An adult stories – Master Class by SmoothandLovely,SmoothandLovely Master Class
One summer not long ago, I decided to spend some time doing something just for myself and expand my perspectives as well. I enrolled in a four-week writing class in the Berkshires in Massachusetts, deciding that it would be a nice break from the stressful life that I had endured over the prior twelve months. Getting the time off from my job was only slightly problematic but this exercise only confirmed why I needed the break in the first place.
The course was not focused so much on the art of putting words on paper but more on the art of exploring the different perspectives from which any given subject could be viewed, like Akira Kurosawa’s “Rashomon”. The goal of the course was to give each student the intellectual tools necessary to produce a story concerning any subject that they were inclined to explore. Participants would attend lectures and workshops, and work in teams of two with each person serving as editor for their teammate’s work as well as adding whatever creative insight that the two participants agreed was advantageous. It seemed like an interesting challenge and offered an opportunity for creative and emotional growth in addition to the added complexity of navigating the relationship between two people trying to produce unrelated works of fiction. These four weeks could prove to be an exceptionally stimulating time for me or four weeks of boring arguments with someone with differing interests and opinions whom I had never met before. Only time would tell.
The program took place on a college campus that was essentially closed for the summer although some selective courses and seminars were being offered, and the cafeteria, dining hall, and library still functioned to serve the people attending classes and in writing and theater programs. We stayed in the vacant student dorm rooms or suites, depending on what price level you selected, and could wander the grounds and use the gym and pool. It was comfortable in a rustic sort of way, almost a summer camp for adults.
Day One was orientation and introductions, meeting our teammates, and general discussions about the nature of the work that we would be doing and our expectations. The organization sponsoring the program took time and great care trying to match teammates who would offer different perspectives based on careers, backgrounds, age, ethnicity, and intellectual data gleaned from the survey that everyone completed as part of the application process. My teammate was a friendly, Hispanic, 28-year-old female elementary school teacher from rural New Jersey named Gabriella, Gabby for short, with a Master’s degree in psychology, who was currently working on her doctorate. She seemed reasonably satisfied to be paired with a 31-year-old Caucasian male attorney from New York City, who no longer believed in Santa Claus. This was shaping up to be a unique pairing of extremely different personalities who could enjoy diversity in learning or endure four weeks of contentious arguing.
At the end of the first day’s classes, Gabby and I, along with several of the other participants, had a light supper in the cafeteria and talked about the work that lay ahead. Strangely enough, there were fewer differences in the assembled group than might be envisioned by the diversity of the participants. It was almost like this program was a study on the effects of communal living in the first Mars colony. Will this experiment be a success or will it be a remake of “Lord of the Flies”?
Day Two found Gabby and me working in the library, separately but in the same space. We were intent on what we were doing and it was only during our lunch break that we actually discussed our progress, and this seemed to be typical for the other groups as well. “I hate to ask,” I said breaking the ice, “but how is it going for you?”
“I would like to say fine, but that would be a big stretch of the truth,” she replied. “And you?”
“I’m almost done, just putting the finishing touches on the final paragraphs of a ground-breaking short story. I am thinking of catching the next flight to Cancun for some real R&R,” I lied.
“Changing your career to journalism, are you? You seem to have the right qualifications,” she said with a smile and a laugh.
“To be honest, I am trying to get my head around the subject matter and figure out the best approach to take before I try to put my thoughts into the context of a story,” I confided.
“Do you want to talk about it? Kick a few ideas around?” she responded, looking at me intently.
“It would be helpful but I hardly know you and feel a little self-conscious talking about something as personal as the thoughts that form the basis of a narrative. I am sure that you can understand that so maybe it’s better to give it a few days,” I said.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said looking me directly in the eyes, “but you sound like one of my students. A 12-year-old boy wants to find out if a 12-year-old girl like-likes him before asking her to go see a movie. The days drag on in torment for him and while she probably would have said yes had he asked her, she now changes focus to something else, and the moment is lost. He is deflated and her self-esteem takes a hit, and the two ships have passed in the night. I don’t know if I can provide insight into the subject matter of your writing, but I might. All you have to do is ask the question. Plus, after a few weeks, we will probably move on with our lives and you will never have to feel uncomfortable about discussing hypothetical topics for a story with a stranger ever again.”
