“The Things A Girl Wants” (Mimi Chastayne)
It’s hard to remember exactly how things started. Justin and I were working together in the same software development company, and he would occasionally stop by my desk to chat, supposedly on his way to the printer or copier. He was very shy and cute–and obviously flirting with me. Finally, he asked me out. And we went to Dave and Busters for our first date. You can imagine my excitement.
After an hour or so playing the games (and me winning most of them), we took a break for some drinks at a table. Then his mother called.
“Yeah, Mom. Yeah. It’s going great.” It was noisy with all the games and sound effects. He smirked at me and gave the “It’s my mom—what can I do?” shrug, and then turned to the side for better hearing and some maybe-privacy.
“Mom. Hey, mom? She’s right here, at the table. No, I can’t really talk right now. It’s too noisy. Yes, she’s very nice. Yes. Very pretty.” He glanced a smile in my direction. “I’ll call you, yes. I’ll call you later, after I get home. Bye, mom . . . I love you too.”
“Yeah, well, that was my mom. Sorry. I’ll just switch off my phone.” He swept the hair out of his eyes with his hand as he reset his phone. He wore his dark, lank, product-heavy hair in the same Emo style he does today. So vulnerable, so cute. If not exactly what you’d call hot.
We went on several more dates over the next several months. Six Flags, mall shopping, a cosplay event, and a few more things like that. He was really endearing and sweet. Such a boy, always shy, looking at the floor with his long dark bangs drooping over his eyes.
I remember our first kiss. We were standing outside my apartment door after one of our evening dates out seeing The Hunger Games at the movies. He was having a terrible time saying good night. He couldn’t leave and he couldn’t bring himself to ask about going inside. For five minutes that seemed like an hour, we traded short strings of one-syllable words–most of his spoken down at the tips of his Skechers. Painfully shy.
“Justin. Would you like to kiss me?” I reached out and lifted his chin so I could see his eyes. He looked back at me with the wide eyes of an anime character, unable to utter a word.
So I leaned in and gave the sweet boy what I am sure was the longest, deepest, wettest kiss he’d ever experienced.
“Good night, Justin. See you at work Monday.” I let myself in and left him on the door stoop to mull over what I’d just given him.
A couple dates later we found ourselves together making out on my couch. Once I got his motor running, he was very needy and horny for me. He must have kissed and sucked on my neck for almost an hour before I finally had to unbutton my blouse and direct his attention to my nipples and breasts.
“Let’s move to my bedroom.”
The first time we had sex was a little awkward and underwhelming. I was pretty disappointed when I saw what he had to work with, and I had to steer him into position on top of me where he flopped and wriggled pretty ineffectively until his cork popped and he leaked cum over my pussy and thighs.
After he caught his breath, he asked, “How was it for you?’
“Magic,” I cooed, a little insincerely.
Things went on pretty much this same way even after our wedding. Why did I marry him? It’s a question I continue to ask myself, with no answer to be found. Maybe it was just resignation. What were my alternatives? He was a sweet boy and I truly had him in the palm of my hand. There was nothing I could ask of him that I couldn’t make him do for me. And let’s face it, the prospects among young bachelors these days aren’t all that good. So settling down in a comfortable relationship with a boy as devoted as a puppy and as manageable as a kindergartner didn’t seem such a bad arrangement. It was a very comfortable and stable way of life. And it stayed that way for almost two years.