Along Came Daryl Part 2
"No. I walk to the Village everyday to check things out and usually don't go back to my aunt's for like four hours. She doesn't know where I am. I'm not going to tell her. My aunt is in and out all of the time and I have a key. I come back whenever I want, usually for dinner. Could be 5:00 or later if I want.,”he says.
I didn’t know what to believe. Why was Nina so over protective of him? The possibility that Nina had her nephew around for more than just an innocent visit crept into my mind. It’s not unheard of. Maybe I was just projecting. For the way she treated me the previous day, I felt a bit like denying her time with Daryl. Payback sort of.
I interrogated him with, “When she kicked me out yesterday, what did you tell her about our walk to the store?”
Daryl confessed that Nina didn’t ask about the walk. She didn’t know about our quick stop at my apartment at all. All she was doing was warning Daryl how careful he should be with someone like me. Daryl said all he could do was listen to her warnings. She had walked away shaking her head about how she couldn’t believe my actions.
Nina was only focused on me. Details were irrelevant. I invited him by to watch television was all she cared about. Nina had never been to my apartment, even though it was only two blocks away. She could find out where I live if she had wanted to.
After talking a bit more with Daryl, I was convinced that she was completely unaware of where he was right then. A sigh of relief comes over me. But now a different sensation begins. I felt an irritation.
Like I've mentioned earlier, it’s summer in New York. I always have my fan on in my tiny place. And I'm beginning to perspire. And it probably was not just the weather.
I asked Daryl if he was thirsty and wanted something to drink. Our conversation was quick. I told him I usually come home from work, take a shower, eat, take an afternoon siesta. Is he going to leave now? He's more than welcome to stay and watch TV.
Yes! That does it. That's what animates this guy. Cable TV. Go figure. I think Grease was on HBO non stop everyday.
So, I said, " Daryl, I'm going to shower now. You're more than welcome to sit on the sofa and watch TV. If you want to leave. Tell me now."
He goes, "Uh. Ok." Nervous like.
I purposely leave the bathroom door open and tell him that it is open because of the steam. I'm doing everything possible to get him to follow me into the bathroom. With all of the steam, he wouldn’t get a clear view of my entire body anyhow. He doesn't budge. Just on the couch.
Without thinking, I took my afternoon nap clothes and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. I gazed at my hairbrush handle and the mop and broom endings in my bathroom and started to feel pathetic. I also confess I had a preference for certain vegetables like cucumbers and zucchini that I did not buy at the store the previous day.
I was trying to wash as quickly as possible. But, I was thinking about my body image. My mid section was soft. I had never been the athletic type. The faster that things progressed, the sooner men would overlook these things. I had dimples in my thighs and buttocks area. I had a tiny bit of cellulite. I thought it be a turnoff for him.
My previous partner would use my body and humiliate me at the same time. He used to joke about it. That never stopped him from sexually having his way with me but it did make me feel less. Especially when he would call me ‘stumpy legs.’
I put my hair up. Too much to wash it now. I was imagining that Daryl was lathering me up. Caressing my breasts with soap. All over. That excited me. I shampooed my over grown mound in anticipation. I had to contain myself. I dry off and I'm already beginning to sweat again. New York summers. I put on my underwear and bra and was about to get dressed.
What to wear? I really didn’t bring anything to the bathroom. I was so use to the medical scrubs for work. They hid my imperfections. But I had to give it another go with trying to get Daryl's attention.
I put on the extra large mens t-shirt that I wore for bedtime. With my short frame, it covered me enough so that hopefully, Daryl would only see the outline of my figure. Like I said before, I did still have my hips and curves.
I exited the bathroom and headed straight to the oscillating fan and bent over with my back towards Daryl and the sofa. I was cooling off in the the front hoping that he was watching me from behind. I couldn't have been more obvious. Nothing from Daryl. Silence. He's watching TV.
I head over to the couch and say," Excuse me Daryl, can you stand up please?"
He does and I open up the sofa and pull out the clanky, springy mattress. I straightened the sheets inside, grabbed a pillow and plopped down. He was still standing. What happened to the confident young man from yesterday's walk? I told him that he could lie down on the bed. He was more than welcome to continue watching TV as I was going to nap.
He slowly lowered himself down on my bed. My heart was racing. I pretended to be normal. I told him to take his shoes off. He did. He resumed watching TV. I must force the action it seemed.
