do you want to meet?
You: Saturday at 7 is perfect. My place?
Trey: Haha, yeah, okay. Your place.

I typed up the address and said goodnight with butterflies in my stomach.

That night I ate my dinner with a glass of wine, partially as a reward for being so bold, partially in celebratory anticipation of the weekend. When I lay down to go to bed I found myself thinking about that long nose, those full lips, those intense eyes, feeling his tongue on my skin and his strong hands gripping me, and I couldn’t help but reach for my toybox.

I closed my eyes and pictured his face as my wand hummed to life. I could practically feel him caressing up my arm, over my shoulder, down to across my breast, and gripping onto my hip. When the wand made contact with my mound I sucked in a breath, the abrupt sensation sending heat blooming into my body. I thought of the weight of him resting between my legs and against my pelvis, of his hips thrusting into mine, and my fingers took the place of his member pushing into my body. Though I tried to hold back for as long as I could I found myself moaning through an orgasm much too soon, and dropping right off into sweet dreams with the wand still in my hand.

The whole week I was on edge and I felt like I couldn’t settle down to save my life, my knees wobbly and hands shaky anytime I thought about the weekend. On Friday he messaged me to make sure we were still on, like a gentleman. I said we were. He asked if he should bring food, and I said it would be a good idea. Saturday morning I woke up far too early and couldn’t get back to sleep. So I spent the day cleaning the house, getting it ready for company.

Usually when I was expecting someone over I’d clean the living room, kitchen, and bathroom, but the rest of the house would be left comfortably messy. That didn’t seem quite adequate this time, so I cleaned top to bottom, but left just enough clutter to make it look as though I hadn’t tidied much, if at all: a book and an empty glass on the bedside table, a jacket casually draped over the back of a chair, the bed made, but loosely. It took me a while to work up the courage, but I took my bullet vibrator from my toy box and left it on the bedside table right next to the book. It was small, unintrusive, not as intimidating as my large wand or the bright violet dildo. I figured if he made it to the bedroom then the suggestiveness would be appropriate.

Around five, just to work out some nerves I did a quick yoga flow. After I showered off the sweat I finally felt somewhat relaxed, though my stomach refused to unknot itself. By the time I’d showered, shaved, and dried my hair I only had half an hour left to wait. 

I’d been putting it off, but I didn’t have much time left to choose what to wear. The underwear was easy: a matching set made mostly of black lace and racy thoughts, but still almost casual. Just this side of lingerie. The message I wanted to send with that was “I knew you might get to see this, and I’m glad you have.” It also made me feel confident, and the slight stiffness of my panties was enough to remind me where the night might go.

Outerwear was the problem. Did I put on something suggestive? Comfortable? Would a skirt make it seem like I was working too hard? Finally I just had to decide to wear what the hell I wanted because I was running out of time. I ended up with some clinging black leggings and a plain purple camisole that I knew would show just the top edge of my bra if I didn’t keep an eye on it. 

And so a few minutes before seven I sat down on the couch, turned on the TV, and flipped over to the game. The noise and hype of the crowd gave me a place to channel all of my nervous energy. I didn’t know if Trey liked hockey, I didn’t remember ever discussing sports with him, but if he wanted to watch something else he could tell me. 

I pretended not to pay attention to the clock as I watched the players whizzing about on the ice, and I pretended my head was buzzing because my team was on a power play. And I pretended that I hadn’t jumped when the doorbell rang at 7:03.

I took a deep breath as I stood up. My eyes dropped to my camisole and I saw just the barest hint of black lace peeking up from below. For a second I considered pulling my top back up, then gritted my teeth and left it where it was as I half-jogged to the door and pulled it open.

And there he was, almost exactly as I remembered him. He was at least a few inches over six feet, but just as he used to he slouched a little as if he were self conscious about his height. His long hair hung in energetic ringlets around his face, framing it and adding to the joviality he always exuded. A black T-shirt that I’m certain I would have under-appreciated in highschool boldly proclaimed “Nirvana” in bright yellow script with the signature squiggly smiley face beneath. When we’d known each other last his shirts had always hung off him, made for people much larger than his slim self, but the only option for someone of his height. This one, though, fit well and showed off his wiry frame. On his face he wore a bright smile with just the shadow of nervousness around the corners. I could tell he was trying not to show the nerves, but there wasn’t much he could do about the fact that his fingers vibrated ever so faintly against the large paper bag he held at his side.

