Memories - Slow Part 3

I heard the rain against her windows, a frantic, muffled tapping, a stark contrast to the heavy, pulsing silence between us. I stood by the foot of Emily's bed, my heart doing that erratic, thumping thing it always did when I was around her.

For two months, I'd been living in a state of unending desire for her. Two months of dinners, movies, and museums. Two months of long, agonizingly beautiful sessions of "almost." I'd spent hours kissing her, hours with my hands on her skin, the parts she'd let me touch. Massaging her shoulders until she purred, kneading the arches of her feet, or just holding her. But she wouldn't let us cross the line. 

Slow. She said we were going slow.

Part of me was grateful because I was terrified.

Because "slow" wasn't "no" and meant the inevitable was coming. The inevitable meant she would see me. Really see me. Not just the thirty-six-year-old guy who worked in an office and treated her like a queen, but the "guy "who spent time every week making sure he was hairless because it made him feel feminine. The "guy" who felt more feminine than masculine. And worse, the "guy" who knew, with a soul-crushing certainty, that the moment things got "real," he'd be done in thirty seconds flat.

 "You’re very quiet tonight," she said.

She was standing by her vanity, unhooking her earrings. In the mirror, her eyes caught mine. While she was a decade younger than me, in this room, she was the one with all the gravity. She was assertive, sharp, and so beautiful it made my chest ache.

"Just thinking," I managed to say. My voice sounded thin to my own ears.

"Well, stop," she said, turning around. She walked toward me, the silk of her dress whispering against her thighs. She stopped just inches away, the scent of her perfume—something dark and floral—filling my head. "I told you I wanted to take our time. And we have. You’ve been perfect. Patient. Attentive."

"I...I told you this was about more than that," I said.

"I'm beginning to believe you," she said, her smile making it clear she believed me.

She reached up, her fingers grazing the back of my neck, right where the hairline ended and the unnatural smoothness began. I felt a shiver race down my spine.

"It's been two months," she whispered, her gaze dropping to my mouth. "And I think we’ve waited long enough for a little more. Don't you?"

I couldn't speak. I just nodded, my throat tight. Was this the night?

"Okay. But we’re going to do this my way." She stepped back, her eyes locking onto mine with a playful, predatory spark. "Here are the rules, pay attention."

I swallowed hard. "I'm...I'm listening."

"We’re going to get comfortable. I want you to undress down to your underwear. I’m going to do the same. But," she held up a finger, her expression turning stern, "the underwear stays on. No taking them off. No reaching inside. We can touch, we can kiss, we can press against each other—anywhere—but that fabric is a hard border. Understood? We can touch there, but only on top of it."

A wave of relief so intense it was almost dizzying washed over me. No underwear off, so no "real" sex. My secrets were safe behind a layer of light blue cotton briefs. My inadequacy couldn't be measured if the clock never actually started.

"I...I understand," I said, my voice weak, desperate.

"Good. Now, watch me."

She reached for the zipper at the side of her dress. I watched, mesmerized, as the fabric fell away, pooling on the floor like a discarded shadow. She stood there in a white, lace trimmed bra and matching panties. It was delicate, intricate, and left so little to the imagination that my pulse began to hammer in my ears. The bra and panties were inviting, daring. She looked like a goddess, and the fact that she was looking at me felt like a glitch in the universe.

"Your turn," she said, her voice a low challenge.

I moved slowly, my hands trembling as I unbuttoned my shirt. I felt exposed even before the fabric left my skin. I draped the shirt over the chair, then sat down to pull off my shoes and socks. My trousers followed.

Then I stood up.

I was in my pale blue briefs, standing in the center of her room, feeling the cool air on my skin. I looked down at myself—pale, sleek, and completely hairless. I’d spent years maintaining this, a ritual of grooming that made me feel more 'me' than any suit ever did, but showing it to her was still different. It felt like handing her a weapon.

Emily didn't look away; instead, her eyes traveled all over my body. 

"What?" I asked, self-conscious.

"Nothing," she smiled, "I...every time I see you...everything about you is so different. The last guy I was with, his name's Evan, he's muscular, he's got hair; you're so..." She stepped into my space. "You're so soft," she murmured, touching my chest, "so vulnerable. Even your underwear...Evan is a boxer guy, these briefs, with your skin, it's almost feminine."

I was dizzy, and I almost passed out. "Em..." Feminine, she called me feminine.

"Sorry, that was a poor word choice. Let's stick with vulnerable."

---

The duvet was cool against my back as I lay there, but Emily was pure heat. She crawled up beside me, her movements fluid and confident. When she draped herself over me, the contrast was almost too much to handle. The texture of her lace pressed against my smooth chest; the weight of her body pinning me down.

"Remember the rules," she whispered in my ear. "Touch me. Anywhere you want. But stay outside the lines."

I reached out, my hands finding her waist. My skin felt hyper-sensitive, every nerve ending firing at once. I’d given her a hundred massages, but this was different. There was no pretense of "relaxing" her now. This was about tension.

I traced the curve of her hip, my fingers snagging slightly on her panties. She groaned, a deep, vibrating sound that I felt in my own bones. She leaned down, her hair falling around us like a curtain, and began to kiss my neck. Her tongue flicked against my skin, and I felt myself reacting instantly.

The familiar, frantic pulse began in my groin. I felt myself straining against the fabric of my briefs. This was usually where the panic set in—the fear that she’d notice how small I felt, or that the sheer friction of the moment would end it all before it began.

