Those Words: Longing

Tonight, I find that I can say those words and give voice to the feelings I have harbored so long. Once nascent, they now feel resolute enough within my chest to convey in words to the object of my desire.

I know, I know. These sound like bathetic pining, all over-the-top and adolescent. I'm no simpleton; at least, I don't consider myself so. In coming here, I had no illusions about what his response to my suddenly exposing all this pent-up fire within me would be. At least, that's what I tell myself. But, truth is, there is conflict raging within me. I know, on the one hand, that this is no fairytale. No. I see those words fall from my lips and scatter all around our feet like so many stolen pearls spilling from my outstretched hands. They are my meager offering to him. There is no perfect still-frame where all stands still around us for the briefest instant, suspended between this moment and next. No schmaltzy swell of orchestra rises to affirm how I feel. And yet, on the other hand, I cannot help longing for stardust to fall from the sky and come to rest on the windowsill beyond his iron four-poster bed where I see we two moving together in a frantic, furtive way in my mind's eye. I can feel the aching desire for the warm, safe reassurance of hearing the same words uttered back to me.

But when I hear my own heartbeat rapping against my ribs, blood rushing in my ears, I know those words to be true. To me. They tumble from my mouth in nothing short of total, beautiful delirium. A frenzied heat courses through my body, and a heady tightness in my chest overflows. These mingle and spill from my lips in stuttered, slurred words before my cheeks go alight with self-consciousness. Even so, I want him to know. Want my words to carry just exactly how I feel to the object of my affection.

I cast my eyes downward. Gone is the invulnerability instilled by way of the ruddy liquid courage I downed-on an empty stomach, no less-after being called out by a classmate for an end-of-term toast just thirty short minutes ago. It was just a rushed drink at a little place nearby, but for some reason, it was enough to make this sound like the only course of action. I had pulled the collar of my parka up to my chin and stepped out into the wintery mix with one objective: to throw myself forward into a situation that could only descend into disaster or elevate me to exactly where I wanted to be, if only temporarily.

"You know, right?" I lean back against the cold metal of his door, my arms bent at the elbows and searching out the lock. My fingers fumble with it. He never locks the door. Not the dead bolt, at least. But this, I turn, and it seals the deal. There is no turning back now for either of us. I know I'm not supposed to be here, knew it from the first step I took on the way. Now, I bring my gaze up to meet his. I find I cannot hold it and allow my eyes to drink in his form.

He's taller than I by several inches, broad-shouldered and solid. And yet, he is sharply angular. My eyes flit from the shoulders I long to lean on and down his white broadcloth shirt—he never wears seasonally appropriate clothing in the winter. Just looking at him makes me shiver. I follow the line of this shirt down to his rather slender waist and to a pair of tight black slacks he's wearing. Bare feet. Did I mention the lack of seasonally appropriate clothing? The tops of his feet show a light covering of dark hair that matches the curly mass of almost black hair that falls in uneven tendrils around his eyebrows.

I lick my lips. Boldness is not one of my strong points. But tonight, I steeled myself against the chill of anxiety and the churning in my gut. On borrowed courage from the buzz of red wine, I trudged through the snow and to his door.

He let me in but said nothing. He let me speak my piece. I gave in to the tangle of emotions and heat of my desire. I stammered out that I had felt this way a long time, that he had to have noticed I was serious by now, that this wasn't just some sort of silly crush. There was no lecture from him tonight. There was no tired smile with the traces of unhappiness at its edges when he saw me. No friendly pat on the back and wishes for good luck and reminder that I would figure it all out. That things would come into focus. That I would realize it was infatuation. That I wasn't in-.

He said nothing when I uttered those words.

"Say something, won't you?" I entreat him now. I would almost rather he repeat the admonitions I can very nearly recite. Anything to ascertain that his displeasure at this nocturnal intrusion is not so great as to estrange us.

Still mute, he clears his throat and his left foot inches forward. And then he reaches out for me. When he touches me tonight, for the first time, really, butterfly wings flutter against my hot skin. He grasps my wrist. I feel a warm tingling dance across my skin and straight to my chest and racing heart. There is no way I can deny the heady, molten emotions welling up from my core.

