I was lying in bed on a Saturday morning while my partner—well, fiancé if you wanted to get technical—sucked lazily on my cock, when I accidentally leaned on the TV remote. The channel guide popped up, reducing the porn we were watching to a tiny square in one corner of the screen.
I grabbed the remote, intending to exit the guide, but I got distracted by my viewing options. Zirconia Mania
on the home shopping channel. Cartoons. The family network was showing Babe: Pig in the City.
“What’s up with animal sequels?” I asked.
Amon slid his lips off my dick. “What?”
He blew lightly on my spit-covered balls. I squirmed.
“Why do sequels to animal movies always involve the animals getting lost in the big city? Babe: Pig in the City. Homeward Bound 2: Lost in San Francisco.
Even the second Jurassic Park
has a T-Rex loose in L.A.”
Amon glanced over his shoulder at the TV. “Why don’t you concentrate on coming before my jaw locks?” he suggested, taking me down his throat once more.
The man was so literal, practical, and focused. When he had a task to do, there was no time for speculation. I used to think that kind of efficiency was something that came with age. He was forty and I was twenty-five, so it made sense that he knew how to pay bills on time, talk to insurance companies, and cook things besides spaghetti, and I didn’t. But considering I hadn’t made any significant strides in the maturity department since about age twelve, maybe Amon’s hyperadultness was a rare and precious gift.
I leaned back and tried to focus on the square of porn. We didn’t usually watch porn while having sex, but every once in a while it was kind of hot. I tried not to read the titles of shows on the guide. But oh my God, there was a Housewife Island
marathon on channel fifty-two. And Jennifer’s Body
was on sixty. Finally Amon lifted my right leg off the coverlet and slapped the back of my thigh three times. Somebody spanks me while my cock is down their throat, there’s no way I won’t come.
Amon scooted up the bed with my splooge still on his lips and kissed me. “Happy anniversary,” he whispered.
It had not occurred to me I was being blown because it was our anniversary.
It had not occurred to me today was our anniversary.
And in fact, it was kind of news to me we were still celebrating our first-date anniversary. Because we were getting married in, like, a week, and I kind of assumed the wedding anniversary would take the place of the dating anniversary.
But I didn’t want to admit that, since Amon clearly still intended to acknowledge and celebrate the latter.
I smiled at him. “Just you wait until I give you your present,” I said, trying to make my voice husky. I sounded a little like Richard Harris in The Chamber of Secrets.
Amon’s brow furrowed. “You got me something?”
“Oh, I got you something.” I put one arm over my head, hoping I looked unspeakably sensual.
“I didn’t get you anything except the blowjob,” he said. “I guess I assumed with the wedding, we’d have a new anniversary to celebrate.”
This was my opportunity to laugh and say I was glad he thought so, because I certainly didn’t have an anniversary present for him. Instead I said, “I just thought since this might be our last first-date anniversary, I’d better make it good.”
He propped himself on his elbow, and I watched his arm muscles bulge under his tanned skin. Fair as I was, I burned too easily to tan and had spent the summer either vampire-pasty or highlighter pink.
I loved when he looked at me. His dark eyes could say just about anything he needed them to. Right now they were saying something like, You’re an odd duck, Jayk Parker, but I love you.
They said that a lot. Sometimes I made them say things like, I’m going to lick you in front of this crowded bus stop,
when what they were really saying was, I’d like to lick you in front of this crowded bus stop, but because I’m a business professional and someone who finds solace in society’s rules about what constitutes appropriate public behavior, I will lick you when we get home.
Or, Jayk, stop thinking about me licking you and pay attention to my instructions about the dry cleaning.
“A visual learner,
” my mother always said. Words went in one ear and out the other, but I paid attention to pictures, videos, facial expressions, and body language. My mother used to give lectures that left no impression on me at all, but I could still feel the dread and despair from those moments when she turned her back on me in frustration or exhaustion.
I supposed I was a tactile learner too. My stomach clenched a little as I realized that what I was telling Amon now, with the purest and sweetest of intentions, was a lie. And No Lying was a rule Amon had been enforcing with particular vigor lately. My gaze moved down his arm to his hand—wide, solid, and familiar. That hand could make me feel so good, but it was capable of producing an ungodly sting when applied to my ass as a corrective measure.
“So when do I get this incredible gift?” he asked.
“Later,” I said, running my hands down his side and over his hip.
He got up to make breakfast, and I dressed slowly, trying to figure out how I could slip out in the next few hours and get him an awesome anniversary present.
I’d kind of shot my wad last year when I bought us a trip to San Francisco to the Folsom Street Fair for his fortieth birthday. We’d had a great time there, and I was still ridiculously proud of myself for pulling it off. All other gift possibilities now paled in comparison.
I ran through the list: flowers. Dumb.
Chocolates. Amon and sugar didn’t mix.
Me, cuffed to the bed, dressed like a naughty maid and tied with a big red ribbon.
No. I’d used that one too many times already.
I needed something unique but not too expensive or outlandish.
And then I remembered the gift I’d gotten at my groomal bath.