I woke to the sensation of Diane’s head resting on my chest. The smell of her shampoo mixed with sweat and sex, I have to say it was one of the best fragrances I’ve ever experienced. They should make some aromatherapy oil or something with this scent. Women have given me strange looks when I tell them I have no preference on the perfume they wear. Apparently some guys have favorites. Not me. For me, the one smell I always remember from girls I’ve dated is the smell of their hair, which I suppose means the smell of their shampoo.
Most guys would also take this opportunity to bask in the glory of their sexual conquest, and perhaps wake their partner up for another round. Again, I vary from the norm. My head was filled with questions. They all boiled down to mean the same thing: I was wondering whether or not I’d slept with her too early.
I’m not bragging, but I have a history of bedding women in the first few dates, most of them on the first date. I’ve begun to wonder if that’s one of the reasons so many of my relationships failed. It all goes back to that theory of licking the red off of the candy. Getting them naked licks, pardon the unintentional pun, quite a bit of red off. Rather than wonder further, I asked the internal expert what I should do.
Nice Ass was gracious enough to take time off from his post-coital basking to remind me that I should wake this naked girl up and go another round or three. It was still dark outside, which meant there was plenty of time to let her go back to sleep before slipping on my clothes and sneaking out.
Nice Ass is great to have around, but he doesn’t really think about things in a long-term sense. I did consider waking her up, though. First, I needed to get some water.
As gently as possible, I extracted myself from the tangle of woman and slipped on my boxers. I could’ve walked around naked, I suppose, but I’m just not that kind of guy. I made my way to the kitchen and explored. I’m always amused when I’m in a strange kitchen and have to find where everything is. I’m a man of simple pleasures. Having found a glass, I filled it with tapwater and snuck back into the living room to get my phone and check the time. Three o’clock.
I flipped it open and called work, keying my boss’s extension and waiting for the voicemail beep. Then, I used my best “I’m sick” voice.
“Hey, it’s me,” I whispered. “I’ve had a rough night and I’m not feeling all that great, so I’m going to take a sick day tomorrow. If I’m feeling better during the day, I’ll come in, but don’t expect it.” I might’ve even added a cough at the end as I was hanging up.
“If one of my employees left that message, I would drive to their house and catch them in the lie,” Diane said. She’d snuck up behind me, and was apparently less modest than myself. “That was absolutely pitiful.”
“Acting was not a job requirement, so they can’t hold it against me,” I shrugged.
“Well, I’m glad I caught you leaving the message instead of sneaking out to your truck to ditch me,” Diane smiled. She was gliding up closer as she talked.
“The thought never crossed my mind,” I lied. “I just needed some water. Too much exercise, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Diane nodded, and then drank half of the water I had left. “So let’s get some more exercise.” What could I say? If all exercise were this fun, I’d be a health nut.
A couple of hours later, we’re laying in bed and her head is on my chest again, but we’re both awake. There’s something magical about this time, when everything feels more real, when the conversation is deep, when the endorphins are clouding your thoughts and making you think this afterglow is a magical time.
“I’ve begun to doubt that this really means ‘stop talking and zip up the dress because we have reservations,'” I said as a slid my fingers over her tattoo.
“It means ‘submissive’,” Diane whispered.
“You can’t be serious,” I laughed. If she was submissive, I was afraid to see what she thought dominant would be.
“Well, it actually means slave.” She rolled over so that she could look at me and still keep her head on my chest. “James and I got matching tattoos shortly after we were married. His is the symbol for master.”
“You are the least submissive person I’ve even met, Diane,” I grinned. “You’re about as humble as John Lennon.”
“I’ve never made any claims about being more popular than Jesus Christ.” One of the reasons I liked this woman is that she understood my remarks immediately, without me having to backtrack and explain things. “But you’re right. I haven’t had the luxury of not being in control since the girls were born.”
I didn’t pursue the conversation. Instead, I ran my fingers through her hair and enjoyed the feeling of her. I’m no stranger to the theories on dominant/submissive relationships, but I was never so serious about it to call it a lifestyle. I think anyone who would get matching tattoos proclaiming their deviant lifestyle takes it far more seriously than I do. Lucky for me, she didn’t continue along that line. Instead, she went down another path that I’d hoped to avoid.
“So how many women is the Nice Ass juggling right now?”
“If we were being absolutely technical, I’d say one.” Being technical is something that I excel at.
“I don’t think you can call it juggling if there’s only one,” Diane grinned against my chest. “Let me rephrase the question, though. How many women are you seeing?”
“The word ‘seeing’ implies that there’s more than just harmless dating.” I really didn’t want to have this conversation while I was naked and defenseless. “I have a first date with another girl that I don’t think will go anywhere, and I’ve been out with one other that hasn’t returned my call.”
“If you don’t think it will go anywhere, why go at all?”
“Two reasons. The first is that it’s a double date, and my friend is looking forward to it.” While unconfirmed, this might’ve been true. I really hadn’t asked how excited Lenny was about the idea. “The second is that I could be wrong in my expectations, and she might be really great.”
“I happen to think that I’m really great,” Diane said.
“I’m not disagreeing with you at all,” I smiled. “And I’m also not trying to defend myself here. I don’t like juggling women. I would rather focus on one at a time. I can promise you this, though. I will always be honest with you about what I’m thinking and feeling.”
“Thank you,” she said as she kissed my chest. “Just know that you’re going to have to make a decision in the future, and I’m going to start pressuring you more and more about it.”
“Noted,” I nodded. “For now, though, I move that we not talk about serious stuff, not think about what tomorrow holds, and just bask in the afterglow.”
“I second that,” Diane agreed, laying her head back on my chest.
Despite the decree of avoiding serious thought, I spend the rest of the night wide awake, thinking about what tomorrow held while a beautiful woman slept with her head on my chest.