Tales of MU

The bathroom shower is in a stall that’s the same length as a bathtub, though there isn’t one of those. It’s convenient that it’s longer than it needs to be, since it seems to have been designed to accommodate people who are several inches narrower across the shoulder than we are… well, then I am. Maybe it’s from a discount elven plumbing supply?

I stand sideways, between the faucet spewing rock hard pellets of water that are hot enough that they should be steam. It’s either that or equally paradoxical liquid icicles, and I don’t handle cold well. I can take the heat just fine, though.

I admit, I’m mostly describing the plumbing situation to avoid looking at or thinking about anything else. I have a feeling that if either of us had looked at the shower beforehand, Alea never would have suggested… or commanded… what she did. But neither of us wants to kill the mood, so we settle for not looking at it during… hand… either.

Alea’s eyes are on me. I know this without looking at her because that’s the point of the exercise. This makes the knowledge inescapable… I can look away, I can close my eyes, but still I know that her eyes are upon me.

It might have been hot, but instead of driving me to act, it inhibits me. I am rooted to the spot, skewered by her gaze… if I had been home alone and showering by myself and I’d happened to imagine this situation, I probably would’ve already got off twice.

“I had no idea your pleasures were so… cerebral, Kegan,” Alea says.

“I’m… working my way up to it,” I say.

“Perhaps your problem is that you have insufficient inspiration,” she says. “Perhaps you are accustomed to having better… material… to work with?”

“Oh, fuck no!” I say.

“Do not be profane with a mouth that so recently touched the divine, my unaccountably shy dear one,” Alea says. Her words drip with affection, but there’s an edge there that makes me shiver despite the heat of the shower. It’s like I’ve been slapped… though I can’t say that I can remember ever having been slapped. Suddenly, though, I’m imagining Alea slapping me on the cheek… or right across my profane little mouth.

Reaction.

“Oh,” Alea says. “I see that is not only encouragement to which you respond. I fear my command of your tongue would be insufficient to the task of abasing you with rough blandishments, if that is what you desire.”

…she knows the word “blandishments” but she’s pleading ignorance of the language? I know what she means, but I’m not sure I could define “blandishments” and I know damned well… full well… that I couldn’t have smoothly worked it into a sentence.

“You commanded my tongue just fine,” I say.

“I could give you directions again, but that would deprive me of the pleasure of knowing how you best please yourself,” she says, her voice wafting around me like clouds of steam. “After I took such pains in instructing you in the art of pleasing me, this would leave me at a considerable disadvantage. Do you desire to keep me at a disadvantage to you, Kegan?’

“No,” I say. It sounds… bare, somehow, but I don’t know what to adorn it with.

“Are you having regrets about what has already passed between us?” she asks.

“No.”

“Are you having doubts about your desire to progress further?”

“No,” I say. “…not exactly.”

“Then you are having doubts.”

“I’m having… a self-conscious moment,” I say. “And I think it might be exacerbated by the fact that I don’t know what any of this is… I mean, we’ve only just met, and we’re going to be living side-by-side for the rest of the year…”

“Well, I am practiced in the art of living alongside others with discretion,” she says. “The arrangements in the dormitory seem to me to be a model of extravagant privacy… so if you desire to not be reminded of this night after its end, you need not be.”

“I think you’re getting the wrong idea.”

“Then give me the correct one,” she says.

“I don’t want to forget,” I say. “I just… would like to know where this is going, if it’s going anywhere. I mean, were you planning on going back to the dorm and pretending like nothing happened?”

“Oh,” Alea says, in a tone of voice that I’ve heard from her before, and recently. “Oh…”

“What?” I ask. It doesn’t sound like anything’s wrong, exactly, but it’s still kind of an alarming turn.

“I… am not accustomed to being asked questions of that nature,” she says.

“You’re really not used to calling the shots in your own life, are you?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “I feel as though I could enjoy getting used to it, though.”

“So where do you want to go with this?” I ask.

“Well, to acknowledge some basic truths on the ground… where does this water come from and what happens to it when it runs down the drain?”

“It’s evaporated and then sort of re-conjured into the cistern,” I say. “We won’t run out.”

“Decadent,” she says. “To acknowledge some basic truths on the ground: it’s very likely that in eight semesters’ time I will be returning to the underworld and very unlikely that you would be interested in or able to follow me.”

“Probably right,” I say.

“It’s also possible that when you and I have been in a building full of women for longer than a handful of days, either or both of us will meet someone who suits us better,” she says.

“…also possible,” I agree.

“You don’t think that’s likely.”

“My judgment might be clouded at the moment, but I’ll accept yours,” I say. “But I’m guessing that what you’re driving at is… you’re not looking for a relationship.”

Until I say it out loud, I have no idea how disappointed I am.

“I was not looking for one,” she says. “I may have found myself with one regardless… but I simply think it is best to acknowledge that any relationship between us is likely to end, and that we should be prepared to accept that, whether it happens in four days or four years.”

“But in the meantime… we’re what?”