“I would feel better if your analogy involved high school kids, but I get your point,” I replied. “Okay, let’s see where this takes us but if you get uncomfortable, please be honest and tell me, and if you get the urge to laugh, please don’t because I am extremely sensitive to ridicule,” I confessed half-jokingly.
“It’s a deal,” she responded and held out her hand to me.
And so it began. I started telling a complete stranger my innermost thoughts and concerns, something that I had never done before, even with my closest friends. Somehow it seemed safer to do so in this setting, and she was right; we would probably never run into each other once our month together is finished and we got back to our lives.
“I like romance novels, novellas, and romance stories in general,” I said. “I like reading about desire, dreams, and forbidden pleasures contemplated but not yet brought to fruition. I enjoy looking at the characters and imagining what they want, and what they long for. I need to know if I am capturing the mood correctly. I understand that I can write how I would feel in a similar situation but would another person be reacting differently and, if so, why and how? I can switch places with the characters but would that produce an honest portrayal of the emotions being experienced by a specific character or would it be another person’s view of a given scenario? How do you switch personalities?”
I continued, “I have read quite a few love stories, lesbian love stories, and they appeal to me for a myriad of reasons but specifically the depth of honest emotion on both sides. They are tender, more in tune with how I envision individuals reacting to a set of circumstances, more intense, and cover a range of feelings. I would like to capture this same emotional intensity in a male love story, but I believe that most of those types of stories simply involve different positions, different settings, and a lot of ejaculation. Males are supposed to act and react, differently. The problem as I see it, is two-fold: the translation of one language into another, female to male, male to female, and since I am not a female, how do I know what a woman would experience under the given circumstances if she were a male, something akin to a Caucasian trying to write about the feelings of a black person. In my opinion, it is impossible to capture.”
Gabby was staring at me and I felt like she was either sleeping with her eyes open or politely trying to figure out the best way of excusing herself to head back to New Jersey. Eventually, she spoke and, surprisingly, she appeared to have paid attention to my ramblings. “Okay, Marc, the way I see it you are overthinking the whole thing. People are not as different as you think they are. Women rationalize situations differently for sure but deep-down people have similar feelings and have similar desires whether they admit it or not. In the lesbian love stories you referenced, when one woman develops an interest in another and the courtship ritual begins, the writer shows how the protagonist tries to make her feelings understood in subtle ways, like the way she looks at the other woman, the tone of her voice, the occasional touch, a small, almost inconsequential present, something that touches the heart. Is it that much different if you were writing for a man?”
“From my point of view, I believe so,” I replied. “Almost all the men I have encountered want one thing. Sex. They look to find ways to strike up a conversation and within 15 minutes want you on your knees or in bed. Feelings are rarely, if ever discussed. Friendship and companionship would come next, with love and tenderness developing over time, almost the opposite of a female love story. If I write for myself I would write with one voice, the one I want to hear. But if I write for a reader it invariably comes out differently.
“I’m sorry but perhaps I should have explained my personal situation sooner. I am gay but I do not flaunt it and I am trying to find a unique voice to tell romantic stories for a gay male readership.”
“I know, about you I mean,” Gabby responded matter-of-factly, “I could tell as soon as I met you.”
“Oh, I see. Am I that transparent?” I said.
“To me, yes. But not to everyone,” she countered. “You simply seem like an easy-going, friendly guy, a bit cerebral for sure, not a jock.”
“Of course, I’m here and not at a sports camp in summer,” I joked.
“What about me?” Gabby questioned. “What do your feelings tell you about me?”
