Reader Discretion IS Advised — Day 9

After dinner, Deacon and Iris stayed in the living area working on interface designs and transitions, while Wes and I went into my room. I pressed my ear to the door to listen for conflict between them, but there was none.

“They work surprisingly well together,” I whispered to Wes. “He’s not douchey to her at all.”

I turned back to Wes. He’d taken out his contacts and wore basic black glasses. They were hanging on the tip of his nose as he read a well-worn copy of The Dispossessed. I couldn’t have imagined a sexier guy in my bed. When he looked over his glasses and smiled, my stomach rolled, and my knees went weak. I’d always thought that was a myth – weak in the knees -- but there I was ready to melt into a fluttery lump of lovesick chaos right there in my Harvard dorm room.

“In the mood for light reading?” I teased, trying to hide the obviousness of my swoon.

He shut the book, removed his glasses, and motioned me toward him. It was a dangerous moment, I thought. My mind turned the situation over a few times. The mere feet between us held a lot of weight for me. Closing that space could lead to me having sex for the first time. I shook my head and felt my forehead scrunch at the gravity of the moment. After a while, he lowered his hands, seemingly noticing the conflict inside of me. I closed my eyes and tried to shift from cerebral to heart.

Get out of your way! I yelled to myself internally. What do you want? I thought. Where is your courage? Wait, is this courage or cautiousness? You’ve just had your first kiss a few days ago! Are you ready for more? You’re designing a whole App with the intention of keeping this guy you just met in the city you just moved to! You’re moving too fast, Sophia. Doing too much! You’ll crash. But also… You have a brilliant, kind, Harvard educated guy in your bed. What is wrong with that? These are your slutty college years, after all, and so what if you want to sleep with a boy. How is that wrong? Who told you that was wrong? He must think you’re nuts. Standing in the middle of your room with your eyes closed like this.

When I opened them, I expected him to look dejected or upset by my hesitation, but he had simply put his glasses back on and continued reading while I stood still. I took a half-step toward him, and he looked over his glasses again like my grandmother used to.

“What’s your favorite book?” he asked, patting the bed beside him.

It really was the perfect question to ask me in that moment. It took the pressure off and directed my thoughts toward something I could talk about for hours. I sat next to him, not close enough to touch skin, but almost. “That’s impossible.”

“You’re right,” he replied quickly. “Top three?”

“Sense and Sensibility,” I said. “Their Eyes Were Watching God, A Room of One’s Own, The Red Tent…”

“That’s four,” he laughed.

I held my finger up. “I am not finished,” I said. “Pride and Prejudice, of course.”

“Of course,” he laughed again. “I was waiting for that one.”

“And why is that exactly?” I asked expecting him to say it’s every girl’s favorite book or something chauvinistic enough to turn me off.

“Because.” he replied. “That’s my favorite book, too.”

Skeptical, I inquired further. “Why exactly is Pride and Prejudice your favorite? You are reading an anarchy dystopian utopia novel right now after all.”

He removed his glasses again and I watched his right eye turn slightly inward. “Esotropia,” I said without thinking. “Sorry—I--.”

“Since I was born, yes,” he said attempting to blink it away. “When I’m sleepy or reading too long, my pupil will go all the way to my nose. It’s embarrassing.” He said reaching for his glasses again.

I touched his hand before he got to them. “I like it,” I told him, watching his dark brown eye jump a few times. He looked down at my hand in his and lifted my palm to kiss it.

“I’m reading The Dispossessed for my CACW course, not because I want to,” he said softly. “I’ve read hundreds of books. I want to say thousands, but that sounds unrealistic and braggy. But Pride and Prejudice is canon for me in its simplicity. I can feel the author sitting and writing her world as it is. Not pretentious or trying to be better or more important. Just as it is.” He leaned in to kiss me softy and I let him. “That’s why I loved your first assignment. You write the world as you see it while the rest of them use big words to try to sound like they belong at this university. There’s a desperation in most writing because most people do not understand their own specialness. They think they need to prove something when they are at their best when they just…”

“Are,” I said.

“Exactly,” he smiled. “Just are. Take Ursula for instance,” he said lifting The Dispossessed and putting his glasses back on to correct his floating pupil. “The revolution is in the individual spirit, or it is nowhere. It is for all, or it is nothing.” He read. “It’s good. Debatably even great writing but between the lines I feel a longing to be great, you know. Not a confidence in just being that. Whereas Austin? Is. No qualms or questions.”

“I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding— certainly too little for the convenience of the world.”

“How much do you know by heart?” he asked, red splotches creeping up his cheek.

“A lot,” I replied.

That’s when my mind merged with my body. I slid one leg on each side of his waist and kissed him with more passion than I thought possible. His warm hands glided under the back of my shirt, and he scratched gently sending my low back into an unintended arch.

I lifted my shirt off and his eye crossed even with his glasses on. “Sorry,” he said trying hard to blink it away.

I removed his glasses again and kissed his eyelid. “I love it.”

I unbuttoned his plaid shirt revealing his chest. He did not work out, I could tell. He was thin and untoned, but perfectly human. No abs poking out. No biceps to flex and kiss like golden mounds. He was books and intellect and long lean walks discussing poetry and art.

He smiled awkwardly. “Sure you want this with the skinny, cross-eyed, guy who can’t afford rent?”

Instead of answering, I dove into the nook of his neck and felt him shiver under my kisses. Power shot through me. This was feeling I’d never expected, sexual dominance. It was more intoxicating than the butterfly kisses. I dove deeper, this time running my fingers through his hair and tugging a bit. When I pulled back, I saw his eyes half-closed in euphoria.

I kissed him. Not gently. Not sweetly. Wreck less. I had no idea what I was doing, but I didn’t care, and he didn’t seem to either, so I kept going.

And going.

And going.

“You sure?” he asked pulling me away to look into my eyes. “With me?”

I nodded and stepped out of my panties. I straddled him. His body reacted instantly. “Sorry, I can’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” I told him, unbuttoning his pants.

He sighed and set one hand underneath me, while the other traced my spine. His fingers got lost in my two-strand twists. “I love your hair like this,” he whispered. “It’s perfect.”

I nearly cried at the mention of my natural hair in such an intimate moment. My hair had been such a source of stress and pain over the years, but he loved it. Even here. Even now.

I lifted my body and felt him inside me.

I let out a guttural gasp that I hadn’t heard from myself before. After a painful burst, I felt warm tears stream down my cheeks.

“Are you okay?” he asked feeling them drop onto his chest.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Don’t stop.”

He lifted me, placing me easily on my back and allowing my head to rest on the pillow. I gasped again from the ease of his strength. Then, he thrust into me, his warm breath on my neck. His hands grazed my breasts and shoulders, and he looked into my eyes. It hurt, but I didn’t want it to stop.

Face to face, he’d thrust and retreat over and over until his warmth filled me and his eyes rolled. His body shook and when he gently pinched my breast, so did mine. He collapsed at my side and breathed out and in and out slowly.

Later I would assume the stupidity and risk of unprotection, but in that moment, I breathed easier than I’d even done in my life.

***