Naked: How to Dress the Truth Ch. 03

She continued walking. Another part of her, that sense of power in the situation, made her feel defiantly independent. She announced her arrival at the entrance intercom and began walking up the three flights of stairs. Her own resolve gave her a sense of calm. She floated up the stairs and met Tom who waited at the open door to his apartment.

Alison stepped past him and into .. she looked about and the sense of familiarity was like viewing something through a dense fog. The bed at the far end. She stepped towards the part of the open studio plan she thought of as the living room. She heard Tom's voice and turned, smiled and suddenly shy. He asked if she wanted some tea. No, maybe .. fruit juice?

She removed a light summer jacket and dropped it and her shoulder bag onto the couch. She wore her normal casual - jeans, a white t-shirt. Her long hair was loose, an evening breeze having given it a winsome tangle around her shoulders, framed her face. She stood by the bookshelves looked through them to the bed, the pillows fluffed up and the bed cover in place. He must have been expecting company, she thought wryly, to tidy the place up.

Alison noticed a glass of apple juice in her hand, and took a sip, glanced up and smiled at Tom. She put the glass on a bookshelf and stepped over to the balcony doors, looked down on the evening street. She turned back to the room, smiled again in eye contact with Tom, looked down and immediately back up to his face. Her lips parted and she might have said something in answer to a question. She wasn't sure. Her mind was on something else.

Tom placed his hands on her hips and Alison responded by placing her hands on his arms. He pulled her t-shirt out of her jeans. Alison slid her hands over his shoulders, down his chest and unbuttoned his shirt. His hands held her bare waist then slid up her body pulling up the t-shirt. Alison raised her arms to allow him to pull the t-shirt over her head. They unfastened each other's belts, undid clasps, opened zippers, slowly taking turns removing articles of clothing.

Then, facing each other, bodies naked, they began to touch, first with fingertips then palms of open hands, then closer, in an embrace. They carried each other down onto the bed, naked body caressed naked body, thighs against thighs, breasts and firm nipples pressed against chest, fingernails dragged slowly across bare skin. Hard erection against her abdomen, brushed against the insides of her thighs, probing and pushing against her, gliding along her wet, swollen slit, her hips thrusting in eager invitation. Alison sensed he was working himself up, not her, and yet he responded to her own arousal, how she pushed and twisted and rubbed her body against his. She would wait as long as he could, bathe in the torture if that's what it took.

Alison was so wet that she almost couldn't feel him when he entered her, except for a sense of something expanding inside her. They reacted together, a vocal release, a mix of surprised gasp and animal groan, and then they both laughed softly, surprised by their shared reaction. She tightened her muscles, pulled up her knees and gripped him with her thighs, felt his erection embedded in the warm, wet folds of her vagina. They lay motionless, almost not daring to move. "God, I've been waiting for this," Tom whispered.

He shifted, spread his legs under Alison's and worked deeper. Alison raised her legs to take him in. "Me too," she whispered in reply, and felt a surge of relief, the uncertainty and waiting in the past. "Don't move yet, or I'll come."

He kissed her neck. "Is that a problem?"

"Just for a moment .. to get used to how you feel inside."

The moment passed, both of them poised, suspended, and then Tom began to thrust slowly, and carried them both over the edge. Alison tumbled willingly into a weightless free fall.

* * * * *

Later, in the apartment dimly lit by the streetlights, they rested, Alison on her back, Tom on his stomach to her right. "Why were you laughing?" he asked.

"When?"

"No time in particular. You just laugh."

"Sometimes I just feel good," She said. "Sometimes a funny thought pops into my mind."

"Like what?"

Alison tried to recall. She rolled onto her side, to face him, and absently placed her right hand on the back of Tom's head and stroked his hair. She felt a sharp pang of self-consciousness. Greg was right, she thought. I'm losing my way in the third alternative. She uneasily remembered her struggle with the idea of making it personal, not simply the physical contact but, somehow, an involvement at .. what? She shivered, a nervous unease with the situation. She forced herself to let her fingers rest on Tom's shoulder, not knowing what bothered her. Is there a line I do not want to cross, she wondered. How do I know where it is or what it is?

"Like what?" Tom repeated.

"Like what?" Alison was pulled from her private reverie. "Oh, when I laugh .. um .. there was one moment when I felt an orgasm build and just when I reached a peak it left me feeling even more aroused. So I thought an orgasm is supposed to make you feel better, not worse .. and I laughed."

Tom slid a hand between Alison's thighs and ran two fingers over her moist slit. "So I'm making things worse for you, am I?"

Alison pressed into his hand. "Yes, a lot worse."

"It's a wonder you returned. You must be a masochist."

His light caresses held Alison in a dizzy state of euphoria. "I thought," she replied. "I thought that you need to repeat something to get it right. The first time is for making the mistakes, the second time is to learn from them, and the third time is for enjoying it all."

Tom looked up at Alison. "In that case, I can't wait for the next time."

