Page 63 of Bourbon Bliss
20
June
After the most horrible, awful, heart-breaking, wonderful movie I’d ever seen, George took me to get ice cream.
He was basically a genius. There was definitely something to theeating our feelingstheory.
We sat in Moo-Shine Ice Cream and Cheese and licked our cones. I didn’t want to talk about the movie. The film had been excellent, even though it had made me cry. I didn’t much want to talk about anything, but George seemed to understand. He sat with me quietly, letting me process.
Genius.
The chaotic whirlwind of emotions dissipated. I felt better. Cleansed. By the time we finished our ice cream, I no longer felt the need to cry. I was in control of myself. Calm, and happy.
When he took me home, I sensed something from him. There was tension between us. Not negative tension, as if we’d had another disagreement. Physical tension. He kissed me goodnight, and didn’t ask to come in. But I felt the question hanging between us nonetheless.
Over the next two weeks, I felt it every time we were together.
He touched me, held me, kissed me. And beneath the surface, I could feel his desire for more. He didn’t push. He wasn’t putting pressure on me. But it was there.
Our relationship was progressing—developing. And I liked that. I liked that we saw each other almost daily. That he greeted me with kisses and smiles. That I missed him when we were apart and got to experience the sweetness of seeing him again each time we were together.
I liked him. Not only did I like him, I respected him. His physicality and background in athletics were only the surface. George Thompson had played football—and been one of the best during his ten years in the league—but football wasn’t who he was. He was intelligent, and kind, and often amusing. I enjoyed his presence and found myself craving his company.
But when it came to the place I knew our relationship was heading, I was scared.
My body wanted things with him—from him. I felt the heat between us as keenly as he must have. Still, I held back from it. I tried to push it aside the way I did with my emotions when they were too strong. That physical yearning—that desire to be with him—terrified me.
I knew it was coming. I just didn’t want to face it. Because if there was one thing I knew about myself and relationships—sex meant the end. And I didn’t want to lose him.
Friday night, he invited me over to his rental for an evening in. We’d been out in public doing a lot of socializing over the previous few days—dinner with my parents, another movie with my sister and Bowie—and George seemed to realize I was at my limit. A night in with him and his bunny sounded perfect.
We ate dinner, then got cozy on the couch to watch ESPN. Mellow hopped over, so he scooped her up and set her gently in my lap. Her tiny nose wiggled as her eyes slowly closed.
“She sure likes you.” He ran his finger between her ears, then tilted my face toward his. “I sure like you, too.”
His kiss was familiar, his lips so inviting. He touched my face and put his hands in my hair. This wasn’t the first time we’d kissed on his couch—or mine. But this time, I could feel the difference. There was a hunger, simmering just below the surface. He wanted me.
The truth was, I wanted him too. I kissed him back eagerly, enjoying the way this felt, even though fear warred with my physical desire.
He scooped Mellow out of my lap and set her carefully on the floor. She hopped over to her little pillow, as if deciding her nap wasn’t over.
And then he was leading me into the bedroom.
I followed, licking my lips, holding his hand. He brought me into his bedroom and laid me down on the bed.
He leaned over me and kissed me again, deeper than before. His tongue caressed mine in a slow dance and his weight was tantalizing.
This was good. I could do this.
But that fear was still there. I wasn’t afraid of George. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I said no, he would stop. That wasn’t the problem.
He pulled my shirt over my head and palmed my breast, his mouth tasting mine. He’d been patient. His weight on top of me and his deep, hungry kisses were very enticing. Everything pointed to this being right.
I couldn’t understand what was holding me back.
He kissed down my neck and slipped my bra down. His tongue ran over my nipple and it did feel extraordinary. The velvety texture of his tongue sent sparks running through me, making my skin prickle.
Closing my eyes, I tried to relax—tried to tell myself George was different.
