Chapter 5
Chapter Five
After seven days, I’m feeling elated. We’ve screwed six ways to Sunday! Okay, wow. That makes me seem like a pretty damned silly nymphomaniac crazy girl. Sorry. I’m feeling elated. In addition to that and not really directly related, we’ve screwed six ways to Sunday. See, those were two separate thoughts.
I’m feeling elated because I feel like the two of us are really compatible. I mean, I feel elated because all of the non-sexual aspects of my crush on Dr. Denmark are being addressed, if that makes any sense. I mean, I really shouldn’t be thinking along these lines. I have today and maybe one or two days more after today to live with him. Who knows whether or not there will be anything that carries over?
I want the relationship to carry over. I most certainly want it. You can't believe that!
You have to understand, though, that I have no experience in this sort of thing. I mean, I wasn’t a virgin because I made a conscious decision not to allow dates to screw me. I was a virgin because I didn’t date. I made a conscious decision to focus on my education and other priorities. Somewhere along the line, I decided I wasn’t going to bother with dating at all unless I was pretty sure that the dating would lead to turning in my V-card, so to speak.
He's still asleep. It’s about five in the morning, just a few minutes past. He has to be at the school at eight and he’ll be waking up at about six.
Or now.
Because I want to… Wow! It sounds pretty damned slutty to say what I was going to say! He’s going to wake up now because I want to suck his dick. There, I said it. I really enjoy the times I give him blowjobs so far. I think there’s a sense of control that I get from it that makes me feel more, I don’t know, competent.
In any case, I love the idea of waking him up with my mouth, taking a long shower together and having sex, and then just pampering him until he leaves for the college. I want to make him cum the moment he gets home and then at least twice more before he falls asleep. I know it seems like a whole lot but what I really want to do is make out last day together, if that’s what it is, something filled with excitement and fun.
So, I’m excited as I carefully move the blanket out of the way and position myself between his legs. I’m careful as I get his cock into my mouth. I’m more measured than I have been this week when it comes to my movements and my speed. I want him to wake up gradually, I guess.
I have no flipping idea what I’m going to do if he doesn’t want to continue the relationship. I know I’ll be pretty damned devastated. I know that the very thought of it is terrifying.
So, what the heck do I do?
There’s something almost cathartic about giving this blowjob. I know I must really be showing my inexperience to say something like that but that’s how it feels to me. There’s a level of intimacy that feels truly wonderful. In addition, I feel a sense of participation that I love. What I mean by that is only that sex often feels to me like something happening to me rather than something I’m doing.
Wow. That sounds bad.
Sex is all so new for me (ignore for a moment the long break between my first time and my second, and I’ve only been sexually active for about a week!) that every time I feel wide-eyed and innocent and just trying to experience things. Does that make sense? When I give a blowjob, though, and I think this is only the fourth or maybe the fifth, I feel like I’m actually participating.
I’m going to cry.
I’m going to just break down in tears.
What the hell?
How do I go from enjoying blowjobs to this?
I pull my mouth off and the tears come. I don’t mean for it, and I hate that I’m loud as hell. Even though I’m grateful for Dr. Denmark’s arms suddenly encircling me and pulling me up to him, I hate that I’m weeping like some inconsolable madwoman and I don’t even know why!
He holds me and strokes my hair. He whispers softly, “When I have my place, I still want to see you. I still want to be with you. I hope you want that.”
I whimper some sort of agreement through my tears. He strokes my hair and asks, “Is that what this is about? Are you worried about me having my own place and not wanting the relationship to continue.”
“No,” I wail, “it’s not that! I never told you Allyson’s your daughter!”
Oh, holy shit.
Oh, fuck!
I jerk myself away from him and, crying like a total idiot now, run naked out of the bedroom. I have no idea where I’m going. I’m most certainly not making a good exit, I can tell you that. I run like an insane person at full speed and it’s only when I turn the deadbolt on the front door that I realize I’m about to run naked out of the house just to flee the situation.
That takes all of my energy away and I collapse there on the floor in front of the door. As I weep there, I think about all the times I fantasized before he showed up in town. I used to fantasize about meeting him when he came home from work. In the fantasies, I would meet him here at the door, naked and on my knees.
I wasn’t ever bawling like a complete idiot in the fantasies.
But I am now, and I feel absolutely inconsolable. I cry like some sort of a complete idiot and I just don’t have any way to overcome that. I’m ugly crying. I’m straight-up ugly crying. I’m being everything I always complain about with girls my age. I’m being wimpy and helpless. I’m overcome with emotion and I’m behaving like I don’t have any choices. I’m just being stupid in ways I can’t even…
Damn it, I’m behaving like a child!
I’m so humiliated! I feel so guilty. I feel so ashamed. I feel particularly horrible because I always talk about how disingenuous it is for a girl to do something terrible and then to cry about it. It shifts the responsibility from the girl who did the horrible thing, to others. Instead of her dealing with the pain of her behavior, others naturally try to comfort her. I hate that. I hate it because it’s like punching someone in the face and then crying all the time as a ploy for comfort when you see the bruise.
Wow.
That was pretty damned poor when it comes to explanations.
The point I’m making, though, is that I did the harming and I’m demanding the comfort. It’s bullshit.
“We can set up a visitation schedule if you like.” The sound of Dr. Denmark’s voice is soft and gentle. I don’t deserve it.
I’m shocked enough at the civility that I stop crying. I sniffle a little as I say, “Okay.”
“But it seems like it’ll make more sense for me to tell the College I don’t need the housing right now. I can just stay here.”
I sniffle some more as I say, “Okay.” Then, I realized what he just said, “What? What? Stay here! What?” I stare at him and he’s totally out of focus because of the tears in my eyes. I blink hard to clear them. “What?”
“You heard me,” Brian says.
“But… You’re not angry?”
He nods. “Oh, you’re going to be making this up to me for a very, very long time. Might take the rest of your life. That’s why I’ll have to stay here.”
I try to process that but he offers a smile and I realize what he’s saying. “But why do you want me?”
He shrugs. “You’re really good at blowjobs.” My jaw drops and he chuckles. “Okay. You were finally honest with me. Now I’ll be honest. At the doctor’s appointment, the nurse told me accidentally. She knew what was on Allyson’s birth certificate. The nurse asks me a question. The office manager said we needed to wait for you. The nurse said I was the father and I could answer.”
“And you didn’t… you didn’t get angry?”
“Didn’t you hear the part about having to make this up to me for the rest of your life? I mean, I expect sex at least once a month and you have to cook for me at least once every three weeks. I’m going to be a total slave driver.”
He can tell I still can’t wrap my head around things so he says, “All right. You can start making it up to me right now.”
So, my whole fantasy happens. I’m on my knees in the entryway of my house with Dr. Denmark’s hand on the back of my head. How the hell did this work out? That’s pretty damned unbelievable.
Ha. Pretty damned. Just can’t let that go.