I spend late Christmas night with Thumper, reading a mystery about a family murdered in a small Irish town. The detective is on the outs with the department and really has to solve this one to prove he’s got what it takes. With Thumper next to me, his head resting on my stomach, I admit, this is a great way to end a holiday.
My phone rings around eleven. It’s David.
“Hi,” he says. His voice is soft and shy.
“Hi,” I say. I can feel myself smiling wide. “How was your Christmas?”
“It was nice,” he says. “I spent the day with my brother and his wife and kids.”
“That sounds fun,” I say.
“It was fun,” he says. “His kids are four and two, so it’s cute to see them open a playhouse and get all excited.”
“And then you spent the rest of the day trying to put it together for them,” I offer.
David laughs. “I’ll tell you, those instruction booklets are torture. But it’s nice to be able to do that.”
“I’m going to be an aunt myself, actually,” I say. “So I’m looking forward to all of that stuff.”
“Oh, wow, congrats!” he says.
I thank him, and there is a long pause.
“Well, yeah,” David says. “I don’t know why I called, I guess. I just wanted to see how your Christmas went. I was thinking about you. And . . . you know . . . holidays can be lonely, so I just . . . wanted to see how you were . . . faring.”
Sometimes you want to forget the fact that you’re alone, and instead, you want to relish the feeling that someone understands you, someone is fighting the same battle that you are. Also, you know, sometimes you just want to feel wanted and desired. Sometimes you want to feel what it feels like with someone new. Sometimes you forget about whether you’re ready to do something, and you just let yourself do it.
“David,” I say warmly. “Would you like to come over?
There is a brief pause. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I would.”
• • •
“Oh, my God!” I am yelling. Or maybe I’m not. I don’t know. “Oh, my God!” Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
God, yes.
Oh, God.
Oh. God.
Oh. God.
Oh. God. Oh God. Oh God. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
YES.
And then I fall on top of him.
And he thanks me as he catches his breath. And he says, “I needed that.”
And I say, “Me, too.”
• • •
The next morning, I wake up to hear Thumper scratching at the door. He’s not usually shut out of the bedroom.
I open the door and let him in. He jumps on David, smelling him, investigating. He’s wary. David wakes up to Thumper’s snout in his armpit.
“Excuse me, Thumper,” David says groggily. Then he turns and looks at me. “Good morning.” He smiles.
“Good morning.” I smile back.
He rubs his eyes. He looks vulnerable without his glasses, as if I’m seeing the real him that not everyone gets to see. He squints at me.
“Do you need your glasses?” I laugh.
“That would be great. I just can’t . . . well, I can’t see them anywhere. Because I can’t see without them,” he says, as he feels for them.
I pick them up off the nightstand on his side. In doing so, I lean over him, my body brushing his. I can feel how warm he is to the touch.
“Sorry,” I say. “Here you go.”
He kisses me before he takes them out of my hand. The kiss is deep and passionate. I forget who I am, who he is, for a second.
He takes his glasses out of my hand, but he doesn’t put them on. He puts them back on the nightstand. And he kisses me again, pulling me down on top of him. I guess the weirdest part about all of this is how it doesn’t feel weird at all.
“Mmm,” he says. “You feel good.”
My hips fall onto his hips. My legs fall to the side. He moves his pelvis, pushing and pulling us tighter.
“Thumper,” he says, looking right at me. “Get out of here, would you?”
Thumper ignores him. I laugh.
“Thumper,” I say, “Go!”
And Thumper goes.
I melt into him.
At first, I am doing the things I know I should do. I am arching my back, I am grinding my hips, but somewhere along the way, I forget to do the things you’re supposed to do.
I just move.
When I’m naked and underneath him, when I’m moaning because he’s doing all the right things, he breathes into my ear. “Tell me what you want.”
“Hm?” I manage to get out. I don’t know what he means, what he wants me to say.
“Tell me what to do to you. What do you like?”
I don’t even know how to answer him. “I’m not sure,” I say. “Give me some options.”
He laughs and lifts my hips off the bed, running his hands down the length of me.
“Yes,” I say. “That.”
• • •
After David leaves, I go to my computer and open an e-mail draft. For the first time in a long time, I have something to say.
Dear Ryan,
How come you never asked me what I wanted? How come you never cared about what I needed in bed? You used to pay attention, you know? You used to spend hours touching me, finding things that made me tingle. When did you stop?
Why did it become easier for me to just satisfy you and then move on to something else? Why didn’t you stop me and say that it was my turn? Why didn’t you offer more of yourself to me? You never asked me what I liked. You never asked me my wildest fantasies.
David asked me last night what I wanted, and I didn’t know how to answer him. I don’t even know what I want. I don’t know what I like.
But I can tell you that I’m going to figure it out. And I’m going to learn to ask for it.
If you come home, if we make this work, sex has to be about me, too. It has to. Because I remember what it’s like, now, to be touched as if your pleasure is the only thing that matters. And I’m not going to let anyone make me forget again.
Love,
Lauren