He looks away from the screen, “What?”
“What about me do you want? You keep saying it, all the time, but, what about me do you want?” I’m sitting on his bed, a few feet away from him. It’s evening, or late at night. We’ve taken a brake to recharge. We’re not in any hurry to get anywhere.
“That’s a strange question.” His lips curl a bit at one side, that quirky smile of What’s this now? Is this game going to be fun? “I’m not even sure I know how to answer that.” He gets out of his chair and takes a slow step, then another, towards me. “I want your body, of course. But that’s not the answer you’re looking for, is it? I want that sound you make,” he crawls onto the bed, follows as I lower my back to the mattress, “the way you sigh when I kiss you here… Right there, that sound; that’s what I want. I want the way you sound when I touch you. I want your orgasm.”
“I think that’s the one I was hoping to hear,” I lie, as much to myself as to him, because my inability so far to achieve orgasm is easier to face.
“I want to be your first.”
“I want you to be my first,” I whisper, and then, to make sure he’d heard me, “I want you to be my first.”
“But,” he says, climbing off of me, bringing us back to the boundaries I’d set earlier, “not tonight.”
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