Flashbacks from the last time cross my mind. From the moment I walked in he had on no shirt. His perfectly chiseled chest called out to me. My eyes molested it until my hands were brave enough to reach out and touch it. Then I allowed him to do the same. As my clothes came off, he gently touched every inch of my body. I easily gave myself to him that night and the pleasure was worth it. Tonight I’m not feeling as confident.
We’re all alone sitting on the couch in his living room. The lights are off, but the volume to a romantic movie on the television is low. He moves closer to me, so I scoot further away. He wants to be close. He wants to cuddle, kiss and eventually take me into his bedroom. I’m not ready yet. He didn’t give me any flowers. He’s never taken me out to eat or to a movie. We don’t even see each other during the day. Nor do we talk on the phone regularly. He doesn’t even see me as his girlfriend. Feelings are starting to surface.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
“Thanks,” I barely whisper. I’m nervous. I’m not sure if I’m ready to do this again, but he is getting impatient. He puts his arms around me and pulls me onto his lap. As I adjust myself for comfort, he turns my face to his. Then he lays a passionate kiss on me.
The nervousness is over. For a second what we were doing felt wrong, but now I’m comfortable again. I don’t need flowers. Nor do I need dinner and a movie. However, I do need attention.
Our passion is intense. The sex is meant to be. We leave a trail of clothes from the sofa to his bedroom. This is not the last time I answer his midnight phone call.
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