Part three of the series on Kyle. It’s definitely time for a sex scene but blowjobs take forever to write. Please wait patiently on part four.
“You have an awesome ass.”
I smiled. “Thanks,” I said, with more amusement than flattery. Leaning over my PowerBook in search of a Damien Rice song, I was clad in black lace boyshorts and not much else. My company on this particular evening was none other than Kyle, who decided when my clothes came off that my ass was his favorite part of my body. With the view he was getting of my rear in barely there panties, I wasn’t surprised he couldn’t take his eyes off of it.
“But you already know you have a great ass, don’t you?” he teased. I laughed and thought back to earlier that night when we met up at a party. Though just getting to know each other, we were flirting up a storm when he made a similar accusation about me being acutely aware of my own sexual appeal. Guys rarely intimidate me but Kyle threw me off-guard by calling me out.
“You’re one of those girls who’s cute and knows it,” he said, sipping on his drink. A smug grin already on his face, he followed his observation with a look over that left me hotly disconcerted. I didn’t know how to respond but to laugh. Would it be more cocky to concur or more disingenuous to disagree? In the time it took for me to make up my mind, he continued teasing me.
“You are,” he insisted.
“Maybe a little …” I confessed with a smile, well-aware that modesty has never been one of my better attributes.
I had to give him credit. He knew what to say and how to say it. While most guys didn’t know what to do with girls in general (much more with me), Kyle turned a typical compliment about my looks into an indirect salute to my confidence. He could tell I wasn’t the sort of girl who fell for lines. I could tell that he wasn’t the sort of guy I could play games with. It was a good thing circumstances made our pairing a forbidden one.
And yet mere hours later, he was checking out my ass and I was checking out his credentials for a background in reverse psychology. I couldn’t believe the position I was in. Despite our mutual acknowledgement that ours was an unwise tryst, the transition from hanging out to hooking up came all too easily. And with Kyle, I did it voluntarily. Where other guys made me feel manipulated, he made me feel in control of the situation — and what a situation it was. We spent hours with the covers kicked back, our limbs tangled, and the tension high as we negotiated mutual limits while teasing the boundaries of acceptability.
After he left, I sank back into my bed, more exhausted than I’d been from any hookup in a long time. But I couldn’t get to sleep. Though the whole encounter was wrong and dirty, it was the seduction that kept me intrigued and insomniac. Kyle was out the door, yet I was still left pondering his comments earlier that evening: Do I really conduct myself with a certain awareness of my sexual appeal? But more importantly, I couldn’t understand why I cared about what he said — especially if he probably just wanted to rile me up. While lines from most guys would’ve long been forgotten, Kyle’s accusation still hung fresh on my mind. I had to wonder if there was something different about him, about this whole situation. For once, I was asking myself a question I usually knew the answer to: Who was the seducer and who was the seduced?