It was the coldest winter we’d ever been through. It was my first in New York and I wasn’t used to the cold, but my boyfriend had lived there forever and even he had a special kind of trepidation when checking the forecast that was usually reserved for setting an appointment for a root canal. The streets were empty, for once, no one could bear to be on them. People took taxis they couldn’t afford from the subway stop to their apartments and abused seamless instead of venturing out for groceries or a meal at a restaurant.
We made a game out of trying not to be miserable: stuck in New York over Christmas, missing family celebrations, and bored of not being able to leave the house. We took the money we weren’t spending on traveling home, or on going out to eat during the Week Of Extreme Cold and figured we’d spend a little more on our heating bill so that we could walk around comfortably in various states of undress. My boyfriend knew it drove me crazy to look at his back. Every woman has a thing, and this was mine — watching his broad shoulders moving as he typed at his desk, unaware that I was watching him obviously stop, stretch, and scratch every quarter of an hour.
For my part nothing felt more luxurious than prancing around the apartment and looking out the frosted windows in a tiny cotton sleep dress. It was effortlessly comfortable, but so small that any movement at all drew my boyfriend’s eye because it was riding up or down and exposing some sort of flesh that was usually very well covered up. It was a novelty, to be holed up together and a stretch of days with nothing to do except for linger and lounge. We’d been dating for awhile at that point, so novelty was good, healthy. The game made it even better.
The game began with teasing, when I told him I wanted to do something with him we’d never tried before, but I wanted him to guess what it was before I did it. This drove him crazy! He kept saying all these possibilities with varying states of enthusiasm and it was a raw glimpse into which of them he really, really was dying to try and which ones seemed a little more commonplace to him. There was this kid-on-Christmas-morning quality to him as the guesses slipped out of his mouth.
Do you want to dress up like a sexy maid?
Do you want ME to dress up like a sexy maid? (He laughed).
Do you want to try a new sex toy?
Do you want to film ourselves?
Eventually it became more formal. We each had 10 questions and if you didn’t figure out exactly what the other person was asking, they didn’t do it when the game was over.
Does it need to take place on a bed?
Does it have to do with my mouth?
Does it have to do with *your* mouth?
He’d paw at me sometimes, before we could get to the end, rubbing my shoulders or caressing my neck. It made it hard to think straight, to finish the game, but he’d force it out of me. At that point it didn’t matter if we started hooking up, he had know the answer, too. He had to know what I was wanting him to do to me. They say the mind is the biggest sex organ in the body, and if that’s true then it’s source of energy is curiosity.
One night the wind was so loud it filled the apartment with a low-grade whine. I was laying on the couch, reading a book when I saw him out of the corner of my eye standing over me, wearing only boxers and a look of hunger. He launched into the middle of a match we hadn’t started, Does it happen above or below the belt?
It depends on whose belt. I set the book aside.
He laid on top of me, his skin somehow warm on top of mine. I could feel his cock come to rest on my bare thigh, his lips grazing my neck as he asked, “Does it involve your mouth?”
His lips were working now, kissing the space above my collarbone the way I liked. I answered, “No.”
He slid his hand down my body and cupped me between my legs before slipping inside my panties. With one finger teasing me, making me wonder if he intended to inside me or just make me want him to. “Does it involve my mouth?” And it wasn’t what had come to mind when he started asking questions but his fingers there and his mouth on my neck were dulling my brain in order to enliven my other senses so I couldn’t stop myself from answering yes.
Just like that he had removed my panties and his head was between my legs. This wasn’t our everyday sex life, he didn’t usually go down on me. But we’d been nearly naked all day and our heads were fill will all kinds of new ideas about who wanted to do what and where. He’d been working or whatever and seen me on the couch and known that I was available to him, it was too cold to do anything else, anyway. He turned his palm on me now, and stretched a finger inside, pulling it up along the anterior wall as he kissed me. I shifted my hips down toward him, eager to give him better access.
He was kissing my thighs and fingering me and then kissing my clit again, this time punctuated by his voice, ending the game. “I guess I don’t care what it was you thought you wanted. I can’t read your mind but I can read your body and this is what it needs.”
With that, his mouth returned to my clitoris and I laid back to enjoy the welling up feeling of pleasure growing in me. It was the warmest I’d felt in days.