voice as she describes the details of what she wants is almost soothing.
She walks around me and I hear her sitting down. The whiff of her perfume seems to be from directly behind me, perhaps from the exact spot that I have just vacated. I do not know if she wants me to continue kneeling here while she gazes at my back, or if I should turn around and face her. She remains silent. Is she seething in anger while I stupidly remain here unmoving, or am I doing the right thing? My fingers tighten their grip on one another as I wait noiselessly.
I hear Ginny unzipping her jeans, then the sound of fabric sliding down her legs. I gulp as I imagine her pale skin being freed from her trousers. Her jasmine scent reaches my nostrils again; she is probably bending down to peel off the pair of denim. A soft thud somewhere on my left; possibly where she has casually flung the blue material. My shoulders tense as I try to anticipate her next action.
I can feel Ginny's gaze on my body; it makes the hair at the back of my neck stand up. The way this night is developing is beyond my imagination. Ginny is mad at me, but not angry enough to kick me out; everything hinges on how I behave right now. Perhaps this silent wait is a test from her: I must not fail.
At this height and angle, I see the living room slightly differently. Everything is clean and tidy without being overbearingly neat. Random cushions are strewn here and there, and a purple cardigan has been tossed near her favorite reading chair by the window. These all seem to be clues to Ginny's personality that I have missed previously. I have never noticed what she did with her apartment, maybe because mine is perpetually unkempt; but tonight I see it afresh: it matches her. She is down to earth and practical, and there is nothing extravagant about her choices of furniture; each piece serves a purpose, but she has placed them together in an aesthetically pleasing way. The tones of color she has picked are harmonious; even when she throws some extra items and embellishments around, the randomness still blends perfectly with her surroundings. There is a sense of order, almost discipline, in the cozy and lovely atmosphere she has created.
I thought I knew Ginny, but I have been proven wrong.
From just kneeling in silence, my senses appear to have sharpened: I can almost hear the clock ticking from the opposite wall. I wonder how much time has lapsed since Ginny has seated herself behind me?
"Turn around," Ginny says lowly.
I reposition myself to face her. She is still wearing her black sweater, but her long, shapely legs are indeed freed from her jeans. I keep my eyes on her face, not allowing my gaze to linger on her body for too long. My knees have started to hurt a little, but I do not break from my kneeling pose. I shift my balance onto my ankles.
"Are you legs burning?" She asks.
I jolt and nod lightly. It is uncanny how she seems to hear all my inner monologues.
"Kneel on this." She throws a cushion in front of me. "I'll be gentle with you, since it's your first time."
My heart thumps in my throat: my first time for what? A smile creeps along my lips as an idea begins to form: if she intends this to be the first time, she must be planning on seeing me again. Feeling slightly more assured, I look up into her brown eyes.
"How did it feel just now?" she asks.
I swallow hard. "You mean when you started telling me what to do, or when I was kneeling?"
She smiles faintly. "You've got your wits back. Good." She strokes my face lightly as she continues. "I like it when you are precise. Tell me both cases."
"I was scared when you sounded angry," I begin. "Your voice frightened me, but..." I gulp, "but I liked it too."
"Are you wet?" Ginny's eyes flash.
"Yes," I answer in a whisper that barely escapes my lips.
"And how did you feel when you were kneeling?" she asks.
"I didn't know if you wanted me to turn around or not. I felt confused," I offer. "Your silence made time go
She walks around me and I hear her sitting down. The whiff of her perfume seems to be from directly behind me, perhaps from the exact spot that I have just vacated. I do not know if she wants me to continue kneeling here while she gazes at my back, or if I should turn around and face her. She remains silent. Is she seething in anger while I stupidly remain here unmoving, or am I doing the right thing? My fingers tighten their grip on one another as I wait noiselessly.
I hear Ginny unzipping her jeans, then the sound of fabric sliding down her legs. I gulp as I imagine her pale skin being freed from her trousers. Her jasmine scent reaches my nostrils again; she is probably bending down to peel off the pair of denim. A soft thud somewhere on my left; possibly where she has casually flung the blue material. My shoulders tense as I try to anticipate her next action.
I can feel Ginny's gaze on my body; it makes the hair at the back of my neck stand up. The way this night is developing is beyond my imagination. Ginny is mad at me, but not angry enough to kick me out; everything hinges on how I behave right now. Perhaps this silent wait is a test from her: I must not fail.
At this height and angle, I see the living room slightly differently. Everything is clean and tidy without being overbearingly neat. Random cushions are strewn here and there, and a purple cardigan has been tossed near her favorite reading chair by the window. These all seem to be clues to Ginny's personality that I have missed previously. I have never noticed what she did with her apartment, maybe because mine is perpetually unkempt; but tonight I see it afresh: it matches her. She is down to earth and practical, and there is nothing extravagant about her choices of furniture; each piece serves a purpose, but she has placed them together in an aesthetically pleasing way. The tones of color she has picked are harmonious; even when she throws some extra items and embellishments around, the randomness still blends perfectly with her surroundings. There is a sense of order, almost discipline, in the cozy and lovely atmosphere she has created.
I thought I knew Ginny, but I have been proven wrong.
From just kneeling in silence, my senses appear to have sharpened: I can almost hear the clock ticking from the opposite wall. I wonder how much time has lapsed since Ginny has seated herself behind me?
"Turn around," Ginny says lowly.
I reposition myself to face her. She is still wearing her black sweater, but her long, shapely legs are indeed freed from her jeans. I keep my eyes on her face, not allowing my gaze to linger on her body for too long. My knees have started to hurt a little, but I do not break from my kneeling pose. I shift my balance onto my ankles.
"Are you legs burning?" She asks.
I jolt and nod lightly. It is uncanny how she seems to hear all my inner monologues.
"Kneel on this." She throws a cushion in front of me. "I'll be gentle with you, since it's your first time."
My heart thumps in my throat: my first time for what? A smile creeps along my lips as an idea begins to form: if she intends this to be the first time, she must be planning on seeing me again. Feeling slightly more assured, I look up into her brown eyes.
"How did it feel just now?" she asks.
I swallow hard. "You mean when you started telling me what to do, or when I was kneeling?"
She smiles faintly. "You've got your wits back. Good." She strokes my face lightly as she continues. "I like it when you are precise. Tell me both cases."
"I was scared when you sounded angry," I begin. "Your voice frightened me, but..." I gulp, "but I liked it too."
"Are you wet?" Ginny's eyes flash.
"Yes," I answer in a whisper that barely escapes my lips.
"And how did you feel when you were kneeling?" she asks.
"I didn't know if you wanted me to turn around or not. I felt confused," I offer. "Your silence made time go
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