Alison tightened, felt panic that he misunderstood what she meant. Tom propped himself on an elbow and continued to caress her body, but something about his manner changed. More than that, she could feel his cock quickly harden. What is he thinking, she wondered. Why's he reacting this way, what's he thinking that is arousing him? She didn't know, and the uncertainty both frightened her and intrigued her.

Whatever it is, she thought, it almost instantly got him into a state of arousal. She hesitantly slipped a hand down between them and held his stiff cock in her hand, and pumped it slowly. Should I do this, she wondered. If I do this, will he think I am telling him he is correct?

Does he now think I'm going to be here more often, that he's going to have the chance to .. what?

Is that it? Alison wondered.

And yet .. she wanted to encourage him. She still held his erection in her hand and tugged gently in invitation, guided him to position himself between her spread thighs. She moved the head over her slit, lubricating it with the product of her own arousal, pulled at him and Tom pushed and entered her. Alison watched him penetrate her and it caught her breath .. that paradoxical mix of relief and increased sexual tension, watching him possess her, watching herself give him permission.

He rolled his hips and slid deeper. Alison gasped, arched her back, as he buried himself in her, and shifted his hips raised himself up on his hands on each side of her head, bent over her, taking the intimacy she had just offered to him. The truth of the matter, she realized, was that the thought of his lustful response to her offering herself gave her a rush of desire that was overwhelming.

She lay in the dark room, on his bed, her arms spread and legs wide, her naked body there, under him. She wanted to feel it, to hear it, to taste and see it. He withdrew almost completely and bore back into her and she gasped. He repeated, slow and deep and hard, and each time Alison moaned or sighed in reply. Should I tell him, she wondered, should I say something or has he figured it out?

She looked up at him and he was intense with concentration. It won't be enough, Alison smiled to herself. It won't be enough as he increased his rhythm, shifted position, drove faster, paused, collapsed on her and held her breasts, bit her shoulder.

Alison felt like a spectator in the middle of a violent storm, dragged about the bed, his surging passion relentless. It won't be enough, she sensed. He was out of her, then behind her and into her again, her back held against his chest his arms wrapped around her, one hand fondling her soft and firm breasts, the other pressing onto her mound.

It won't be enough, she thought, while he pulled her to the edge of the bed and he knelt on the floor, gripped her hips, rammed into her, exhausting himself. He tried to ease his pace, to keep himself on the edge, to prolong the pleasure. He slowed, paused for breath, paused to hold her waist, to feel her panting body, to watch her chest swell with each breath she fought for, her rising and falling breasts taunting him, to feel her writhing in response to his pulsing shaft moving deep in her soft warm wet flesh.

Alison wanted to say something but couldn't, couldn't speak through her ragged breathing and the sounds that came from deep in her throat.

He leaned back to look at her face and she recognized the urgency in his eyes, the strain on his face. He held her face in his hands, his body weighing down on her, his thrusts hard and spastic. Alison felt so alive. She urged him with her writhing body and grasping arms. She felt his muscles shaking. She held him. "Yes," she whispered, "yes." in encouragement, then held his violent kiss and felt him ejaculate into her. He broke the kiss, groaning. Alison cried out, feeling his orgasm shake his body, felt his orgasm engulf her, heard him moan with each hard push of his body into hers, six, seven times.

Only when he began to slow did she comprehend that the excitement she felt was her own immanent orgasm. It had been there, waiting, and she urged it to fulfillment with short rapid thrusts onto Tom's erection. When it at last broke in a bright golden burst of pulses it took her somewhere, away from Tom, away from their writhing bodies, off the bed, out of the room, into a place of her own.

She drifted into semi-consciousness. In an odd way she felt empty, then recognized that she was emptied of the physical need, freed from the thinking, and from the waiting, and the anticipation. Alison found herself in a state of satisfaction that resembled fulfillment, that the anticipation and uncertainty had been vanquished, that it was meant for her to arrive at this place of calm, this lack of need.

Her awareness returned to the room, to the bed she was on, to Tom's presence, a hand resting on her breast, soft kisses up her neck, along her cheek. He kept a slow rhythmic thrusting past her orgasmic peak, and kept her in that tranquil state of mind.

His slow and deep thrusts triggered another slow build to another peak, as though she was turned on by her own sense of contentment. She struggled to reach it, threw her arms around Tom and pulled herself off the bed, pulled herself to him while she thrust her pelvis over that hard rod buried in her, struggled to pull him deeper into her, deeper into a last vestige of physical need, and to release her from it. Her head buried between his neck and shoulder, biting him, and another surge of relief when he responded, met her quickening tempo, helped her, carried her over the final barrier, bodies meeting each other like hammer blows until the resistance broke and shattered.

Alison released Tom, fell back onto the bed arms spread, exhausted, received Tom's body into her, the strain drained from her, flowed out in a calming wave of contentment. "Ohmygod,"she gasped, and closed her eyes. She felt limp, boneless. She felt Tom closer to her, still in her, still moving in her, slow gentle pulses of movement.