“Interested in each other?” she says. “Involved? I know the term in general use is ‘girlfriends’, but that seems… trivial.”

“What would you say instead?”

“I suppose it would translate to ‘Cherished Female Person’,” she says.

“I think I prefer ‘dear one’,” I say.

“That is a slightly more poetic approximation, my dear one,” she says.

“Can I tell people that you’re my girlfriend?” I ask.

“Would it give you pleasure to do so?”

“Are you kidding? I’d tell everyone I know, except that’s… well, it’s pretty much just you right now,” I say.

“You have no idea how much that idea pleases me,” she says. “That is… the idea of you being so proud of our relationship that you cannot contain yourself, not the idea of you being friendless and alone.”

“It’s early in the year,” I say.

“Does ‘girlfriend’ imply monogamy?” she asks.

“To most people, most of the time,” I say.

“Then let us be as most people,” she says. “I am not opposed to sharing affections, but I desire a change.”

“Okay,” I say, with no hesitation… but what is there to hesitate about?

“Good,” she says. “Now that we’ve settled that, are you prepared to return to the… matter at hand?”

“I can try,” I say.

“Is there a further problem?”

“It’s just… this was never my fantasy,” I say. “I’ve never stepped into the shower thinking I’d imagine what it would be like to… masturbate… while another woman watched. If there’s something that’s the opposite of an exhibitionist, that’s what I am. ”

“I see,” Alea says. “I understand what you are saying, but I feel you’ve missed one key element of this encounter.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“This is my fantasy,” she says, and she slips around behind me, wrapping her arms around me. She lets out what I think is a groan of pain from the water, then turns us so that I’m facing into the spray and lets my body shield her from it. Her lips brush the back of my ear as she speaks, and for the moment it’s the only point of contact between us. “You fantasize about pleasing women… about pleasing me… and you derive your pleasure from that, but there are many forms of submission. If you would put yourself at the disposal of my pleasure, you must understand that sometimes that pleasure will take forms you do not expect, that sometimes what… amuses… me most will be to see how frantic I can make you, how much desperate passion I can arouse within you, how close I can bring you to the brink before I either pull you back from it… or shove you over. Do you understand me, my shy dear one?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

Her hand is on my ass, resting against it more than squeezing it. Her other hand circles around my leg from behind, takes my hand, and guides it between my legs.

“Now… teach me how to please you,” she says, and then she bites the edge of my ear.

With her hand on mine… and as her other hand moves around to cup my bare breast… I begin. She’s pressed up against me now, holding me tight. Bizarrely, the thing that I’m most conscious of the fact that her breasts are touching my back. She’s playing with my nipple, we’re playing with my clit, and all I can think is that Alea is naked behind me, that if I turned around I could see her in all her glory.

If she started with any hope of pulling me back from the brink, then I’m afraid I disappoint her… the floodgates were pretty much open to begin with. I was teetering on the edge from the moment she grabbed me, and it doesn’t take much direct stimulation. I have never came so hard or so easily as I do the first time with her hand on mine.

The second time takes a little longer, but she’s learned the rhythm of my body and she guides my hand rather than being led. I turn, wanting to kiss her… maybe it’s a little forward of me, I don’t know, but I’m feeling brave… but she turns with me and guides me back around so that we end up in the same position we started.

“Did you want something?”

“Yes!” I say.

“Then you must learn to endure disappointment,” she says. She slides down my back, trailing the tip of her tongue down my spine… the feeling alone makes me quiver, even more so when I realize she isn’t stopping. Surely she wouldn’t… but then she does. Without a moment’s hesitation or the slightest detour, she her licks her way all the way down the cleft of my ass, briefly burying her face in it before I shriek and jump away in surprise.

“Was that a problem?” she asks.

“I… don’t understand why that felt good,” I say.

“Poor dear, have you gone through your life thus far only knowing you have one intimate organ?” she asks.

“I’ve only ever needed one,” I say.

“Is that what you think?” she says. “I look forward to…”

She pauses, searching for an idiom.

“Expanding my horizons?” I say, then wince as she shudders at the thought. “Sorry. That’s supposed to be a good thing.”

“The horizon is expansive enough for me,” she says. “But I will be more than happy to expand that asshole, given the opportunity.”

The sudden vulgarity probably shouldn’t shock me, considering everything we’ve done… but it does.

“I think you jumped more that time than you did the first,” she says.

“So, you get to be profane with your mouth and I don’t?” I ask.

“Mine hasn’t been anywhere sacred yet,” she says. “Would it bother you, though? If I reserved privileges for myself that are denied to you?”

“I… okay, I have feelings like anyone else, and I could probably feel, you know, taken advantage of,” I say. “But speaking very generally? That is so far from being a problem.”

“Then let us consider this our rule,” she says. “You will keep your tongue decent and civil for me, while I will put either of our mouths to whatever use seems best. Is that agreed?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Good,” she says. “We can decide the rest of the rules later. For now… for now… I wish to know what my dear one tastes like.”

And that’s the story of how I got a girlfriend.

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