He isn't lecturing me now but running his hands through my hair, his fingers tugging at my short locks. He isn't patting me on the back but gripping my ass from behind through the tight material of my ripped jeans. He isn't wishing me luck in figuring my confused emotions out, trying to keep his voice distant but whispering, "Yeah... You're so beautiful..." His mouth goes to my ear. The stubble of his dark beard prickles and I feel my lips curve up into a smile, partly because it tickles. And partly because I can feel myself being inundated with him. I let him pin me against the door now. My arms reach out for him. I run my hands through his wavy black hair, urging him to continue his attentions to my ear.

"You know it, right?" I persist. I close my eyes and nod to encourage his ministrations. I want this so badly. Want this from him. Want this with him. But I also want him to bare the same emotions in words. The urgent need to hear them assails me. Perhaps he's right after all. Perhaps it's just infatuation.

He brings his tongue to touch the ridge in my ear. I gasp, air escaping at once. I shudder air back into my lungs and whimper when his tongue touches on the crescent, tiny pin-pricks of ecstasy dancing there.

He pauses and whispers, "I know what?" And then his lips catch my lobe and they're tugging at it. I continue to whimper as he plays with my ear. I bare the need in my voice to him. A tremor tears through my legs now. They tremble beneath me. And then I feel myself collapse, legs dropping to one side. And I am in his arms. He holds me up, his sure, steady arm snaked around my waist. His hand tugs at the sharp protrusion of my hip bone. His desire, just as sure, presses against my abdomen. I moan in spite of myself. I am in the throes of beatific contentment. And my breath, once so calm and gentle, has now been torn ragged by his eager playfulness and the heat of my desire for this man.

"Please... At least just let me-let me catch my breath..." I plead.

I lift my eyes to stare into the dark pools of his eyes. Unruly dark locks cascade down past thick brows. He lets his breath out slowly, pulls his hair back, and then lets it go again. It licks at his eyelids with uneven tendrils. His eyes arch upward slightly, those little lines forming just at the edges, the way they do when he tries not to smile. But I know where to search out his smile. I know because you know these things when you feel this way about someone. When you want to trace every movement they make with your eyes and carve it all into you to keep, for always. I know to find his smile around the edges of his eyes. My fingertips go to those tiny lines, to find that secret smile. His coffee-brown eyes widen, flitting from my hands to my own eyes and back.

"What?" he asks. He brings his hands to cover mine, pressing them into his cheeks. I stroke the corners of his eyes in light circles and nod.

"You have a beautiful smile," I conclude.

"I'm not."

"Not what?"

"Smiling," he says.

"I know. But I see it anyway. Professor, I-" I begin. He presses his thumb up to my lips, and then pulls at the bottom petal. The cool night air feels sharp and fresh when it hits my teeth. I fall silent and look into his eyes again, waiting. He continues to gaze at me. My fingertips move to his cheekbones and trail down the pleasant bristle of his beard, following the straight edges of his slender cheeks to his angled jaw. I pull at his bottom lip as he has mine. His teeth lunge and catch the tip of my thumb. I pant as his teeth hold my finger while his pink tongue flicks at the tip. The little jolt of electricity flies up my arm and to my chest, all the way to my thudding heart and to the hardened nipples hiding in my knit sweater. I can feel my face tense and a tiny whimper of frustration leaps from my throat. "Please... Kiss me?"

He nods, relinquishing my thumb. Turning his head, he raises his chin in the direction of the sofa. There is a book open on the coffee table, a stack of papers, and a fountain pen. Beside these are a glass of wine and an open bottle. I've interrupted marking. It makes sense-this is the end of the term. He doesn't seem terribly distressed, though. Dim yellow light spills from two lamps standing on the wood floor, casting a warm glow on the crème fabric of the sofa.

He guides me gently to the couch and then gives me a shove down into the soft cushion. I am almost lying now and staring up at his dark eyes and his tall frame. His waist is just above my eye level. I want so badly to pull his trousers down and take him into my mouth.

But patience is a virtue. Yes, good things come to those who wait. I shake off the platitudes that have tumbled into my head. I take in a few deep breaths. My hands go to pull off my heavy boots and then my socks. I line them up next to the chair nearby. I hear him chuckle at this gesture. The conscientiousness is sorely out of place, given the current situation.

