𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

It is almost two in the morning when I wake up, sweating and panting. I look around and I find myself in an unfamiliar place. The thought dawned on me when I remember that I had to sleep in the house due to the thunderstorm.

I bite my lip and I take off my shirt. There was a fire in the pit of my stomach, and arousal. I knew what it was and I hated it. I stood up and I walked towards the bathroom inside the bedroom.

I let the water fall into the tub as I strip before setting myself into it. I stay silent, I quietly wait for the sudden arousal to go away, yet it never does. It never goes away, I grow frustrated at some point. It's was fervid, the arousal seemed to never leave my stomach, instead, it just made it deeper and it was vexing. Unbearable. I grabbed my dick. I moaned, the pleasure I hadn't felt in days. My fingers touched it, letting me thrust into them. With the warmth of my finger, I could almost come right there and then, but I hadn't- something had stopped me from doing so.

There was this pulsing (I guess), between my legs. It wasn't what I expected it to be, nor had I thought it would be possible. Possible to need to be filled, something I have never really tried in the last few years.

But I did. I spread my leg, each one on either side of the tub. Bringing my fingers to my mouth where I sucked them, feverishly. Coating them with my spit and bringing them down to where I slipped one finger.

What was this? Why was it so painful, yet pleasurable? It made me bite my lip until it bled, only every once in a while did I moan. I tried my hardest to keep quiet and at some point, I do understand that I might've screamed softly, yet audible enough for whoever was in the bedroom to hear (not like there was someone). I didn't organism. I couldn't. I knew myself, I would scream and I had nothing to muffle the noises I would make.

I stopped, abruptly, it almost made me cry. I stood up and quietly put my clothing back on and let the water go down the drain. I didn't wear pants, everyone was asleep and honestly, the tight jeans were a little uncomfortable. Instead, I walked towards the door in my room, opened it, and tip-toed down the stairs. Body-stopping in horror when I found him sitting on a stool, a beer in his hand.

He heard me, I know he did. And I was proved right when he had turned around.

"You are awake." He said, I walked towards where the water bottles were.

"I am," I tell him softly. I can feel his eyes on my body. Stop looking at me, please. He was half-naked if he kept on looking at me, I'd throw my morals out of the windows and jump on his lap. Kiss the hell out of him. I couldn't do that. I just couldn't, he had a girlfriend and that was unacceptable.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks, I look at him and purse my lips. I give him a nonchalant shrug.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask him, he looks down at his beer.

"I can't sleep when there is a storm, it's when I begin to think of things that I shouldn't be doing. It makes me go inside my head, recount memories." I understood him in some way that I couldn't decipher.

"I understand," I tell him softly and I sit beside him on the stool. It causes him to look at me. I stare at him too before looking out the window, "Isn't it amazing?" I ask him. He looks out the window to see how it's raining.

"It's raining." He whispers.

"No shit." I tell him and he chuckles, "I mean the rain, storm. It's like a secret of the universe. Whenever it rains I think of that day. And I notice how there is a similarity between both situations. Pain can be like a storm that will come out of nowhere. The clearest of summers could end in a downpour, they could end in lightning and thunder. I think that storms are one of the most beautiful metaphors to describe pain. It's comes. It goes. Nothing changes. We don't change at all. Nothing in us is enhanced. Yet somehow nothing is the same, everything feels so new when we walk out again as if it's our first step in a place where it is clean. Isn't it beautiful? How we can find the most beautiful metaphors for the emotions we feel." He laughs and I look at him. A small smile filled with confusion and curiosity makes me look at him. Was he laughing at me? Did I say something stupid? Of course, I did, everything that comes out of my mouth is either shit or trash.

"I think that it's hilarious, how you can find these metaphors for what you feel. It's beautiful really. The way you can find these things to compare, I've heard the same shit before, but not in the way you put it. It puts someone in a trance. You are special." He says and I shake my head.

"I'll never be special, I don't want to be special," I tell him and he nods. With that, I stand up and I set the water bottle down. I begin to walk up the stairs without a word and into the hallway of the second floor in silence.

"Hey, you forgot something." He says from behind me. I turn and I don't expect his lips on mine. Or when he grabs my waist and he picks me up so that my body is against the wall.

I wrap my legs around his waist and run my fingers through his hair as I kiss him. Never once letting go of his lips that are connected to mine. I don't think he wants to let go either. Not when he's gripping my thighs as tight as he is doing it.

Fuck you.

Really.

Fuck you.

Why must you, out of all men, why did you have to catch my attention? Why do I keep on kissing you when your girlfriend is sleeping in the room across from where we stand. You and I.

What happens if she wakes up? If she hears us? What if Olivia wakes up? What will she first think when she sees us, he and I lie against each other.

I kiss him, I don't want to ever leave his lips. The minty taste with the hint of the Corona he had been drinking. Along with the taste of the lime and salt, he would put in his mouth when he'd take a sip.

He pulls away and he looks at me, in the eyes. "It took everything in me, to not go inside the bathroom." He whispers. Before attaching his lips to my neck.

He was in the room. He was in my room. He heard me. Why was he even there? Was there something that he had to tell me?

Nevertheless, I put it aside. I grab his jaw so that he looks at me and I kiss him. With all the need that I've had for him all these months. I needed his lips, his tongue inside my mouth playing with mine. Teeth biting my lips or tongue, I didn't mind either. I let him touch me. Let his hands trail up my thighs, squeeze my ass. Go inside my shirt where he twisted the nipple. Pinched it. He raised my shirt and he took it into his mouth, letting his other hand tease it. I wanted to cry, cry at how good he was. How his tongue was so wonderful. So pleasuring.

I have had one guy, I'll call it sex to stop me from feeling guilty about it. Nothing about having him inside of me was pleasurable. It wasn't like it was said in movies or was it that I didn't feel that pleasure then because I am a boy and not a woman.

Yet, he wasn't even inside of me. He didn't need to be inside of me and still, we were wonderful. His mouth was wonderful.

Unknown to him (and maybe me at that moment) I came, without him touching me there. He pulled back and he gave his attention to the other nipple. Biting it and I won't lie, the pain then was a pleasure.

It was when an alarm made us both stop. He stopped. I stopped. And for a moment the world stopped. He set me down and he looked around seeing how it must've been Lauren's alarm clock. I didn't let him say anything, instead, I stood up straight and to where I was supposed to be in. In the bedroom, not in the hallway. Letting his sly hands touch my body, not letting his mouth on my body at all or his lips against mine. It finally dawned upon me when I sat in the quiet room. What had I done?

Did I just do it? Of course, I did. That wasn't what scared me, what scared me the most was that I wanted him to do it again.