Thread: When Nobody's Watching [Dane Stalling & dearestdarling]

October 1st, 1967 I have half a mind to buy you your own diary, the way you I had you pegged all wrong. I could probably think of a more flattering way to say this if I weren't having to look over my shoulder every so often for Mrs. Stanford or some nosy aide coming up to check on me, asking if I need anything but really craning their necks to try to get a peek at my 'article'... but I thought that you were just some kind of strange if polite creep observer that watches because for some reason, he can't take part. But you've... what's your interest in me and my sophomoric explorations if you've already uncaged the animal, as you so quaintly put it before. The hippies in the woods, that couple on their darkened porch... Hefner and Fanny. Me. If you know what it's like firsthand, then... why? A deal's a deal though, and you caught me. I feel bad for trying to lie but it just felt so... deeply, utterly personal. This hasn't really been a diary for nearly a month, it's some kind of perverted confessional where I admit my many flaws and sins and you delight in them. I'll try but... some feelings don't have words, or maybe they do but it's some kind of foreign language that I'm trying to learn. But I would've been more than happy if it really had ended there. I had learned so much-- things that you had said before that seemed like nonsense clicked in a very satisfying way. It would've made sense for him to leave then, I thought that most men were only interested in what they could take, and hadn't I given him what he wanted anyway? He eased me back on the pillow and stupidly I thought he meant that I should lay down and sleep, that he was leaving. My eyes were closed and I leaned up for a kiss until I felt his hands slide over my knees, pushing them apart. I know I wanted it, practically begged him before if he couldve read my mind when he visited Joyce and I saw him, head bent and adoring, mischief in his eyes. But when it was finally my turn, I pushed him away twice, tried to close my trembling legs and shake my head and Im sure I whispered something like, please, no but I think I mightve swallowed the last word. I could only see the suggestion of his expression, but I felt him smile against my thigh. Shh, he said, and I think in that moment he mustve known that I wasnt my sister she would never hesitate. But the thought of being inspected so intimately, even with the promise of finally understanding Even now I feel conflicted about it. But when would I have another chance to explore it? I let him then, heart racing as I felt him looking and wanting him to just get on with it, he was so close and his hair was tickling me but I tried so hard to lay still. He kissed each thigh and I shook on the bed, and it felt like he was thanking me for my cooperation. I felt the back of his hand fall down my thigh, nails skating down my skin and I found some quilt to squeeze at my sides. He hadn't done this with Joyce, observed her, tested her. He trailed his hand down, just as warm and admiring as I had ever dared to imagine. I held my breath as he spread me with his thumb, too bold and I went to push his hand away, but he caught my wrist and replaced it, as though he knew I would. He gathered both of them in his free hand and held them against my belly, not that I thought to rebel again. I don't think I could accurately report what magic he worked if my career depended on it. Right away as he kissed and teased and flicked his too warm, too wet tongue I felt that familiar coiling, the tension, the ache that spurred this whole adventure in the first place. I was prepared for the same frustration as always, not at him but myself for being incapable of... sneezing. I couldn't stop shaking. I know that I begged but I can't remember what I said, except maybe more and please. His breath burned me as he nodded, and how strange it was to recognize what his nose felt like... there. I saw colors that don't have names and I wanted it to stop immediately, I felt so out of control. He let my hands go and I found his hair and pushed him away, then back again quickly. Fanny would've explained it better. I'm no tawdry novelist, sensationalism is a stain on the good name of journalism. But even before Johnny had kissed me goodbye and left I felt as though I'd caught some kind of crazy bug, and maybe... maybe I want more. I thought of taking this home to write, but I think I like the idea of you watching me. I can't help but wonder how close we might've been sometimes, how thrilling that might've felt for you. It isn't my game, but I think I'm starting to understand. G