The Kissing Coach (11 page)

He reached over and tugged at the hem of my shirt. I held my arms over my head and wiggled to help him pull the shirt off.

His eyes were glossy, his expression still serious, and he kissed the tops of my breasts, above my black lace bra. I reached for the clasp, which was at the front, and slipped the bra off. The apartment was always warm during the summer, and the upper loft area was the warmest zone, yet my nipples were firm.

Devin leaned over me, his breathing audible, and he traced the tip of his tongue around one nipple. I sighed and closed my eyes as his touch sent an electric current through my body, straight to my most intimate area. I hadn't been with a guy in a very long time, and I'd
never
been with someone as wonderful as Devin. I'd never wanted someone like this. It was almost unbearable.

He sucked on my nipple as he fondled my breast, and I sighed with pleasure.

From that point, the awkwardness disappeared, and we were simply two people, doing what came naturally.

I lifted off his shirt, so he'd be topless as well, and pulled him to me, enjoying the first flesh-to-flesh body contact. He was between skinny and muscular, and I could feel his ribs on mine, his body hard next to my softness.

We kissed some more, him still wearing his jeans and me in my shorts, and he pushed his hips into mine, his long hardness on my lower stomach. There was heat in my belly, fire.

I reached between us, to his jeans, and frantically undid the top button.

He pulled back from me, but he didn't run away this time. He finished unzipping his jeans and pushed them down and off, then kicked off his socks.

He wore only his boxers, and when he lay back down beside me, he picked up my hand and moved it to his hardness. My fingers traced the outline of his cock through his boxers, and then, when he pushed harder against my hand, I slipped my hand up and then down the waistband of the boxers.

He gasped as I grabbed his cock with my bare palm, skin on skin. The head was slick with his beads of pre-come, and my hand slipped up and down.

Then he was unfastening my shorts and pushing them down.

And then my panties.

As I stroked his hard member, running my fingertips over the head and then up and down the sides, he explored me with his free hand, both of us still on our sides facing each other.

He started high, on my stomach, and moved his hand slowly down, over my tuft of pubic hair, and then into my intimate crease. He found the wetness, and he fumbled around like a guy who was aware of the area, and knew the basics, but had no practice.

I patiently waited until he ran his finger over my clit—possibly by accident—and I moaned into his lips as he kissed me.

He took the hint and relocated his efforts, sending so much pleasure through my body in waves that my own hand stopped moving, but he didn't seem to mind.

I felt the welcoming tingles of an orgasm approaching, but I didn't want it like this, not with his fingers—not unless that was what he wanted.

I pulled away, making him look concerned. I opened the bottom drawer of the tiny nightstand and grabbed the never-opened box of condoms I'd bought ages ago, on a whim.

“It's up to you,” I said.

He tipped his head to the side, his expression questioning.

“Oh, it's all on me, is it?”

“I'd like to have sex with you,” I said. “But only if you're ready.”

In answer, he took the box from my hands.

He turned around and worked on the packaging, his back to me, then he slipped off his boxers and hunched over.

I did that awkward one-minute wriggle, where you roll from side to side on your back, trying not to freak out about what's going to happen or not happen.

“Got it,” he said proudly, then he turned around and crawled toward me, all wrapped and ready to go.

I lifted my knees and spread my legs as he approached.

He said, “Do I just put it in?”

There were, of course, a million things we could have done besides just
putting it in
, but I wanted him inside me, so I said, “Yes.”

He positioned his body on top of mine, his cock between my legs, and he pushed. It slipped up between my lips and the head popped out below my bush.

He frowned, seemingly confused, so I reached down and guided him to the right spot and angle.

With the tip of his cock against my opening, he said, “I just push here? Is this right?”

I nodded and moaned.

He nudged it in, just the head, and I watched as he got the most beautiful look on his face, like he'd just realized something. He pushed again, the shaft sinking further in and filling me, and from that point on, he did not seem like a beginner at all.

He returned to kissing me, and he stroked in and out, fast and then slow, hard and then gentle, until suddenly I was going over the edge.

“I'm coming,” I said.

He stopped moving.

I wailed, “Oh, god, don't stop!”

He started up again, moving steadily, his body tense. I wrapped my legs around his hips and let him in as deep as he could get, and I came. Panting and sweating and raw.

He went even more rigid, and he pumped into me, getting faster and harder, and then he cried out.

He buried himself in me, and when he relaxed again, he slowed to a stop and looked tenderly into my eyes.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey yourself.”

My insides were still having tremors as he kissed me.

“That was incredible,” he said. “You're incredible.”

I realized my hands were gripping his ass, and this suddenly embarrassed me, so I let go.

We rolled to the side and he withdrew slowly, still firm, but sated.

FACTS ABOUT KISSING

1. Try not to think about this fact while you're locking lips, but anticipating kissing increases your saliva, giving your teeth a healthy rinse.