I thought for a moment and realized that I had not formed an opinion about her after a day and a half and told her so. She was attractive, young, and obviously intelligent, but beyond that an empty book. Now I was the one with the blank stare.
“Marc, you talk about the importance of how people feel but you are closed off to your own emotions,” Gabby said. “You stifle your intuition, something that women rarely do. It is the hunter/gatherer predisposition that we live with. I made my assessment of you and concluded that you are not a threat to me; subconsciously you did the same but failed to realize it. You are a hunter, but I am not the prey that you seek so you turned off your intuitive senses, a mistake if you are going to understand people. If you are going to write about sensitive subjects, you must tune in to the plasma and be open to your intuition, a bit like reading Tarot cards. The cards may have specific meanings but the gifted reader takes everything in and follows their intuition.”
After a moment of reflection, I asked quietly, “So, what do you suggest?”
“I believe that you need an interpersonal exercise that tests your intuitive skills. We will see how you do and then decide on the best approach. Are you up for the challenge?” she queried.
“I am not sure but if I don’t try, I will never know. Lead on,” I responded.
We talked about the other participants in the program to select the appropriate ‘volunteer’ but I had a sneaky suspicion that Gabby had already decided on the person that I should get to know although she politely listened to my suggestions. When I made my final choice of Margaret from Vermont, she smiled and said, “No. She would be a poor choice.”
“Why?” I protested. “She seems pleasant, about 10 years older than me so she could have some interesting facets to her personal story, outgoing and quick to laugh. What’s the problem?”
“In case you didn’t notice, she’s a female. She will not relax with you and be open until she concludes that she can trust you. That could take a while and we have no time to waste,” she said.
“Okay, so who would be your choice?” I replied bluntly.
“Charles, the fellow from Boston,” she responded without hesitation.
I thought for a moment and then said that I would go along with her choice if she told me her logic in making the selection. “It’s simple actually,” she said, “he is a business owner, around 50 years old, handsome, refined, well-groomed, and he likes you. Voila. There are enough differences between you to make the conversation easy once you ask a few simple questions, plus there is an air of refinement about him which points to him being a gentleman and polite. He’s attractive so he would not be upsetting to the eye, and since he owns a business you can assume that he is independent and can make decisions.”
“It seems so simple when you say it,” I replied, adding “How do you know that he likes me when we haven’t formally met? And you are positive about Margaret?”
“Some things are obvious so trust me on that score. And, yes, I am definitely sure about Margaret. She’s taken,” Gabby said with a smile.
The plan was put in motion during the late afternoon break. I casually bumped into Charles and after a little chit-chat, asked if he would like to join Gabby and me for dinner if he did not have any specific plans. He smiled and graciously accepted without much hesitation. Gabby seemed to have read the room very well.
I was sitting at the dinner table talking to Charles when Gabby walked up with Margaret. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” I said with a big smile while glancing toward Gabby. “Nice to see you again. Margaret, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and you’re Marc,” she said, “nice to finally meet you. Hi, Charles, nice to see you again.”
“Hello, Margaret, a pleasure as always,” he replied with a grin.
“Oh, such a gentleman, I love running into you just for the compliments,” she joked.
Charles produced a bottle of bourbon for an impromptu aperitif and, surprisingly, Gabby pulled a nice bottle of wine from her bag that we shared with dinner. After two days and some hurried introductions, our little group had come together and seemed to have the right chemistry to provide a pleasant evening.
During dinner, I watched how Gabby and Margaret interacted with each other and made mental notes of what I saw. Gabby handed Margaret her aperitif but let her hand linger for a few seconds as their fingers touched. Margaret glanced at her knowingly and the corners of her mouth went up slightly in a shy acknowledgment. When Charles passed a wine glass to me, our hands touched but neither of us pulled away, the male reaction learned over millennia had been subdued.
