An Unsuccessful Attempt to Be a Considerate Lover

Bob Marrow remembers a time when he thought he was reading the signals perfectly. Not quite.

—

When I was in high school (1956) sex was something I wanted badly without knowing what it was. My girlfriend, Marilyn, didn't seem to know what it was either, but she apparently didn't want it. I was excited and tormented by her smooth soft skin, her perfect lightly freckled nose, her deep black hair which set-off the bright blueness of her eyes.

We would sit on that couch in her living room and I would do what could only be described as "work". I would try several different kinds of kisses, breathe gently near her ear and behind it, stroke her wherever she would let me, try to get my hand under her bra requiring contortions of the shoulder and elbow joints that would be impossibly painful for my aged body now.

Depending on what she was wearing I would try to stroke her thighs, moving subtly to the inside and then slightly closer to whatever it was that lay at the place where they came together.

I remember one specific time, it must have been spring, Marilyn was studying or reading something. I had begged my way in to see her, over protestations of homework or an exam to prepare for.

We were sitting on a loveseat on her back porch. It was the middle of the evening, the house was quiet and we were alone. Marilyn was wearing shorts that did not reach very far down her legs which were slightly muscular giving them a shapeliness which is an exciting memory even now, but was maddening to me then.

My head was resting on the back of the loveseat, my face lightly touching her shoulder. She sat with her back ramrod straight and her legs crossed, one ankle on the other knee. That left the inside of her thighs exposed but she seemed unaware of this. Her concentration was exceptional.

I began stroking her just above the knee and then lightly over and around the knee. I brushed her leg with my fingertips. Then, with a slow smooth stroke of my palm, I gradually moved from the knee closer to the cuffs of her shorts which were delicately indenting the skin of her upper thighs.

Miraculously I reached those cuffs without protest. Could it be her concentration on the book permitted me so close, or was she enjoying the sensation of being caressed by my hand; slowly, patiently, sensitively, with an apparent understanding of its own, with infinite gentleness and kindness, asking only for the chance to actually contact that magic area beneath the shorts and between the cuffs?

It seemed like a long time that I moved my hand along those sacred thighs, back down to the knee to show that my hand was indeed patient and sensitive — not one of those hands that roughly grabs whatever is within reach.

Then slowly back up the thigh, so close to the juncture, then over it without actually touching the shorts, landing smoothly on the other thigh to continue stroking slowly, smoothly, gently, lovingly.

Where was her reaction? I listened intently for a change in her breathing.

I looked carefully out of the corner of my eye to see if she was still reading, or were her eyes closed in quiet ecstasy awaiting the next step towards who knows what? I felt for some movement from her, closing her legs and barring further progress, or (more optimistically) slouching slightly against the loveseat and relaxing, enjoying the exploration upon which I was embarked. But I could discern nothing.

Her breathing was unchanged, her eyes riveted on the pages of that damned book held as ever in those perfectly shaped hands occasionally turning a page, her back giving no hint of relaxing to slide down the loveseat so that her head could join mine. How could she be unmoved? If she (or anyone) was stroking the insides of my thighs the way I was stroking hers,

I would have blown to bits long ago.

Finally one of her hands left the book and moved gradually but deliberately down to where my hand was working it's magic (I hoped). Then, as though my hand was an annoying fly rather than a messenger of desire, she brushed it away.

–

Want the best of The Good Men Project posts sent to you by email? Join our mailing list here.

photo: perspective / flickr

The post An Unsuccessful Attempt to Be a Considerate Lover appeared first on The Good Men Project.