That’s one way of putting it.
Princess: What sort of things did you two do? Is that too forward to ask? I’m curious. I’m honestly curious. Okay, maybe I’m nosey too. :)
I stare at the screen, contemplating the depths of Harper’s curiosity. I wish I could grasp why she’s asking—if this is part of her effort to understand the modern man, or if there is any undercurrent. But I’ve got to accept that I just don’t know. And fuck, if sex is on her mind, then at least we have that in common right now. Welcome to my wavelength. Let’s spend some time together.
You really want to know? You want to go there?
Princess: Yeah, I think I do. You said you’re an open book. I kind of want to know.
Kind of? Just kind of?
Princess: Fine. I REALLY want to know. I really, really, really want to know. Believe me now?
Almost . . .
Princess: I want to understand the protocol. The dirty details . . .
Fine. She wants the nitty-gritty. This is my specialty. This I can do. I’m not the shy, quiet guy she knew in high school. I’ve studied women. I’ve learned what they like.
I start to type, to tell her about the fridge, the desk, the window. To say my ex liked to be tied up with rope, scarves, and one time with her pug’s leash. But when I stare at those words, I can’t send that to Harper. I can’t tell Harper what an ex of mine liked in bed. It’s wrong to J, wrong to me, and wrong to Harper. But I don’t want to lose this moment, with all its possibilities, so I say something else.
Oh, Miss Princess Curious . . . sex is my favorite topic in the entire universe . . . but what if we tried rephrasing that? I’m happy to answer the question more generally. Like, if you were to say, ‘what sort of things do you like,’ I’d answer that.
Princess: WHAT SORT OF THINGS DO YOU LIKE?
Now we’re getting somewhere. And I’m getting horny just thinking about the answer. Make that hornier.
Picture a menu at a restaurant. One of those diners that has everything. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, drinks, à la carte, sides, entrees. I’m looking at it. I’m ordering one of everything. I LIKE EVERYTHING.
Princess: Really? EVERYTHING? That’s pretty broad. Everything???
If we were having this conversation in person, I’d run my finger across that eyebrow of yours because I know it’s arched skeptically.
Princess: It might be. But ‘everything’ encompasses far too many things. You must have a favorite thing. Do you have a favorite position? A preference? A predilection?
A slow smile spreads across my face as I read that last word.
Predilection was one of the answers to the Sunday crossword puzzle.
Princess: You do the Sunday crossword puzzle?
I try. It’s a predilection of mine.
Princess: I’m impressed. I want to see a finished copy. Do you do the crossword naked?
To answer your veiled question, I’m wearing jeans, boxers, and a T-shirt right now.
Princess: What kind of boxers? Do you smell like springtime?
Black boxer briefs. Yes, I do. Want to sniff me?
Princess: I bet you smell yummy. Now tell me more about your predilections. Do you like hot cops? Sexy librarians? Catwoman? Schoolgirls? Dominatrix?
I laugh at the last one, and though hot cop would absolutely work for me, there’s no question as to my answer.
Sexy librarian.
Princess: Do you like doggy style? Woman on top? Man on top? Bent over the bed? (You said I could ask anything! I’m asking!)
Holy fucking turn-on of all turn-ons. Just seeing those words from her heats my skin all over. An intense, aching want spreads to every corner of my body as Harper asks me about sex. She wasn’t kidding at all when she said texting was easier for her. Her message becomes an image in my mind. I’m seeing her before me on all fours on my couch, ass raised. I run a hand down her back, spread her open, and sink into her. Then, I picture her riding me, those luscious tits bouncing as her hips move in wild circles. I switch positions, and now I fuck her hard and fast, her legs hooked on my shoulders. Then, she’s bent over the end of the couch, and my fist is around her hair, pulling, yanking.
I don’t just like all of that. I love all of that. But you forgot a few. 69 rocks. Woman sitting on my face is fantastic. Up against the wall is terrific.
Princess: You really do like to sample the whole menu.
I can’t think of anything better than an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Princess: But you really don’t have a preference among those?
How about I just list some of my favorite things to do?
Princess: Tell me.
My fingers hover on the keypad. I’m dying to tell her everything, to lay it all out for her, but if I do, we’re leveling up. We’re moving from practical texting, to flirty texting, to full-on dirty texting.
Yeah, when I think about it like that, it just makes me type faster and hit send with a flourish.
Kissing. Licking. Touching. Tasting. Kissing. Feeling. Fingering. Biting. Fucking. Eating. Spanking. Kissing. Caressing. Pinching. Nibbling. Fucking. And kissing. Always kissing.
She doesn’t answer right away. As I wait, clutching the phone in my hand, my dick on high alert, my skin sizzling, I’m keenly aware of how much I want to do all those things to her. I run my palm over my jeans and against my straining erection as I stare at the screen and wonder if her hand is slipping between her legs. Gliding inside her panties. If her back is bowed and her lips are parted. If her fingers are flying so fucking fast that she’s making herself come before she writes back.