I was beginning to think it wasn't going to happen. We'd been here for quite long enough. It just never seemed as if it was on the cards. We always went to bed tired out. Maybe we were recovering from the multitude of mould and dust that was present in our old room (and still is). Maybe we still are recovering. The bed is like a board, hard and inflexible. It's healthy to sleep on a hard surface. I just don't sleep much. Less than usual, y'know. Haven't been sleeping. Glod knows why.
And then there's the creak that happens when too much movement happens on a sofa bed. The gentle thud on the floor when the legs rise a few millimetres and fall again. My parents aren't too far away - two walls and a hall with a piano in it separate us - but still, it's a worry. I never used to worry about the sounds of sex on a sofa bed. Now they are plaguing my ears.
I didn't think it would happen... and then it just... did.
I mean, I'd been wanting it for. long. enough. Had she? It seems so. What was going on? Was is teasing, extended foreplay or just a physical admission that sex wasn't going to take place? Well, whatever it works. It took place. Were naked, were horny; I (at least) was hard. Positions were taken, there was a lot of moisture. Much wetter than one might expect.
There was a familiar warm, wet feeling as I sunk my penis into her soft folds, feeling her contract around me. I could have sworn, at that point, that she said "thank you". In fact, I'm pretty certain of it. I do like to remember sex I've had, surely. But that whispered "thank you" is what sticks with me about this one instance.
[Nota Bene: This happened before Christmas. But that's okay. We've had sex after Christmas, too.]