The conversation was lively and really good fun was had by all. Gabby was spot on with her assessment of Charles but I still wondered about Margaret. Gabby did not think that I would get adequate insight from her and when she went on to say that she was ‘taken’ I assumed that Gabby knew something about her personal life that I did not, but now I was not so sure that I understood her correctly. In any event, after dinner was finished and the wine bottle was empty, Margaret said that she was a bit tired and that she would leave ‘us guys’ to burn the midnight oil. Gabby said goodnight as well and the two of them walked in the direction of the lift to take them to their rooms.
Charles looked over at me and said, “And then there were two. It is not terribly late and I still have half a bottle of this nice bourbon so how about a nightcap in a more comfortable setting away from these bright lights?”
I smiled at him and replied, “That is a splendid offer and I would enjoy taking up a bit more of your time and your bourbon. What do you suggest?”
“Well, I seem to have had the good fortune to be given the suite formerly assigned to the Dean’s mistress I am told, so it is quite comfortably appointed and has a small terrace overlooking the garden. I propose that we adjourn to my quarters and see how much of this bourbon we can finish before dawn,” he said with a chuckle.
“It seems like a wonderful idea, but you must promise not to think ill of me tomorrow,” I replied.
“I will if you give me the same assurance,” came the good-humored response, and with those words we rose to leave.
Charles was accurate in his description of his suite of rooms. It was a very comfortable space, both in size and appointment. Obviously, this was not a professor’s apartment, and how he managed to get it was never discussed. After a quick tour, Charles poured bourbon into two crystal glasses, added an ice cube, and handed one to me, his hand lingering against mine.
We had a brief toast to new beginnings, clinked glasses, and both took a healthy sip of the fiery liquid. Swallowing the bourbon, I looked at Charles and then leaned over to kiss him on the lips, holding the contact for several seconds. “Thank you for the nice evening,” I said softly, “you are a lovely gentleman.”
“It honestly is my pleasure,” he replied before kissing me again. “Come, let me show you the garden.”
We walked out onto the terrace and enjoyed the view of the garden in the soft moonlight. Charles put his arm around my shoulder and held me to him, while I put my arm around his waist. “You know, this has been the best night in a very long time for me,” he said, “and I am afraid of spoiling it.”
“I feel the same way,” I replied. “I like you, more than I thought I would after such a short time, and I want to savor the moments just a little longer. Am I being too sentimental?” I asked.
“No, you are being just perfect,” he replied. “Let’s make a deal,” he continued, “we will look over the garden until we finish our drinks and then we will say goodnight. We will meet for dinner tomorrow evening, and you can tell me how you feel about another nightcap. No pressure.”
I leaned over and kissed his neck, whispering, “With one caveat. Gabby is my partner and I do not wish to exclude her from dinner plans. Is that agreeable?”
“Absolutely, I would have been disappointed if you did not include her. She is charming and quite a sexy lady, and I so enjoy the company of erotic women,” he said with a laugh.
I finished my drink, took his head in my hands, and gave him a long, hot kiss on his lips. “Until tomorrow, Charles,” I said, “goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Marc, I will think about you tonight,” he replied with a sly smile.
“Please do,” I said as I walked to the door of the apartment, “I will do the same.”
I was making some notes on a pad over breakfast when Gabby joined me, coffee in hand. She was smiling and looked well-rested, ready to focus on the matters at hand. “Good morning, Gabby, sleep well?” I said in a cheery voice.
“Hey, Marc, fine actually, and how are you this lovely day?” she replied.
“Very well and happy to see you,” I said.
We chatted a bit about the beautiful morning and the lovely weather before putting our heads together for actual work. As much as I tried to avoid pointed questions about the events of the evening, I eventually had to ask her how she was so perceptive about Charles and what she managed to learn about Margaret. Gabby was straightforward about Charles saying that he carried himself well, and had confidence and her intuition indicated that we would be a good fit as a couple. About Margaret she was a bit coy, not wanting to say too much. “Margaret is very nice, soft-spoken as you could tell during dinner, with an interesting back-story and a lovely, well-toned physique,” she said nonchalantly before sipping her coffee and looking away.
