“My mom just left,” Peter whispered in my ear. I had refused to have sex with him last night. Patty was right down the hall—creepy.
I rolled over and started kissing him, feeling his erection against my thigh. Mmmm, I love morning sex.
Peter pulled his clothes off and rolled over onto his back, dragging me on top of him. He slipped my nightie (bought especially for this trip!) over my head and cupped my breasts in his hands. The early morning light was bright on his face, and his eyes looked glazed over with pleasure. I guided him inside of me and pressed myself against his palms, so that I was at the perfect 45-degree angle.
One reason the sex with Peter is so good is because not only does he last long enough for me to finish, but he doesn't need me to bounce up and down on him like a damn pogo stick in order to stay in the game. My ex used to sometimes get soft if I used a “grinding” motion on top of him for too long (“It just feels so meh, Josie,” he used to tell me. Dick.), but it’s like with Peter, because he knows it feels good to me, it automatically feels good to him.
I was like putty in his hands by the time I finished, and Peter flipped me on my back, and drove into me until his mouth dropped open and he groaned. Mission. Accomplished.
After we showered, Peter suggested we make iced coffee to go (with his parent’s fancy iced coffee machine—had no idea such a thing existed!), and go for a walk on the beach. Um, perfect morning or what?
We bundled up (Nantucket defies the laws of global warming) and headed out. The beach was absolutely deserted, and we even spotted some seals weaving in and out of the water, not far from the shoreline.
“Are you taking me out here to have The Talk?” I asked.
“What talk?” Peter took a sip of his coffee.
“C’mon, you know what talk,” I said.
“Josie, I don't need a talk or labels, I know what we have.”
“I do too,” I said. “But,” I swallowed, “Do you consider me your girlfriend?”
Peter laced his fingers through mine. “Yeah, I do.”
Hearing him confirm it didn’t cause my body to burst into flames, or my head to explode. Even if I didn't like the idea of a label right now, I couldn't deny that this is what we were…and that it felt good. “Well, I consider you my boyfriend too then.”
“Damn, I left my varsity jacket in New York,” he said, slipping his arm over my shoulders.
So folks, there you have it. I haz boyfriend. I did the math, and it’s been eight months since Eric and I broke up. I’ll be honest—I thought I would be single for longer than this before seriously dating anyone again. But it’s not like eight months is a hot second (it’s like four times the length of Kim K’s marriage), and this just feels so right.