Ogre
"WE'RE GONNA DO THIS right, Will. No 'way around it.' No sex means no sex. The point of this is to get to know you and peel the layers off of you."
"Like-an-ogre," he said, his words starting to slur a little. "I mean-an-onion." He blinked.
Then I blinked and cocked my head to the side. "Did you just make a Shrek reference?"
He shook his head, very slowly, looking at me with wide eyes.
"Liar," I laughed, pointing at him and waggling my finger in his face.
"My favorite movie," he muttered, shrugging, looking away from me and towards the ocean. The sun was starting to go down and the colors of the sky were changing from blue to a grayish purple.
"Shrek is your favorite movie? Of all of the movies out there, you pick a cartoon?"
"Yeah. Always felt like him. Get the fuck off my land and stay away from me, I'm just a big ugly ogre. And then I gotta deal with the donkeys."
"Donkeys meaning Democrats or donkeys meaning asses or donkeys meaning donkeys?"
"Yes," he answered, decisively and unhelpfully, his unruly hair waving as he nodded his head.
Oh, politics. I didn’t want to go there with him. That’d just lead to us yelling at each other, I was sure of it.
By coming up with the get-Will-drunk idea, I’d just wanted to loosen him up, to see if he’d answer my questions with more than one word answers. Mission accomplished. As he’d been talking, I’d had been thinking about what he was saying, and most of what he said, I liked. I wasn't really happy to find out about his ex-fiancé or all of the girls, but who would be? And to be fair, it wasn't like I was a saint. I had a history too.
But I couldn't believe that he’d done threesomes and foursomes. Sheesh. Even I wasn't that much of a sex fiend. I had read a book or two where people had had orgies and threesomes but I couldn't believe he had actually had sex with two or three women at once. Only Will. I guess he was a big enough man that it was hard for one woman to satisfy him.
That wasn't a good thought.
I mean, he had consistently told me that he was kinky, but there was a difference between this guy, in real life, having crazy sex with a bunch of women, and some made up tortured billionaire with a dungeon of pain. He was way more experienced than I was, even though I was no prude.
I’d never been particularly sexually shy, or indeed shy about anything, although apparently there was a long way along the sex adventure spectrum I could go. I was nowhere near the virginal side of the spectrum, but kinky? Nah.
My sex life had been fun and plenty spontaneous. I believed that our bodies were meant to be lived in, and I enjoyed mine.
But Will took sexual pleasure to another level, and I think it was because he was so in to it, like what Amelia had said when I texted her earlier. In. To. It. It was different being with someone who was intensely generous, devoted to making sure you had as good a time as he had, and completely focused on you, not on him. But it wasn't like he was always in charge, either, which was fun. We were equals in bed.
Beyond learning that he really was kinky, it was heartening to learn that he was also the straightforward country boy he seemed to be. He’d finished college and had been incredibly responsible on his farm, which made me appreciate him more.
But where did we go from here?
After drinking however many shots of tequila that I’d ingested, I felt like I was on that edge—the one teetering between just drunk enough, and far too drunk. I wasn't far too drunk but I was sure as fuck was not sober. But with a half dozen shots, one right after another, Will was surely feeling it more than me. Six shots of tequila for anyone would make them feel loose. And now his lack of sobriety was starting to show, with his words running together. It was cute, mostly because he was trying to hide it. He kept reaching out and putting the back of his hand on my cheek and carefully caressing my face, which felt ultra-soothing.
So with finally getting him to tell me something about himself, and him being so sweet, I didn't want to spoil it by getting into a drunken argument with him about politics.
Somewhere deep down, though, I knew that I was avoiding the deepest issue we had between us. I needed to bring it up before I did something stupid like fall in love with him. Because if that happened, then I’d have to deal with the fallout of that shit and I really didn't want to do that.
One thing he said dawned on me.
"You're not an ugly ogre."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You're the most handsome man I have ever seen," I said quietly.
"Shucks," he said, and I burst out laughing again.
"Most people start swearing more when they get drunk. You start swearing less?"
"Guess so. I'm drunk, though. I mean, I'm not drunk, though." Then he got the sweetest look on his face, almost imploring. "Is kissing off the, uh, I mean, off the table?"
"No," I answered, smiling and getting a little closer.
"Then c'mere, baby," he said, pulling me up from my cross-legged position and into his lap, then leaning back and lying down so that I was straddling him.
There was no other way of describing our kiss than a stupid, drunk, sloppy, wet kiss. It was epically bad. By the end, he was on top and we were both giggling, nose to nose.
Will giggling was a thing to behold.
"We're better at kissing without the tequila," I said against his tan neck.
"Shucks," he said again. "I'm sorry. Told ya you were gonna get me fucked up. I'll kiss you better when it wears off."
"Okay, you got a deal."
He smiled, still on top of me, now between my legs, and leaned down to kiss my cheek, I think, but missed and kissed my ear. "Wanna hear my loophole?"
"Yeah."
"So, no sex, right? For-like-two-weeks?" he slurred, as he nibbled my ear.
"Right," I said, laughing. He was a pretty obvious drunk.
"So no," he paused for a second, "fucking, meaning no," pause, nibble, "sexual intercourse."
"You got that one right, cowboy." I wiggled under him and he came up and looked at me in the eyes.
"But kissing doesn't count."
"You already know that." I ran my hands through his hair and enjoyed the feel of his body on mine. Even if we weren't having sex, and even if he was not himself right now, he still felt good pressed to me. He still felt like he belonged there.
"Does oral sex count?" He was serious, but I burst out laughing.
"It has sex in the name, Will," I scolded him.
"Okay, so what about sex with yourself? That's not sex with me." And he reached over and pushed my hair behind my ear and kissed me behind my ear, sloppily. Drunk, Playful Will was around.
"What are you saying?" I asked, distracted by his attentions.
"If you went in the shower tonight, after this," pause, kiss, "fascinating discussion—"
He paused and brought his head up to look at me again.
"What?"
"Nothin'," he said.
"No one word answers, dude," I said, and I shook my finger at him.
"Just thinking about you in the shower and that is not helping the stiffy you gave me by the image of you walking around in public topless."
"You just said stiffy," I giggled.
He looked at me, confused, eyebrows furrowed. "What would you call it?"
"Boner."
"That . . . that too," he slurred. "So, if you get yourself off, and I don't touch you and you don't touch me, then we're not breaking your rules," he concluded, proud of himself.
I hated to burst his bubble.
"No."
"No?" he asked, taken aback.
"No sex."
"If I went and stroked off by myself, though, would that count?"
I thought about it. "I guess not."
"So what's the difference if you do it while I watch?"
"It's still sex if you're watching me."
"Darling, you keep talking the way you did earlier and if there was no tequila in me, I’d come. Now . . ." he trailed off.
"Yeah?"
He didn't say anything.
"You're going to need help getting back to the house aren't you?"
"Maybe," he said, sheepishly.
"Whose idea was it to go two weeks?"
"Yours," he said, and kissed me on my lips, enthusiastically, and better this time. He awkwardly got off of me and helped me up.
Then we packed up the picnic and went back to his house, where he immediately fell asleep with his clothes on.