I looked up shyly wanting to confide the thing I wanted the most – afraid of what you might think.
“Just tell me,” you looked at me with those dark brown eyes full of question and lust.
The pause was truly pregnant, the air between us so sexually charged and yet simultaneously contained. My hesitation hovered in the air.
“No one’s ever eaten me out,” I said quietly, looking down, my cheeks flaring with shame.
Silence which made me look up.
“That’s it?” The look on his face was incredulous and he stifled a laugh. “I love doing that.”
“Yeah, that’s it. That’s what I want.” I sounded defensive. And then he did laugh.
“I thought you were going to share something crazy with me.” And then he could see how crestfallen I was at his casual laughter, how in my moment of honest vulnerability he needed to reassure me that I wasn’t some freak.
It had taken us days to finally get around to this conversation. Weeks really. A few days prior he had brought up a throwaway comment I had made to him on an earlier business trip when I said: “Well, you’ve never been with someone like me.” And apparently he couldn’t get those words out of his head.