The lock clicked, and the girlfriend came into the apartment, early. I was finishing the latest Batman before starting dinner. Her keys made a loud clink as she threw them in the broken coffee cup we keep on the milk crate bookshelves by the door.
“Honey,” she said, her coat not yet off, my cheek still unkissed, “I need your help with my film class.”
“Okay,” I said. I set my comic book down on the couch beside me and adopted the straight-backed, hands-in-lap posture of A Thoughtful And Attentive Boyfriend. “What's the score?”
She sat in the chair opposite from me. “We’re doing documentary shorts; like little filmed essays, and for our next one, we have to show someone demonstrating a skill.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “Like a cabinetmaker making a cabinet.”
“I— right,” she said, smiling her Patient Girlfriend Smile.
I thought about this. “So you want to film me down at the winery? That could be fun.”
“Actually, I wanted to film you rimming me.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “Wait, what?”
She pulled a Moleskine journal from her shoulder bag and started flipping through pages of drawings and text. “It doesn’t have to be real long, just three minutes. I’ve already mocked up a storyboard, and I’ll do the voice-over so you don’t have to memorize any dialogue.”
My Thoughtful Boyfriend Posture started to give way to Spastic Jerking and Hair Pulling. “Ciara, you... you can’t film that.”
She looked up from her little boxed doodles. “Well no, I’d set the camera on the tripod.”
“What—no! Babe, this is a terrible idea!” I sprang to my feet.
“Look, I know it’s a static shot,” she stood up and tried to show me her notes, “but I figured with some editing and transitional music—”
I stepped away, not wanting to see what was in that notebook. “I don’t want you to make this film!”
What I was saying must have finally hit her, because her mouth became a perfect “O” of shock and indignation. “This is a fourth of my grade! I won’t pass if I don’t turn this in!”
“I don’t want that on film!”
“Why not? You're good at it.”
The look of hurt on her face wounded me, but I was resolute. “That’s... that's beyond private. I am not doing it.”
Hand on her hip, she cocked an eyebrow at me and spoke, crossly. “This is because I didn’t want to do your winery job, isn’t it? Does it bother you that much to think about my career for once?”
“You’re talking about me eating your ass on camera!”
“Which you do very well!”
“What and you want to tell all your classmates about it?”
She made as if to shout at me further, then stopped. Her arms attempted to gesture, but something in her fell away, leaving her like an unstrung marionette.
“Why?” I asked, having no idea who was going to be sleeping on the couch tonight. “In God’s name, why?”
When she answered me, she was so quiet. “Because you make me happy, you big doof.”
She stepped over to me, set a hand gently on my shoulder, and guided me back down onto the couch. The comic got pushed aside as she sat next to me, close, as though we were discussing having children or buying a house.
“It’s not easy for me, you know, being in this class. Everyone’s newly married, or they’ve got kids, or they’ve just bought a house. Before class starts, all I that hear is about handprints in clay, or mortgages, or trips to bed & breakfasts.” She sighed. “And they all look so smug, and so happy, that their husbands spent twenty bucks at a card store for them, ‘just because’ it was a holiday.”
She crawled into my lap, and drew her face close to mine. “I just want to say to them, just once, ‘Hey, my man loves me so much, he goes down on my little rosebud in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, and licks me there forever until I melt, just because! I want to say that, ‘just because,’ those exact words. Just because.
“Just because,” she shrugged, “you love me.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Look, forget the film. Forget them. If it upsets you, it's not worth it. Fuck it. Forget it. Just take me into that bedroom—”
She smiled, and I swear I fell in love with her all over again.
“Our bedroom; and love me. Love me forever.”
For that smile of hers, I’ve made pancakes from scratch. I’ve embarrassed myself and the Stone Roses at karaoke. I’ve written epic poems declaring my love on the back of napkins. I’ve braved blizzards to bring back egg rolls at two in the morning because she was sick for five days straight and when her appetite returned that was the first thing she wanted.
She smiled, and all I could say was:
I picked her up in my arms, and—remarkably, for a man who gets winded climbing a ladder—carried her like she was a memory, all the way to the bedroom.
She looked at me, like she wanted to kiss me, but was starving herself, holding out for the first touch of my lips on her skin.
Her coat finally came off, as we tore out of our clothes. She peeled out of her dress, nothing underneath save for a pair of black stockings, and leapt onto the bed like a determined and fearless suicide.
“Jesus, I want you,” she said.
Why do I always wear so much clothing? “God, you look good in stockings.”
She crawled over to the edge of the bed, close enough to feel her heat. “I always wear them for you, you know?”
Her mouth poured hot breath over my chest, and she kissed at my neck. Her lips fluttered like a bird.
“I’m going to lick you until you can’t walk.”
She pushed back with an adorably unsexy meep! and assumed the position. The dark silk hose framed her beautiful full derrière as she rested her head on a pillow and crouched with her hips in the air.
I joined her on the bed, smacked her raised cheek, and heard her suck in sharply, then breathe out. The soles of her feet to her calves, her thighs, her lips, her hips...
Pulling her to me, I gripped her rump; just roughly enough to excite her, but softly all the same.
My breath fell, hot, onto her forbidden chasm, I spread her open, and poised my tongue’s tip right at the apex where the small of her back met the curve of her seat. The spit on my tongue had just brushed against the sweat of her flesh. Teasing her, I kissed at her waist, devoid of elastic marks. Over the crest of her thick farmgirl booty, I looked at her. She was almost giddy with lust.
I thought to myself, My girlfriend has the best choice in underthings ever.
My tongue stopped just as I felt the first tremble of muscle run through her.
My girlfriend never leaves the house in a dress without underpants.
“Oh, god, don't tease me, I can’t bear it.”
My girlfriend sure as hell never goes without a bra when it's low fifties with a chance of nipples.
I slapped her on the cheek again. “You just wanted a rim job, didn’t you?”
She tried to snort but only sniffled.
“Honey, I’m not even taking a film class.”
Welcome Eager Readers! (And Writers)
Thanks for stopping by. Please read our "About" page for some more information and please look over our submission guidelines that are on the right before submitting.
Enjoy, and Viva La Toucan
Laura, Toucan Editrice
Enjoy, and Viva La Toucan
Laura, Toucan Editrice