Thunder rumbled again; the storm was getting close. “You should get inside,” I told her. The longer we stood out here like this, the less I cared about doing the right thing.
“OK.” But she didn’t go. She threw herself at me, her arms wrapping around my waist, her cheek pressed against my chest. Oh fuck, she feels good. I put my arms around her and held her tight, trying desperately not to think about her breasts crushed against me. This was the closest we’d been physically in years, maybe ever. Did it mean she wanted me that way? Was she really going to cheat on her boyfriend?
A little sob and then another escaped her, giving me the answer.
No, she wasn’t. And it was better this way.
It made goodbye easier, it made our friendship easier, it made my life easier.
“Hey.” I gave her shoulders a little shake. “Enough. You’ll get snot on me.”
She laughed and stepped back, wiping at her nose. “You deserve it for saying that stuff to me.”
“You’re probably right. But you asked how I felt.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.” She sniffed and shook her head, like she couldn’t believe what was happening.
Lightning illuminated her pretty face, making my chest ache again. Had I just fucked up my one and only chance with her?
“Email me, OK?” Her voice was quiet. “Let me know how school is.”
“OK.” I watched her scurry back across the lawn and over the deck as rain began to fall. When she was safely inside the house, I walked back home and sat on the porch a while. Probably I should have gone in and started packing since it was too hot to sleep anyway, but I didn’t. I just sat in an old wooden chair and stared out at the rain, wondering if I was a nice guy or the biggest fucking idiot on the planet.
Damn this heat.
It was making me crazy.
I was only kidding about taking that bartender home. Well, if I hadn’t been there with Natalie, I probably would have done it, but for some reason it felt wrong to go back in the bar where I’d just been sitting with her and try to pick up another woman. Anyway, I didn’t want to be with another woman tonight—I wanted to be with her. Not necessarily in a sexy way; I just wanted to hang out. I’d almost forgotten how fun she was.
Actually, that’s a lie. I wanted sexy too.
Fuck, why did she still have to be with that shithead Dan? I bet he was still cheating on her. Guys like that who fool around and lie about it don’t change. That’s not to say I’m an angel or anything, but I don’t lie to women, unless it’s a white lie to boost her ego like fuck yeah, you’re the best ever, don’t stop when my dick is in her mouth, or to spare her feelings, like of course those pants still fit you when she’s trying to wear her 8th grade jeans. I always make sure, when it comes to sex, that it’s perfectly understood I like to have a good time and hope they do too. If a woman is seeking commitment, I make it clear I am not the Friday night fuck she’s looking for, and she should mosey on down to the other end of the bar. Lucky for me, though, there are always plenty of hot girls who just want to have fun.
And it’s not because I’m super ripped (I’m not) or have a twelve inch penis (alas) or make a million dollars a year (not even close). It’s because I’m good to them. I treat the women I’m with like goddesses. I make sure they have at least one orgasm, I always give a warning during a blowjob, I never complain about wearing a condom, and I encourage them to tell me exactly what they want in bed. Then I do it.
Also, my face. I’m kind of adorable.
But you don’t need an adorable face to make a girl scream your name. Guys are always writing me asking how to make a woman come, and every time, I say it boils down to this: Slow down. Pay attention. Give a fuck. And even though I’ve told them all my best clit-sucking, finger-fucking, and pelvic-grinding techniques (NO JACKHAMMERING), I also tell them you have to ask her what she likes, and you have to listen both to what she says, and what she doesn’t say. Because even if she’s too shy to tell you with words, a woman will let you know with her body what she wants.
As I walked back to the bar, I wondered what Natalie would be like in bed. The thought was enough to make me stumble a little on the sidewalk. I’d thought about it a thousand times before, maybe even closer to a million, but I was usually alone in the shower with my dick in my hand. Every now and then I fantasized a woman I was fucking was Natalie, which is kind of shitty, I guess, but it doesn’t hurt the woman any, and for all I know she’s imagining it’s Ryan Gosling banging her. Doesn’t bother me.