Take it Easy – Chapter Five: Heterochromia Iridum – part 1B

Take it Easy – Chapter Five: Heterochromia Iridum – part 1B

“Nice socks.” I teased. She was wearing fuzzy blue socks that were adorned with penguins.

“Hey, it’s a free country. A girl can wear penguin socks if she wants to.” She fired back.

I gently took hold of her outstretched feet and started massaging them, kneading her soles with my fingertips. Emily sighed in pleasure.

“I guess my favorite song changes a lot,” I mused, “but right now, it’s probably ‘Take it Easy’ by Eagles.”

“That’s a great song!” She gasped. “There’s a guitar somewhere around here. You should play it after you finish this excellent massage!”

“If you’re good.” I smirked. “Do you have any talents that no one knows about?”

“Good one. Hmm… I like to sing.” She shyly replied.

“Well, now I have to play a song for you.” I declared. “And you shall sing along.”

“I guess…” She said. “My turn. Do you have any hobbies that I don’t know about?” She lifted her legs off of me and went to grab the guitar from the corner it was sitting in.

“I like to draw, paint, write, play video games… Typical renaissance man stuff.”

“Y’know, if you weren’t such a nice guy, I’d think you were a douchebag.” Emily observed while handing me the guitar.

“That’s kinda my thing.” I admitted. “Ostensibly, I’m a super-arrogant, yet incredibly sexy douchebag, but deep down, I’m actually a sweet and cuddly, yet sexy, teddy bear.”

“Were you always such a sexy teddy bear?” Emily put her feet back on me, wiggling her toes to indicate that I should continue my massage.

“No, actually. I used to be normal, but then I decided to be a badass.”

“How did that happen?” She wondered.

“A few years ago, I heard this quote from Jean-Paul Sartre: ‘Men, like bullets, go farthest when they are smoothest.’ Then I started thinking about why all the girls like James Bond or Indiana Jones or whoever. I realized that it’s because they all have this natural confidence that comes from not giving a shit what anyone else thinks and just being themselves.”

“Confidence is definitely sexy.” She agreed. “And passion: I love it when a guy has something interesting that he just lives for.”

I started strumming random chords on the guitar while I tried to think of another question. “I can’t think of anything interesting to ask.”

“You have to play a song for me anyway!” Emily reminded me.

I began playing and singing an acoustic version of “Move Bitch”, by Ludacris. Emily cracked up at the odd mix of acoustic vocals with extremely rude lyrics.

When she started singing along, I was astonished at her beautiful singing voice, which was apparent despite the lyrically-challenged song. I was so astonished, in fact, that I missed several chords and stopped singing altogether.

“Wow. You really do sing.” My mouth was agape.

“A little.” She humbly replied.

“Seriously. If you learn the guitar, you could be the next Sarah McLachlan.”

“Shut up!” She giggled and playfully hit me on the arm.

“C’mon. I’ll teach you some stuff.” I motioned for her to sit next to me facing the same direction.

I slipped the strap over my head and draped it over her shoulder as I put the guitar in her lap.

“Here,” I said, reaching around her to place her hands in the correct position, “keep your thumb at the second fret and hold the pick between your thumb and forefinger. Like this.” I gently moved her fingers to the right place.

“Wanna learn ‘When September Ends’?” I asked her. “It’s really easy.”

“Sure.”

I continued guiding her fingers and helping her until she could play the first few notes by herself. When she played them successfully, she let out a cute “Yay!”, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and continued playing.

I leaned back to watch her practicing. She seemed to really enjoy it, even when she made a mistake. I, too, enjoyed the fruits of my labor; Emily was adorable when she focused on something: all distractions were shut out, her eyes were narrowed in concentration, her face was set in a determined frown.

After a couple successful runs through the beginning of the song, she put down the guitar.

“You think you might be interested in learning more sometime?” I asked her.

“That depends. Are you gonna teach me?” She shot back.

“Only if you agree to teach me some stuff about basketball.”

“Only if you agree to be as shirtless then as you are now.” Emily turned to face me and straddled my lap.

“I think I can handle that.” I quipped.

We made eye contact and sat there for a little while, looking into each other’s eyes as if to discover what was going on behind them. Emily slowly leaned down toward me, but stopped with her face a few inches away from mine.

Her hair had fallen in front of her face, so I pushed it out of her eyes with a finger and softly grabbed the back of her head to pull her closer. She smiled and closed her eyes as our lips met.

From the beginning, I could tell that this kiss wasn’t going to lead anywhere dirty. It was more of an expression of affection than of lust: slow, with no hurry to advance to the next “base”, to use the clichéd baseball analogy.

