March 22, 2014
Ok, back to describing how Emma’s birthday ended.
Emma and I helped her parents clean up. After, the four of us talked for about an hour, but as Emma and I branched off into our own conversation, her parents got ready and went to bed.
We talked for a while, mostly about old times, about some funny things that happened. Eventually she asked me about the present I had for her which I left in the car. I said I’d go out for a smoke, get the present and come back in. I was reflecting on the entire evening, assessing myself, which it’s not typical of me, except around Emma these days. I couldn’t think of anything I said or did that made me cringe or want to leave. That was good. Then I determined that, not only did I not make a fool of myself or come off like sniveling whining pining idiot, but I was also pretty cool. Yeah, I was cool. I felt good about the level of coolness I projected. With the confidence, stature, and stride of a lion, I walked across the deck to go to my car. Then I fell down the deck stairs. I literally tripped over my own feet, flew in the air, rolled down the stairs, and landed on my face. As I landed Emma was at the door. “I’m ok” said I, full of shit, as I inspected my position to be sure my leg wasn’t bent up and twisted beneath itself.
“Are you sure?” She laughed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, are you ok?”
“Yep. I’ll be in, in a minute.”
I collected the pieces of my body and the fragments of my pride and got the present from the car.
We sat on the couch as she held it. She said, “It’s so big.”
“Thank you.” I responded smugly, beyond my control, because I’m often driven by innuendo.
She laughed again, “Grimm.” That’s all she said then.
She opened the gift and seemed to be almost brought to tears. “Our picnic basket!”
When we hung out through high school, she loved to go on picnics. My mom had an authentic looking picnic basket which she gave us to use. Emma’s kind of an old fashioned romantic. I can see her living in the Victorian age, kind of like Elizabeth in Pride and Prejudice. Very independent, unique from all the other women of the time, smart and self educated from reading lots of books, willing to get some color in her face from walking outside. I read the book in an English Literature class when I was enrolled in college the first time and the character reminded me of Emma. I think Jane Austen wrote Emma too, but I never read that one. Jane Austen kind of described what society imposed upon women as Dickens described the same about urchins and the poor.
Anyway, she opened the basket and inside I included a few things. I had to explain them. I said the picnic basket was for outside dining. There were a couple candles and candle holders for inside dining, and a bottle of her favorite perfume, “Tabu” for dinner at a restaurant. She loved the gift and said it was sweet and thoughtful. But then she said, “no card?” I told her there was no way I could fit everything I wanted to say and everything she deserved to hear within the confines of a gift card. And I also couldn’t find the right card to express everything on its own in only a few words.
She said, “so you were at the store looking through all the cards to find the right one?”
She kept telling me how sweet I am. So sweet, I got a little harder each time she said it. That’s how sweet I am.
We sat quietly as she looked at the basket and I said, “well, I should go.”
“No, don’t go.”
She kissed me. It was quick, but enough to get me going. I kissed her back and didn’t stop. We were kissing, and I lost the control I wanted to maintain. I leaned over her and began rubbing my hands all over her body. She put her hands up the back of my shirt. I began to take off her shirt and she responded by taking off mine. I put my face between her breasts and started kissing them. With one hand I undid her pants and put my hand in her panties. I propped up a little on my knees, we were on the couch, and I took her hand and put it on my dick over my pants, rubbing her hand there. I let go when she was doing it on her own. Her bra came off. I was sucking her breasts and began to finger her. And she was enjoying it, I watched her face whenever I could. I was so turned on, I couldn’t believe this was happening. She undid my pants, pushed the front of my underwear down and began to rub my dick that way. It was too much for me. This was Emma. I freakin’ came right then and there. All over both of us. That kind of thing never happens to me. She said “aw Grimm” like she felt bad for me, so I just kept fingering her, determined to make her cum too. I tried to go down on her, but she didn’t let me. So I was fingering her and it seemed she was about to orgasm when her father appeared.
We stopped, scrambled to cover ourselves, but he didn’t come in the room, he just swaggered by in his underwear towards the bathroom. He urinated with the door open and it was really loud. Emma and I tried not to laugh but the amusement of it kind of eased the situation. After he silently moseyed off to bed, she got a hand towel so we could clean ourselves up from my cum and we got dressed.
I told her I was sorry, I didn’t want that to happen. She laughed and said, “no guy does.” And I know she was talking about how I came so quickly. “Wise ass,” I said.
Then she said, “you know Grimm, I’m a virgin.”
I was dumfounded, but I thought about it. She never really had any kind of long term boyfriend, only dates here and there. Anyone she referred to as a boyfriend wasn’t around for more than a month or two. They all were obsessed with her, and somehow stayed friends with her, like me, just to have her in some way.
I got the balls to ask, “if your dad didn’t get up, would we have had sex?”
“I don’t know…probably not. Although, I guess my first time should be with someone who loves me as much as you do.”
I told her that’s a good idea. And she should wait until she’s married at this point. She just turned twenty-five, that’s rare. Anyway, we didn’t talk much more after I got myself together to leave. She said, “thanks for coming” and I responded with, “I couldn’t help it.”
She laughed, shoved me, and shook her head, “Grimm.”
As I was out the door, she gave me a kiss on the cheek. I said, “thanks for inviting me” and I left.
Now I’m confused. Too confused to even write why I’m confused. All I can say is that I memorized the smell of her on my finger, and since that night, Emma has been on my mind a lot, particularly when I’m jerking off.
The only thing I can think is that she’s scared. She doesn’t want the first time to be with someone that she feels the pressure of being “good” with, or however girls view that. But she wants to be loved and respected the first time, so not just anyone could do the job. She’s going off to Spain, and I think she wants experience before she gets there, maybe? Using me, sounds like. But in a nice way, I guess. The accuracy of my psychicisms is difficult to ascertain when I’m trying to figure out Emma, since I’m too closely involved in what I’m trying to psychify, to get an objective perception.
All right, theme song, Flight of the Conchords again. I like the line in this song, “she’s so hot she’s making me sexist. bitch.” It’s called, “Boom”.
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