2. Your lips are more sensitive than your fingertips. They're even more sensitive than your downstairs-goodies.

3. Kissing isn't just for people. Some porcupines kiss each other on the lips.

PART III

Have you ever gotten restaurant regret? That's where you go out, feeling super hungry, and you order a bunch of food and gorge yourself. Then, when the bill comes, you wonder why you had to get the starter, the meal, the extra side dish, and so on. The idea of ordering all that food seems repellant, and you don't think you'll ever eat again. Even if you have a grocery list in your purse, you'll just march on by the grocery store on the way home, since you can't imagine wanting food.

After I had sex with Devin, up in my little sleeping loft, on my red sheets, I got a wave of
restaurant regret
.

How could I have been so hungry for man-happy in my vagina that I'd allowed the better of my urges, and slept with a client? Or, worse, slept with a guy I
really
liked, but whom I was not dating.

I'm telling you, after the sex, I could not get Devin out of my place fast enough. We had our clothes on and he was out the door five minutes later, with me practically pushing him. He probably would have stayed and cuddled—he seemed like he could be the cuddly type—but I didn't want to risk it.

When you have enjoyable sex, or even some fun kissing with someone (the lips are a hundred times more sensitive than any other part of the body), your body experiences a rise in the hormones that lead to bonding. Some say these natural chemicals are stronger than opiates, which explains the drunken, goofy looks that teenagers swapping spit in public always seem to have.

These chemicals are why “friends with benefits” often leads to love and marriage and an overpriced SUV-sized baby carriage.

“But,” Devin said as the door closed between us.

There was something else, muffled.

“Okay!” I yelled cheerfully. “See you!”

He said something else, but I didn't want to hear it. The door was locked.

“We'll talk soon!” I yelled, and then I walked over to my stereo and put on some music.

Steph came over to see me an hour later, just as it was getting dark outside. She had chicken noodle soup.

“Chicken soup? I don't have a cold,” I said, rubbing at my red eyes.

“You look like shit.”

“I've been crying, but I think it's stopped.”

She steered me over to the kitchen stools, sat me down, put a spoon in my hand, and cracked the lid of the container. The soup smelled amazing.

“A lesson from my gramma,” she said. “Saltwater out, saltwater in. Eat.”

I took three sips, the salty taste awakening my appetite. I hadn't eaten since lunch, nearly eight hours earlier, and soon I was slurping the soup with gusto.

“Saltwater out.” I pointed to my red eyes. “Saltwater in.” I tipped up the Styrofoam container and drank down the last bits.

“Gramma knows best.”

“I think there is wisdom in the old ways. There've been so many changes to how we live, and they're not all good.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, indulging my need to spew factoids.

“We used to live in multi-generational households, and nowadays, in America, that's considered odd.” I scooped up a stray noodle with my fingertips. “If you live with your parents as an adult, let alone your grandparents, people think you're a loser, like you can't earn a living.”

“Caleb lives with his parents.”

“Oh, right. You have a boyfriend now.”

Steph got that dopey-teen-makeout-session look at the mention of Caleb. They'd been seeing each other almost every day, and it sounded serious.

“What do I do now?” I said.

Steph crossed her arms and gave me a hard stare. “Feather.”

“Seriously, coach me. I need it.”

“Feather, you slept with him. I haven't met him, so I don't have a clue. On one hand, he sounds really sweet, but on the other hand, I want to shove my foot up his ass for treating my best friend like a prostitute. I mean … did he pay you extra for the sex, or what?”

I thought of him trying to tell me something through the door and realized he hadn't paid for that day's session.

I relayed this to Steph, and she said, “Whatever. You have to let go of how things started off, and move ahead.”

“You mean find someone else to date?”

“No, I mean don't worry that years from now it might come out he was your coaching client. Look at me. Do I look worried that one day I'll get married to Caleb and someone will tell the embarrassing story that he kissed my best friend two minutes before our first kiss?” She laughed. “Okay, I'm a little worried, but that's life. Things are weird and complicated and that's just how it is. They say not to mix family and business, and here I am, running a shop with my mother.”

“You're right. I shouldn't take advice from you. You do everything wrong.”

She picked up my cell phone from the counter and handed it to me. “You've been glancing over at this thing once every ten seconds. Maybe he'll call or text, or maybe he won't. Do you really want to put the future of your relationship in his hands? This is a guy who was terrified of kissing.”

“You think I should call him?” I put my finger over the screen, but hesitated. “I can't call. What if he doesn't pick up?”

She grabbed the phone from me and typed a message:
Now that I'm not coaching you, I would like to go on a real date, if you're interested. If not, please delete this message and let's pretend nothing ever happened.

My mouth went dry.

“That sounds too earnest,” I said.

“If you were paying me money for my advice, you'd send that message.”

“I shouldn't have told you all my coaching secrets.”

“You guys should totally date,” she said. “And not just because you can double date with us, but because your apartment has never looked better. I like coming over here and knowing there won't be half-folded laundry all over the couch.”

“Yeah. 'Cause it's all about you, isn't it?” I teased.

Steph smiled and dug around in the paper takeout bag, then produced three more containers of soup.

“I guess I'll send this message,” I said.

She took the lid off one container and put it in front of me, then another one for herself.