I look up at him to find his dark eyes harsh and hot with what I can only guess to be desire. He leans down to sit beside me. His hands tug at my parka. It sails through the air to join the fate of the slippers he's kicked aside. He takes my hand in his and squeezes it, demonstrating to me openly now. He holds my ice-cold hand to the warmth of one cheek and then brings to his lips.

No one has ever kissed my hand. I feel my cheeks burning and look down at his long fingers entwined in my own. He takes me by the hips and pulls me over him to sit in his lap. I stand on my knees and then lower my hips onto either side of his legs. I am facing him now, sitting back on my haunches, eyes locked firmly on his chest. I try to raise them and find them drawn back down, pulled by some unseen force. I let out a labored breath. I feel so exposed, my ass just inches away from his crotch. He takes my face into his hands, long fingers spread wide to claim my cheeks.

He lifts my face so that he can peer into my eyes. They narrow again into a secret smile though no trace plays on his lips.

"Kiss me?" I ask again.

"Shh... Of course."

And now I have ruined the moment. I know this much. But I want to beg him to show me everything. I want to ask him in words to be patient with me. To be sweet to me. I open my mouth to forward my wishes, but before I can, he tilts his own head slightly and pulls me close to him, his lips catching mine. I mash my lips into his, teeth tapping as I move forward a tad too boldly. I feel heat bloom in my mouth and in my loins as his tongue finds its way into my mouth.

I don't know what I expected it to feel like, but not quite like this. I groan slightly, my tongue recoiling. But he stokes my short hair with his right hand and catches my ear in the fork between his thumb and forefinger. He is firm, stern in his insistence my mouth give in to his advances. He swirls his tongue against the inside of my cheek to coax my tongue from its hiding place. I whimper. He circles my tongue with his own, warm and wet. And then his arms are locked tightly around me. His hand snakes down to cup my ass. He allows me to tilt forward and helps me to press my member into his firm thighs. I permit my pelvis to inch forward slightly and feel the delicious fiction of his taut legs and of my jeans and of the silky black briefs I have on beneath these.

He begins to eat my mouth now, sometimes tugging at my lip with the soft petals of his own, sometimes thrusting his tongue to rake at mine. My lungs start to burn, a reminder that I need to breathe. But his hand runs back and forth through my straight, short locks, refusing to let go. He is demonstrating a wild possessiveness I find at once a mite intimidating and completely intoxicating. I pull in air through my nose, my breath coming in ragged. I shudder the air out and open my eyes. The pools of his eyes glimmer at me, pleased with my confusion and my helplessness and my need. My burning desire. And then I find myself grinding my sex against him. The crown of my cock rubs against the band of my shorts, the denim of my tight jeans rubbing pleasantly against the sleek material of his black slacks. He offers his strength to me, shifting our position and easing one thigh between my legs so that I can straddle it.

I let myself depend on him to hold me up, leaning my weight against him. I am riding this man's right thigh, my member rock-hard and rubbing obscenely against him. I manage to break the kiss and let a low moan rise from my chest.

"Yeah, baby," he whispers into my ear. I throw both my arms around his neck and hug myself to his chest, my head coming to rest on his shoulder. I run my cheek across his shoulder, nuzzling the side of his neck and planting a single kiss on his hot skin. Then, without thinking, I suck in the tan skin here and even feel my teeth nibbling at it. I'm sure it'll leave a mark, but I don't care. I can feel his hair rustling against my ear and then his head nodding up and down.

"Just feel it for me. It's okay to feel what you feel. Yeah, just like that. Feel good down there, sweetheart?"

I whimper, a strained cry rising. He nods and rocks me back and forth, squeezing me tightly to him with one arm and rubbing my back with the other.

The pounding has grown stronger in my chest. I am gasping for air now, body trembling. My chest is full, hot. I am desperate for him. I frame his cheeks with my fingers and bring my lips to his. I let him thrust his tongue into my mouth and I suck at it. I want to devour it. He moans into the kiss and reaches down to slide his hand up beneath my heavy knit sweater. I jerk away from the cold skin of his fingers, but he persists, sliding against my tight, quivering abdomen and climbing to find my thumping chest. He rests his hand there, pressing it to my thudding breast. I pull back to search his eyes, my breath coming shallow and hot.

"I can feel your heart beating," he whispers. He smiles up at me.