As I looked at her while letting the last comment sink in, she glanced at me and commented with a sly smile, “Oh dear, was I not supposed to say that? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”
I placed my pen on the pad, stared at her, and said, “Gabby, yesterday, when I mentioned speaking to Margaret for insight, you said that she was ‘taken’. I thought that you meant that she was involved with someone, working with someone else in the program or some such thing, but you really meant that you had your eye on her, right?”
“Was that wrong?” she said with a laugh. “Marc here is your first lesson about intuition. You had all the information laid out in front of you yesterday, but you reached a conclusion that was convenient rather than accurate. Consider the facts: 1) you and I were together almost the entire day, acting very professionally, so I did not have an opportunity to speak to Margaret nor did I have time to speak with anyone other than you, so, therefore, I had no way of knowing about her private life or her involvement with other people in the program; 2) You didn’t know anything about me personally nor did you ask if I was attracted to women but you assumed that I would not have a sexual interest in her. You did not perceive me as a predator who would ‘take’ her; 3) While I may have been interested in her, I had no way of knowing if she would be open to my advances. The only thing that I knew with any certainty was that I would find a way to bring the two of us together and work diligently to exclude other people from interfering until I knew if she would be interested in me. When I said that she was ‘taken’ I assumed, correctly I might add, that you would rather be working with an attractive man instead of Margaret because of your situation, and you only needed the slightest reason to move away from her, leaving the fly to the spider in a metaphorical sense.
“I am not a person who kisses and tells but this exception was an example between colleagues for teaching purposes. Women intuitively sense their environment, and it gives us an edge. If you plan to write from inside the mind of a female, you must learn to think like a female.”
“You amaze me,” I confided, “but since you and Margaret are both female, did her intuition allow her to sense your intentions?”
“Of course,” she replied, “Margaret had an inkling when I handed her the bourbon but definitely knew when we left together by the way I smiled when we got up from the table, and her eyes acknowledged her desire for me when she looked at me in the lift. Our first kiss inside the door of her room told us both exactly how far we would be willing to go during our first encounter.”
I smiled across the table at my teammate and responded, “And since you said that she has a lovely physique I can conclude that you managed to get her naked during “your first encounter.” Consequently, it is only fair for me to assume that she did the same to you and I can now imagine the two of you naked in her bed in a passionate embrace that lasted most of the night and involved a lot of sweating.”
Gabby laughed out loud and said with mock applause, “Very good, my dear Watson. You are a remarkable pupil.”
“I have a good professor,” I replied.
We spent the rest of the day working on our respective projects and occasionally chatting for advice and inspiration. It wasn’t until late afternoon that the subject of the evening’s dinner came up. “Oh, Gabby, Charles asked me to dinner tonight and I said that I would like you, and perhaps Margaret if you like, to join us. How does that sound?”
“Quite nice, really,” she said, “It will be fun to see how the two of you got along.”
“Great,” I said, “I will tell Charles and grab a table for four at 7:30.”
Charles had a fresh bottle of bourbon with him and I brought a bottle of Merlot for dinner. Unlike yesterday, no introductions were needed, and the atmosphere was very relaxed. The connection between Margaret and Gabby was obvious and they were at ease with each other while Charles and I had a way to go to catch up. In a way, I wish I could make notes during the evening since there were several instances when either Margaret or Gabby would say something and the other would punctuate the conversation with a simple one-finger touch or a shoulder nudge that spoke a different language or carried a secret meaning, and I would like to understand more of what they were ‘not saying’ to each other.
