Page 20 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

Oh. This is what everyone is so crazy about.

The world makes sense now.

“Well,” Peter muttered, his voice like honey, “you’re doing better than I did my first time.”

I tried to laugh but only managed to groan. Hopefully, Peter understood.

“Enzo,” he said, “I need you to know something.”

“What?” I gasped as his hand began to move slowly along the most intimate part of me. “What is it?”

“I don’t care if you don’t last long. I just want to do this. If you want to. I just want us to do this together. We have all night to try again and again to get it right. Okay? Are you okay with that?”

“Okay. Yes. Please.” I nodded; my hand was holding him firmly as he stroked me.

Before I could even wrap my mind around what was happening, before it could send signals about how excited I should be, Peter was sliding off of the bed to rest on his knees before me. With the practiced movements of someone more experienced than I, Peter had freed me from my pajamas and he was lowering his head to my lap.

Everything on my body—save one part—stopped working correctly. My legs shook, my hands grabbed at the bed, my head flopped around on my neck, and my toes curled. Thundering in my chest, my heart threatened to explode as my lungs decided that breathing was not so important anymore. What was oxygen when I had this? Though I had no experience to compare it to, or with, I knew that Peter was doing an excellent job. It wasn’t long before I knew there was no turning back from what Peter was trying to make my body do.

Do I tell him to stop?

Do I warn him?

Does he want me to stop him or warn him?

Will he be upset if I do? Or don’t?

My mouth uttered some words, though I had no idea which language they were in, and I spilled forth, which only seemed to encourage Peter to increase his efforts. That only intensified the feelings coursing through my body as I stared down at his head and screamed out in what I could only describe as the most exquisite distress I’d ever felt. Peter’s hands reached up to my chest, stroking my flesh as he continued his movements. Even as my orgasm subsided, Peter continued to coax me with his lips, as though now soothing instead of stimulating me. My fingers found his hair, tangling in that fiery field of silk, attempting to express my pleasure without sound.

Moments later, when Peter had moved back up to the bed and was letting me taste myself on his lips and tongue, I knew that not much time would pass before I was ready to try those other things to which he had alluded. Having survived such a joyful embarrassment, I was emboldened, and I found myself sinking to the floor before Peter, who was still more than ready for such a thing. You will help me? I had whispered, as I knelt before him. He nodded eagerly as his fingers slid through my hair.

Although Peter had to guide me a bit to begin with, I quickly realized that I took to this act as though it were second nature. At least with Peter. I found myself desperate to please him, enthralled with the sounds I could elicit from him with just my lips and tongue. Though I had to put more work into achieving the same goal he had achieved with what seemed a minimal effort, I still achieved it. As he had done with me, I let him taste himself on my lips and tongue.

The night wore on and I was filled with a hunger to know every inch of Peter’s body, to learn all of the dances our bodies could do together. I was like a ravenous and parched man, stumbling out of the desert, ready to feast and drink, to sate every appetite. Every lesson Peter taught me—the use of condoms and lube, how to position his legs, his knees bent over my shoulders, my hands on either side of his body as I held myself above him—was an act I knew I would want to perform over and over, again and again.

I found the universe in Peter’s eyes as I slowly slid in and out of him, testing how he looked at me while I was being sweet. Then I saw the devilish charm of him when he encouraged me to see how it felt to be not so sweet, thrusting with abandon. When I would stop, afraid that I was hurting him, he only encouraged me—with a slap on my ass, no less—to continue exploring all of the sexual beings contained within me.

A devil and angel in one skinny body, and someone who enjoyed both equally.

At the end of our night of exploring each other’s bodies, Peter and I lay in a heap, unsure of where I began and he ended. The fitted sheet had been yanked away from every corner of the mattress, curled up and inching towards us, which made us laugh. No inch of my body had gone unexplored by Peter’s hands, and my hands had touched every bit of his flesh. Not once did either of us have to ask forgiveness. As I drifted off to sleep, holding Peter in my arms, his head against my chest, my chin nestled in his hair, I was left with a single thought.

For once, everything is not between the universe and me.

Right now.

At this moment.

It’s only Peter and me.

Peter, not the universe, owns this piece of me.

Getting to Know You

Insanity. It was the only explanation for my behavior the following morning. When I woke, late-morning sunlight was streaming through the opened shutters in Peter’s bedroom. Wrapped in the comforter, a smile came to my face automatically. Warm and cradled like a baby by Peter’s bed, a content sigh escaped my mouth. My intention was to roll over and wrap Peter up in my arms. Pull him into my body. Inhale his scent and kiss him good morning. However, when I rolled over, I found that I was alone in bed.

Peter was gone.

Typically, such a thing would have created at least a mild panic. However, after the evening and night I’d had with Peter, I knew he hadn’t abandoned me, but he wasn’t in bed. Staying there and waiting for his return wasn’t an option, though. Not having him next to me made curling up under the covers unappealing. I rose from bed, and it took some searching, but I found my underwear halfway across the room, in a heap with my sweat pants. I slid my underwear on—the bare minimum to be presentable—and wandered out of Peter’s room after a quick trip to the toilet.