Gods & Monsters

I move against him, my fingers itching to feel his warm, velvety dick. He shudders, his hold around me going tight. The pleasure down there is sharp, so sharp, like a fist is weighing down on my pelvic region. His jeans scrape so good against my thighs.

This is it. This is the moment. I wanna go all the way.

I’ve been such an idiot, denying him, torturing him. I don’t want to play power games. I just want him. I want him to take it because it’s his anyway.

“Abel –”

“You hungry?” he rasps.

“What?”

He smiles, even though his eyes still hold the intensity of moments ago. He slowly disentangles our bodies, lowers my dress gently and tucks my snarly hair behind my ears. But the mess our kiss made inside my body, the buzzing, the lust, the throbbing nipples… I don’t know how I’ll manage to put that back together.

I’m confused. What’s happening?

“Want some grilled cheese?” He steps back.

“I… What?”

“Lemme make you some grilled cheese.”

With that, he pads over to his small kitchen, and I’m left shivering, my head a mess. What just happened? Did he… Did he reject me?

My heart curls up in my chest, thinking… What if I took it too far and he doesn’t want me anymore?

My Pixie is a cock-tease.

Is he mad at me about that? Well, I’m not anymore. Gosh. I want him. I want to do it. But how do I tell him this? Maybe I can take my clothes off and stand naked? That should send him a clear message.

Ugh. No. I can’t do that. I’m not that brave or crazy.

Dejected, I look around the apartment. It’s a studio with a small kitchen on one side, couch in the middle and his bed taking up the other side, by the window. It’s simple and functional. Nothing fancy. Rough and unpolished, like the boy who lives here. Though it is a little untidy. Despite myself, I smile at the heaps of clothes on the floor, the unmade bed with pillows strewn about.

My Abel is a slob.

As I walk further in, I pick up his clothes from the floor and dump them in the laundry bag that sits right by his dresser. I straighten his dirty sneakers and push them under the bed. It makes me giddy, doing these little things for him.

I stand in the middle of the room while Abel works in the kitchen, his broad back and his arms flexing as he flips the sandwich on the pan, making it sizzle. In this moment, I can see the future. Me and him together. I’ll be doing the cleaning, of course, because I can’t cook at all. Though I’ll make him all the apple pies he wants. Sometimes we’ll order in and sometimes he’ll cook for me. We’ll have a house somewhere, with a big backyard and a tree and a swing. He’ll give me a push and I’ll touch the sky. He’ll kiss me and I’ll feel the sun.

In four weeks, I’ll tell my parents and then my life will change for the better. We’ll get married and live together. I do have a scholarship to a college a couple of hours away from here. They have a great writing program so I’ve been excited about going. I know Abel will follow me; he’s made all the plans about it. But I’m not so sure I want to go anymore. I want to give our love a chance to grow; college can happen later. But whatever. I haven’t fully decided yet. I have time.

First, I need to make him have sex with me tonight. I’ll beg too, if that makes him feel better.

I focus on the big, long desk by the wall, with mountains of papers on it, alongside his camera, of course. I know what they are. They are the sketches he made, and on the wall, are photographs of us together, pinned like the stars.

I study his sketches; they feature everything, the entire world. The corn fields, the little stores along the heart of the town, the people, the never-ending highway. The buildings of New York that I’ve only seen in the movies and his photos. The bridges strung with Christmas lights, bodies of water, park bench with a bird perched on the back, a lone kite in the sky. It’s everything you think of and it’s everything you ignore.

Such an artist.

My fingers burn through the sketches, the photos, so fast that my head spins and my heart races. And then it stops because at the center, I find myself.

A drawing of me lying on a bed, his bed, naked.

Nude, bare, stripped, unclothed. My long, long hair is fanned out on his pillow, some strands even going off the bed to touch the floor. My eyes are closed and my lips are parted. One of my knees is folded and one of my hands is on my stomach, hiding my belly-button. And my boobs are jutting out of my frame. Nipples tipped up and hard.