A Billion Distant Stars; or The Answer to Question #3

You might not have guessed this about me yet – or maybe you have – but I’m incredibly self conscious. Not just where sex is concerned, but certainly there as well. For example, when I step into a crosswalk I am painfully aware of all the eyes watching me behind the windshields. Or when I meet someone for the first time and shake their hand all my senses telescope to the strength of my grip, the sweatiness of my palm, and the duration of my hand shake. I worry they might find it uncomfortably long or too tight or grossly moist. This stems not so much from shame (although, if I were to be fully honest with you, I would confess that is indeed one facet too) but, more profoundly, from a very, very deep desire to please. My Prince understood this about me.

We had only known each other a short time before he became very ill. I wanted to be with him but he insisted he was too sick. I didn't realize then that this was not the exception but the norm in his life. He was a profoundly ill man. His body, mind and spirit were an ever present trinity of torment. Anyway, not knowing this yet, I begged him to let me come over and I even bribed him by promising to be his homeopathic nurse.

Now, as a rule, I don't do role plays or scenes. Given my hyper self awareness it is just a bad idea. The few times in my life I have done them (not even in any sexual context) have left me ridden with humiliation and a deep sense of unworthiness. I’m a lousy actress. But what I can do is to get in touch with the innate parts of me that are waiting to be realized by my lover. And this Prince astutely surmised.

I came prepared with three bags of supplies and an instinctual understanding of what he needed. He was conked out cold and didn’t move a muscle when I walked through his back door. It was thrown wide open and the last rays of a June sunset and the summer flies were streaming in. His kitchen was covered with the filth of a bachelor who had long been sick and poor. I set to work scrubbing stacks of dishes coated with a thick moldy film and salvaged pots from burnt on crud. I threw out rotting trash and took out the recycling. I poured sour milk and half empty cans of beer down the drain and scoured the sink with Comet. Once everything was clean enough to work in then I got down to business.

The first bag was for the kitchen. I pulled out a pile of groceries from the Asian market down the street and began preparations for a pot of spicy tom kha Thai soup. First I boiled the chicken to make the stock. I chopped fresh garlic, lemon grass, galanga root, and Thai basil. I added these to the stock and diced the chicken. I soaked some dried red chilies and mushrooms and threw those in once they had softened sufficiently in a bowel of boiling water. I placed a knit bag of fresh lychee nuts in the fridge to cool for later and poured myself a glass of warm sake.

The second bag was for the bathroom. I ran a hot bath seasoned with rejuvenating sea salts. I lit a few small tea lights and placed them around the room. I set a clean towel and a wash cloth on the sink. Then I went to Prince’s bedroom and woke him up. He followed me groggy and naked back to the tub. While the soup simmered I bathed him, rubbing his back with a soapy scrubby and wiping his forehead with a cool washcloth. I sat on the edge of the tub and gave him sips of peppermint tea. While he finished soaking away the dirt and grime from his aching body I added lime juice, coconut milk, bamboo shoots and cilantro to the soup.

After I pulled him from the tub and toweled him off I served him soup in the “family room” (that’s what he called the room that wasn’t the bedroom, the kitchen or the bathroom). We mostly ate in silence except for his loud slurping sounds.

The third bag was for the bedroom. While he finished eating I placed the bag next to his bed and set about changing his sheets. I lit a candle scented with lavender and placed it atop his footlocker. When he wondered in after me I suggested he take off his towel and lie down on the bed so I could give him a massage.

I started on his back, rubbing arnica oil along each vertebra of his spine and over his bruised ribs. I used my whole body and rubbed deeply as he needed that kind of attention. I massaged his shoulders and arms. I licked his wrists. I sucked on his fingers. I ran my thumbs inside the folds of his ears and massaged his scalp. I squeezed the muscles in his butt, his hips, his thighs, his calves until the tension released. I rubbed his rough and calloused feet, pulling gently on his toes and kissing his insteps. Then I rolled him over and began again, starting with his face, gently stroking his cheek bones, his temples and the bridge of his nose. I kissed his eyelids and his neck and that lovely space right above his collar bone. I pressed down on his biceps and pulled his arms alongside his body to adjust his shoulders. I ran my hands lightly over his rib cage and sucked on his nipples like a nursing babe. Later I would learn that he had never in his 40 some odd years had a woman suck on his nipples.

I was naked, so as I moved around his body my breasts and cunt would brush up against him. But he remained completely relaxed. I reached in my bag and pulled out the final remedy. I warmed the Astroglide in my palms and very slowly (because he was skittish about having his genitals touched) I began to caress his cock. He was surprised at the noticeable difference between the Astroglide and his regular Wal-Lube (yes, Walmart's lube is actually called Wal-Lube). He mumbled oh, that’s nice and instantly became incredibly hard in my hands. I asked him to show me how he liked to be touched, and he did.

He took my hand in his and placed my fingers at the base of his cock right above his scrotum and told me right here, this is where my clit is. I fingered his clit as I stroked the head of his cock tight and fast like he showed me. I lay my body down along the length of his and whispered in his ear my beautiful princess, cum for me until he came in my hand with the now familiar weeping and crying that turned me on so.

I was moved that he had accepted what I had to offer, and yet it seemed that I had received the greater gift. Alas, if only that were enough for us. It tore me up inside that he never once touched me or kissed me or looked into my eyes that night. It was as though he had buried the part of himself that beat my thighs and made me cry out in order to allow himself to submit to me, to give himself over to me.

I would have been content if only he would have fallen asleep in my arms, my stomach pressing into the curve of his back, his warm ass against my groin. But, as was now the routine, he instantly passed out snoring incredible earth shaking grunts, his body twitching and oblivious to mine. I snuggled up against him and gently placed his hand on breast, only to have him push me away even in his sleep. Then, as each night before, I got up, silently put my clothes back on in the dark and drove home in the middle of the night.

Somehow the feeling of being all alone again, speeding through the night on the empty freeway under a billion distant stars, was infinitely less lonely than sleeping next to my Prince and knowing he would always remain farther away from me than those stars would ever be. He never woke up as I left, even when I started the car up right outside his bedroom, headlights glaring into his open window and the radio blasting old school rock and roll. He never asked me why when he awoke I was already gone.