“Kate! It’s so good to see you!” he said. His arm shifted up just an inch or so in a gesture meant to invite a hug, but be ambiguous enough that if I did not want to give him one I could act as though it was just an expression of enthusiasm and deny the contact gracefully. I saw it and stepped into him, wrapping my arms around his chest. One thing I’d forgotten about him was the feeling of him holding me. It wasn’t just a motion of his arms, he seemed to collapse around me, his whole body focused on mine. You’d think that such a thin man would give a thin-feeling hug, but his felt warm and protective, comfortable and comforting. I felt some tension inside myself uncoil and relax.

“You, too, Trey. It’s been so long!” I held onto him a moment longer, then stepped back. I just barely caught his eyes drop down to my chest, then immediately flit back up to my eyes. I acted as though I’d seen nothing and that his cheeks weren’t turning bright red.

“Come inside! Do you want to eat at the table or in the living room? The Golden Knights are playing the Ducks,” I said as I turned to walk back toward the open-plan living space.

“That seems a little unfair for the ducks. Or are they like the rabbit of Caerbannog? Then it’d be unfair for the knights.” We both laughed.

“No, it’s definitely unfair for the Ducks,” I replied and gestured at the television, which proved my point. “But it’s up to you.”

“Oh, hockey,” he said, sounding a little mystified. “Sure, I don’t know anything about it, but it could be fun.”

“I didn’t know anything about it at first, either, but it’s really fun to watch. And sometimes there are fights, which you don’t need any expertise to enjoy.” I held my hands out for the paper bag, assuming it was our dinner.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” he said and handed over the bag. “I got us italian. I hope you’re not vegan?”

“No, I’m not. Italian sounds great. Sit, I’ll go get this plated up. What do you want to drink?” I wandered off to the kitchen as he made his way to the couch, and raised my voice to be heard through the distance and over the commotion of the game. “I’ve got gin, tequila, rum, vodka, wine, beer, mixers.”

“I’ll take tequila on the rocks, please.”

I made myself a long island and poured him his tequila. Just to be safe I poured us each a glass of water as well, then got the food from styrofoam containers onto actual plates. When I came back into the living room with my arms full and food precariously balanced, Trey stood up and helped me get it all onto the coffee table.

“Which one is yours?” I asked.

“Whichever. I got two things I liked so you could have choices and I can have whatever you don’t want.”

I smiled at him, and as he smiled back I saw something in his eyes. Sincerity, I thought, or eagerness. “Very wise.”

We both sat down and I handed him his tequila and his water, telling him which was which so he wouldn’t get them confused. I chose the pasta with some sort of pink sauce, and it was fantastic. We sat for a long while, catching up and watching the game. He didn’t know anything about hockey, but he at least said he enjoyed it, and I got to explain the rules to him. Out of the corner of my eye I caught him looking at me a few more times, and I could feel myself blushing. 

We talked about his love for computers, and he laughed when I remembered the computer he’d built in a fish tank, and again when I explained that I thought he’d meant he’d built one in a fish tank filled with water and had been mystified for a long time. He teased me about playing low brass in band, which apparently was somehow nerdier than his percussion section. I told him just exactly what I thought about that, to his amusement. It felt good to make him laugh again, and I enjoyed the sound of it.

About halfway through my long island I’d drunk my full glass of water, so I got up and went to the kitchen to refill it. I noticed as I stood up that my fingers felt a little numb, and my balance was slightly off. Half of one drink and I was already getting buzzed. I would call myself a lightweight,  but I knew just how much alcohol went into a long island, and I felt justified. I refilled my glass from the sink and took a long draft.

When I came back around the corner into the living room I met his eyes and stopped in my tracks. There was that look. That look that said “You are breathtaking and I want you. The world could fall away at this very moment and I wouldn’t notice, so long as you were here with me.”

All of the air left my lungs. I could see in his expression that he knew I’d seen the intensity of that look. He sat back on the couch and the heat sank into his eyes, not diminishing, but being hidden away behind a friendly smile. He’d drop it if I asked him to. He’d sit here and have dinner with me, drink his tequila, and leave if that’s what I wanted. He wasn’t sure what it was that I would ask of him, but I’d felt the desire in his gaze. I knew what he was hoping for.

And it was exactly what I wanted.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/iy5dnt/rekindling_an_old_flame_mf_slow_masturbation