Performances

This didn’t happen.

I close the door to the hotel room and lean back against it. Holly presses up against me, tilts her head up for a kiss, which I give her. I lift my head and her lips go to my throat.

I am the worst boyfriend ever, and yet, feeling her stroke my hair is exactly what I want right now.

I don’t do any of that. I’m pretty sure that the outcome would be Holly asking me, “Are you sure you’re not too tired?” every time I ask to see her. And that’s fair; Holly expects to enjoy our time together, and I imagine showing up for a date emotionally disheveled is no better than showing up physically disheveled. So: suck it up, make it work, make it perfect. If you’re nervous (and I’m nervous) keep it to yourself. No excuses.

Rewind:

This did happen.

I close the door to the hotel room and lean back against it. Holly presses up against me, tilts her head up for a kiss, which I give her. I lift my head and her lips go to my throat.

“First things first,” I say, stepping into the room and grabbing the thick terry hotel bathrobe that I’d placed within reach of the door when I checked in earlier that day. “Put this on.”

The room’s a hell of a lot bigger than I expected for what I paid; in fact, it’s a corner suite, with a large living room overlooking the plaza in front of Providence’s City Hall. The bedroom has its own French door, with curtains on the inside for privacy. It was shut when Holly entered, and there’s a reason I indicate that she should change in the bathroom.

I want “the reveal,” that little moment they have on television commercials where the Dad takes his hands off the kid’s eyes to reveal the really great present.

She comes out in the robe, looking a little tentative. She was wearing such a pretty outfit; it was clear that she’d taken time to prepare, and maybe she’s a little put out at how little time she got to wear it. Maybe she’s disappointed that I didn’t take her out for dinner, or even feels that I only want to spend time with her for the sex. Well, I hope I can make up for it.

I open the door to the bedroom. Inside, on the center of the bed, there’s an artfully placed little assortment of iconic movie candies – Raisinets, Sno-Caps. Popcorn, of course. The large screen TV in the room is paused on the title frame of a movie.

“It’s movie night,” I say.

“I wanted to do something a little cozy,” I said. “Time for me to get my robe on.” I’d brought mine with me. It’s a very old-fashioned men’s poplin robe, big for me, the kind of thing Katherine Hepburn would wear the morning after, snagging it off a hook in Spencer Tracy’s bathroom.

We lie on the bed together, propped up by the pillows. I press Play to start the movie.

She’s keeping her eyes closed, just as I asked her to. “You probably saw the harness when you opened the drawer,” I said. “Don’t worry, it’s not the kind of thing I would spring on you.”

“Now this, on the other hand,” I say, bringing out one of the other toys. She flinches a little when it touches her, and I sit back for a beat, wondering if I should go on. Earlier, just after the end of the movie, I’d asked her to stand up facing one of the bedroom walls. “Close your eyes and rest your forehead gently against the wall,” I said. “Your job is to forget everything outside this room.”

This didn’t have the intended effect. I wanted to relax her and give her the sensation that she was the complete focus of my attention. When I pulled out of contact with her, to clear off the bed, she stayed where I’d put her. But she said, quietly, “You’re not going to take pictures of me, are you?”

Oh no, I thought. Okay, this is too much too soon. I could feel bad about the fact that she thinks I’m the kind of person who might do that, but really, what exactly have I done to earn the kind of trust I’m asking for? I’ve got her, alone, in a secluded place; we haven’t been together long – how does she know I’m not going to have her up on YouTube by daybreak?

I turn her around, and to my surprise, she still doesn’t open her eyes. I wrap my arms around her from behind, and I say, “Listen, I would never do that, but I know I have to earn that kind of trust. You don’t have to keep your eyes closed if that’s too much.”

Later. Holly’s eyes are open now, though to my surprise, she kept them shut through the whole thing, which was amazing and a little unnerving – after what she’d said, I was suddenly aware of the burden of her trust, of how much faith she was putting in me, trusting me not to hurt her, shame her, expose her to ridicule.

“But what do you want?” Holly says. “Isn’t there anything that you want?” I recognize this: it’s the mantra of service-oriented bottoms everywhere. I myself have said it to my husband after he’s rendered me utterly limp with pleasure.

But I don’t want – well, I do, but not right this minute. “Don’t you mess with that afterglow I made. I’m gonna be really peeved if you do.”

