Jules first night with Sam...
Updated: Jan 1
"Real characters don’t audition for you. Real people just pass through your life and dole a little of themselves out bit by bit. Take it or leave it. That is the line I wish for my characters to walk .. a thin line between real and not real."
- Cindy Marabito
From the chapter "Lost in Thought" Jules, the Truth Finder
Maybe I hadn’t been to college, but I had other skills and honors, the kind that don’t generally show up on a resume. I had nice breasts. Sam made some reference to what the French say about champagne glasses and said he wanted to touch them all over. He loved my long hair and kept running his hands through it that night. I was honest and said what was on my mind, even if it was kind of dirty. He liked that. And, I knew how to give a great blow job. I wanted to please Sam and that’s just what I did that night.
It made me feel good to give him that pleasure. I felt natural doing those things to him. There’s nothing compares to giving a gift of yourself to please someone you care for. Sam was uncircumcised. It was kind of rough, too, not like most penises, but rough in a good way, a rugged way. It reminded me of simulated prophylactics and thought of the rich school in Beaumont who had a football team named after the leading condom company. I must’ve laughed, because Sam started laughing, too, and asked me what was so funny. Anybody else probably would have gotten their feelings hurt, but not Sam. He was confident in that way.
I let it rub against my face a little. I couldn’t resist doing that for some reason. It became a sort of a thing with me after that. I enjoyed exploring his body. It was fun to go places and do things I’d never tried before or wanted to do with anyone else. Before or since. There’s something about giving a good blow job. It isn’t just the manipulation, but it’s the leading up to it and the sheer delight in getting there. You can’t hide that from somebody. And I wasn’t one to try and disguise my pleasure. I’d never been with an uncircumcised man before. I didn’t want to stare, but I let myself become acquainted in other ways. Like I said, it was my pleasure. That night, we established a sort of hierarchy. I wanted to enchant Sam and going down on a guy was what I could bring to the party. I could tell he liked it a lot, but he also wasn’t one to yell out like a fool. He didn’t grab my head or anything, either and push on it like some do. It was like we were dancing, but dancing in bed. We were setting the stage for our own story, an epic one that launched us into a sexual journey that night. We were comrades in his double bed, discovering everything we could about each other. Every crevice, every curve, each little mole and tiny freckle. It was like magic to me. His movements were real and genuine. Nothing made up or pretend. You can always tell when somebody has some kind of special trick and it cheapens the whole thing. There was none of that with Sam. Afterwards, he sat back and rested on his arm. He was gazing over at me. “You look like a Modigliani.” I didn’t know what that was, but it sounded like something good. I didn’t want to ask and have him think I was stupid. He traced his finger across my chest, so gentle across my little breasts and then downward along my stomach toward my pubic hair. I felt shy since my tummy has always had a little bulge. “It’s this,” he said. “That’s the part that looks like a painting.” Then, he moved his hand over my hip. “And here.” Then he put both hands on the sides of my hips and pulled me over toward him again. I slid on top of him like I belonged there. After the second time, he kind of laughed and rolled over on his back. He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. The hair under his arms was red gold at the same time and looked like a picture to me with all those colors. You could almost see blues and violets reflecting the light. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t feel like I knew enough about art. I wanted to learn, though. Then, sometime I could tell him how beautiful I thought he was without sounding like a hick from the sticks. I looked at him lying there, his long body and that skin as smooth as a magazine ad. I could see where the sun had stopped at his waist. I watched him watching me until he finally closed his eyes. I looked at him for a long time after that almost not believing I was lying there beside him. It was a lying awake dream. I don’t know how long I lay there looking at him that first night. I could have watched him forever and ever. I wish I had.