Читать книгу Can't Think Straight: - Kiri Blakeley - Страница 14

I call Rahil late in the afternoon to beg off meeting him. One, I have another nauseating hangover. Two, I’m worried we’re going to overdose on each other. I want to keep up the excitement and mystery. But he’s the most persuasive man in the world. Or maybe it’s easy to be persuaded. Either way, I find myself at Loki, tired and hung over and still somehow horny as hell.

We play a little pool, but I’m too wiped out to enjoy it. I can really only think about when we’re going to start kissing. We do soon enough, but then we spot a big group of middle-aged locals setting up a table behind us for some guy’s fiftieth birthday party.

“We should make out in front of them the whole time. They might like that,” I suggest.

“I have an idea. There’s this apartment. It’s near here.”

“I’m not going to your apartment.”

“I won’t lock the doors. You can run out at any time.”

“I’m not going to your apartment.”

I knew damn well I was going to end up in that apartment.

“Look,” he says, his eyes drilling holes into mine, “here’s the ground rules: no one takes off any clothes. If you take off your clothes, I’m kicking you out. And any time you want me to stop anything, you say so, and we stop.”

I had the feeling he’d gotten a lot of girls into bed with that little speech.

His apartment is your typical Brooklyn walk-up: hardwood floors, small rooms, a rundown kitchen and shabby bathroom. But nice views.

“You can see the penis building from here,” I remark, pointing out the old Williamsburgh Savings Bank building on Flatbush Avenue, the top of which is shaped like a phallus. It’s always auspicious to mention a penis as soon as you enter a man’s apartment.

“Where are your sex toys?” I ask. At the bar, Rahil had regaled me with his knowledge of sex toys. The man had moved to New York City only a few months ago, yet he’d already decided that the best sex shop in town was Tic Tac Toe on Sixth Avenue. I’d bought my first vibrator the week after Aaron left. I’d always been worried I might get “addicted” to one and not be able to climax without it. That turns out to be a fallacy.

Rahil leads me to his dresser and opens the top drawer. Inside is a whip, some kind of strange plastic stick with large beads on it (for the ass? the pussy?) and a vibrator.

“You’re not using any of that stuff on me, you know.” I meant the toys in the drawer, not toys in general.

“I wouldn’t exchange sex toys! That’s quite unhygienic. I always send them back to my ex-girlfriends.”

Quite thoughtful of him.

He shows me his box of specialty condoms, the “best condoms in the world,” he calls them. At least he uses condoms. And I appreciate that he isn’t hiding his dirty side from me as Aaron had done for so long.

We start off kissing on the couch, but soon that becomes too small. “Let’s move to the bed,” I suggest, knowing he won’t suggest it himself. Unlike a lot of men, he has self-control, and knows that a little patience will get him what he wants faster in the end.

We roll around on the bed and he puts his hands inside my panties, his fingers in my vagina. “That feels like a wet pussy to me,” he observes.

Here it is, the moment of truth. I put my hands down his pants and feel his cock. It’s a bit of a disappointment. I’d hoped it might be the “piece” that hung on Aaron. But I had to face it, the odds of finding that again might not be so good. At least it wasn’t tiny. It was doable. And besides, Rahil had a way with his fingers, a way of savoring foreplay, of making it the main meal, which made cock size somewhat irrelevant.

This man has ideas. He turns me around and fingers my pussy and ass from behind while kissing my neck. Three things at once! Impressive.

He’s so unabashedly sensual about everything. If I kiss his neck, it’s “I love having my neck kissed.” I could never get a reaction out of Aaron when I kissed his neck, so I would stop after one or two halfhearted pecks. When I bit and sucked on Rahil’s nipples, it was, “I love what you’re doing. It feels so incredible.” Aaron’s nipples had been off-limits for the entire time I’d known him. I wondered if Aaron had managed to tap into his sensuality with men—if he allowed them to turn him on where I couldn’t.

On the verge of coming for the first time (yes, there would be a second), I tell him a fantasy: that we are doing this in front of a bunch of strangers. I think he says, “I’d like to try that,” but I can’t be sure. My mind is elsewhere. After my second orgasm (he insisted on the encore), I begin to get a little nervous that my hand manipulations haven’t done much for him. After all, he still hadn’t come. But I needn’t have been concerned. When he decided it was his turn, he had no trouble. Good thing. In my state of mind, if there were any last-minute sagging of the penis, I would’ve taken it as a bright neon sign of latent homosexuality.

We smoke a cigarette on his couch. “It’s amazing that we managed to do all that and not take our clothes off,” I say.

“I knew we wouldn’t have done all that if we’d taken our clothes off.”

Neat trick, that.

I glance at my watch and say I have to go. It’s still early, but I don’t want to hang out and make postcoital chat. Plus, I tell him, I really need to eat something.

“Then we’ll go get something to eat,” he says.

“I said I needed to eat something, not we.”

“You meant to say ‘we.’ “

“No, I didn’t.”

Rahil walks me to 4th Avenue to find a cab. It’s biting cold and I lean into him. He puts his arm around me and doesn’t ask when we will see each other again.