Somehow, after a pretty crazy alcohol and tear filled night, we ended up back in my dorm room. After walking in, I deposited the various articles of clothing I had removed throughout the evening on one of my chairs. We changed, or rather continued taking off our clothes, though I did add a pair of flannel pants to my black tank top and panties.
He told me, sitting on my bed, that he liked sleeping naked, and I automatically answered, “Go for it”. It really didn’t matter to me, as long as I had my clothes on. But he kept his boxers on anyway, shy. I didn’t know him well enough then to know that he dislikes that near-perfect body almost as much as I hate mine.
We debated about the boxers, finally somehow deciding that the solution was to play strip blackjack. My chances were three times as good as his for not ending up naked, so I graciously let him deal. And I lost. I still remember the skeptical look in his eyes. He was sitting on my bed, and I on the floor in front of him. “Are you really going to do it?” he asked, at my exclamation, “no!” upon seeing I had lost.
Kneeling there, beside the bed in front of him, I began to tug somewhat awkwardly, but imperceptibly, at my pants, until they came free. The surprise I had already noticed in his eyes must have doubled as I stood to put the bottoms away.
“Want to play another round?” he asked, fingering the cards.
“No,” I responded with a soft smile, thinking that the risk wouldn’t be worth it: even if I lost, I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to take off more clothing. “Are you sure you don’t want to make yourself comfortable, though?” I countered. He threw me a verbose look with those hazel eyes, and I shrugged. “I really don’t mind,” I repeated as I got under the dark green covers next to him.
After a moment of being in bed together, both contemplating the other, he groaned, “Uuh, ok” and pulled the boxers off. That was the first night I had spent together with someone in that particular bed, and now it had become the first night I ever spent with a naked guy.
As I lay beside him, I felt the warmth of his body, so different from the cold of mine. It was already four in the morning, and I had to be up at seven for a dance competition, but we didn’t go to sleep.
Instead, he put his arms around me and I inhaled his scent softly, pausing a beat before slowly letting my breath back out. As he held me, our legs pressed together, I wondered if he would kiss me, if the excuse of alcohol would carry us that far.
“So you’ve really never cuddled before?” he asked, recalling a conversation we had had several days before.
“Does Rach count?” I countered, pointing out that during that conversation, a mutual friend and I had been lying together on his bed.
“No” he answered, without even the seemingly ever-present spark of humor on his face.
“Oh” I exhaled, losing my sarcasm.
We fell silent, looking at each other until I dropped my gaze from his eyes. I lay there, enjoying the feel of his arms around me, because, as he would tell me on a different night, “the worst feeling in the world is going to sleep alone.” We stayed there, unmoving, for probably less than two minutes though it seemed like that moment stretched out infinitely around us. I expected him to kiss me, or briefly touch his lips to my temple, to move his arms in a slow caress, but he didn’t.
Instead, he asked me if I liked spooning. “Wouldn’t that count as cuddling?” I countered.
He shrugged his muscled shoulders, saying, “I guess” and beginning to pull away from me.
“Turn around,” he told me, mentioning as I hesitantly did so that he actually didn’t like spooning. His arms came around me from behind and it seemed that in this position his mouth would have to be pressed against my hair, unruly strands making their way between his lips essentially to choke him.
I had always thought that spooning would feel safe, comfortable, better than lying entwined face to face, but now I said, “This just seems like it would be really uncomfortable for you.”
“Yeah,” he responded, pulling away again after a moment. He ended up on his back, and I turned onto my other side to face him, drawing close to the heat emanating from him.
After a while of laying thoughtlessly, wordlessly, I began to feel his hand, moving slightly over my ribcage, but differently than I had previously expected. Unwillingly, I began to giggle, shifting slightly away from him. But his hands continued to move over me, tickling me, and as I laughed, I began to try to tickle him back. Between ceaseless gasps and giggles, we managed to trade a couple words. I was surprised that while his motions nearly incapacitated me, my attempts had no effect. He told me he was immune because of his siblings, which is how I learned he wasn’t an only child. His hands continued to torment me and I writhed beside him, ultimately curling into a ball, pleading for him to stop between the unstoppable laughter.
As soon as I asked, he paused, resting his hands on me gently. I waited a moment, expecting that he would start tickling me again right away, but when he didn’t, I unfurled myself slowly, relaxing next to him once more and fixing the covers. As I did so, I saw him pulse, an image still ingrained in my mind.
The next two hours were filled with our bodies writhing, entangling, touching, and my giggles permeated the air, probably drifting into the hallway, as he tickled me in places that craved a different kind of touch. At some point I changed into an oversized tee shirt, not realizing that this would provide him more direct access to my skin than the skin-tight tank top had. His hands roamed over me as mine moved over his well-defined naked upper body, hesitant of touching anything below his waist.
Around six we subsided, giving in to exhaustion, our bodies still enmeshed. One of his legs rested between my thighs, and I felt each of his movements as we shifted into a position conducive to sleeping.
When the alarm rang an hour later, I managed to stir under his arm without waking him or displacing it fully from my body and reached over to his cell phone to switch it off. Wishing I could stay in bed, I got up as he muttered at the noise, and began getting ready for my competition, dressing in front of a guy for the first time. Remembering his touch, the feel of the body still spread out on my bed, I couldn’t stop glancing over at him as I got ready
As I left at the call of my dance partner, I wondered when or if I would see him again.
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Submission Name: Tickle wars (take..x)
