I know I should not be asking you to stay, and honestly you should not consider it. But I have no one else, nobody at least who understands me like you do, the things I can’t tell anybody else.
Other guys, they would not understand the things going on in my mind, or worse yet they would misinterpret them. I could not lean against anyone else without them thinking I was coming onto them, and they would secretly call me a slut even while their arms reach around to fondle my breasts. But you, you don’t just understand the nuances, you can read them from my eyes without me even having to say them out loud. You can hold your own even while you are holding me, and it’s my cheeks that you explore with your fingers, and caring brushes through my hair when my head rests on your shoulder.
You can do things to me by just holding my hand that other guys could not achieve if I gave them full access to my whole body, and you do them willingly, enjoy my enjoyment and make it your own. You have no business touching me, and I have no excuse for letting you, and plenty of reasons not to. One of those reasons lives in my apartment, on most days at least, not tonight. Tonight there is just emptiness in here, and I can’t quite deal with it for once, that’s why you’re here. And you walked in, and it took you just a sweeping glance to judge the situation, and another glance to see me for who I am, a fragile mess of neediness.
I am yours tonight, and you know that as well, you saw it in my eyes as much as the way I dress, my pyjamas lacking even the pretense of legitimacy that a pair of sweatpants would have given me. You can tell that I am not at my strongest, you can see it in the glas of wine on the table, or the half-empty bottle next to it. You see my feet because I’m no longer wearing socks, and you reach out for them mindlessly to pull the blanket over them and not let go, massaging my toes and then the soles of my feet.
You did not even ask, made no attempt to gauge my interest, you simply looked at me and took me into your hands, just like I was silently begging you. You have always been so good at understanding me in times of little words, and you have never judged me for the times when I take to your help, help that no one else in my life can provide. You fix things in my life that are broken, and you do the same to me when I am. You answer my late night texts and spin up a discussion, and you swing by on days when I ask you to, or don’t.
The only time you ever make me uncomfortable is when I realize how comfortable you make me, how much I crave your presence in every shape and form. I love it when you chat the day away with me, and when you take me into your arms, or when you stay strong when I can’t, and give me the distance I need, but can’t muster the strength for.
And tonight, I first feared that you would do just that, keep me at arm’s length and take the high road. I feared that you would talk me through the night, instead of holding me as I drift away. I saw the danger of letting you see the state I’m in, and thinking you should better leave me alone, and listen to my problems with your ears.
But I gave you too little credit there, you know me better, better maybe than I know myself on nights like this. You see the fragility, the way I don’t even deny my need for a warm body to snuggle up against, and you realize that my momentary weakness is not the symptom of an underlying illness. You don’t look at me like other guys would, you don’t see me as a greedy slut who can’t even last a week without her boyfriend before she finds herself in someone else’s arms. You see below that surface layer, and understand that it is not a state that other guys would get to see.
I would be strong and hard, cold-hearted and cold-blooded, and make sure that I am soon locked inside my apartment where no one can see me cry for no reason, where nobody can hear me put on music that your average teen would consider a bit too angsty. You can deal with me when I’m shivering even though the heating is turned up high, and you will even slip under the blanket with me.
And you can even deal with the one thing I would never say out loud, that I can be myself with you in ways that my boyfriend will never know or learn about me. That doesn’t mean that I don’t love him, I do, but in a completely different way it’s you whom I trust most. I couldn’t show him this version of myself, he’s way too used to the strong me, the one on top of my game, and a step ahead of all the housework, chores and daily tasks. He would probably be frightened to see me like this, and then I would have to take care of him before I could take care of myself.
He wouldn’t be useful in a situation like this, and unable to do the things that you do, the ease with which you decide what’s best for me, what I need when I’m not really sure myself.
You would be able to take the glass of wine from my hands, or pour me a new one, and you don’t need to take my clothes off to undress me. You could compliment my looks on days when I feel horrible, and tell me cold hard truths on days when I’m not willing to admit them myself.
And tonight, I need you at the height of all that, because I am at what must be my lowest. For once I hope that you don’t see all there is to see, because I would let you do things to me that we would likely both regret. You have held me in your arms before, caressed my cheeks and even wiped the tears from my face that I’m not sure where they are coming from, and why I’m crying them. But you and I have not been naked yet, that has always been our unspoken agreement and you honored it.