Emily wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me tighter up against her. I responded by running my hands up and down her back and neck. Under my hands, I felt her soft, smooth, warm-to-the-touch skin. She had a muscular body, but in an uniquely feminine way: it contributed to her slender figure by adding some curviness.

The rain continued falling heavily, creating a soothing, quiet rumble as it pounded the roof of the house. While we made out, I tried to figure out Emily’s taste; it was exotic, like a mix of citrus and spice, something I’d never experienced before.

While I was pondering this, I sort of fell sideways onto the couch. Emily fell on top of me with a laugh and we paused our make-out session for a few moments. Soon, though, Emily had sexily crawled on top of me and firmly pressed her mouth against mine once again.

Our movements were synchronized perfectly: if I tilted my head to the right, Emily would do the same, allowing our heads to be even closer; if Emily leaned more into the kiss, I would pull her head closer so I could reply in kind.

When we finally broke the kiss off, Emily sat on my lap like she had before we kissed. I looked into her eyes and realized something that I hadn’t before.

“Heterochromia iridum…” I murmured.

Her eyes were gorgeously mismatched: one was bluish green, clear like a tropical sea; the other was an electric blue flecked with coffee-brown. The combination of the two made her even more intoxicatingly, exotically beautiful.

“You just realized now?” She giggled. “Shows where your eyes have been spending most of their time.” She squeezed her boobs with one hand.

I laughed. “Yeah… It’s pretty beautiful, for a genetic mutation.”

“Gee, thanks. Way to ruin the moment.” She complained, but the sparkle in her eyes belied her disappointed overtone.

“Speaking of ruining the moment, the rain is letting up, so I should probably get out of here.” I started to get up.

“But don’t you want to stay here? With me?” Emily softly raked my bare pecs and abs with her painted nails.

Now was the time to tell her what I had been thinking. I tried to ignore my uncharacteristic nervousness and spoke.

“Emily, I like you a lot, so I don’t want this thing we have to be based solely on sex, no matter how awesome our sex is. If we have sex every time we hang out, it won’t be as… special, for lack of a better word.” Though she looked slightly crestfallen, I blundered on. “That said, we don’t have to stop having sex: I just don’t want it to be the only reason that we spend time together. Relationships built on sex never last, and I’m interested in seeing where things go with you.”

Emily pondered this for a moment.
“You think this’ll last?”

“I always give everything a try.” I said seriously. “Except receiving anal. That, I won’t do.” I added, trying to lighten the mood.

Emily’s giggle turned into an glowing smile. “You’re different, Aaron. I like that a lot.”

With that, she moved in for another kiss. I smiled back and accepted her advance, but after a minute or two, I had to let her go.

“We’re gonna hang out again soon. I’ll text you sometime.” I declared as I made my way to the door.

“For sure.” She agreed.

I opened the door and walked a few steps before I realized that I had forgotten something.

“Hey, Emily, can I have my shirt?”

“Yeeess,” she groaned, “but I like you better without it. Come get it.”

When I walked back up to the door to retrieve my shirt, Emily stood on her tippy-toes to give me another quick peck on the lips.

“Bye.” She waved shyly from halfway behind the door.

I smiled down at her and walked over to my car with my shirt hanging on my shoulder. By the time I reached my car, I heard catcalls from behind me. Emily and a bunch of her sorority sisters were leaning out the windows, shouting obscenities in my direction.

I solemnly raised my middle finger at them, but then began swinging my shirt around like a male stripper. Their peals of laughter caused me to grin; Emily’s face was contorted in mirth as she laughed hysterically, still throwing raucously sexual suggestions at me.

I got into my car and decided to continue the show for a little while. I put the car into neutral and revved its massive V8 engine. The girls all made grossly exaggerated “impressed” faces. I laughed to myself as I drove off, racing against the clock to avoid being late for school.

School started again at around 1:15, and I had about ten minutes to make it there. Luckily, The U’s campus is right next to my school’s, so I arrived at around 1:10. I hastily dragged my shirt over my head and jogged to PE. All the guys were still getting dressed, so I joined them.

“Hey dude, how was your date?” Jake asked me, making air quotes with his fingers as he said ‘date’.

“It was great. She’s really cool.”

“Yeah, whatever.” David said dismissively. “What we really want to know is, did you smash, mon?” David’s Jamaican accent (he and his parents came here from Jamaica a couple years ago) made it sound more like ‘didja smosh, mon?’.

I laughed. “Not this time, mon.”
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