I See You Shiver With Anticipation
You know those moments in your life when you were alone with someone you liked and you could’ve cut the sexual tension with a knife. The attraction remained unspoken and every single move closer to one another seemed to take an eternity. I remember the first time I felt the slow torture of anticipation. I was watching a movie at my friend’s house and of course when I say friend I mean my high school crush. THE high school crush to end all crushes I should say. He was the Jordan Catalano to my Angela Chase.
I think we were watching The Children of The Corn (the original version). He started the night on the chair opposite to where I was sitting on the couch. The tension was so high I could barely watch the movie. My entire body was tense and waiting for what would happen next. The first thing he did was get up and ask me if he could turn off the light. My voice cracking, I said yes. I waited, fifteen minutes after he sat back on the chair he asked me if he could sit on the couch. He sat next to me and inch by inch he slowly moved. I swear it took twenty minutes before I could feel his thigh against mine and another twenty minutes before he kissed me.
Every girl I’ve ever spoke to has experienced the come on that takes forever and when the moment finally comes you are so riled up there’s just no more holding back. To not touch each other would cause nothing but physical pain and that’s exactly what I experienced last week. After what happened I can’t get him out of my mind. We’ve known each other for a long time and although I’ve always been aware of the physical attraction we shared, it was never the right time. It’s still not the right time, but when we found ourselves sitting on my couch and watching a movie on mute we sort of melted into each other.
He started by massaging my hand, and then my arm. My body feel into his, sinking deeper and deeper into the couch. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, I returned the favor and started to massage his hands and his arms. I wanted so much to slide my hand up his thigh, but I held back. We really shouldn’t have been doing what we were doing. Curled into each other, his arm nestled between my tits, my arm lying across his lap. I swear his dick was hard. I leaned my head against his chest and he traced the edge of my lips with his fingers. I parted my lips and let his fingers in, circling the tips with my tongue and gently closing my mouth on his index finger, sucking on it as he pull it out again.
The only thing he said “it excites me when you do that”. My nipples were hard and my breast were barely contained within my t-shirt. I thought about him looking down and staring at the spot where the red fabric cut across the curve of my tits and I exhaled watching them, as I knew he was, rise and fall with each breath. This lasted a very long time, an hour an a half if you ask me, until he slid out from under me lifting my head and laying me down on the couch. He told me he had to go home, but before he did he leaned over me and kissed me. It wasn’t exactly a kiss, more of a parting of lips, his tongue against my lips just long enough to make them wet. He took a blanket, covered me with it, said he had to leave before he wasn’t able to restrain himself any longer. He was walking down the hallway and I laughed, still under the blanket, I yelled out “did you really just cover me up so you could leave without looking at me?” I wondered if it was easier to walk away if he couldn’t actually see me.
After he left, I went to the bathroom. While peeing I saw that my underwear were soaked through. A wet spot the diameter of my fist. I hadn’t even noticed how turned on I was until he left. I went back to the scene of the crime, my couch, and saw that he had forgotten his hat. I picked up my phone, called his cell and it was as if nothing had just happen. He said he would pass by sometime to pick it up. I wanted to tell him how wet he had made me, but I didn’t. That’s all I’ve been thinking about, picking up the phone and telling him how much I want him.