How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 03

"Hurry, shower, I won't look."

I flushed and stood up. When he stepped up to the toilet, I stripped off my shorty and got in the shower, closing the curtain and turning on the water.

This was being so good! Sure, he hadn't really said anything -- again -- but he'd let us get more familiar together; he could have waited for me to finish on the toilet. I had never peed with a boy with me in the bathroom. It could only have happened a couple of times, but we both had been to shy to do that. He wasn't, almost treating me like a woman he had slept with. Well, that's what I wanted to think. I heard the toilet flush. Was he going to leave, escape further talk, or stay and shave?

I started to wash myself and asked:

"Still there, here?"

"Yes."

"Say anything more?"

"I'm going to shave."

"I won't finishing my shower until you have. Hm-hmm! Or maybe I will!"

"Hmm! Your towel is too small."

"I know," I replied grinning to myself, liking his response and mine.

"Better, you take a long shower," he suggested.

"Like yours?!" I replied with a snicker.

I liked his humor, had before, all along, but this was more fun. It was; he chuckled and replied:

"If you want to," and chuckled again.

This was really good! I could be more fresh and said:

"Maybe, but better with a shower head on a hose. Besides, I wanted us not to have to do that."

"Ouch! I cut myself; you shouldn't remind me, while I'm shaving."

"Oooh! Sorry, I didn't want that to happen. Hm-hmm! Didn't think my saying that would surprise you now."

"Maybe it shouldn't have, but it did," he replied.

"Sorry. Okay; I'll take an extra long shower and try to forget about it all."

"If you really want to?"

"The shower maybe, but not forget about it all."

"Don't make me cut myself again."

One remark can lead to another in a conversation, sometimes an unexpected response, even one's own. I heard myself reply:

"Then stop worrying about, being surprised; you know what I'm talking about, what I want us to do."

Had I really said that?! Did I have to put it in four-letter words?! I heard him snort and then chuckle. Then he replied:

"Good thing I was rinsing my razor. Yeah, I know -- before you try to tell me in short words."

"I was afraid I'd have to."

We both laughed -- all that nervous tension. If he hadn't yet -- couldn't -- say no, didn't want to, I wasn't going to use "short words," but he still hadn't said yes. Then, without more words, long or short; maybe actions speak louder than words:

"Can you hand me my towel, please?" I requested, sticking my arm past the curtain.

He put it in my hand. I knew how small it was. I could hold it over my breasts and it would hang down to my thighs. I held it over my breasts and pushed the curtain aside, that hand then clasping the towel to my pussy. He was looking at me in the mirror, wiping the soap from his face.

"Told you it was too small," he said with a slight grin.

"Not quite."

"Then I can look?" he asked, reminding me that he couldn't see all of me in the mirror.

"If you want to; I guess this is sort of inviting you to," I replied, feeling my cheeks glow.

He turned around and did, looking me up and down, smiling, then nodding and remarking:

"Statues, paintings of Venus, Aphrodite - with a towel. Don't drop it!"

I recognized that I was standing with my arms held like those of the goddess in classical art. I liked his remark, relaxing enough to ask:

"Any one in particular?"

"Oh, lots: Botticelli's painting of Venus, lots of statues. The Medici Aphrodite is one I can think of."

"Didn't know you knew anything about art."

"Don't have to know much about art to enjoy looking at Venuses. Just don't drop it."

"I'm not Venus. And to dry myself, well, about the same as dropping it."

"I'd better get out of here, then," he remarked with a grin.

As he left the bathroom, I responded:

"Aw, I could have kept holding it, and you could have offered to dry me."

"Too late; should have told me that before."

"Next time," I called after him.

As I began to dry myself, I thought that after our cheerful bantering, he couldn't really want to say no, just couldn't yet say yes. I had to chuckle about all my wondering and trying to decide what to say. This had all been much better; no need to try to plan anything. As I was picking up my shorty and panties, I heard him in the kitchen. I smirked to myself and hurried back to our room without putting them on.

When I joined him, without a bra under my blouse, he chuckled and said:

"I got dressed in here, afraid that you might return to the room with nothing on."

"I did," I replied with a grin, then adding: but only after I heard that you were in here."

"I hope so; I'm not so sure."

"Me neither," I replied with another grin.

