It was market day, and we wandered in and out of stal s, picking up fresh fruit to snack on later. I’ve seen beautiful places on this earth, but this
town was heaven for me. I’d truly never experienced anything like it.
Now, I had been traveling alone for years, finding my own company quite pleasant. But traveling with Simon? It was…cool. Just, cool. He was
quiet, the way I am when I’m seeing something new. He never felt the need to fil a silence with chattery words. We were content to soak up the
scenery. When we did speak, it was to point out something we thought the other shouldn’t miss, like the puppies playing in a dooryard, or an old
man and woman talking back and forth over their balconies. He was a great companion.
We strol ed back to the rental car, the afternoon sun toasting through the thin cotton covering my shoulders, when my hand tangled with his in
the most unassuming way. And when he took the time to open my door for me, and leaned down to kiss me in the warm Spanish sunshine, his lips
and the smel of olive trees were the only things I needed in the entire world.
In the time I’d known Simon, I’d committed several images of him to memory: seeing him for the first time, clad only in a sheet and a smirk;
driving back across the bridge with him the night of Jil ian’s housewarming, when we cal ed a truce; warped and blurry Simon as seen from inside
an afghan; backlit by tiki torches, wet, and looking devilishly handsome by hot tub; and a recent addition to my Best of Simons? The sight of him
underneath me as he clutched me close, his warm skin and sweet breath al over me as we nooked in the Giant Bed of Sin.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, was hotter than watching Simon work. I mean it. I actual y had to fan myself a little—which he took no notice of,
because when he was working he was delightful y focused.
And now here I sat, watching Simon work. We’d driven up the coast to get some test shots at a place a local guide had told him about, and the
perilously handsome Simon now concentrated completely on the task at hand. As he’d explained to me, it wasn’t about the actual pictures he was
taking, it was about testing the light and the colors. So as he scrambled his way from rock to rock, I sat on a blanket we’d dug out of the trunk and
observed. Perched on cliffs high above the sea, we could see for miles. The rocky shoreline stretched and curled back in on itself as mil ions of
waves poured in from the deep sea. And while the scenery was gorgeous, what had my attention was the way the tip of Simon’s tongue poked out
as he surveyed the scene. The way he bit down on his lower lip as he puzzled over something. The way excitement broke over his face when he
saw something new through his lens.
I was glad I had something to do, something to fixate on, as the beginning of a battle was starting to wage inside my body. Ever since we’d
acknowledged the pressure that giant bed could have placed on us, al I could think about was that very pressure. As wel as the pressure of an O
long denied, waiting patiently—and sometimes impatiently—for her release. The pressure was so strong, so intense, that every single part of me
could feel it.
Currently taking sides in this internal debate were my brain, Lower Caroline (speaking for the distant O), Backbone, and although she’d mainly
kept quiet lately, letting Brain and Nerves take control, Heart was now weighing in.
It should be noted that LC (Lower Caroline wanted a hip but abbreviated name) had somehow drafted Simon’s penis into the fray, and even
though his penis didn’t have direct access to her yet, LC felt it necessary to speak up on his behalf. While I didn’t much like the term penis, internal y
I felt strange about cal ing him dick or cock, so penis it was…for now.
Now, Backbone and Brain were solidly in the wait-for-sex camp, believing this essential to the foundation of this burgeoning relationship. LC,
and therefore Simon’s penis, were in the have-sex-with-him-as-soon-as-possible society, obviously. O, while not official y in residence, could be
counted among LC’s supporters. But I felt a twinge, and just a twinge, of her floating above both camps, along with Heart, who was currently singing
songs about everlasting love and warm, fluffy things.
Take al this into account and what do you have? One total y confused Caroline. A Caroline divided. No wonder I had sworn off dating. This shit
was tough. So was I glad to have something to think about other than the pressure cooker of sex indeterminate? Yes. Could I spend a little more
time trying to come up with a more clever name for Simon’s penis? Probably. It deserved it. Mammoth Male Member? No. Pulsating Pil ar of
Passion? No. Back Door Bandit? Hel no. Wang? Sounded like the noise those doorstopper things made when you flicked ’em…