“You all right?”
I nod. “Am I doing it right?”
“Yeah,” Hudson laughs. “You’re a natural.”
What surprises me most is how much I enjoy it. Not just for his sounds of pleasure, but because I want this. You always hear about how hot getting a blow job is, but never hear how hot it is to give one.
“Okay, okay,” he says, after not enough time, pulling me back up to him. We kiss.
“I want you in me,” he says. My eyes widen a little. “If you want.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I mean, I could …”
He grins. “You’re new to this. Let’s start this way. If you want. We don’t have to—”
I nod, cutting him off. “Yes,” I say quickly. I’m not saying no to that. I’m checking every box I can on the virginity score card tonight. Is that a sports metaphor? Maybe I’m still a little Del after all.
He turns back to his bag, letting me admire the perky slopes of his ass, and pulls out several packets of lube and a condom.
“You’ll have to show me,” I say.
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s start with your finger.”
I hold out my hand, and he opens a packet of lube onto his hand and mine, then he reaches behind himself. I test the lube between my hands. It feels … silly. Almost like rubbing Jell-O between my hands. I giggle at it, then look up and see Hudson biting his lower lip, his eyes rolling back as he fingers himself. All thoughts of Jell-O and silliness vanish.
“Can I see?” I ask.
He smiles and turns onto his stomach so I can watch him lube everything up and push his own finger into himself. He sighs deeply. Then he pulls it out. “You,” he says, reaching for my lubed hand. Carefully, I push my finger into him. He stops me after a minute, pulling my hand out. “More lube,” he says.
I grab another packet and try to open it, but my hands are already lubed up and it slips out, flying up and hitting the roof of the tent, then falling back down. Hudson laughs and picks it up, opening it with his teeth, and then pouring it over my hands. He rolls back over and guides my finger into him, farther than before. When he gasps, I stop.
“No, it feels good. Keep going. Slowly.” I keep pushing in and he cranes his neck up so I kiss him on the mouth as I push. “Now in and out,” he gasps. I follow his instructions, moving my finger as he makes noises that make every part of me stand on end. At his instruction, I curl my finger slightly, and the noises grow louder. He grabs my face close to him, kissing me hungrily. “Two fingers now.”
I swallow and pull my finger out, and add more lube from one of the open packets before going back in with two fingers. I’m so glad I cut my nails before re-painting them yesterday.
“Wait,” he says, and I stop as he takes a deep breath. “Okay.” I push again, slower. When both fingers are nearly in all the way he gasps again, throwing his head down into the built-in pillow of his sleeping bag.
“Should I stop?”
“No,” he says, his voice low and throaty. “It feels so good,” he says half into his pillow. He looks up at me, his face both hungry and looking a little drunk and pulls me in for a kiss again. He rotates slightly, so our bodies are pressing together, my hand wrapped around his waist. “I’m ready,” he says after some more kissing. “I want you.”
I nod and he tears the condom open, rolling it down on me, which is much more fun than when I’ve practiced putting on condoms myself, and then he opens two more packets of lube and pours them over it.
“I’ll start on top,” he says, “if that’s okay?”
“Anything is okay,” I say, words not working quite right, so I kiss him. He smiles into the kiss, almost laughing, and then shoves me, so I’m lying on my back, and kneels over me. He slowly lowers himself, grabbing my body and guiding me, easing me into him. At first, the tightness is so intense it almost hurts, and I wonder if I’ve done something wrong, but his breathing turns heavy and he smiles, openmouthed, turning his head to the ceiling.
“Oh yes,” he says, and starts moving up and down on me. It feels astounding. Different from the blow job. And much better than by myself in the shower. But even better than how I feel is watching Hudson, hearing the sounds he makes as he moves up and down on top of me.
He leans forward, kissing me, and I grab his ass, squeezing it as our tongues mingle, our bodies combine, then he throws his head back again, making more noises as I rock my hips gently up and down. He touches himself, his purple nail polish gleaming in the dim light. I love watching him; it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Here I am, finally having sex with Hudson, a man I’ve loved for years, who loves me, the real me, and it’s like the world is applauding for me. Not like we’re being watched—that’s not something I’m into. I don’t think. But it’s like a standing ovation, but not from people, from the world itself. The world itself, the universe, the stars, all clapping for us, and saying, “What a wonderful end to a perfect love story.”
“Want to try missionary?” Hudson asks. His hair is wet again, but now with sweat.
I grin. “Yeah.”
TWENTY-SIX
Light pours in through the walls of the tent, kind of gray. The rain has stopped, but it’s stuffy. I’m naked, on my sleeping bag, which is open and next to Hudson’s, but Hudson is gone. The clothes he set drying are still there.
I take a deep breath. I’m not a virgin anymore. But I’m also alone. I want to replay last night over and over, but Hudson not being here is worrying me. I go through my bag for clean underwear and slip it on. Where did Hudson go? Is he regretting what we did, what he said, off somewhere trying to scrape away the nail polish? An image of him comes into my mind, scraping his nails until they bleed or come off, and I wince. If that’s what he’s doing, he’s definitely done with me. Or maybe it was just an act, a new smooth routine from the Hal who carves his name in the tree every summer, a new conquest. Or a new flavor to try, which he’ll now throw in the trash.
The front of the tent unzips and I try to cover myself with my sleeping bag as Hudson pokes his head in.
“Oh, you put on underwear,” he says, disappointed.
I smile. “I can take it off again.” Did that just come out of my mouth? One night of passion and suddenly I’m a femme fatale in a made-for-TV movie. I am doing this all wrong.
He steps into the tent and kisses me. “Maybe in a bit,” he says. “I grabbed us breakfast. Bagels and cream cheese.” He hands me a cold bagel, a mini packet of cream cheese, and a plastic knife. The same thing they send on the canoe trip every year. “Oh, but maybe …” He reaches into his bag and throws me a mini bottle of hand sanitizer, which I use.
He takes off his shoes and sits on his sleeping bag. He has his own bagel, already half eaten, which he finishes, smiling at me as I try to spread the cream cheese on mine. I start eating and he pulls his shirt off, putting it back in his bag. Then he strips his shorts off, revealing blue boxer briefs.
“It’s stuffy in here,” he says. “It’s warm.”
I nod, eating my bagel and watching him.