A Year to Remember(26)

I wanted to ask about why he and his fiancée broke their engagement, but I didn’t want to stir up any unresolved feelings. I don’t think I could handle it if Jamie spent the time we had together sobbing about how much he misses his fiancée. It would definitely put a damper on the seduction I had planned in my head.

When the bar closed, Jamie and I got into his car to head home. Luckily, I lived close by because I didn’t think I could keep my hands off of him for another minute. The entire ten-minute ride home I kept my hand on his thigh, moving it up and down all the while focusing on the growing erection in his jeans.

It had been so many years I could barely remember what he looked like naked. I couldn’t even recall his penis size, because it wasn’t something I considered as a teen, especially with no others to compare it to. I just remember how good it felt to lie naked next to him in my bed.

Not that we got to have sex often. Although my parents left us alone in my house, we didn’t use every opportunity for sex. I’m sure it had something to do with the fear of pregnancy. Even with condoms, I always worried I’d end up pregnant. My period had never been regular and there were times I’d go three months or longer without it. That made us paranoid, and there’s nothing more embarrassing than buying a pregnancy test as a teen. Except for maybe buying tampons and condoms. Either way, at sixteen, sex wasn’t worth all the anxiety.

I had nothing to be anxious about tonight.

He drove into my driveway and put his car in park.

“I had a great time with you tonight,” he said, turning toward me.

“Me, too,” I whispered, trying to sound shy and insecure.

It worked because he leaned in and kissed me. It was better than I remembered, but it brought back the memory of how good he always smelled. I think he still wore the same cologne, Obsession for Men. I couldn’t smell it and not think of Jamie.

I pulled away from him, his taste still on my lips.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Hell yes, I want to come in.”

We barely made it to my bed. We kissed on my porch, reminiscent of our teenage years, while I attempted to get my door open. Kissing frantically, our clothes peeled away as we made our way through the front door and down the hallway to my room. I hadn’t turned on any of the lights and our bodies were lit solely by the moonlight. We spent time reacquainting ourselves with each other, finding those places that brought us to the peak of ecstasy.

By the time we put on the condom and he plunged inside of me, I had been close to orgasm three times. I say close because I never actually got there. His sexual skills had improved since high school. At least now, he knew where to find the clitoris. The problem is he still didn’t know what to do with it.

I wish I could be one of those women who can say what she wants and how she wants it. Every time I hear Rhianna singing the song about how she’ll tell her man just how she likes it and that she won’t fake it, I think any man would beg for sexual instructions from her. But not from me. First of all, I don’t want to hurt his feelings. Second, it’s embarrassing. Third, I think maybe it’s just me. Maybe I just can’t relax enough to come. I always stayed quiet and unlike Rhianna, I’ll fake it. I can fake it so well even I’ll start to believe it.

Inside of me, Jamie felt nice and warm, but it didn’t feel hot and electric. Still, at least I’ve broken my sexual drought.

I could tell he was close, but he was holding back until I came. Now, I can do it two ways. I can either tell him to go ahead because I never come during sex, or I can fake it.

I run through the possible outcomes in my head. If I tell him I don’t come from intercourse, will he take it as a challenge and feel miserable when he fails? Or will he rise to the challenge, so to speak?

Unfortunately, I think he’ll fail. The longer we make love, the less turned on I feel. I liked it better when we were just kissing and petting.

In the end, I faked it. My fake orgasm rivaled that of the great Meg Ryan in one of my all-time favorite movies, When Harry Met Sally. I moan and I writhe and my head turns back and forth. I even clench my vaginal muscles to simulate contractions. I’ve never had a guy question it. They’re all so confident in their sexual prowess.

As soon as I “came,” Jamie had an orgasm. His body shuddered and he collapsed on top of me as I held him to me, massaging the muscles of his back.

“God Sara, that was so good,” he groaned.

“I agree,” I lied.

“Will they interview me for the Morning show?”

What the hell did he say?

“What do you mean? Why would they want to interview you?” I tried not to get overexcited, but I suddenly had the urge to roll him off the bed. Maybe I misunderstood his question.