Red and Orange Rain

If you could change something, anything, about me, what would it be?
She lifted her head off my chest and looked intently into my eyes.
Absolutely nothing, I replied without thinking. It might seem like a cop-out but it was true. In my eyes she was perfect. I would change nothing but would still want her just as much if she changed. I loved her. I was in love with her. I revered her. Worshiped her. She was my goddess.
I'd make your teeth whiter, she stated matter-of-factly as she laid down her head. I instinctively covered my mouth with my hand and a rush of shame coursed through my veins. Of course I knew that my teeth were unattractive. Two of my vices, my addictions, coffee and cigarettes, had turned my once brilliant and orthodontically corrected teeth a faint but obvious yellow. I knew and hated this. I hated myself for not being perfect. I hated myself for not making her respond as I had.
Earlier that evening she and her roommates had thrown an impromptu party in celebration of a roommate's art being exhibited at an art gallery downtown. Their house was filled with faces that I did not recognize but I attended nonetheless, for her. She said she wanted me there. The way she said it made me feel like she needed me to be there. Like she would die in my absence.
I sat on the sofa with my drink and watched a couple in the overstuffed wing-back chair in the corner of the room. She was sitting on his lap, side saddle, and had her arms around his neck holding him close to her chest. They were in love. Periodically she would turn to him and whisper something in his ear. They would both giggle and then kiss. He stroked her leg as if it were a cat. They were in love and they were drunk. They would probably stumble back to her apartment later in the evening, holding hands, and have wild sex the likes of which I'd only witnessed in pornographic films. He would be sweet to her and ask her how she wanted it and she would be even sweeter and tell him she wanted it the way he liked best. They would go at it for an hour at least and probably have to stop mid-fuck to get a drink of water. He was probably hard as a rock and the perfect size. He undoubtedly hit just the right spot. His cock a perfect match for her pussy. And they knew it. She would scream and he would come. They were in love. They were so in love that they were probably making love right now in their minds. Making love every second they were together.
I watched them whisper and giggle, kiss and stroke for a while and started to hate them. They were perfect. They were perfect together. I watched them but had no remorse. They were drunk and I could always pretend to be drunk.
Whatcha doin'? She said as she sat down next to me, almost on me. I wish she had. She said it so sweetly. She took my hand in hers and took my drink from me. She finished it. I looked at her and felt my heart flutter. I wanted her. I didn't want to fuck her though. I wanted to be good to her. I wanted to hold her when she cried. I wanted her to know that I would always be there for her. I wanted her to know that I'd always love her.
Her eyes were glassy and looked tired. She was drunk. Everyone was drunk. Everyone but me, but not for lack of trying. She put her head on my shoulder and held my hand tight as if she were afraid I'd slip away. I ran my fingers through her thin, blond hair and kissed her forehead. She was wonderful.
I light a cigarette on my way to refill my drink. Someone made a comment about pot being not welcome inside and I explained that I was only smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. They didn't believe me and instructed that I should smoke outside. The air was cool but unseasonably warm for the end of October. My mind drifted and I began to think about my current living situation. I had recently been evicted from my apartment due to my not paying rent. I'm not an unethical person. I understand that apartment owners want to be paid. They didn't understand that I couldn't find a job. They threatened to take me to court but my mother bailed me out saying that it would be the last time she'd do so. I was now homeless and jobless.
I finished my cigarette and my drink and went back inside to refill. She came up behind me and embraced me. It felt good. When she touched me I felt content. Like nothing was wrong in the world. She hugged me and all the children in the world were no longer hungry. She held my hand and HIV was no more serious than the common cold. She kissed me and bombs stopped dropping in the Middle East.
I looked at her and wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to be Tom Cruise on Oprah. I wanted to leap onto the sofa, point at her and scream at the top of my lungs I LOVE THIS WOMAN! Instead I hugged her back and we returned to the sofa. We sat.
I had to remember that I couldn't move too fast. I could easily scare her away. Not even a month ago she had broken up with her boyfriend and was still devastated by the whole turn of events. She had saved herself up until him. Until him she had been chaste. Five boyfriends, myself included, were never given that ultimate gift. This one she considered to be the one and received him. She loved him.
The reason for their breaking-up is rather confusing though it is understandable from her point of view. While they were dating, and before they consummated their love, he cheated on her with his ex-girlfriend. This ex-girlfriend had been living in Germany and had contracted chlamydia from a dark, handsome and, most likely, well endowed Italian exchange student. Upon returning to the US she passed on this infection to him and he in turn passed it to her, his girlfriend, whom he said he loved and who certainly loved him. He swore to me that he had always used a condom and that he couldn't understand how two of them could have been defective. His girlfriend was broken and broke with him although she still loved him.
Soon thereafter she came to me and spent many nights crying as I held her and did my best to console her. It had been nearly two years since she had broken my heart and having her in my arms caused me to realize that I was still just as much in love with her as I had ever been. I was her rock. I never spoke of my longing for nothing more than to be with her and she never seemed to mind sharing my bed. When I no longer had a bed to share she took me in, only for a few weeks, and I became her resident teddy-bear to cry into at night and her cook and maid to rely on by day. It was 2007 and the gender roles of the 50's had long been demolished.