I reach down to cover his hand with mine from above the material of my sweater. And then he kisses me, his fingers suddenly taking my nipple. He rolls it between his fingers and I feel a jolt of pleasure shoot directly from my chest to the hard member between my legs. My sensitive nipples are a direct line to my straining cock. He begins to brush his thumb back and forth against the hard little pebble of my nipple. His eyes lock onto mine. "Does that feel good, hmm?"

"Uh-huh..." I moan, my eyes squeezed shut. I whimper and hiccup, nearly sobbing. My hips begin thrusting into his upper thigh. I buck my hips now, helpless to do anything but bear my aching need and try ineptly to quell this burning desire. And in that instant, his other hand is pulling my sweater above my ears. I am stark naked from the waist up and thrusting my hips into my professor's hard manhood. I am straddling his thigh and rocking myself into his most private place. And he is letting me. And he wants me to feel good. My nipples are hard, angry burgundy smears on my pale skin.

He hooks his hands under my arms to steady me and sets his thumbs on either nipple. The warm teasing starts again. He begins to rub in circles using just his thumbs. I clench my eyes shut and moan. I open my mouth and it rises from deep in my belly. I feel something warm and wet flit across my left nipple. Then, there is a pleasant pull at it. I open my eyes to see him leaning forward and suckling at my nipple. I run my hands through his hair and pull at the length of it.

I need to show him. Expose myself. Need to communicate this somehow. This feeling. My need. This cannot be mere infatuation.

"I want you..." I whisper, my eyes falling shut again.

I moan as he begins kneading my ass with his left hand, his right arm locked across my back. The strength drains from my back when I feel his teeth come down tenderly on my right nipple. Like a marionette with its strings cut, I crumple and fall backward. He catches me, holds me fast, tightening his loop around my back. I thrust my almost painfully aroused member against his thigh now. I can't seem to get close enough to him. Can't be held tightly enough by his strong arms. I pull his head up and kiss him, now thrusting my tongue into his mouth to assault his. His mouth goes to my neck, and he showers me with wet kisses there.

"I want you to... make me your own," I moan. I hold his head to my neck. I want him to mark me there. His mouth locks onto my neck now, and I feel a pleasant pulling against my skin. "Please, Professor. I want you to touch me. Ahh..." My hands are in his hair now, tousling it, tugging at it. "Oh god... Touch me. Oh, touch me and make me feel you... Do whatever you want. Do what you need to feel good. Let it be what I want."

And at this, he finally lets himself go, just a little, and moans into my neck. His mouth pulls at my exposed skin, gathering the flesh there, his tongue darting across it. My dick strains against the band of my shorts and rubs against a tiny wet patch that has formed on the cloth.

"Are you sure?" he whispers, both his hands going to my ass and kneading the flesh with so much force I can't help but wonder whether he's not bruising me. I reach one of my hands down to find him in his slacks. I squeeze his member through the thin material. He gasps and dives to cover my mouth again.

"I want to be with you, too," he says. "But I don't want you to do this if you're not sure." Suddenly, his tone is serious. His hands come up to rest on the small of my back. But I feel his hard cock against my stomach. So, I lace my fingers together, my arms around his shoulders. I gaze down into his eyes. He continues, "We've been through this so many times..."

"I know. And that's why I'm sure. I want you to know that. It's not something I'm doing in the heat of the moment." My hand reaches out to rub against his member. "Well," I relent, "maybe in the heat of the moment. But I've wanted this so long..." I lean down to kiss him. And he kisses me back. Again and again. He cups my cheek with one hand and nods, catching my lip in his and sucking on it.

"Okay, then. If you're sure..." He looks up into my eyes and all expression falls away from his face. "I would be honored. I want to make you feel so good, baby... Do you know that?"

I nod and bring his hand up to my chest. To the tiny burgundy pebble there. To where he made me feel good before. And I press his hand there again. This time he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, inciting a whimper that catches in my throat. This time, he pinches it, crushing it between the pads of his fingers. I plead with him telepathically. Beg him. As though the message has reached him, he gathers me up in his arms and helps me to stand. He spins me around and hugs me tightly from behind. I can feel him thrust gently into my backside with his dick. I nod and hold the arm draped over my chest. We walk through the living room and down the dark hall. My eyes can't quite make out the lines on the photographs that hang there. But I know where we are headed. The room farthest down the hall. The door is closed. He pauses and opens it for me.