Monday, April 4, 2011

179. Downward Dog

(Mom, Dad, Roommates, Coworkers... probably don't read this one)

"Look," I said, laughing and pointing toward the subway doors. "Looks like there's no booty dancing or pole dancing on the train."

"I guess we'll just have to wait until we get back to the hotel, then," Cayden said, running his finger behind my ear and down the side of my neck. Goosebumps spread down my arms and across my shoulder blades. We couldn't get back to the hotel soon enough.

The doors opened and I pulled Cayden by the sleeve. We took the stairs two at a time. Apparently when I'm horny, I feel no pain in my clubbed feet.

"C'mon!" I said, pulling him through the subway station as fast as I could. My front foot slid ahead of me and I was nearly in the full splits when Cayden pulled me back up with one hand.

"How many times have I caught you today?" Cayden asked while I inspected myself for pulled muscles. I felt a slight pain in my groin. That didn't bode well for the night. I grabbed Cayden's hand a little harder and let him lead the way.

I tried not to run as we left the station, as we passed the gas station, as we rounded the corner to our hotel. I tried not to pry the elevator door open before it stopped on the third floor. Cayden slid our key into the door and I pushed it open, stepping in ahead of him. I unzipped my boots and threw them across the room, foam and gel inserts and all. Freeing my feet was an orgasm in itself.

I unbuttoned my coat and then started on my jeans. Cayden was watching me, amused.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" I asked.

He laughed and shook his head, then pulled his hoodie off and threw it on the floor.

I unzipped my pants and then moved on to Cayden's. We both struggled to pull my jeans off. Skinny jeans sound like a good idea until they're halfway down your thighs and you're wriggling around on the bed with no shirt or bra trying to free your ankles. Not unlike a beached whale.

Finally, my pants were flung across the bed, and Cayden was on top of me wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. I wrapped my legs around his waist and lifted my lower half off the bed, trying to get our hips as close as possible. Cayden put one arm under my lower back and pulled me closer, helping me close the distance between us while he balanced on one hand.

We rubbed against each other, both of us wearing nothing but underwear, until we couldn't take it anymore. I unclasped my legs and he let me drop to the bed. Then he kissed down my chest while his fingers slipped into the waistband of my panties and he tugged. I squirmed under the touch of his lips as they made their way down my stomach.

I pushed him off me with all my strength, surprising him. I slid my panties the rest of the way off and kicked them off the side of the bed. He was on his knees in front of me, between my legs. I reached behind him and yanked his boxers down from the back, finally freeing the one part of him I'd been thinking about all day.

He pushed me down onto my back, almost as forcefully as I'd pushed him. I didn't complain. Seconds later, my feet were behind his head and my knees were smashing my boobs. Not the bad kind of smash. The good kind. The weight of his body pressed against me again and again. I had one hand on his chest, my nails digging into his skin.

I wanted to kiss him, but my legs created a barrier. Almost as if he'd read my mind, he pulled my legs down around his waist and pressed his lips against mine. His hips never lost their rhythm.

Our lips didn't part until we were gasping for air. Cayden took that time to flip me over and pull my waist up to his with two strong hands on my hips. I arched my back and kept my face in the pillow. It's what I'd call Downward Doggy Style, and it's one of my favorites. Cayden used his hands on my hips to push and pull in tune with his movements. I could feel my skin bruising under his fingers, and I loved it. I loved feeling his strength, knowing he was in control.

It was much better that way than when I was on top. I had no rhythm, no balance, no leg muscles for that matter. Cayden, on the other hand, well, that boy had rhythm. Rhythm that made me grip the pillow with tight fists. Rhythm that made sweat drip from my lower back to my shoulder blades. Rhythm that made me cry out into the pillow until my voice was horse.


Later that night, after a mouth-watering meal of Gnocchi Bolognese, dolce della casa, and red wine, Cayden went to bed and I went down to the lobby to get some work done on the hotel's lone computer.

There was no apostrophe key. When I types 'z' it showed up as a 'y' and vice versa. There wasn't a shift key. The emails to my clients looked like a 4-year-old typed them. I had to start each email with a disclaimer, explaining my poor punctuation and lack of uppercase letters. I'd put in extra hours at work before I left so I wouldn't have to do much during my trip. I'd scheduled all of my clients blog posts and tweets to go out while I was gone, but I worked about two hours every night from Rome, checking my email and fielding client questions.

A little after midnight that night, just before I finished one last email to a client, I realized my entire trip was about to take a turn for the worst. I swallowed and felt intense pain in my throat and ears. I could feel my heartbeat in my face. My head throbbed right along with it. My skin hurt to the touch. I tried to roll my neck to one side to stretch and I winced. I put my hand to my forehead and felt the skin burn through my hand. Chills shook in my chest, and the rattling hurt everywhere. They were symptoms I was all too familiar with. I didn't need to go to a doctor to diagnose it. I had strep throat.


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