When dinner and the wine were finished, Charles said that he promised me a view of the gardens from his terrace, and if the ladies would not mind, he would like to make good on his promise. I made a mental note that my agreement to his plan was a fait accompli and while several days ago I would never have given that lapse a second thought, tonight I felt that he was being presumptuous. Is this the way that women feel when their acquiescence is taken for granted? I looked over at Gabby and saw something in her eyes that seemed to signal her understanding of what I was thinking. Margaret was also looking at Gabby but her eyes were telling a different story and that made me smile.
Arriving at Charles’ apartment, I was greeted by a beautiful sight. On the foyer table was a splendid bouquet of white roses that gave a wonderful scent to the room. While Charles closed the door, I remarked in a quiet tone, “Charles, the flowers are magnificent. Where did you get them? Not from the garden I hope.”
“No, I had them delivered today. They are for you,” he replied.
“Really? They are wonderful. Thank you so much, I love them,” I cried. “I am such a lover of fresh flowers that they make me an easy touch. How did you know?”
“A hunch,” he said. “I saw the way that you gazed out the garden last night with that wistful look and I felt that you had a connection to nature so what better surprise than flowers?”
I bent down to smell the roses and whispered, “Perfect,” before walking up to Charles and wrapping my arms around his neck, and kissing him deeply on the mouth. Charles put his arms around me and held me as he returned my kisses while I moaned in sheer ecstasy. I felt the thick muscles in his arms and chest as he pulled me close, and I felt his hardening erection poking against my stomach. My breathing was getting labored and I found myself panting softly as he continued to kiss my neck and nibble my ear.
“Oh, God, Charles, I feel so hot and weak, I must get out of these clothes and lie down before I pass out. Would you mind helping me? Please.” I mumbled.
Charles led me to his bedroom and removed my shirt before having me sit on the bed so he could remove my shoes and slip off my pants. Once I was naked he guided me under the sheets and helped arrange the pillow under my head before he stepped back to remove his clothes as well. I watched as his clothing came off piece by piece exposing a firm athletic body with very little hair. I had felt the power of his arms and chest as he held me before and now I could see the muscles and longed to feel them squeezing me again. His erection was beautiful; straight and hard, a penis with a well-defined head that had a glistening drop of seminal fluid on the tip. I wanted to taste him, feel the head of his stiff cock slide over my tongue and go deep into my throat. I wanted his hands on my head holding me firmly, moving me to his rhythm for as long as it took for him to release his semen into my mouth. I wanted to savor every drop, let his cock drain into my mouth and throat before I swallowed it all. These were my desires, what I longed for, and what I desperately hoped Charles would understand without words being necessary.
I lay on the bed with my head on the pillow as Charles walked over to me. He bent over and before anything else, kissed me tenderly, stoking the fire that I had managed to get under control. He knew what he was doing to me and relished the sound of my breathing and the tiny moans coming from my throat. He then knelt on the bed, straddling my body while he kissed my neck and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. The passion was building in me and I wanted to feel his body against mine, feel the power of his arms holding me and the weight of his body holding me to the bed, immobile. Charles kissed my lips, sliding his tongue into my mouth, probing deep as I sucked on it greedily.
I could not keep the desire bottled up inside me any longer. I rolled out from under Charles and pulled back the sheets before I climbed onto him, my body now straddling his, and I kissed him wantonly. I worked my way from his lips to his neck, down over his chest to his left nipple, which I teased with my teeth making him gasp in pleasure.
Satisfied with the effect, I moved down on his stomach, eventually reaching his erect penis. I licked around the head and down the shaft while my fingers gently massaged and squeezed his nipples, and then slowly took his cock into my warm, wet mouth.
By now he was panting and his hands gripped the sides and back of my head, holding my mouth firmly onto his cock. I teased his nipples, sucking on his dick as my lips slid up and down in an ever-quickening rhythm. The sound of his panting alerted me to the obvious even before the pulsing of his penis delivered the abundance of his semen into my mouth. I held him with my lips while his fluid spurted against the back of my throat and worked its way deeper into my body. I felt his body spasm and eventually lay still as his breathing returned to normal. I stretched my legs and allowed myself to be prone on top of him, relaxing my breathing and feeling the beat of his heart against my chest.
