CHAPTER TWENTY-5
"Hold on. Let me get the lights," Diana said, groping her way toward the light switch as TJ groped his way up her dress. His hands had been all over her since they'd left the bar—in the parking lot, in her car, on the way into her apartment building, on the stairwell . . . It had been nonstop, over-the-clothes fondling the entire time. Diana knew he was a little intoxicated, but reassured herself that he seemed sober when he'd first begun hitting on her. So, even though alcohol may have intensified his desire, she reasoned it hadn't driven him to it.
"No, don't get the lights," TJ whispered, knocking into her plant stand and sending a huge ceramic flowerpot crashing to the floor. "Did I break it?" He panted—like someone pretending to care.
"No. I mean, maybe. But it's all right," Diana said, attempting a sultry bedroom voice. Though a little embarrassed by her inability to find sexy words to console him with, she was still quite impressed by how much she sounded like Ginger from Gilligan's Island.
Diana led TJ to the bedroom, gripping at the walls to keep her balance. Once inside, he started to tug at the sides of her dress, which, being a snug fourteen now clinging to beer bloat, was going to be a lot harder to take off than it had been to put on. Crap. With all of the primping and hair removal and shopping and seduction planning, she'd never stopped to consider the stripping aspect of sex. The dress was now bunched up around her waist, exposing her control-top ass to the world of spectators cheering by her bedside. Giving up on the dress, TJ began kissing her. And, oh God, did it feel good to kiss a man. He slid his hands slowly up the back of her stocking-covered thighs and rested them gently on her rear end. But as the kissing grew rougher, he began to squeeze. At first, it was just a couple of squeezes, here and there, like a man who liked big butts and was unabashedly fond of hers. But then a rhythmic sequence of alternating cheek squeezes emerged, as if he were a pornographic baker kneading a giant pile of dough and getting off on it. And somehow, although she was embarrassed to admit it, even to herself, being TJ's giant pile of dough felt nice.
The room was absolutely pitch-black. Perfect nudity lighting. And Diana wanted to be naked. She knew TJ wouldn't be able to see her, and the whole experience would just feel so much sexier if she were naked. But TJ was obviously not up on his snug size-fourteen dress-removal skills. But then again, how was he supposed to know that Diana needed to have her arms inside of the dress with her right shoulder stretched backward and consistently wiggling as she shimmied it upwards to her neck before the damn thing could finally be pulled over her head? After all, he was only a guy—a guy who was probably accustomed to having sex with waify supermodel types who couldn't even count as high as fourteen. It was time to take matters into her own hands and squirm her way out of the dress, which she did as gracefully as possible. TJ followed her lead, pulling off his T-shirt and slipping Diana's bra straps off of her shoulders. He began sucking on her neck as he reached to unhook her bra. Cupping her breasts in his hands, he allowed his mouth to wander downward. Diana let her head fall back, and the room throbbed with an ecstasy she'd only read about in steamy novels. This was the stuff her hottest fantasies had been made of.
He was now stroking her inner thigh, traveling closer and closer to that hungry territory whose screams for affection were almost audible in the night. Touch me, Diana silently begged. What was he waiting for? Ooh! There it was.
Shivers danced through her body, making her knees shake and every untoned part of her body quiver—her thighs, her stomach, her butt, and especially her breasts, which, unlike those of the scrawny waifs TJ was probably used to dating, were one-hundred-percent real. She felt so incredible that nothing else in the world mattered. Only this unspeakable pleasure that she knew she'd never quite forget and never quite fully remember. If only she could bottle this feeling, she'd be the richest woman in the world. The underwear had to come off.
Pulling at the sides of her panty hose, she tried not to disturb the master at work. But TJ was obviously eager to continue the job with his masterpiece fully unveiled, for he pushed Diana's hands away, yanking both her stockings and underwear to her ankles in one clean motion. As she stepped barefoot onto the carpet, Diana had never felt more liberated, more sexual or more alive.
"I need to have a look at you," he said.
"What?" Diana whispered, opening her eyes. She'd heard him, but his words hadn't fully registered in her brain. And suddenly, the room was filled with light. Cold, sharp, glaring, invasive light that made her eyes water. TJ stood there staring. Diana didn't know whether to be mortified or turned on. She felt violated in a strangely arousing way—like she was starring in her own I-accidentally-went-to-school-naked dream, and the principal, played by TJ, was about to spank her for it. But then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and the naughty adult video in her mind became the absolute farthest thing from it—a deep crimson gash, left from the grip of her control tops, encircled her stomach. Now she knew why in the movies, they always wore garter belts. With the exception of the hideously unsexy battle scar she'd never really stopped to notice after past panty hose removals—a marking that clearly indicated an unresolved war with her weight—Diana knew this naked body a little too well to not suddenly feel panic and dread at the reality of someone else—especially the man of her dreams—standing in the same room with it, with the lights on and his eyes open. She wanted to run, but feared the jiggling-thigh-and-bouncing-butt syndrome that would probably result if she did. And so she just stood there—frozen—searching his face for any signs of rejection she could find.
But there were none. All TJ did was lick his lips and smile. Diana felt the blood returning to her body—she was back in the game. And soon the light grew endearing, as she ran her finger down her chest, staring confidently into TJ's eyes to let him know how ready she was. He moved toward her, unzipping his pants along the way. And then he was naked. And his body brushed up against hers as their eyes locked even more intensely. The condom wrapper was noisy, but neither of them were the slightest bit fazed by it, and it wasn't an awkward moment at all. It was just right, sweet, tender even. He kissed her softly on the mouth as she walked backward to the bed. And then he was on top of her.
It hurt more than she remembered. But the discomfort was more than tolerable—she liked it. Maybe this was what John Cougar Mellencamp had meant when he sang "Hurts So Good." Or maybe not. John Cougar Mellencamp had never had sex with TJ. But she had. And right now, at this very moment, no matter what else happened in her life, Diana would be able to say, with absolutely no embellishment whatsoever, that she'd had sex with her Mr. Wonderful. And that they'd done it in an actual bed—just like she'd always wanted.