“Can I get an approximate timeline of all of this?” Meg requested. “You’ve jumped around a lot, this session.
“Sorry. I get reminded of stuff and just launch.” Meg nodded. “So, my grandpa died, Alexis left, Riley became a thing, summer bullshit happened– there was a lot of alcohol– Trisha and I started dating, I got the sewing job and met Nina, the hurricane hit and I met Kacey. That’s where we are right now.”
“Got it. From there?”
I was getting restless, feeling like pieces were missing, like I couldn’t get all of the information into such a short session. I shifted, and Meg tossed me a bean bag, giving me something to play with while I spoke. “Thanks. September was when Dakota and I started to sleep together again, on Bella’s birthday.”
“How did that happen?”
I squeezed the beanbag in my hand, watching the indents from my fingers slowly expanding back out. “He got drunk, and dad had to walk him upstairs.”
He was smashed, to be honest. I had come home a little earlier, to get ready for bed before my early morning shift the next day. From the bathroom as I brushed my teeth, I could hear Dakota giggling– he was a giggly drunk. Henry was talking him through the motions of coming upstairs.
“Brush your teeth, Bud,” Henry said, depositing Dakota into the room at the sink beside me. I watched, beyond amused, as Dakota struggled to get his teeth clean, while I washed my face. He finished, turned to Henry, and all but fell into his father’s arms. Henry grunted under Dakota’s weight and helped him limp to his bedroom.
A few minutes later, once I’d changed into pajamas, I got a text.
Can you help me to the bathroom?
It took monumental effort to laugh as quietly as I did. I went to Dakota’s bedroom door and cracked it open, finding him laying on his bed face up with the light on. “Come on, Nerd.”
He had a good thirty pounds on me, being considerably taller and more muscular. We made it to the bathroom and he promptly shut the door in my face. Snorting– like I hadn’t seen him naked before?– I leaned against the wall outside to wait for him.
Getting him back to bed was easier. He laughed as I dropped him in his bed– after which I realized he was hard. Very hard.
“You wouldn’t want to help me with that,” Dakota said, noticing where I was looking. “You don’t like that.”
Obviously, drunk-Dakota wasn’t nearly as observant as he thought he was. “I might, if you wanted me to.”
Which, naturally, dissolved into me going down on him. I wasn’t particularly good, but my enthusiasm made up for my lack of talent– much like other parts of my life. It was, for lack of a more delicate way to put it, the taste that made me gag and panic.
I went too far and the panic began, Dakota’s hand entwined in my hair. I pulled away and looked up, meeting his glazed eyes.
“Do you want to stop?” at my hesitation, he asked, “Do you want to do something else?” I nodded, and he pulled at my hair.
I mounted him, hoisting up my oversized tee shirt to my waist. His hands went to my hips, helping me as best he could, despite being drunk.
Something inside me felt completed in that moment. I gasped at having him inside me again, for the first time in so many months. But unlike the previous times we’d been together, this time, it hurt. Not just the ache of adjusting to his size– he was delightfully large– but the pain of being out of practice. I sucked in a breath that had nothing to do with pleasure and tensed, which only made things worse, before bracing myself against Dakota’s chest and starting to move.
The pain eased some, until, suddenly, he hoisted me off of him. I couldn’t tell if he’d finished– or, maybe I had? I didn’t think so, but still– but panic suddenly swept through me, alarmed at what I’d just caved to. And Dakota was drunk. I’d compromised my own beliefs on consent.
He shifted, inside me again in a moment, and I froze up. “I– stop,” I said. “I already came.” Now why the fuck had I said that? “Goodnight.”
I kissed his cheek, and was off of his bed in a second, running– like a coward– back to my own room after flipping off his bedroom light and closing his door.
I sighed after I stopped speaking. It was one of my biggest regrets– not the part where I’d slept with Dakota again, but the circumstances that had led to it.
“Did you ever–”
“Talk about it?” I guessed, before Meg could finish. “We barely talk about anything. I have to pry answers out of him. He’s the kind of autistic that’s hypo-empathetic, whereas I’m hyper-empathetic. I constantly need to communicate my feelings and have others do the same, to know I’m not overthinking or misreading them. From what I tell, he couldn’t care less.”
“That may be something you want to work on,” Meg suggested.
“I wish it was that easy.”
“So once that started again, how did things change?”
I shrugged. “Trisha and I broke up, but that wasn’t really a bad thing. She was pretty toxic. She and I were both sleeping with Dakota at that point, though for me it was mostly just giving him head.”
I quit my job as a seamstress almost immediately after losing Trisha. It was a relief not to be in their clutches anymore. The same day, I sat in my bed with my laptop, checking Chance’s website, only to find a posting for a convention host. Apparently Steph hosted conventions, on top of being a new mom and owning the theatre.
“Busy girl,” Meg commented.
“She’s my hero, but I can talk about that another time. I sent her an application, with a friendly little reminder of who I was and when I’d interned for her.”
“And you heard back!”
I grinned, wiggling in my seat. “Yeah. I went in to interview for her in mid December and got the job in January.”
“Dakota and his parents must have been so proud of you!”
“They were!” I could still feel the residual excitement from it. “But that was later. We got Myshka first.”
“She’s your younger dog, right?” I nodded. “That’s an interesting turn of events, and very stressful for everyone.”
“It was… interesting. The anniversary of Dakota’s Pop-Pop’s death was the day before. It was… tense. And about a week before that… I almost told him I was still in love with him.”
We were in Dakota’s office, which was routine for us now. I had dropped into his lap, mostly to annoy him for being a dick, as usual. His hands came up my ribcage to my chest, making me laugh at first, and then nearly purr in delight. I arched into his hands until he stopped, then turned with a pout.
“We could do something else if you like,” he said. I nodded.
It was on my knees that several things occurred to me: for one, I was getting slowly more comfortable with blow jobs. For another, I had never enjoyed giving head to anyone else in my life– only Dakota. And, most terrifying, I was still painfully in love with him.
I looked up when he tugged on my hair, harder than he had been before. I wondered if he could see my love for him in my glazed over eyes. I let it show on my face, as plain as day. Telling him would be too much– I didn’t want to ruin the fragile relationship we had now, the carefully constructed, albeit complicated, connection between us.
“Yeah, we got Myshka after that mess, and…” I shrugged. “Everything went to shit.”