Later still, she asks me again. “I’d love to fuck you,” I say.

She says yes and I scamper off to the bathroom to wash my cock.

Back up.

My cock? Yeah, well, not exactly. I do, however, have a leather harness that fits low over my hips, with a sturdy chrome ring that will hold a silicone cock.

Yeah. I know you’re curious. Just in case you were wondering, I don’t own any realistic cocks. Plenty of people like them, but they’re not my style.

Mine’s a stylized, black and white marbled affair, like something a Swedish furniture designer might have come up with. Cock by Eero Saarinen. I like it. I think it’s cool. If I could get one that was purple with spangles I would like it even more.

“Fuck, you look really sexy,” Holly says as I come back in the room.

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” I say. “I mean, you really don’t want to come out and have someone laugh at you when you’re wearing one of these things.” Holly giggles, and I say, “I can’t actually lose my erection, but mentally? Weeeee—ump,” I say, making the kind of falling noise one might hear if sex was a Saturday morning cartoon and all erectile mishaps were accompanied by sound effects.

I get up to get the bottle of lube on the nightstand. The leather straps in the rear of the harness are a bit like those on a jock strap – they frame my ass, and I guess Holly can’t resist slapping it.

“Oh,” I say, leaping back on the bed. “Oh really, missy? Do you think you can spank me?” Holly giggles. “You think so, huh? Do you need to be reminded who does the spanking around here?”

I flip her over onto her stomach. “Come on, you know the drill, ass in the air,” I say. I redden her ass, whispering in her ear: Your bottom is all pink now, do you know that? You’re a very, very naughty girl. Whap!

I hadn’t really planned on doing this with her for the first time from behind, but the thought of pressing my thighs against her ass – hot to the touch and definitely crimson now – was just too tempting. I pour some lube on my hand and stroke my cock.

Okay. So, of course, I don’t have any sensation in my cock, but holy baby Jeebus, sinking into her is so fucking hot that I groan right along with her.

I hold her hips as I establish a rhythm. On one stroke she makes a noise – I can’t tell whether it’s one of pain, or pleasure. Now, I can’t feel the tip of my cock, so if I’m going too deep I have no way of knowing it. I back off a little, taking shallower thrusts, leaning forward across her back.

Oops. I slip out accidentally. Then again. Okay, maybe this isn’t the best position. I ask her to roll over, and I get between her thighs.

I’ve heard many people say that the missionary position is boring, but there’s a reason why it’s so damn popular. Fuck. Pressing myself against Holly full length and kissing her while I’m inside her is almost unbearably intense. As the arousal rises for both of us, finding a rhythm becomes effortless.

I don’t know how long we stay in that state, rocking together.

At some point, I am on my knees but upright, still inside her, between her thighs and holding her knees, looking down on her and panting. We’re both covered in sweat.
“Did you finish?” Holly asks me.

I shake my head, no. “I want you on top,” I say.

The room is dim but not dark. I roll over onto my back, hands up above my head. I’m mesmerized, nipples tight, breathing shallow, as she takes me in her hand and guides it into her.

She’s fully upright, and I can barely breathe as I watch her. I really don’t understand it when it happens, because it’s never happened to me before. As much as I love doing this – and I love, love, love it – I’ve never come from fucking a woman with a strap on, and I don’t even really expect it.

It doesn’t really make a lot of sense when I say, “Squeeze me,” since I can’t feel it, but I feel like I can feel the expression on her face as it changes right in the center of my chest as I reach out to touch her clit as she rides me. And it doesn’t make any sense at all that when she comes all over my cock, it’s as if that is simply transmitted to me, invisibly, and I come too.

Honestly, I just sit there for a minute, speechless. What the fuck just happened? And when can it happen again?

“My leg has a cramp,” Holly says, and dismounts, kissing me on the nose, apparently unaware of the completely unprecedented and miraculous event. I close my eyes and let my head drop back. I can tell her. I can tell her later. Yeah. Later.

It’s four o’clock in the morning, and I have been up for 20 hours. Except for driving my car from Boston to Providence, I have spent nearly all of that time in the presence of other people, engineering their delight.

There’s a frame of early morning light around the blackout shade covering the bedroom window. I did it. I made it to the end of this very, very long day. I am exhausted and relieved and delighted and yes, pleased with myself. The window blind is the last thing I see, like the back side of a curtain, with all the people safely on the other side.

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