Perfectly Adequate

“No.” I jerk my head back.

“Well, no underwear is required for what I have planned.”

I roll my eyes. “I just don’t want you to see mine.”

“Streaks?”

“What? No!”

“Holes?”

“Ugh … no!”

“Now you have to show me.” He slides his thumbs under the waistband of my shorts. I bat them away.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Eli! They’re Wonder Woman briefs. I was not going to show them to Roman. I’m not a child molester. I wore them because I had them, and they go with the rest of my outfit.”

Eli’s smile swells to his ears. “Jesus … I am one lucky guy tonight. We’ll get to those special undies in a sec. I’m more concerned about your nipples.” His hands return to the hem of my shirt.

I reach for my tiara.

“Is that itchy too?” He focuses on my head.

“No.”

“Then leave it on.” His mouth twists into a wicked grin as he slides my shirt up, easing it over my head without disturbing the tiara. “Sit.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, feeling quite agreeable at this point because my nipples are so happy to be freed from the itchy cotton shirt. He palms one of my tiny (yes, tiny) breasts and strokes my nipple with the pad of his thumb as he kisses along my neck to my mouth.

Fact: If done properly, a woman can have an orgasm just from nipple stimulation. Our nipples are a minefield of nerves that send sensations to the same parts of our brains as the clitoris and uterus. Years ago, I read a study about it published in the Journal of Sexual Medicine. I immediately conducted my own experiment and confirmed the accuracy of the published results.

As Eli moves his mouth to my chest, giving Tiny Breasts some expert attention with his tongue, I feel confident that he, too, has read that same article because before long … I have my first orgasm of the night, sitting on the edge of his bed.

He looks quite pleased with himself. I’m pleased with myself too, but not for the orgasm. I manage to not ruin the moment by informing him that I’m very responsive like that, which means it doesn’t take much to pleasure me, and it also doesn’t take much to over stimulate me to the point where I want to crawl out of my skin.

Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.

“Niiice …” I say with a labored breath and heat trapped in my cheeks while we grin at each other. “Enough with my nipples. Now move along to something else.”

Eli chuckles while standing. He shrugs off his shirt and unfastens his jeans. That’s when it hits me … we are seconds and mere inches from his exposed cock hanging or probably bouncing at eye level (mouth level) with me. I jump to my feet which makes his eyes widen with surprise.

Is it hypocritical or maybe just really unfair of me to want him—ask him—to go down on me, when I have no desire or intention of ever reciprocating? Probably.

It’s not that I haven’t studied blowjobs. I have. And if I can turn off my brain, my taste buds, my sense of smell, and numb my gag reflex, I know I can give as good a blowjob as the next person. But that switch doesn’t exist yet—maybe with future medical and pharmaceutical advancements. So Eli is stuck with the woman who has a hypersensitivity to everything. And while I have no actual data to back it up, I feel certain that a lot of Aspies probably get an F in oral sex.

Before Eli can question my quick move to my feet, I kiss him. That I can do. That I actually really like doing.

And to ease the sting of the blowjob ban, I slide my hand down the front of his briefs and wrap it around his cock. My hand can’t smell it, taste it, or gag on it. So I know I can and will stroke it all night if that’s what it takes to keep that thing out of my mouth.

“Goddamn …” he seethes, breaking our kiss and resting his forehead on mine just below my tiara, watching me stroke him. I don’t mind watching either. I’m pretty good at it.

Eli grabs the back of my head and smashes his mouth to mine, moaning into our kiss, rocking his pelvis into my hand. “Take off my pants,” he mumbles against my lips.

Shit!

That’s classic code for getting a woman to squat to pull said pants down, only to stab her in the throat with a cock.

I tear my mouth from his and remove my hand from his pants. He watches me with hooded eyes while wetting his lips. Eli looks drugged. And hot. He looks really hot. But not even the sun is hot enough for me to fall for the take-my-pants-off trap. And the tight-lipped smile I give him should clue him in about that. He has to know I’m on to him and his amateur tactics.