One sleepover turned into two sleepovers turned into ten sleepovers. As a 22-year-old virgin, I clearly had will power, but only so much. By sleepover two our cuddling had turned into teasing and groping. And then by sleepover three, we were all over each other. Hands in my shirt, hands down his pants, lips everywhere. Pants on the ground, bra dangling off the side of the bed, panties around my ankles.
I used to watch him as he’d kiss my boobs. His Will-Smith-esque ears stuck out in an endearing way, and I’d run my hands the back of his head, feeling his close-cropped hair tickly my palms. With hands and mouths, we’d both get off, then fall asleep naked under my sheets. But we didn’t have sex.
On our first date, Will took me to my favorite steakhouse. He was wearing a nice suit jacket with a button down and jeans. He’d dressed up for me. The Will who used to come over to study in basketball short and a tall T was dressed up for me.
Will was very animated when he spoke. His hands told the story just as well as his voice and his facial expressions. I was nervous knowing there was a steak knife nearby because he liked to use props to tell stories.
At one point he was playing with his cloth napkin while he told me a story about growing up in small-town Oklahoma. He was folding and unfolding the napkin while he talked, and I tried to keep eye contact but I wanted to watch his hands.
In the middle of a story he subconsciously tucked the napkin into his suit jacket. Had I just seen that? Should I say something? Like, “Hey, are you trying to take home a souvenir? Or is that for your scrapbook of our first date?” But I decided it would be funnier later when he found it there.
Sure enough, a few hours later, back at my place, Will made his little discovery.
“What in the—“ He said while sitting on a barstool on my counter. I was pulling some Andre out of the fridge, so I didn’t look up.
“What’s up?” I asked, my back still turned.
“Oh, um, nothing,” he replied. I knew he’d found the napkin. I didn’t say anything, but I had to compose myself before I turned around. When I turned I saw him stuffing it back into his jacket. He looked like he’d been caught.
“I stole the napkin! I don’t know how it got in there, but I stole it!” he said in his typical loud voice, looking embarrassed and confused.
I tried to hide my smile, but a laugh was growing in my throat.
“What?” he asked me, looking suspicious.
“I totally watched you steal that! You tucked it in there while you were talking and I thought it was hilarious so I didn’t tell you,” I said, between laughs.
“Did I really?”
“You sure did!” I was laughing so hard I had to hold my side,
“Man, forget you!” he said, laughing. Then he threw the napkin at me.
Then he chased me into my bedroom and we jumped onto my bed together, laughing and kissing. The laugh fest turned into a strip-each-other’s-clothes-off fest. I was down to my panties, he was down to his boxers.
We smiled at each other, and then wrestled each other’s clothes off to see who could get who naked first.
He’d almost yanked my panties off my ankle when I grabbed his hand, “Wait.” I said, with a serious expression.
He looked concerned.
“Are you going to steal those, too?”
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