Not once have you made unwanted advances in that direction, not once did you slip a finger underneath the elastic of my pants, or even so much as touched my breasts. My butt has been pressed against your body quite a bit, but you have never felt the need to go and touch it, either.
And tonight, those rules are void, we are in lawless country and you are the sheriff who decides what law is. My pyjamas hardly have elastic left after all those years of owning them, and the fabric is so thin that you saw all the contours when I opened the door for you. You keep seeing me now, not even the blanket can hide the look in my eyes.
And I have no clue how you can read me so well, how it can be that you know exactly how to walk around the couch and give my neck a short massage, and on your way back you suddenly push me forward and slip in between the couch and me. You don’t even ask, nor do I have to, it’s just what you do to me on a night like this. It’s how you treat me, knowing it is how I want to be treated.
Your hands are underneath the blanket, and tonight they don’t keep their professional distance, and I hate how much I’m loving it. You don’t see much need to tease me, or take things slow. There is just your hand that appears on my breast, and while I’m still wondering if you’ll fondle my other one as well your right hand appears on my stomach, only to slide right into my pants. You spend some time playfully running your fingers through my hairs, but then before I can even finish my annoyed and impatient sigh you slip your finger into me, and it embarrasses me how little resistance I can muster.
In fact, I have no resistance left at all, to none of the things you really, absolutely and totally shouldn’t be doing. I don’t just have a boyfriend, you know him, and the two of you get along well enough, considering that I’m your single point of overlap. I know that normally, just knowing him at all would make you stay away from staying with me, and I value that as much as I value you making an exception for me.
You have me hooked with just a single finger, just a caring hand around my breast, and your breath on my neck, your whispers in my ear. You are saying things that other guys would make sound creepy, but with you they are like honey in my ear because I know you mean them, and tell them to me unprovoked. You no longer need to seduce me, and yet you choose to, telling me compliments and making me feel safe with what is decidedly unsafe for us both to be in. You tell me more of those stories that always get me so fascinated with you and your life, and you tell them so well that I don’t know if I prefer your touches or your words. You string words into sentences, and they carry a melody to them that makes me want to fall asleep even as my body is getting worked on and worked up.
I just let myself fall, into your arms and into your care, and you realize that finessing me is not at all needed here. We both know other days, when you and I are flirting at a level that other people don’t even realize as such, on days when our minds align and so do our jokes. But here and now, I do not feel like battling wits, or battling anything. I merely wait for you to pick up your pace, and while I still wonder if today’s the day when we’re having actual, real sex your fingers are a step ahead of me, and my mind is playing catch up to my body that is falling into shivers and twitches that I have trouble comprehending.
And you read that correctly, too, stopping just long enough for me to catch a breath before your fingers are back at it, massaging me in ways that make me wince without making me groan in pain. No, you are way too good at this, somehow you read my body, hear my breaths, and work me like I am just molten wax inside your palm. Your thumb circles my clit, your finger wiggles inside of me, and the rest of your fingers tickle my thighs in ways that drive me to the verge of crying again, just happy tears this time.
You are just too much for me, this selfless care, the kisses that I only feel when your lips have already left my skin again, and I lose track of the time that you invest in me, lose track of where you touched me last, and next.
I want to sleep now, but there is still some length for us to walk before that can happen, before I can fall asleep in your arms, and give myself into your care. There is still that final gap to bridge, and you are halfway there already. I lose my patience before I lose control, and it is making me all sorts of angry that I desire you as much as I do, and that you are here for me on the day I really needed you. What do you think you’re doing, and who do you think you are?
Apparently, the answer to both is pretty much the same: good. You are good to me, and for me, and you work magic on me that is hard to put into words. I merely sigh as my body shows the familiar signs of getting closer, and I let it happen when your fingers get ahead of themselves, pushing me right over the edge when I’m sure you could have expertly kept me there for minutes longer.
But we are past that, the shivers come as they go, the twitches in my legs arrive before they leave, and then it’s just us two, a little too naked for how dressed we are, my mind a little too distant for how close we are.
And once more, you are a step ahead of me, with that final whisper into my ears. _Sleep_, you say, _I’ll stay awake and watch over you._
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/qn6rqp/just_stay_here_with_me_tonight_mf_romantic_vanilla
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