The Saga of J: Part One

“You’re not going in?”

I looked up. J. was peering down at me.

“No.”

He looked like he expected more.

“I’m not that fond of salamanders, and the lake’s full of that slimy algae. I hate the way it feels on my skin, like I’ll never be clean again.”

He nodded and grinned. I noticed then for the first time his full lips, and how cute and round his teeth were. He yawned, stretched, and plopped down on the log next to me, shuffling the sand around and letting it slip through his toes.

“Whatcha readin’?”

“Mm. The Fountainhead,” I replied.

“Ooh.” He leaned back as if sizing me up. Then he whispered playfully. “S-s-s-sexy... Steff.”

I snickered and jabbed him playfully with an elbow.

We’d been casual friends for a couple years and it’d always been comfortable. In the last couple weeks before we wound up lakeside, I’d started to realize how much he’d changed. And I was single now, so.

He’d gone a little punk, wearing retro Sex Pistols and Clash t-shirts, a studded leather wristband, but he was still a cute teddy-bearish guy. Now that he was next to me, I realized his 6’1 frame was far sturdier than I thought. Shirtless was illuminating.

J. glanced around. “Abandoned us, those fuckers. You’re stuck with me.”

“You’re not going in?”

“I’m quite happy where I am,” and looked me straight in the eye.

I smiled. “So, um, I’ve read this before,” holding up my Rand opus. “It’s kind of filler. My week is a little slow.”

“That can be a good thing. Hey. Would you mind?”

He held up a bottle of Coppertone and gestured to his bare back.

I licked my llips and bit the bottom one, something I do far too often when I’m getting interested. “Well,” I deadpanned, “I’d mind. Yeah. But you could make it up to me.”

“Oh... I’d be happy to. Selfless of you, really. You want me sitting or laying down?”

“Down,” I asserted.

“Yes, ma’am,” he sputtered, with a smirk.

He picked up the towel, shook it off, laid it out, and slowly, deliberately, smoothed it out. I bit my lip as I watched his meaty hands. Always did like men with large hands.

He stretched out on the sand, and I knelt beside him. “Go gentle,” he mumbled.

“Anything you want, sweetcheeks.” I filled my palm with oil, rubbed my hands together and went to work. From past conversations, I remembered how he liked his massages: deep and hard. I acquiesced.

Kneading him, I began to realize that I wasn’t playing anymore. I wanted to fuck him. I began working on his lower lumbar, sliding my hands slightly under his waistband. Not far enough to accomplish anything, but just enough to show I was interested in going further. I moved slowly up his back, over the shoulders, and began to knead. I leaned down and playfully bit his right shoulder.

He didn’t startle, but he did react. Coolly, he turned his head so he could see me, propped up ever so much on his left elbow.

He squinted in the sun as he glanced at me. “Kinda warm out, huh?”

“Yeah. The temperature’s a bitch.”

“You know, I made some iced tea last night, “ he said, grinning slyly.

“Mm. Too bad you live 45 minutes away.”

“True... but a pleasure delayed isn’t necessarily a pleasure denied.”

I’m such a sucker for literary men. Fuck, a man that can spin some words has definitely got the edge over the competition. I nearly melted then and there.

“Well, J. It’s a long drive. Shouldn’t we be going?”

“Mm. Yeah.”

We gathered our things. Our friends were all out in the water and none of them saw us leaving. Didn’t matter. We hopped in my Colt and left the beach.

I was driving us out of the narrow, tight park, and needed to concentrate. The interruption caused us to lose our flow. I stuck some tunes in. The Cure spun up. “So, new Cure’s out soon,” I said, trying to start conversation after an awkward three minutes of silence.

“Yes, it is. Friday, I’m In Love,” he said. “So, Steff, have you ever been blindfolded?”

“Well, at birthday parties with pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey--”

He laughed at me. “No, no. During sex.”

“Uh... No, never.”

“What about getting tied up?”

“I didn’t know you were into this stuff, J.”

“I’m into it in a different kinda way. See, it’s not what you think it is.”

“Do tell.”

“Well,” he said. He folded his left leg under his right and shifted to face me a little. “Blindfolding changes things. It makes you more conscious of the feelings, of everything else--smell, touch, sound... taste.” He licked his lips slightly and leaned over the console, casually turning down the song with his right hand and slipping his left over my right thigh, where he let it rest.

Looking at me, he continued. “And the tying-up thing, means that all you have to do...” as he slowly, deliberately lowered his left hand towards my inner thigh, “is just lie there and let me make you,” he squeezed my thigh, “very, very...” and forcefully traced his middle and index fingers over my clit, “happy.”

He began to massage the lips slightly. “I’d love to really show you what I’ve been wanting to do to you for all this time.”

“All this time?”

“Where I’ve wanted to kiss you, and suck, and bite...”

He pulled his hand back slowly, squeezed my thigh again, and sat back, placing his right hand just above my knee on my thigh. “And what would you like to do to me?”

I breathed deeply, smiled, glanced sideways at him, and replied, “That, actually.”

He grinned. “Ooh. Goodie. It’s a date, then.”

For the next half an hour, we talked about trust and how I could let him know I was uncomfortable. We talked about tying me up so I could easily get loose when scared. But mostly, we talked about the fucking. Before that, though, J. explained how he might let me lie there, blindfolded and bound, while he gathered some props and accessories for the experience.

“Intrigue is the sexiest thing about it,” he explained. Never being opposed to suspense, I said I’d be fine lying there tied in the pseudo-dark.

Finally, we reached his home.

TO BE CONTINUED. The next part's when it gets spicy. Stay tuned.

Geez, what's a girl got to do to get comments? Promise oral sex all around or something?