Page 63 of Whirlwind
“Thank you, Tyson,” she says softly. “Thank you for being everything I need and not running away from my messiness.”
“Never, Kit. I’m never running away,” I promise. “Besides, I like getting dirty.”
15
Kit
We fell asleep gazing into one another’s eyes like a couple of lovesick goobers. It was the best night of my life, after I came down from the rabid thought processes at the arena. It’s easy to believe that every new step on my sexual journey is going to be the best time, beating out the last. Because I thought masturbating with him wouldn’t be topped so easily.
In that, I had all the control, which is what I thought I needed for so long. Last night, though, I gave that to him and realized every orgasm I’ve had before was a microdose in comparison.
Analyzing that…it should mean that when we make it far enough for his penis to enter my vagina it will, once again, be the best night of my life. Or maybe morning. Because as I lie here, waking from a few hours of great, deep sleep, I’m horny again.
If his bulging dick is any indication, he’s right there with me.
The blankets have been kicked off. Probably because our bodies were so wrapped up with each other, we didn’t need additional warmth. Even though a chill settles on my skin, now, I don’t pull them back up. The view is very good. Tyson’s body is unreal.
There’s a bruise on his side, fresh from last night’s game. It shouldn’t, but it turns me on more, the proof of his physicality and that he doesn’t make a fuss about it.
Willa always comments about Zander’s “hockey thighs.” I get it now. Tyson’s are thick, tight, and toned. As is the rest of his body. Nothing about him is small or weak. While that would have scared me before, it never has with him. Instead, it makes me feel safer.
Tyson has become a safe space. I’m not sure he understands how profound that is. Perhaps he does, since I think he’s safety for his sister, as well.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt safe. Or bold. I feel bold right now.
I also really need to fucking pee.
Sneaking out of bed as carefully as I can, I manage it without waking Tyson. After a potty and a toothbrushing, I stare at myself in the mirror. It’s not right that we don’t appear differently after big, life-altering moments. Like, my smile should be brighter, my hair shinier, or my boobs bigger.
It’s not only that I’ve climbed a rung higher on the sexual ladder. Honestly, that’s the least important thing that happened last night. The substantial change is what happened inside me. My inner child stood up to one of the monsters under her bed. There is more to the war, but I won one battle.
It’s something to be proud of, and I am.
Tyson has a discarded T-shirt on the floor of the bathroom. It smells like him, so I throw it on, and I ride a high as I quietly walk downstairs and let Nightmare out for his own potty break. It’s early still, barely four in the morning. After he’s done his business, I pilfer through the kitchen, looking for something to feed my little buddy. Leave it to a pro athlete to have copious amounts of protein cooked up and ready to grab. Picking some chicken breast, I shred it up and give it to Nightmare, who happily scarfs it down. Before I head back upstairs, I grab my cell phone from the bag I discarded by the front door.
At the end of the bed, I watch his chest rising and falling, like I’m a sparkly vampire in that one young adult book. If it was later in the morning, I’d consider waking him and asking him to…how do you ask someone for sex? He needs more sleep, though. I don’t know how professional athletes keep up with their schedules, let alone their training routines.
When I get back on the bed, I keep as much distance as I can. Not an easy task, since his large frame is sprawled in the center of the bed. Making sure my volume is silenced, I pull up a favorite porn site of mine. It’s produced by a woman, so it isn’t filled with videos of women who look too young to be legal or videos that should be reported to authorities.
I’m curious if my preferences have, or will, change. They should, I think. I mean, I imagine that’s how kinks evolve. And while my preferences haven’t changed so much since I first started watching porn, they have shifted some. The first time I watched anything, it was a man pleasuring himself. That’s still something that turns me on, but eventually, I branched out to couples. Nothing extreme, or hardcore, or with multiple partners.
Vanilla, mostly.
There have been many times I’ve almost clicked on categories outside of that, but I wasn’t confident in my own mental state to be able to handle it. Since I’ve only ever watched it by myself, there was never anyone there that would be able to help calm me if I got too anxious watching it.
Glancing over at Tyson, I tempt myself with the idea. Scrolling through my phone, I pick a video I normally wouldn’t. It’s in the “rough” category. I’m not sure I fully understand what that means, but I won’t ever know if I don’t look. It starts off the same as so many do, with the normal foreplay of him undressing her. Except, once he has her naked, his hand finds purchase on herneck. Not heavily, or overly forceful, but with enough directness to guide her to the bed, where he lays her down with her head hanging over the side. Quickly, the man unfastens his pants and pulls his dick out. The woman opens her mouth for him, and he begins thrusting in. It’s deep and quick, but at the same time, he leans forward to place his mouth on her pussy.
I turn my phone, so the video takes up the whole screen; I want a closer view. He’s heavy atop her, but he also pauses his fucking of her mouth on occasion to let her swallow and catch air. That makes it hotter, him showing his concern while also getting what he wants. One-sided sex isn’t anything I ever want to experience again.
Tyson trying to talk me out of a blow job last night only made him more endearing. The truth of it is, I enjoyed it. Once I got past being self-conscious about it, anyway. I’m sure he’s received amazing oral before, I know I can’t compare, but I still made him come. That alone was a huge boost to my confidence.
He’s still asleep when I scroll to a different video. Then, to another and another. I analyze each of them, looking less for my own pleasure and more to understand or learn techniques, something that never occurred to me before, since I never expected to have a partner.
By the sixth or seventh video, I’m finding a few things that intrigue me. One in particular. It’s another unexpected realization.
“That’s the best one yet,” Tyson says next to me, startling me so much that I drop my phone on the bed between us. He laughs deeply. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I thought you were still asleep.”
