Page 85 of Studious
I’m feeling like I don’t make sense anymore. Like I don’t recognize myself.
Danny has woken up my body. I know that sounds like a cliché, but before he and I started this… whatever we’re doing, I didn’t understand what touch could truly feel like. I mean, sure, I’ve stroked out plenty of orgasms. But it’s different when someone else gives it to you. It requires so much trust. That it will happen. That they won’t suddenly stop when you’re about to blow. That they’ll stay with you through the experience and help you come down.
And having him inside me… My prior fumbling was nothing like having a real live dick in my ass. Evidence of how turned on he was. Rigid and yet forgiving.Human.
I can’t work. All I can do is daydream about what we did this weekend, and I really hope I’m not getting the wrong idea.
I’m getting the wrong idea.
I don’t care, though. If I’m going to go down, this is the way to go: with him wrecking my body. I can’t wait to feel the delicious ache of him inside me again.
I’d figured it would hurt, but people seemed to like it, so I expected it would also be pleasurable. I didn’t know it would be soul-connecting.
It’s not that I was waiting around for a man to give me meaning. More that I felt like I was missing out on something that everyone else understood and I didn’t.
Because I was—still am—awkward and anxious and shy, I push people away, sometimes intentionally and sometimes involuntarily. But Danny seems to be the exception to everything. He’s easy to talk to. Relaxing—at least, when he’s not making my heart race and my body tremble.
I look up, and he’s standing in the doorway.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “How are you?”
He gives me a big grin. Then his face falls. “What’s wrong?”
I shrug. “I missed you last night.”
He comes into my office and closes the door behind him. “I missed you, too. I wished you were with me.”
“You could’ve called me.” I hate how needy I sound.
But Danny doesn’t seem to mind. “I wanted to see if I could still sleep without you.” He shrugs. “It turns out I can, but it’s not anywhere near as fun. So I suggest you keep coming over as often as you like.”
He leans in to kiss me, but I stop him. “What if someone comes in?”
He eyes me. “Do you care? Because,” he continues, “if you want to keep our getting together quiet for the time being, I’m fine with that. I’m fully expecting that if anyone else finds out what we’re doing, I’ll get about six Mafia-style ‘If you hurt him’ lectures from our coworkers and probably my mom. But that’s okay, too, if it’s what you want. So don’t hold back on my account.”
“I don’t know what I want,” I admit. “There is some benefit to not having everyone all up in my business. But I’m not ashamed of this”—I point between us—“educational experience, either.”
“Then let’s play it by ear. We don’t need to make an announcement, but we won’t deny it if it comes up.”
“Sounds good.” I lean in and kiss him.
I love kissing him. I don’t ever want to stop.
After he leaves, the good feeling that came into my office with him stays for a while, but then it subsides.
We haven’t promised each other anything. I need to remind myself that I’m exactly where I wanted to be: getting sexual instruction from a master. I know the rules. This is just him helping me out and teaching me how to not be stuck in my shell.
And boy, is he doing that.
* * *
That evening, I’m moping about my room when Mason texts, asking if I’m around. When I respond by calling him, he answers with, “What’s wrong?”
I sigh.
He waits. Then, eventually, he asks, “Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. But I did call him, after all. I need to spit this out. I fill him in on the things Danny and I have been doing together lately—not just the sex, but the evenings on his couch watching baseball, the morning runs around his neighborhood before picking up fresh bagels and going to visit my mom, getting up early to watch Formula1 races around the world. “When I asked Danny to be my sex tutor, I figured, I don’t know, that we’d talk about things,” I say. “That he’d tell me what to do with some other guy, maybe be my wingman so I’d feel less scared approaching someone. Not that he’d be the one I fell in love with. I mean, I was already there with a crush, but I figured I could ignore that. I’ve had crushes before. They happen. But the way he’s cared for me, how much time he’s spent with me, when he could be doing literally anything else… I’m gone for the guy.”