Before I had finished my drink she took me by the hand and with a sparkle of mischief in her eye led me toward the stairs. I asked her what we were doing and she told me she wanted to show me something. Naively and slightly drunk I followed her into her bedroom where she told me to sit on the bed. She shut the door, took the drink from my hand and finished it before setting it on the nightstand. She then sat on my lap, facing me, and began kissing me. It was wonderful. It felt like going home after a long stint out of the country.
She pushed me onto my back and laid on top of me. She kissed my neck. She kissed my cheeks and nibbled on my earlobes. Then she kissed me on my mouth and plunged her tongue deep inside mine massaging my tongue with hers. I could taste liquor in her mouth and wondered if she would be doing this if she were sober. I wondered what her motives were. Was she sexually deprived and only wanting to relieve frustration? Or did she love me again? Had she realized like I had that she was still deeply in love with me? I hoped so as I grabbed her buttocks and pulled her close to me. She moaned into my mouth and I became instantly hard.
Her bed was queen sized and covered with purple sheets and blankets. She grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet and in the same motion threw the bedding to the floor. I looked into her eyes and saw a crazed look like that of a tiger with blood-lust. I was her victim and she wanted me. Again she pushed me onto the bed and as the party carried on below us she pulled off my clothes in a mad frenzy.
I wished the couple in the corner knew what was going on above their heads.
We kissed and I took off her clothes, though more gingerly, and began to kiss her all over her sweet body. Her neck. Her clavicle. The place between her lovely breasts. I kissed her navel and tongued it. Then I moved back to her breasts. They were more lovely than I remembered and her nipples were erect and inviting, beckoning to me. Like an infant, I took them in my mouth, giving an equal amount of attention to each. I sucked and licked and nibbled. She moaned and scratched and pushed herself rhythmically into my stomach.
She opened her eyes and, grabbing both sides of my head, lifted it from her chest and spun me around so I was again laying on my back. She gave me much of the same treatment I gave her. My nipples weren't erect but she sucked on them regardlessly. Then, without warning, she took me into her mouth. I laid there, my mind in shock and my body in ecstasy. She knew what I liked. She remembered how I liked her to do it. It had been a year and a half since I had had such treatment, which had been the last time she had done it, and therefore I came quickly and easily into her mouth. Remorse washed over me and I apologized. She spit it onto my stomach and smiled as she kissed me. I didn't mind that she kissed me after having me in her mouth and she knew it. She went to the bathroom and wet down a washcloth. She cleaned up my mess and then began kissing me again.
I threw her on her back and pinned her arms above her head. She moaned and pushed herself into me. I then descended to the holiest of holies. I worked for a half hour or so and felt that I had nearly produced an orgasm several times but each time it faded away.
The act of going down on a girl is one area in life where success is not measured by the good intentions and high spirits of the oral-sexer. Unlike a man who could be brought to climax with a few quick hand strokes, pleasing a woman is an art that is not easily mastered. One must perform flawlessly like an Olympic contender and also have an extensive knowledge of the female nether regions as a mechanic knows the inner workings of an automobile engine. If one does everything right the reward is astronomical for both parties involved. But perform poorly and you will not only have a dissatisfied and disgruntled lover on your hands but you will most likely lose the chance to attempt again. If you're like me, the young lady will not break ties with you over this but she will never again open her sweet legs for you again. Staying in such a predicament is almost worse than her leaving. Every blowjob that never turns into the wonderfulness of the 69 is a terrible and emasculating reminder of the failure you are as a lover. With every release you wonder what went wrong in your sexual development to keep you from coaxing her to a similar climax. The mind cannot will the tongue to make her come and she will never understand how much that hurts.
Did you come? I asked as I sheepishly looked at her, her face framed on either side by her magnificent breasts. There must be a God.
No, but it's okay.
She did not sound disappointed. She sounded tired. I felt that deep in her soul she resented me for having an orgasm when she did not and I resented myself for the same reason. I had failed. I wanted to scream apologies. I wanted her to love me in spite of my sexual delinquency though I knew she never would. She would never love someone who could not make her come and I wondered if I would.
She rolled over onto her side and pulled me close to her. We laid there together and she slowly drifted off to sleep without saying another word. My mind was overflowing with thoughts. Thoughts of being with her forever and thoughts of her finding someone else. I needed her but I knew she didn't need me. I loved her so much that I longed only for her happiness; happiness with me or someone else. I kissed her bare shoulder and whispered “I'll always love you” into her sleeping ear. I hoped her subconscious would remember my pledge, my promise. As I drifted off to sleep I held her close and the memory of my inadequacy slipped away. We were together in this moment and there was nothing else in the world I wanted more.
The next morning I awoke alone, naked in her bed, with the feeling of an ocean-liner being trapped inside my skull. My clothes were folded and placed neatly at the foot of the bed. I dressed and left her house for the last time. I walked aimlessly through town, reflecting on what I could remember of the previous night.
She's too good for me, I thought. She deserves more. The world. Everything.
I walked away through the red and orange rain of autumn leaves and despaired.
If only I could have made her come.