Page 34 of The Love Playbook

Piper: How could she with you and Dani going back and forth about whether or not she’s naked? What kind of conversation is this, anyway?

Me: Didn’t you guys go somewhere together? Why are you texting all of this?

Piper: How else are you going to participate in the conversation if we don’t?

I crack up at that.

Me: I’m dressed. Jackson’s gone. But I can get naked and lounge in the living room while I wait for you to come home if you want

Dani: No thank you

Ellie: Gross. I don’t want yours and Jackson’s sex juices all over the furniture.

Me: I could put down a towel.

Piper: Dani isn’t sure if you’re joking or not.

Me: I mean, if it were just my house by myself, I wouldn’t bother with the towel. I’m not leaking semen or anything. But with shared furniture, out of respect for everyone, I’d sit on a towel if I were naked.

Ellie: And out of respect for everyone you WON’T be naked, right, Autumn?

The part of me who likes to get a reaction out of Ellie—and Dani and Piper, too, apparently—is tempted to just send a purple devil head emoji and a smiley with a halo over it as an answer. But I don’t.

Me: I already said I was dressed. I’m not going to walk Jackson to the door naked. He’d blush to his toes, for one, and my goal is to make him MORE comfortable, not less. And while I don’t actually care if the neighbors see me naked, I’m aware that most people don’t share my views on nudity and they might object, and I don’t want to cause problems with the neighbors. You can all release your pearls. I won’t be lounging naked in the living room regardless. I know that’s one of our house rules already.

Ellie: Good. See you soon.

Even though I gave them the all clear, I actually would rather be alone with my thoughts right now. After tonight’s performance, I might have to reevaluate the progress of our lessons. I didn’t expect him to go down on me until next time, which we still need to schedule, and I definitely didn’t expect him to be so good at it right off the bat.

Tapping my finger on my lips, I retreat to my room, deep in thought.

* * *

Out of some sense of wanting to play it cool after our mind-blowing date, I wait until the next day to text Jackson.

Me: When would you like to schedule our next session?

It takes him nearly an hour to respond. He must’ve been in class. Or maybe the gym? Practice? I don’t actually know his schedule at all.

Jackson: Session? Are you now my personal trainer?

Grinning, I type out a cheeky response.

Me: I mean, kind of? I’m like your personal sex trainer, aren’t I? Sex coach? Is that a thing?

I can just imagine the blush crawling up Jackson’s face and turning his ears pink. Something about making him blush is so much fun. On the one hand, it would be good for him to not blush so easily. On the other, it’s so cute that I hope it doesn’t go away entirely.

When he blushed after I told him he’d done a good job, I wanted to wrap him up and squeeze him like a giant, muscley teddy bear. He was so cute asking if he’d done well, clarifying that it was genuinely good and not just good for a first effort.

And it was good. He actually made me come, which not all guys can manage in general. Not all guys pay attention or listen, either. And when you’re with someone like that, I either end the encounter altogether—because seriously, who wants to deal with that?—or, if it seems like I might get off from penetration, I move to that right away.

After a while having a guy down there and nowhere near getting it just gets annoying.

Fortunately, that’s not a frequent occurrence. And Jackson is a quick study.

Which, again, makes me wonder what we’ll do next time. More oral practice? That had been my original plan.

I mean, I guess we can go with that and let things unfold naturally. I can be prepared for other things. Glancing down at my chest, I make a note to be sure I have a good lube on hand. That way I can let him fuck my tits if he wants to. We could also explore … other options that don’t risk pregnancy. But we’d definitely have to have a conversation about that.

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