But the "hard border" changed everything.

Because I couldn't go inside, because I couldn't take our underwear off, I didn't have to worry about the end. I could just be in the middle. I could stay in the heat of the "almost" for as long as she let me.

I rolled us over, pinning her beneath me. Her eyes went wide for a second, surprised by the sudden assertiveness, then they darkened with approval. I began to kiss her—really kiss her—my tongue exploring hers with a hunger I’d been suppressing for eight weeks.

My hands wandered. I explored the swell of her breasts through her bra, the fabric acting as a tease rather than a barrier. I moved lower, my palms rubbing over her stomach, feeling the muscles there ripple and tighten, hearing her breathing.

"Oh god..." she gasped, her hands gripping my shoulders, her nails digging into the smooth skin of my back. "My panties, sweetie. Touch me there, touch my panties."

I moved my hand down, my heart racing. I found the center of the sheer fabric. It was warm and damp, the fabric clinging to her. I began to rub, slow and rhythmic, using the flat of my palm.

Emily arched her back, her breath coming in short, sharp hitches. "Yes... right there. Don't stop. Oh god, I want to feel your fingers inside me...no...rules..."

I watched her face. This was the woman who teased me, who kept me at arm's length, who made me feel like a clumsy teenager. And now, she was unraveling under my hand. I felt a surge of confidence I hadn't known I possessed. I wasn't inadequate here. I was the one in control of this specific moment.

I shifted my weight, pressing myself against her thigh. I could feel my own heart thudding against the fabric of my underwear, the ache almost unbearable. I wanted to reach in, to feel her directly, to let the pressure go—but I wouldn't. I couldn't break the rules. The rules were my safety, my comfort zone.

I increased the pressure, my fingers working against her panties. Emily was tossing her head back and forth on the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut.

"More," she commanded, her voice breaking. "Please....harder."

I didn't let up. I used the friction of her panties to my advantage, mimicking the movements I knew she wanted. I stayed focused entirely on her. I forgot about my own body, forgot about the stopwatch in my head that usually told me I was running out of time. There was no time here. Just the rhythm and her delicate, wet panties.

Emily’s hands moved from my shoulders to the back of my head, pushing me down to her. Her breathing was heavy, frantic now. Her hips began to buck against my hand, a frantic, desperate searching for more. I licked down her chest, her stomach, towards her panties.

"I'm going to..." she choked out, her entire body shaking.

Then I blew on her, my warm breath, soft, gentle, to let her know my mouth was right over her panties.

She suddenly went still, her fingers locking into my hair, a high, thin sound escaping her throat. "Kiss me," she demanded, "kiss me." I leaned forward, my lips touched her panties, and I licked through them. I felt her muscles pulse beneath the lace, a series of long, shuddering waves that seemed to go on forever. She collapsed back into the mattress, her chest heaving, her eyes fluttering open to look at me with something that looked like awe.

I stayed where I was, hovering over her, my own breath coming in ragged gasps. I was desperately, agonizingly close to my own limit, the friction of the movement having pushed me right to the edge. But I stayed outside the border.

---

The room slowly came back into focus. The rain was still tapping on the glass, but the heavy silence had been replaced by the sound of our synchronized breathing.

Emily reached for me, pulled me back to her. Her fingers were tracing the line of my face, then moving down to my chest. She looked at me, her expression softer than I’d ever seen it.

"You didn't break my rules," she whispered.

"I didn't," I said, my voice raspy. She had cum, but I was dizzy, desperate, helpless.

She looked down at the obvious, painful tension in my briefs, then back up at me. There was no judgment in her eyes. No disappointment. Just a quiet, simmering curiosity.

"I know you're... uncomfortable," she said, her hand resting on my hip. "But you stayed with me. You didn't rush it. You just... gave that to me."

"I like giving it to you," I said, and I realized I meant it. For the first time in my life, a sexual encounter hadn't ended in a feeling of failure. It had ended in success. Literally the first time.

Emily pulled me, tucking my head under her chin. She began to stroke my back, her nails lightly scratching the smooth skin she liked so much. We lay there for a long time, the tension of the last two months finally beginning to settle into something new. Something that felt like a foundation.

"Next time," she murmured into my hair, "maybe we’ll change the rules. Just a little bit."

I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. The fear was still there, lurking in the back of my mind—the fear of the "real" thing, the fear of the clock. But as I lay there, smooth and safe in the afterglow of her pleasure, the fear felt a little smaller.

"I think I can handle that," I said.

"I know you can," she replied, and for the first time, I actually started to believe her.

"I just..."

"Shhhh, I know," she said, stroking my hair. "You little guy is desperate."

"Terribly," I said.

"I'm worth it," she assured me.

"I've never doubted it," I said. "Never."

"Emily," I whispered.

"Yes?"

"I...I'm falling in love with you," I said.

"I know," she said, "I know."

I looked at her, waited, scared, vulnerable. She knew, of course, she knew what I was hoping for. I'd put it out there, made myself as vulnerable as anyone could. She smiled. "You're such a needy boy, aren't you?"

"I...I've been hurt," I said.

"It's dangerous letting me know your weaknesses, your vulnerabilities," she said.

"I...I can't help it," I said, eyes still waiting, stomach flipping. "I...I shouldn't have said..."

"I won't hurt you," she said, "that's why we're going slow."

"Emily..."

"Shhhhh," she put a finger to my lips. "Shhhhh. Don't worry, my needy boy, I'm falling in love with you, too."