11. Soleil
SOLEIL
Dear Diary,
Girl.
You’re in for a treat.
Spoiler alert: If there are bruises on your lower body and pink scuff marks all over your boobs and inner thighs—you thoroughly enjoyed receiving them.
Like, a lot.
I mean, I’ve always liked life. Even when Mom was sick and things were terrible, I could see what was beautiful about her.
I didn’t like what was happening, but I loved her so much and the way she was, through everything.
And okay, if I’m being honest, after she was gone, for a while it felt like I had to shine even brighter.
For Dad and for Noah. To fill that empty space that she left.
It wasn’t hard for me to do—I was glad I could help them feel better, and it made me feel closer to Mom too.
But I think at a certain point I forgot that it’s not my job to make my dad and brother feel safe by thinking I’m safe.
And it’s not like they weren’t protective of me before she got sick, but afterward…
let’s just say that a lot of my energy was spent making sure they don’t lose me too.
Except that I slowly started to realize I had lost myself.
And I don’t think I was even aware that I had made a wish for someone to come along and help me find myself again.
Do I wish I didn’t need journals and videos to remind myself of who he is to me and what we’ve done together every single morning?
Sure. But before I had amnesia, I didn’t pay enough attention to things.
Yeah, I noticed visual details as an artist, but I’m the first to admit that I didn’t really soak in everything I experienced in a day.
Even though I had a normal, working memory, I wasn’t really awake or aware enough to remember things on a deep level.
But now when I go to sleep, even though I know part of my brain is probably going to erase my memory of the day, I am so excited for tomorrow.
Because tomorrow is another day I get to spend getting to know Dean.
And letting Dean get to know me. And letting Dean help me discover parts of myself that no one else has ever found.
Like my clitoris.
I mean, I knew where it was, but no one else seemed to. And there’s another spot up in there that was, like—whoooeeeee!!! I can’t wait for you to experience that again for the first time, Future Me.
Today was the first time we got really, really, really intimate.
Dean’s stick has not yet entered the crease, even though I have begged him to shove it in deep.
I obviously didn’t pay attention to hockey much for my entire life, mostly out of spite, I think.
Hockey is the thing that always competed for my dad’s attention.
But I have been handling Dean Rafferty’s stick so much that he tells me I should make the sin bin my mailing address.
I’m not going to tell you what it feels like when Dean kisses you between your goal posts, Future Me. I’m just gonna say that you should always do what he tells you to do. Like, for instance, when he tells you to “Turn around and hold on to the headboard.”
I don’t want to ruin the surprise.
Oh hell, you’re going to like it anyway.
He’s going to get on his back on the mattress and slide his head between your legs and say, “Sit on my face, sweetheart.” You’re going to do it and you’re going to like it.
When he grabs your ass, just go ahead and yelp.
His neighbor is hard of hearing—she won’t mind.
When he slaps your butt cheek, be sure to cry out “Yes!” because he will do it again, and you will like that too.
You will be surprised and proud of yourself because while you will feel like you’re blushing all over, you will not feel any kind of shame when he takes a break from French kissing your vulva to say breathily in his deep voice, “Jesus, baby, you taste so fucking good. Your pussy is exactly as sweet and hot as I dreamed it would be, but you taste better than I ever could have imagined.” You will bloom for him.
You will get so wet from riding his face.
Every time he spanks you while he sucks on your clit, you will think surely you can’t get any wetter.
Surely you can’t have another orgasm like this.
Surely he’ll get lockjaw and have to stop.
But you do get wetter. You will have so many orgasms. And he will not quit until your spine can’t do its job anymore.
Which reminds me: Stay hydrated before you meet up with him. Every time. Even if it’s not for an official date. Because you will lose a lot of fluids.
And speaking of jobs…
If you want him to look at you like he thinks you’re some kind of witch but also the best person he has ever known, be sure to request that he join you in the shower at his place!
The water can’t be too hot, for aforementioned beard-burn and butt-bruise reasons.
Also because you will be in there for a while.
Despite the fact that I clearly drive the man wild, he has an impressive and somewhat infuriating amount of self-control.
Even when I’m totally wet and naked in front of him. Even when I kiss down his neck and chest and abs and slowly stroke his backside, all the way down to his well-rounded glutes and impressive thighs.
I was kneeling in front of him, his hands pressed against the tiled wall of the shower, arching over me with his big, hard cock in my mouth. Then I worked him with my hands so I could give my tired jaw a break and I looked up at him and said, “I want you to come all over me, Dean.”
He just grunted. I watched his abdominal muscles flex as he used one hand to wipe strands of wet hair from my face and then gently guided my mouth back onto his crown.
I kept looking up at him for as long as I could, swirling and flicking my tongue and then taking him in deeper.
I felt his fingers curl into a fist in my hair.
It was the sexiest scalp massage I’ve ever had.
Always only one hand, though—I don’t think he trusted himself to keep standing upright without leverage.
I think it was important to him not to lose his balance, given that he’s my skating teacher and all.
Or perhaps he wasn’t really thinking anything.
“Jesus. Fuck. Baby, it’s so good.” He hissed when I started moving my head faster, using my hands at the same time.
Finally, he tugged my hair back and said, “I’m gonna come, baby.”
“Come on my tits.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He kept that one hand against the wall, stroked himself aggressively with his other hand.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he said as I arched back.
He was the beautiful one. Those glistening wet, tense muscles as he made those final jerking motions.
The way his face contorted and he groaned when he arched his neck and I felt his hot cum on my chest. It got washed off pretty quickly, but there was so much of it.
It just kept coming and coming. All for me.
I have never—and I know this for a fact—ever enjoyed giving a blow job until Dean.
I want to give him whatever he wants, and I want him to take me in ways I never thought I’d want to be taken.
But…he has that aforementioned self-control, so the only thing he claims he wants is for us to take things slow.
As long as we get to have orgasms while we take things slowly, I’m somewhat okay with it.
As long as he doesn’t plan on taking things slowly for more than a week.
He went limp for a few seconds, but as soon as he had the strength, he helped me up from the shower floor. He cradled my head in his hands and kissed me so deeply. I could tell he was grateful. It was my pleasure, really.
Afterward, I sat on the edge of his bed, naked between his legs, as he dried me off with a towel and then combed my wet hair. It was sexy and tender and yet also somehow the most masculine thing anyone has ever done for me. Aside from coming on my tits, I suppose.
“What’s been your favorite day with me so far?” I asked.
“All the ones when I didn’t walk away from you,” he said as he tucked my hair behind my ears. For a minute I wondered if he was going to braid my hair. “But this one is definitely in the Top Five.”
“It’s definitely my favorite day in recent memory,” I said, grinning.
I heard the air blow out of his nose and felt his forehead rest against the back of my shoulder as he shook with laughter.
It’s important to have a sense of humor about this kind of thing.