Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 02

I started to feel like I had only been with amateurs before that night. I was beginning to reconsider his offer to slow down and wait when he whispered in my ear, "I'm close, baby."

Wanting to do something to impress him, I tried something I had read in one of my books that month. I squeezed my walls as tight as I could in time with each of his thrusts. Then after a few thrusts like that, I squeezed only as he pulled back. Then I switched again, tightening as he pushed in. Scott made a strangled laugh, and I worried I had messed up. But then he groaned, "Yesssss," and began to press harder at the end of each thrust. Suddenly, he lowered himself onto me and wrapped me in his embrace. Kissing me fiercely, he finished with a few hard lunges and a drawn-out groan. With my arms around him, I felt his whole body twitch and tremble in pleasure. I managed to squeeze my tunnel tight around him as he pulsed inside me, releasing with a sigh when I felt him finally relax.

After a moment to recover, he withdrew and sprawled out next to me, gazing at the ceiling. I took the chance to trot to the bathroom. Scott did the same after I returned, and I crawled under the covers. Now that I wasn't warmed by his body and our motion, I began to feel the chill of the early spring night. It took him a while to make it to bed, and at one point I heard him in the kitchen getting some water. I must have been asleep before he returned, but I vaguely recall his warm chest against my back as he spooned me during the night.

*******

Nine o'clock found me shuffling into the kitchen, hands tucked into my robe and feet stuffed into large furry slippers to protect them from the cold floor. Scott was right behind me, acting much more awake than I thought he had the right to be. He had on his boxers and undershirt, and I couldn't believe that he was barefoot on the cold tiles.

"The cold doesn't bother me like it bothers you," he said, answering a question I hadn't even voiced. I sat at the table and watched him float around the kitchen. He didn't even need to search for things. He wanted a mug, he opened the door to the mugs. He wanted a spoon, he pulled open the silverware drawer. Even coffee and filters seemed to appear in his hands without effort.

"You really seem to know your way around my kitchen," I said with some amazement.

He paused, put his hand on the top of the fridge and leaned against it. "Well," he said, looking around the room, "it's set up very logically. Cups are near the sink and the fridge, for getting drinks. Plates are near the microwave and stove... "

"For serving food," I added.

He nodded in agreement, then said, "Coffee and filters... well, maybe that was a lucky guess. But since there's no cabinet above the coffee maker, I figured they'd be near the sugar, and I was right."

I laughed softly. I hadn't set my kitchen up this way, my old self had. I just adapted to what I found when I "moved in." Apparently I used to be very logical. Or at least organized.

We chatted over coffee and some leftover cinnamon rolls I had brought home from a meeting at work the day before. Either by luck or by tact, Scott managed to avoid asking the kind of probing, personal questions that I always feared. Such questions would cause me to shut down. Our conversation felt casual and... normal. Strangely, that made me want it to end all the sooner, lest something change and our morning conclude on a sour note. But before I had a chance to start thinking of how to invite him to leave, he rose from the table and said, "Well, I guess I'll get dressed and head out."

I didn't reply, but I followed him back to the bedroom and leaned against the doorframe to watch him get dressed. Even in the full light of the morning, he was still handsome. I had the passing thought that I might want to go for one more round before he left, but by then he was already putting on his shoes. Perhaps another time. I would wait to see what he said.

I walked a few steps behind him as he headed towards the front door. Scanning him up and down from behind, I thought that, with a better wardrobe, he could be a real head-turner. But maybe that wouldn't suit a middle school English teacher.

With his hand on the doorknob, Scott turned and looked at me. I could sense an internal debate. He was holding something back. Finally, he said, "I know this might not be what you wanted out of... this... but I would really like to see you again. Can I take you to dinner this evening?"

My easy rejection lines failed me. I put the mug up to my face to hide my smile, and I took a long sip to buy myself some time. I didn't want to do dinner - too much conversation. We were already running out of shallow topics. But I did want to see him again.

"How about a movie, instead?" I asked, then held my breath.

He smiled, stepping outside. "A movie would be nice. I'll pick you up around 6, and we can go see what's playing?"

"Sound good," I said, stepping forward to close the door behind him.

This is a bad idea, I told myself.

But you can't go on like this forever, another voice chimed in.

If it ain't broke, don't fix it, countered the first voice.

Well, at least we know the night will end well if we can get back here, came the reply. Hearing no further objection, I assumed the matter was settled and went to the bookshelves to pick out my story for the day.

*******

Scott showed up looking and smelling nice. He drove us to the theater, but neither of us really knew about any of the movies. The kid selling tickets suggested a movie called Memento, but Scott said he'd heard it was too heavy. We opted instead for a mildly amusing movie called The Mexican. The lead actor was hot, at least, and I started to think more about getting Scott back to my bed. At one point during the movie, he reached over and held my hand. Again, I didn't know why it affected me the way it did, but I started to wish there wasn't an armrest between us. I leaned closer and let our arms entwine.

We drove back to my place, talking about the movie in a way that almost made me forget that I couldn't have normal conversations. Scott walked me to the front door, and I pulled him inside by his shirt. As I closed the door behind us, he said, "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this or anything... "

I replied by forcing my mouth on his for a minute, then whispering in the sexiest voice I could muster, "Oh, but I want you to feel like you have to do this... "

Scott rolled his eyes and we laughed. I took his hand and pulled him quickly to the bedroom. Our love-making that night lacked the fire of the night before, but even without that intensity it was far better than what I had gotten used to. With Scott there was a connection that went beyond the fleeting moments of our coupling.

We undressed slowly, casually. Then we rolled around on the bed, kissing and caressing. Eventually, I ended up on top of him, sliding his sheathed member into my depths. I moved slowly, wordlessly enjoying his presence inside me and below me. Scott seemed to enjoy the relaxed pace, and he pulled my head in for a kiss every time I got close enough.

I felt my pleasure rising. Straightening up, I slid back and forth, grinding my way towards release. Scott had begun thrusting up, clearly starting to scale his own peak. "Hold on, baby, hold on," I pleaded. He grunted in response and nodded. I sped up my motions, my breath quickening. As I got closer, I lowered myself and pressed my body against his, scissoring my legs as much as I could. One of Scott's hands slid slowly up from my thighs, along my waist, up my side and onto my breast. He slowly pulled it towards his lips, then took the nipple in his mouth.

With an audible gasp, I slid along him a few more times then felt the chemicals course through my veins. I pressed my cheek into his shoulder, my hands resting on his rib cage. Hearing my cries of release, Scott pressed urgently up into me. His hands gripped my waist and forced my tunnel to take him as deep as it could. With a loud grunt, he began pulsing inside me. My walls were still clenching at the end of my orgasm as his began. Together, we rode out our respective climaxes, letting our lips run along the other's skin to help amplify our pleasure.

Just as he finished throbbing, Scott murmured in my ear, "If I promise not to be a nuisance, can I stay the night again?"

"I suppose so," I mumbled in reply.

"Mmmmmm," he exhaled, flopping his hands to his sides. "Good."

*******