I raised my head and looked at Charles’ face, perfectly relaxed and calm, his once taut muscles now softened. My needs had been turned into his needs and those were temporarily satisfied. Inside my head, my mind was telling me to roll off his body onto my back while silently willing his calm, relaxed arms to move under my knees to pull them up to my head, and his soft penis to be hard again before being pushed into my anus so that I could be roughly fucked like a bitch. My breathing increased to quiet panting and my heart rate sped up as I imagined the glorious, earth-shattering orgasm that was not to be.
I rolled off Charles and lay quietly on my back for a few minutes before getting up to use the bathroom. After washing my face, I went back to the bed where Charles was laying on the pillow with his eyes open. “Wow, that was fantastic!” he said. “You are really special in bed. I have never had anyone make me cum so hard. Thank you.”
Smiling, I replied, “My pleasure. I am glad that you enjoyed it and thank you for the flowers.” As I retrieved my clothes and got dressed, I said, “I hate to suck and run but I am tired tonight, and silly me promised to meet Gabby for an early breakfast. See you tomorrow.”
Charles got up and met me by the door. “Good night, and thank you again for a great evening,” he said.
“I enjoyed it as well,” I responded as I walked out and headed to my room.
The next morning found me in the cafeteria earlier than usual, pen and pad in hand. After getting a large coffee and some yogurt and fruit, I settled down to assemble notes from the prior evening, when a familiar voice broke the silence.
“Either you are up very early, or you never made it to your room last night. Which is it?” said Gabby.
“Certainly not the latter,” I replied. “How are you and how was your evening?”
“Hot, steamy, sweaty,” came the response.
“And you?” I joked.
“Men are so juvenile,” she said with a laugh. “If it wasn’t for that ‘Y’ chromosome I could see us becoming friends. We share a similar sense of humor.”
“I agree,” I replied.
“Okay, what’s the problem?” she said seriously.
“Nothing. What makes you think that there is a problem?” I replied.
“Intuition at first. And when a woman says ‘nothing’ when asked what’s wrong, it usually means just the opposite.”
“I would love to understand what algorithm paired us as teammates. Whatever it is I am confident that it could put marriage counselors out of business,” I responded. “Or maybe it’s just that your intuition is so sharply focused.”
“The doctor is “In”. Tell me what’s troubling you,” she said.
Taking a large sip of coffee, I started to explain the events of the evening after Charles and I left her and Margaret last night. Gabby listened intently, something that I took note of on a separate page in my mental notebook, and when I finished, she reacted quietly. “I get it,” she said. “It’s not complicated and it spans the gender gap, and the fact that you are seeing it, feeling it, simply indicates that you are taking the time to open your eyes and look.
“People, male and female, do not like to be taken for granted. Consciously and subconsciously, we look for subtle signs that make us feel special and these are particularly important when they come or are missing from someone we care about. Women like compliments or kind gestures, opening a door or a soft touch for example. Men may appreciate a friendly punch on the shoulder or a grab on the neck, or in your case, someone taking the time to care for you sexually. Don’t get me wrong, women appreciate that too but have been conditioned to delayed gratification so our reaction may not have been as quick to reach a flashpoint as what you experienced last night. A woman may have spent the night satisfied by spooning and being held rather than abruptly leaving, but men look for a more blatant and immediate response to most issues. It’s genetic.”
I studied her for a few minutes and then responded, “So, if I understand you correctly, you believe that my feelings were hurt by the way that Charles treated me last night because I was more open and vulnerable to being hurt, a good thing in a relationship, but my reaction was like a typical male who wanted to simply abandon the area of conflict. I could have taken a more passive role and then been more assertive a little later when Charles would have been more receptive. Diplomacy rather than conflict.”
“I think that you’re getting it,” she replied. “Do you feel enlightened?”