When he chuckled again, I knew that I had had the right idea in the bathroom. I set the table, while he made coffee. A minute or two later, he chuckled again and said:

"I was worrying about the wrong thing, thinking you were apprehensive that I might want to jump in bed with you."

He still wanted to talk about it! I looked around, seeing that he wasn't facing me, and replied:

"I was at first, of course, our talk before I moved in, and still was a little, the first week. Then, well, I discovered I had time alone in bed -- in the room -- while you were taking your shower. Maybe if I hadn't been playing with myself, I would have fallen asleep and not noticed your longer showers, but I did, and liked them too."

He chuckled softly, glancing around with nod, so I continued:

"It took me a while, before it occurred to me why they could be taking longer, but that was a nice explanation. No, I wasn't thinking about you, not about much really. Those couple of boys in high school, first times for them, one for me too, of course, and a couple of times more with them. I could do it better by myself. I still wasn't thinking about you, just wondering what you could be thinking about."

"Not you."

"That's good, since I wasn't either, but then I began to think it was silly, both of us doing that, and at the same time, and well, ...."

When I paused, he said:

"Can we talk about this at the breakfast table?"

"If you can?"

"I think so. I haven't been saying much."

"No," I agreed, and we sat down and started eating. Then he looked up with a wry expression and shrugged questioningly. After a moment, he said:

"You were talking."

"And you weren't. Where was I?"

"That it was 'silly', one of your favorite words," he replied with cheerful smile.

"Oh yeah. And well, you know what I mean, both of us doing that."

"Hm-hmm! Sort of like telephone sex, except that we weren't thinking about each other."

He was being really helpful! I nodded with a grin and said:

"But then, well, I started to, not really about you like that, more wondering about what you could be thinking about, obviously with more experience, so better than anything I could think of. It all seemed more 'silly'."

I took a big bite to avoid having to say anything for a few moments, and looked up at him, hoping that he would. He shrugged again with what seemed a slightly embarrassed expression and replied:

"If I had known what you were doing, I probably would have thought of you. Oh, I would have, maybe have also found it 'silly'."

"Now you know; I hope you do now."

"Have to, after all your talk and everything else. Oh, I'll admit it; after I noticed 'no panties', I did think about you a little, but like you said: 'not really about you like that'."

He smiled wryly, and I smiled sweetly, then replied:

"Probably better things to think about than about me."

He nodded and agreed:

"Just a little curious, any man would have to be, knowing you didn't have panties on and, well, like that evening, seeing you on the toilet, when you pulled down your top. Well, you know."

"And my nipples popped out -- again?"

"Um-hmm, didn't want to say that."

I snickered and said:

"Maybe if you hadn't told me not to drop my towel, you really would have."

"Oooh! Good thing I did say that!"

"Next time."

He tried to repress a smile, but his eyebrows rose. I repressed a grin and said:

"Anyway, I think this is too silly. You know I'm on the pill -- haven't been sure why for months. I've told you that I hardly have any experience, but, well, it's just too silly."

I couldn't have been more direct, I thought, aware that my nipples had popped out and that I was blushing. He looked at me with a serious expression, then finally replied:

"I think you could be assuming too much; I haven't said anything about that."

"No, I know, and I don't expect that you will, ... but you did admit that you could find it silly."

He nodded slightly with small smile and replied: I guess I did." Then he chuckled and added:

"You're going to be hard to live with after all this."

"I hope so!" I replied with a grin.

"Um-hmm!" he responded emphatically, but smiling.

In a serious tone, I said:

"Oh, I don't want to marry you; that's not what this is about, but as long as you let me stay here, well, maybe I wouldn't be so hard to live with."

"Maybe you're right. I don't want to marry you either. Oh! This sounds really funny, both of us saying that and talking about this."

"At least we agree about that, also about what we're talking about."

"Agree that we know 'what we're talking about'."

"I know, you're not going to say that you agree with me."

"If I don't have to, then?"

"You don't have to 'say' it."

He smiled wryly and murmured:

"You're making it hard for me."

"Really?!"

"Not like that!"

We both laughed as though we had heard an hilarious joke. When we had finally caught our breath, he shrugged with grin and then said:

"We'd better get out of here, clean up and do the shopping, anything to get my mind of this."

