Page 63 of Run For Me
You have no reason to worry with him, I tell myself. He’s never judged something I’ve said, and in fact, he always likes what I say. So why am I nervous?
The thing that ultimately has me typing out the text again and sending it, is that I’m hiding behind my phone and am not face to face. Plus, I want to know the answer.
Me:Did watching me make you hard?
The second I send it, I drop my phone to the bed, my cheeks flushing, wishing I could take it back. But more than that, I wish I could just be comfortable enough with myself to not get anxious over it, so I ignore the worry. Push it away. When my phone dings, I quickly pick it up, a smile splitting my face when I see his answer.
JT:Yes.
Another text pops up as I stare down at my phone.
JT:Are you wet knowing I was following you?
Me:Very.
JT:Let me see.
I gasp, staring at his words. He wants to see? Wants me to send him a picture of my—I can’t do that. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to do that. How do I do that? The angles are all weird. Guys have it easy with an appendage that juts out of their body. I’m flexible, but not flexible enough to get a good angle of this. But it’s like he knows my concerns…
JT:Go sit in front of that mirror in your room, pants off.
JT:Pull your legs up so your feet are flat and your knees bent.
JT:Spread them as wide as they’ll go.
My heart is pounding as I read over his texts, just the thought turning me on. Though I have no idea why…
I don’t hesitate. If I do, I’ll find a way to talk myself out of this. So I hurry to do as he said. He wants this. He wants to see it. That’s enough to make me do it.
JT:Send me every photo you take. Do not delete any of them.
It comes in just as I’m about to close out of the text to take the photo because I’m in position. I do not like the thought of sending him every photo I take, because what if they suck? What if I look fat or my face looks weird? What if he hates that I haven’t shaved in a few days? What if he sees my butthole?
There isn’t a thing he hasn’t liked about me yet, so I can’t imagine this being it, but…
“You got this, Sailor,” I whisper to myself. “You totally got this.”
I keep the camera in front of my face, blocking it from the picture, and zoom in, snapping a few photos. Before I can think better of it, I send them to him. Then I put my phone down, shove my pants back on, and hurry to the kitchen for some water before I pass out.
What am I doing? Getting in over my head, that’s what I’m doing. He’s aware I’m a virgin, but maybe this is all too much. Too much, too fast. We’re treading water I’m not familiar with.
But he’s been patient.
He has been patient and hasn’t given me a hard time for asking questions or needing an explanation, despite telling me he isn’t patient. Maybe he likes teaching me? There is a long list of kinks that people have, and a myriad of things that turn people on. Maybe this is his? My worrying is all in my head and it’s better I ignore it and go with the flow because I like this. I like him. I like what we’re doing, and though I am nervous, I am thrilled about Friday. I want this to happen, want my fantasy to finally come true. And then I want to see what happens after. How much further he will push me, how far we will take this. Will I ever know who he is or what he looks like?
Stop worrying about it, Sailor. Worry about now.
After drinking a bottle of water, I go back into my bedroom to get my phone, then get set up on the couch to do some homework. But before I get into that, I check the texts. There are so many of them!
JT:Holy fuck, that’s hot.
JT:You have a beautiful pussy.
JT:I want to taste it.
JT:Want to shove my cock so deep in there.
JT:I know you’re going to be so tight.
