His Fingers Like Ice on Fire

"Those lips and teeth that asked how my day went are shouting up from cracks in the pavement"
- Vampire Weekend, Horchata

I called Cowboy. I just couldn't go without telling him. I had been preparing myself all day, by which I mean I spent all day complaining about the fact that he withheld that he loves me, dreading our rendez-vous, and at one point lying listlessly on the floor in a seating area on campus, moaning about how I didn't want to talk to him at all.

It went much better than I expected it, and it took a great deal of stress off my shoulders.

As I joked to Love on MSN, my biggest problem now is that I want Wrecking Ball's dick in or around my mouth, but we're not ready for that yet. The thing is, we are nineteen (he will actually be twenty in a few weeks) and neither of us knows how fast it is natural to go. I usually jump in headfirst, and he hasn't dated anyone since his girlfriend of over three years left him abruptly this fall (apparently she moved in with a guy barely a week after she dumped him!).

When we are having one of our marathon kissing sessions, our hands roam under each other's shirts. We pull each other desperately close, and moan or sigh as feelings overwhelm. But apart from his attention to my nipples, there has been no contact with actual genitalia. I like it this way, in a way. It feels nice to go at such a slow pace while still knowing the attraction is there. He is so attentive, too. He noticed the first time he tried it that kissing my top lip makes me tense up with pleasure. He seems to know just when to slow down the intensity and when to speed it up. And he knows, without my taking his hand away, that I'm not ready for anything further than the two inches into my pants that he has reached. But oh, when he reaches there... I swear, I feel time slow down. His fingers feel like ice melting on fire, sending shivers across my stomach as I feel my skin burn. He reaches in at just the right angle that even if he went farther than he intended, he would find himself on my leg and not in my pubic hair, which I think is good because I kind of feel like that's a point of hard return. I will, on occasion, reach into his pants myself. Just far enough that I can get a grip on his belt from the inside and pull him closer still. I believe that when I do that, my hand has a similar effect on him as his does on me.

Don't worry, readers. When we finally do more, I'm not going to share every detail like that. I just really wanted to give you an idea of how intense it is when we are kissing for hours, so I can contrast it with the next image: talking.