Her eyes still closed, and in the dark she sensed the physical proximity, his warm breath on her face, the sound of his breathing, their bodies still hot and wet with perspiration pressed together, a softening mass of his cock still inside her own body.

She relaxed, extended her left leg, her right leg still raised to the side, Tom still inside her. Something changed. Something about the way he cupped and held the soft mound of her breast. It felt close, she turned her head slightly, a gesture that might have led to a deep passionate kiss when in the throes of intercourse. Now, she experienced the same intensity but without the tension. It felt subtle, the intensity rippled through her and she shifted her hips to better feel Tom.

He pulled her to him, and kissed her. In that moment she felt his cock begin to enlarge and stiffen inside her, to expand and fill her. His erection became full and he began to slowly move inside her. She felt the electric energy of him, the way he held her, his erection hard and deep in her again. Alison sensed a dark cloud of panic, her heart beating loud in her ears. It was a possession that surprised and frightened her in its closeness. Alison wanted to resist. She forced herself to return the light pressure of his kiss, neither deep nor passionate but to acknowledge and admit how his body responded to hers.

Later, she thought. Accept it now and worry about it later.

He rocked slowly in her, barely moving at all, the shaft of his erection simply there, filled her, claimed a presence.

Alison lay still. She was afraid to open her eyes to meet his, to see what he might be thinking. She met the slow movement of his body with hers. Accept it as part of the complete physical act, she told herself. Accept it as part of the love-making. Maybe that's why she had felt so empty last time. She hadn't let the act complete itself, she hadn't allowed herself a slow exit.

She felt another wave of arousal begin to build in her and then to gently fade, like a distant echo. Tom slowed, stopped.

They finally reached the end.

Time passed. Alison waited. She thought she should acknowledge something, not sure what or how, but opened her eyes with a sense of trepidation, and then felt relief that the moment was postponed. Tom had turned his head, and had drifted into sleep.

She eased herself from under him, rolled over onto her side, and gave herself up to sleep as well.

Alison woke into darkness. Tom was on his side turned away from her. She felt his back against hers, an incidental touch, a reminder of his presence. She slept again.

* * * * *

Alison woke, alert, in a room lit by the morning sun, and was immediately aware of how drained of tension she felt. Tom was still asleep beside her, on his stomach, head turned from her. She noticed the lack of that sense of emptiness. Different expectations, she thought. It was more than that. She had let more into the experience, let it rise and peak, but also to participate in letting it fade afterwards. She wondered if this made the transition less abrupt, less of a shock of entry and exit.

After showering, and dressing, and while having breakfast, the triviality of their conversation made her wonder whether they were again both avoiding something. The same sense of removal was present, as though she had woken into a different reality from where she had been the night before. As if, now, awake and preparing for the new day, it all had nothing to do with the previous night. She sensed this in the way they interacted, as strangers engaged in polite conversation about inconsequential topics. She sat at the table, followed her private thoughts and observed herself talking as though she was listening in on a conversation between two people in a restaurant. She wondered whether it had been a good idea to spend the night there, whether it would have been better to leave that other world while still awake, and avoid needing to wake together into this alternate existence.

Alison peered through the polite pretense of their interaction, and for a moment looked questioningly at Tom. He noticed, a self-conscious pause in their idle chatter. She was tempted to ask him what he thought about all this, what was motivating him, what he felt and wanted. The temptation was easily and rapidly dismissed. Almost as an instinctive reflex, the way you might pull your hand away from a hot sharp object.

Still, their morning exchange felt artificial when set against the previous night's intimacy. There were certain moments ... she recalled dreamily. Alison felt another reflexive withdrawal, another danger, sensed and avoided.

Alison helped with the simple clean-up, shrugged off Tom's protests of his role as host and hers as guest. They exchanged cautious side glances, calculating each other's mood. She went to collect her shoulder bag and jacket. Tom waited for her by the door. "You said something last night ..." he said.

"About that," Alison winced. "I only meant that .. only that once isn't always the best." She stood with her back to the door, arms by her side, shoulder bag in one hand, her jacket in the other.

He stepped closer to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and nudged her against the door, stroked her neck, held her face in his hands. He paused, to let her stop him, while she stood passively, arms by her sides. He moved closer and kissed her, a gentle pressure, and a moment later Alison returned the pressure. Then, slowly, lips parted, and a moist warm embrace of open mouths. He cupped her breasts, eased out of the lingering kiss. "Just to let you know, I want you to return." His hands remained briefly on her breasts, massaging them gently. "You don't have to say when, but I'd like it if you could say that you want to return, and will."

Alison studied him. She thought that if there had been the slightest indication of arrogance in his manner, a smug expectation that she was powerless to refuse him, then she'd be out the door without saying another word. She didn't see any of that. What she did see was the same intensity that drew her in the first place, an intensity and .. something else. An electric energy that flowed from him that she responded to. She sensed that she closed a circuit. She held his questioning gaze.

"I want to," she answered. "And I will. Soon."