I flipped my body to the other end of the bed to ‘look’ for the remote that was under the TV. My head was over the far end of the bed with my T-Shirt backside fully exposed to Daryl. I felt my shirt ride up my body exposing more of me. If he looked, there's no way he didn’t see my underwear. I wanted him to. Hopefully, my cellulite wasn’t too obvious and he was turned on enough to overlook it.
I asked, while pretending to get the remote, " See anything you like?"
I got back up to the bed and lied down facing the TV again. "Anything you see you like on TV?"
"Uh, yeah,” he said.
He was not at ease. He was blushing. His skin was shiny, probably from the heat and humidity.
"It doesn't get humid in California,” he said.
He began to talk about California weather. He was making small talk, I guess. So, I played along. I was impatient. I moved closer to him. We were lying next to each other and he was not making a pass at me. I thought,”What a gentleman."
I noticed that he was shivering. It was hot and humid and he was shivering. Just like the day before in his aunt's kitchen.
I asked, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah,” he said
He was not okay. He was stiff, uncomfortable, and shaking nervously.
I said, “You're shaking."
This was foolish. That only made him more nervous.
"Do I make you nervous?,” I asked.
"Uh, a little,” he said.
"There's nothing to be nervous about with me. I don't bite," I provoked.
He laughed. I moved closer and I purposely had my arm and leg literally touching his arm and leg side by side. He did nothing. I moved closer and put my head on his shoulder. I now hear his heart. It is pounding. He is breathing quickly.
I placed my hand on his chest.
"Shhhh. shhhh,” I said.
He said nothing. After a pause, I told him in a soft voice that I thought I knew the reason why he was nervous. He insisted that he was not nervous.
“It's okay," I said.
I moved my hand down below his chest. My hand was on his stomach. I was rubbing his belly, almost trying to calm him. He impulsively grabbed my hand because I was moving my hand lower toward his pants button. There was a moment of uncertainty. Was he stopping me? The moment passes quickly.
His hand was on mine being dragged as I slowly moved my hand lower. He allowed me to do this. In that moment, however, the guided hand imposed its will further down. My hand was on his pants button. I began undoing his button.
He was palpitating. His breathing was becoming erratic. I began unzipping his zipper. He was inert. Paralyzed. All the while, I had been eyeing the bulge in his pants. He had an erection that had popped the head of his penis out and above the top of his underwear.
I had to touch it. I was so eager. Like a child opening a present. Ripping off the wrapping anxiously to see what's inside. My hand over his underwear, I was touching his penis. It was so hard. It was so hot.
He was still shaking. My hand began to cup his penis and rub it over his underwear. This was not enough for me. I wanted to see it all. I wanted to grip it all. I wanted to feel the blood pumping through his erection.
I slid my hand past his underwear and I touched his penis. My hand. My flesh was on his flesh. My palm was rubbing his hot, hard penis. I began to grip it to stroke it more.
Suddenly, I felt his penis pulse. He grabbed my hand to remove it. He didn’t get there in time. He was ejaculating.
He rushed up. Impulsively. He gasped. He immediately rolled off sitting on the side of the bed awkwardly not to get semen on my bed, I think. These actions were too abrupt for me. He was now sitting on the edge of my bed with his head down. He was embarrassed. I was embarrassed for him.
I said, "Are you okay?”
He grumbled something I didn’t understand. There was an awkward silence. I hate awkward silence.
In my haste I said, "I'm not a teenage girl so I can understand why it happened so fast."
This was stupid to say. He was clearly ashamed. I don't know why I said it. I almost felt empowered. Always being the controlled, oppressed one in my relations with men. This felt better. At least for the moment. I didn't want to humiliate him any further but I inadvertently persisted.
“I guess California girls like it fast."
Oh God. What did I just say? He got up and paced the room.
"I, I, I need to clean up," he says.
I stood up and followed him toward the kitchen sink.
“First time for everything, okay?," he admitted .
I think, first time getting a hand job?
Oh wow. I told him that I had assumed he had been with many women was the reason I was surprised. He didn’t reply. It was dawning on me that something was not right. How can an eighteen year old guy be this inexperienced?
And then it hits me. "Daryl, how old did you say you were?"
"I didn't," he says.