"Just for a while, I hope," I replied.

He shrugged again with a non-committal "hmm." We cleaned up in silence, then only exchanging remarks about the shopping list, and left his flat. In the supermarket, we also only mentioned the things we were finding from the list, and then back in the flat were silent, while we put them away.

I always did the laundry on Saturdays. When I stripped our beds, this time it seemed very suggestive. He glanced up when he saw me go to the kitchen with them in my arms. Then after a moment, he said that he would remake his bed. Till then, I had remade his bed, only thinking about him the last two times. Was he now thinking it inappropriate that I made his bed, wanting to suggest that I shouldn't have anything to do with it? I scowled to myself and tended to the laundry. He was back in the living room after I had turned on the washing machine. As I passed through the living room to go and make my bed, he gave me a slight, maybe sly smile. In the bedroom, I discovered that he had also remade my bed with fresh sheets. No, he wasn't going to say anything, he didn't have to! I almost wet my panties.

I returned to the living room and said:

"Thank you. That was nice of you."

He smiled, looking a little embarrassed, and replied:

"That wasn't my original idea, thinking that you shouldn't make my bed after all our talk, but then, well, ...? Anyway, I made yours too."

"Kind of you, thanks. Hmmm? I sort of thought that was your original idea."

"You can think whatever you want," he replied with a nice smile.

Oh, I did, while I waited to shift the laundry to the drier. If I shouldn't make his bed 'after all our talk,' but he had then made mine -- 'after all our talk,' it didn't matter who jumped into whose bed. I would in his after his shower; couldn't really surprise him, if I did again, and he had done enough to show that he expected that could happen. Or would he be expecting to find me in it already? Or would he want me to be in my bed, so that he could finally show his initiative to sleep with me? Moist panties! But till then what? I needed a panty liner, and would to need to wash more before I went to bed. Both of us together again in the bathroom? The "next time," for him to dry me, or me to just drop my towel? Panty liner couldn't wait till the laundry was finished and I took it to the bedroom. I went back to the bedroom again, appreciating that he had made my bed more carefully than I did.

Somehow, we got through the afternoon and making dinner together with as few words as possible, but exchanging mild smiles. I wondered if I needed a fresh panty liner; my pussy had never reminded me so often that I was aroused. Or is it the other way around; I was aroused, reminding my pussy? Sitting together at the table again was going to be difficult.

He suggested having a bottle of wine, something that had never happened before, although I knew that he had a couple in a bottom cupboard. The wine made things a little easier. We were usually better at carrying on a conversation. Did my nipples pop out every time my mind wandered from what we were trying to talk about? Often enough, and he noticed, not saying anything, but not hiding that he had noticed, sometimes with a little smile. I should have gotten a fresh panty liner.

We both saved a bit of wine until we had finished eating, and then drank together a little formally. But now what? It was too early to go to bed at our normal time, and I couldn't imagine that we could sit and watch TV with a beer, like we usually did. He looked at me as though he expected me to say something. Shit! I was about to tell him that my panties were all wet and that I need to wash. I didn't. Trying to look relaxed, I said that that I wanted to take a shower and change before we watched TV. He smiled with a nod and said that he would clean up in the kitchen, usually my chore. I thanked him and went off.

Taking a shower, while wondering about the rest of the evening was not relaxing. What was he going to want to do? He just had to want to do something! What? What did a man with his experience want to do? I would do anything he wanted; I had to; I had started all this. Oral sex? I had heard good and bad things about that, all second and third hand. Had the girls done that? A couple of their remarks had suggested that they assumed that I had with him. If he wanted to do that to me, I could just hope that my pussy was clean; it kept feeling moist, not from the shower.

I turned off the water.

"Better give you your towel first," I heard, about to whip aside the shower curtain.

He was there with me in the bathroom! He thrust a fresh towel past the curtain. I took, managing to mutter:

"Yeah, I had better."

"Um-hmm," he replied.

It almost sounded like a chuckle. Then he murmured:

"You'd said 'next time,' didn't want to disappoint you."

"Just terribly surprised me."

"Sorry. Do your Venus pose, and I'll open the curtain. Oh, I've got my shorts on."

