Starting With You

31. The different versions of us.

Jensen

AFTER TAKING A SWIG OF THE LUKEWARM coffee the next morning, I set the mug back on the days-old coffee ring on the tattered desktop. A spreadsheet looms before me, but I can't focus on it. My mind keeps circling back to Teddy's suggestion about switching up my schedule to allow time out of this stuffy office. The idea is more appealing than I'd ever admit out loud. I'm dying a slow death trapped within these four walls; and I find more and more excuses to leave, specifically to hunt down my girlfriend, admittedly, but leave, nonetheless.

It's definitely doable to cram the administrative duties in the mornings to leave time for hands-on work in the afternoons. I waste more time procrastinating and playing solitaire than anything lately anyway. If I was actually productive and using my time wisely, I could finish the work pretty quickly.

I spin a pen around in my hand, letting the idea percolate. I'm pretty sure Teddy might be a genius. Why didn't I think of this years ago? I suppose I wasn't so restless back then. It crept up on me so slowly that I didn't recognize it for what it was until recently.

At first, I enjoyed the behind-the-scenes stuff, managing all the little details. After a while, though, it wasn't stimulating enough. My body likes to move. A little of both worlds—mind and body—is the obvious solution.

I wonder if my dissatisfaction is as noticeable to everyone as it is to Teddy. She's always been able to see through my grumpy exterior, but it's only heightened these past weeks with the change in our relationship.

I know I've been the champion of the Taking Things Slow Cause, but last night when we were talking about kids—our kids—it felt so right. I don't want to rush through any of the stages, but I don't want to waste any time either. We've wasted so many years already.

Slowing the pace of the physical relationship is allowing us the time to settle into redefining who we are to each other now, rewiring the way we interact and relate to one another, how we fit into each other's lives.

The more intertwined our daily lives become—sharing meals, nightly walks, falling asleep in each other's arms and waking up tangled together under the sheets—the more natural the physical stuff falls into place.

I want more for us than just satisfying carnal needs, driven by lust and attraction. I want the intimacy that is developed by conscious and continual cultivation—whispered conversations before falling asleep, subtle brushing of a hand during an anxious moment, reading body language and silent exchanges, stolen kisses in crowded spaces—that only aids in heightening the purely physically-driven sexual exchanges.

Being with Teddy already feels so different than it ever has with anyone else. Seeing her naked last night literally seized all my ability to act on the thoughts racing through my head.

Inside I was reaching out to touch her, but my hand wouldn't cooperate. I've never been paralyzed by the mere sight of a naked body before. When I finally did sync my mind and body together again—being able to finally have my hands and mouth all over her—it was an explosive, mind-altering experience.

I adjust myself in the desk chair, willing my over-eager dick to settle down. The last thing I need is someone barging into my office and seeing my chub.

Turning my attention back to the computer, I try to focus on work, but my mind keeps wandering back to Teddy. The dueling sides of going slow versus not wasting any more precious time is niggling me, specifically the pesky thought that crept into my brain last night and now won't fuck off.

I want Teddy at my place permanently, not just a few nights here and there, living out of a bag like we're childhood friends having a sleepover. It feels a little like playing house. Maybe I'm ready for the real thing.