“Actually, I feel foolish for acting impetuously,” I said. “In hindsight, I should have stretched out and enjoyed his closeness for a few hours and given him the chance to react in a way that was comfortable to him. I would have gained insight into him and then I would have more information for later decisions.”
“I would agree with that approach, so I think the lesson is over for today even if we haven’t reached lunchtime yet,” she said with a chuckle.
“May I ask how things are going with Margaret?” I said.
“Sure,” she replied. “We had a nice evening, and I could not wait to get her back to my room and into bed. When I did, I was overwhelmed by the look of her naked body, the scent of her, and I pushed all the right buttons. The sex was magnificent and her orgasms drained her, leaving her gasping for air, and reducing me to a hot, sweaty, bitch in heat. Unfortunately, she was exhausted so I curled up next to her and we slept in each other’s arms until almost dawn. She woke me up and treated me to a tender session of lovemaking that took my breath away, something that I never imagined anyone being able to do to me.
“When you asked how I was this morning and I said, ‘hot, steamy, sweaty” it was true. My legs were weak from the passionate lovemaking that followed my feelings of disappointment from earlier that night, and I was hot with a desire that I would have to control all day, not an ideal situation I might add.”
I looked into her eyes, and she gave me a warm smile which I returned in kind. We eventually laughed out loud when the humor in the situation could not be ignored.
Charles came over to us in the early afternoon, asking how things were progressing. After a brief chat, he said to me, “You left your flowers on the entry table last night and if you want to pick them up later, why don’t you stop by for a drink before dinner? If you have plans already, just tell me a convenient time and I will meet you.”
“A pre-dinner drink sounds nice, and I definitely want to bring the flowers back to my room,” I replied with a smile, “I was distracted last night and did not mean to leave them. Thank you for reminding me.”
“Sure, and I also want to apologize for being rude. I will see you around 6:30 then?” he said.
“Yes, definitely,” I replied, “and no apologies are necessary but it is nice that you offered.”
Things were different when I saw Charles that evening. He was particularly sweet and attentive, taking time to let me savor the view over the garden while he gently massaged my neck and shoulders, with a light touch and soft kisses. Exactly what I wanted and needed. When I turned to face him he looked into my eyes while holding my shoulders and then kissed me, long and tenderly.
Taking me to his bed, he undressed me and then I undressed him. We embraced, allowing our naked bodies to blend into one another, and I felt his powerful arms hold me close as he softly kissed my neck. The heat of passion increased and I was a trembling bitch when he finally took me. Entering me tenderly, he took his time to go deep inside and then hesitated to allow me to savor the moment as my body stretched and wrapped itself around his stiff penis. His gentle thrusting was deliberate and deep but not rough. As the tempo increased my breathing kept pace and my arms grabbed at him, my nails clawing at his back and our tongues pushing deep into each other’s mouth.
I came first, experiencing a powerful orgasm and spasms throughout my body. Charles came in an explosion of semen that went deep into my insides, his hard cock pulsing repeatedly as the hot liquid was forced into me. Charles gasped and I moaned as we held each other while our bodies drained, mixing semen and perspiration. I was shaking as my muscles twitched.
Charles was a considerate lover, his actions and attitude this night made up for my hurt feelings the prior night. We lay together for a long time, eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms. When we woke, we made love again and showered before I left to return to my room feeling relaxed and wonderfully satisfied.
I learned a lot in a short period of time and while I have yet to see how any of this would aid in my writing, I felt that there would be a long-term benefit somewhere along the path. Gabby had been an excellent teammate and a wonderful person to hang out with as well. We became good friends, the kind that you share everything with, no holds barred, and this went both ways. The thought-provoking discussions that we had would never have happened with anyone else and I gained a tremendous insight into the complexities of the human brain, particularly those sections not used as often as they should. Men truly have a feminine side and so much more could be achieved if we learned not to deny this fact.