I chuckled and held my towel in front of me, and he opened the curtain. He was smiling at me with another towel in his hand. Oooh! My pussy again! My hand clutched the towel between my thighs. He smiled more broadly and murmured:

"Me too, a little. I'll dry your back, if you step out; you don't have to drop it."

When I stepped out of the shower, and he held the other one up, I saw that his cock was pressing against one leg of his shorts. I turned my back to him, and he put the towel on my shoulders and began to dry me.

It had all been so good! Everything I had said, unplanned, spontaneous, not entirely seriously meant, like my "next time"! It was being so good, feeling his hands rubbing down my back, under my arms, down my sides to my waist.

"Don't tickle," I murmured, but he then did, of course, making me laugh and squirm, and he held my ass against his thighs and hips, still tickling. I squealed and said:

"You're going to make me drop my towel."

"Hm-hm-hmm! Hadn't thought of that. Mmmm! But then you can dry yourself, while I take my shower."

His towel left my back, and I began to dry my aroused breasts. I saw his shorts drop near my feet. Did he want me to see him step in the shower? Not yet; he hadn't seen me from the front. I turned away and then heard the shower curtain close. I turned back, continuing to dry myself, as he turned on the water.

"You've got a cute ass," he remarked with a chuckle.

"You could have dried it too."

"Wanted to, but then didn't know what would happen."

"I would have enjoyed it."

"Thought I should take my shower first."

"Hm-hmm! Want me to dry yours?"

"You're too fresh!"

"As though you didn't know already."

"Took me -- no -- it took you a while to show me."

"It did; didn't know I could be."

"Hmm! Said it before: I hope so, just not so sure."

"I'm really not fresh, and don't like to be 'silly'."

"Well, I understood that."

"So don't take such a long shower."

"That was fresh."

"If you want me to be; then am I supposed to jump in you bed again, or wait for you to jump in mine?"

"Oooh! That was worse than fresh! I don't know."

"At least, you didn't reject either alternative."

"Sounded more like 'propositions'."

"If you wish. I was thinking that you maybe expected me to jump in yours again, not thinking it would be like this. Then wondering if I should, before you finished your shower. Hm-hmm! Still not to late for that. Or if you maybe could think it was better if you finally admitted that you wanted to, and wanted to jump in mine with me."

"You think way too much! Does it matter now?"

"No. I'll do whatever you want."

"I didn't ask that."

"Oh! I didn't mean it like that, about jumping, but I do mean it, I think, thinking most of the afternoon about it, what you could want. Since I started this, it only seems right that I should do anything you want, want me to."

He was silent and turned off the water, then asked:

"Are we going to be naked, or should I wrap my towel around again?"

"Naked," I replied, feeling my cheeks flush, as I drew my shoulders back.

He drew the curtain back. He was also very naked, his cock not quite standing out.

"Very naked," he murmured, his eyes perusing me. Then they met mine. He smiled a little apologetically and murmured:

"Venuses don't stand like that."

"Told you before, I'm not one."

"But could be."

"Flattery will get you nowhere; I'm already there -- here."

I glanced down at his dripping cock and added:

"You need a towel, probably both of them," and handed him the one still in my hand.

He began to dry himself, unselfconsciously drying cock and balls, flopping them around. Since he didn't say anything, I returned to what I had said and murmured:

"Anything you want. I can learn. Hmm? Not even sure what 'anything' could be."

"That's sweet, promising something you don't know. Not sweet, bold of you."

"Well, I've heard a bit, seemed like anything I could have thought of. I'll try that."

He was drying the rest of his body. I picked up the other towel and handed it to him, and he used it. Then he murmured:

"Sweet, bold; I don't want you to do anything you don't want to."

"Only one way to find out."

He smiled with a nod, and murmured:

"Both sweet and bold."

"Hopefully good for me too."

"I think so, I sure hope so, too."

I moaned, feeling like a cat purring, and felt my thighs twitch together. He also moaned with an aroused expression and dropped the towel. Two aroused, naked persons standing so close together, drawing deep breaths. We both moved, just a step each, as our arms reached out, and we embraced. I felt his cock press against me and hoped he was aware of my stiff nipples against his chest. We kissed, and his cock pressed harder. He drew his hips back and let it spring up, and we held it between us. Finally, we retrieved our tongues. He chuckled and murmured: