When he wakes.
Time sneaks up on you, doesn't it? How could I have even known or imagined that a friendship based on a 15 year sister/brotherhood, would come to this? How could I know that a two year seperation, and the amazing changes wrought during that seperation, would result in the vision here now, a sleeping angel with velvet skin, spun golden hair, and the warm honey scent that fills the room? I can hear his breathing, soft and deep, and see that face, relaxed, innocent, the face of a child. What have I done? What have I destroyed? Everything? Nothing?
Thinking about it, thinking how it could be possible. Oh I know the story. Young boy, older woman, sparks, hidden romance, forbidden lust, all of it. Always the same. But not now. Not this time. There was none of that. Never has there been even the hint of romantic lust, of anyone wanting anything other than what we had? How is it possible then, that this came to be?
Touching him now, he really does feel like velvet. Can anyone really have skin that soft? Any boy? I wouldn't have thought so, not any boy over the age of 4 weeks, anyway. Funny, I've known him that long. I suppose it does sound a little like the regular tale, 15 year old girl begins babysitting infant boy. Develops strong big sister relationship. But I guess the next step would be for the sister/brother quality to slowly erode under the onslaught of awakening hormones and emotional perversion. No. Not this time. Taylor's been the little brother I never had and always wanted, for 15 years. His entire life. Hours spent at my house, ten year old boy, grousing over whatever food he could steal from the fridge, about life. 12 year old boy cadging rides here and there, when mom or dad couldn't take him. Middle of the night phone calls because he "didn't notice how late it was". Fights, arguments, exasperation.
Lust? Never. Attraction? Hardly. He was my kid brother! On his part? I don't think so. Granted I look a few years younger than my age, but he's always treated me as a sibling. A sibling with their own apartment and car, which made it even better.
How could this have happened? Maybe familiarity kept things safe. Maybe if I'd watched the change, I wouldn't have been affected by it. That damn band. He drifted away when all that started to happen, the daily visits and phone calls ceased. Oh, my mailbox filled up with postcards from exotic locales, and complimentary copies of everything produced appeared like clockwork. There was still the very rare phone call, usually in the middle of the night, and usually when he was feeling homesick and wanted to hear an "old" voice. We never lost touch. But we lost proximity. We lost the easy familiarity that comes from spending a lot of time in someones physical presence. And I wasn't with him to see the changes. To see the gawky, scrawny, pre adolescent develop into this almost otherworldly beauty. I had no immunity.
It was a shock to see him standing on my doorway today, when I got home from the gym. He was digging around for the key he knows I hide in various spots by the door. Looked like he'd been at it for a while. At first, nothing seemed different. I didnt' feel anything, he didnt act anything. He commented on my need for a shower and got a clout in the head for it. He tried to wheedle my car away from me for the night and received an invitation to shove the keys up his ass for all the good it would do him. He bragged about the road, he bragged about his fans, he told me all about everything that's happened to him over the past couple of years, while he ate my food, used my electricity, and kept me up. We exchanged opinions, thoughts, ideas, talked, bantered, argued, the same way we've always done. So how did it happen? Sometime, near the time he was getting ready to leave, getting ready being finishing off everything edible that wasn't nailed down, and finally running out of things to regale me with...my view of him suddenly shifted. I'd thought he looked tired, when I saw him standing there, and had been quietly bemoaning the circles under his eyes, and the slightly hesitant aspect he'd never shown before. A tendency to pull away from touch for a moment, before allowing it, a scattishness he'd never had before. I'd documented how thin he seemed, and how he felt as if he'd break, when I hugged him. But then, watching him sit forward to put something on the table, I caught his profile in the light, and felt my breath taken away. When had he become so beautiful? I really wasn't breathing. I couldnt seem to remember how. When had he gotten so tall that I had to look up to see that face, sitting next to me. When had the little boy been replaced by this glorious young man?
He caught me staring, started to grin, and then something in his face changed. I can't describe what it was, but before I had time to register, his lips were on mine. Hesitant, scared, I could feel it as I kissed him back. And then he ran. He jumped up, and backed across the room, eyes wild, apologizing profusely, as he headed for the door. There were tears in his eyes, and though I didn't wonder then, I wonder now. Why? I would think the most he would expect was a punch in the mouth, if he'd made me angry. Same as always. Why was he so close to crying? I hadn't wondered then, but I had noticed, and for whatever reason, I stopped him. Just said his name. "Taylor. Taylor stop." And he did stop. He stopped and stood, on the edge of running out, and I held my arms out to him. I don't know what I said, but I do know that in a moment he was in my arms, and the feel and scent of him was flooding me. Overwhelming, there was no thought, just the trembling boy in my arms, and the incredible silk velvet honey feel scent of him. It was all there was.
Obvious what happened. Also obvious that he had no idea what he was doing. Did I ever feel guilt? No. Did it ever occur to me that this was wrong? No. Did it occur to him? Not if his easy sleep has anything to say about it. His lips on mine, so soft, so unsure. Jumping a little when he felt my tongue, before exploring it with his own. Afraid to touch me. Shaking all over and holding on so tightly, almost frightened by what he was feeling. And myself, almost completely out of control,sensations like nothing I'd ever experienced. Memory is only flashes now, the all over warmth and softness of him, against me, his hands, afraid and eager together, daring to touch me, the soft moan that would come from him when his touch found something he hadn't expected. When my touch made him shake. His mouth around my nipple, almost finishing me right then, a bliss I'd never imagined, his mouth sucking, his hand between my legs.. Scent and feel of his hair on my face. Revelry in sensation, hands and mouths everywhere, his groan when I took hold of him, his voice, ragged and breathless "show me....", and the look in his eyes when I pulled him on top of me, skin on skin, and reached to guide him inside me.
I don't know how long it lasted. I know I backed him off, kept him on edge, I was caught, but not so caught that I wanted it to end. His soft questions "like this?", following my lead, slowing when I slowed, faster when desperating gripped us both. The sudden flash of scarlet when he came, and bit through his lip, the animal groan that came from him bringing me along with him. Kissing him again, tasting the blood, sucking it a little. Had anything ever felt so good? Not for me. Him? He settled on top of me, head on my shoulder, and just stayed there. I started to doze, hand stroking his hair, when I felt his mouth move to my breast again, sucking, playing a little, and we began again, slower, sweeter, while he learned what felt good, what felt good to me, what he liked, what he didn't. His fear, his uncertainty gone, bolder, more daring, laughing when he discovered something good, pushing away the things he didn't like, playing, experimenting, slipping inside me again, and again. Is it youth that let him keep going like that? And was it his youth that let me? Could I ever tire of him? How is it possible for one human being to pleasure another for so long, and so many times, in one evening?
Maybe I could never tire of him, I look at him even now, after so many times, and want to begin again. But he, he grew tired, sleepy, falling asleep with his head on my chest, never waking when I gently slid him over.
Now? Now I'm watching him sleep and watching the dawn come. His family knows he's here, they think he fell asleep on the sofa. They have no reason not to believe that. What's going to happen when he wakes ?
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