Some Enchanted Girlfriend by Donna Lamb 6. Filling Up We sat on the big plush couch and ate oatmeals and drank coffee and Tim had got himself a ham-and-egg-and-cheese bagel, too. Got to feed those magic muscles, I thought and damn near choked trying not to giggle.

“You okay, babe?” he asked. He put a hand on my thigh and gave it a light squeeze, causing my toes to twitch. He took up most of the gigantic, grey leather couch, of course, and I had sort of wedged myself into one end with my legs draped over one of his.

I nodded, afraid to actually say anything. He smiled and squeezed my leg again.

I have no idea why I sat where I did but it put me within easy reach. I thought of that before I sat down and still I sat there. Go figure.

He finished his sandwich and took a big slurp of coffee. I made a face at him, I’m not sure what kind.

He grinned and asked, “What?” How could such a big guy have such cute expressions?

“Do you have to make that sound when you drink your coffee?” I asked, pretending to be exasperated at him. “You practically inhaled your oatmeals, too. Jeez, I’m tryna eat here?”

“Disgusting, huh?” He winked at me.

“Sort of.” I probably blushed and covered it by staring into my bowl. Really good oatmeals, btw. I could feel my ears getting red and a hiccup trying to giggle its way up from my middle.

“You’re from New York. Or Philly or Connecticut, one of those eastern cities, huh?” he asked, surprising me.

“Why... why do you say that?” I didn’t have to fake being startled.
Was I from New York? It felt right but I couldn’t be sure about it.

“I knew ‘cause of how you talk,” Tim said. “Tryna, wanna, jeez, dis, dat.” He grinned at me.

“I don’t say dis and dat and Connecticut isn’t a city,” I said. I handed him my bowl. “You wanna finish my oatmeals?” I’d eaten more than half but felt full, and those really were some disgusting noises he had been making.

“Sure, babe,” he said. He gave my leg another squeeze and took the bowl. “Good stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “You say you think I’m from New York?” I thought about the courtyard I had seen out the window. Palm trees. “Meaning we ain’t in New York now, so where are we?”

“You don’t know that?” He finished off the bowl of oatmeals in three noisy bites. “We’re in Marina del Rey. Part of Los Angeles, sort of.”

“Oh,” I said in a small voice, fairly sure I’d never heard of the place. “It’s on the water? How the heck did I get here?”

“Yeah, more boats than houses. And I still don’t know how you got here. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Eating oatmeals,” I said, trying to look innocent.

He snorted. “I meant, before you woke up this morning, silly.” He gave me another squeeze on the thigh.

I decided I might be beginning to like that but it didn’t help me remember anything. I squinted at the ceiling, “Hofest, onnicer, I only dall fown when I’m vinking drodka,” I said.

Tim laughed, sat up and pulled me into his lap. I said something intelligent like, “Yike!”

“You’re a nut,” he said. “I like that in a girl.”

And he kissed me again. Holding me there in his lap, what could I do? Okay, I kissed back. I mean, I’d looked at myself in the mirror, I’d gone to the bathroom. I’m a girl. Kissing a guy is just a natural thing to do, right?

Wow.

When we came up for air I discovered that he had his hand under the t-shirt I was wearing for a dress, and... and he was doing things down there. “When I talk do your lips move?” I asked him between gasps.

He didn’t get it but he smiled anyway. “Uh-huh,” he said. I squinted into his face and almost busted up laughing, despite what was going on down below. His look of horny concentration was pure concentrated horniness.

“Uh,” I said. “Are you trying to avoid getting me some clothes?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Yeah, babe, sure.” I thought he hadn’t actually heard what I said. “Clothes would just get in the way, huh?”

“Uh-uh-uh,” I said, or something like that, sort of a mix of a giggle and a gasp.

After that, I don’t really remember what happened. Okay, I do and it was fucking amazing, or vice versa, to coin a phrase. My first time, sort of–at least that I remembered from the catching side.

The huge couch made sense now. We finished up with me lying on top of the fur rug of his middle, probably because he weighed as much as two of me plus a kid sister. If I had a kid sister, she better not come near him, like in the song.

I didn’t want to think too much about what we’d done; far as I know, when I used to be a guy, I was straight as a missionary, maybe straighter. And it looked like I still could qualify as a card-carrying heterosexual, just one who had changed precincts.

He stroked my hair and made contented noises I could hear rumbling in his chest. After a minute of drowsy peace, he asked, “Did that help you remember anything, babe?”

I started to giggle then we laughed so hard we fell off the couch except he caught us and eased us onto the slate-and-burgundy carpet, nuzzling each other and still chuckling.

“Yeah, right,” I said. “Cure amnesia with the old beef injection.” I lay on my back with him over me, propping his head up on one elbow.

The t-shirt I had been wearing as a dress had disappeared and I vaguely remembered tearing his shirt off of him. Okay, yeah, I did that. From where I lay, I could see his shorts hanging from a corner of the 67” HDTV. I did not know how they got there, I swear.

He lazily stretched one leg over my ankles and caught my wrists with his free hand. “Got you,” he said. With no effort at all, he held me motionless, I could barely wiggle my middle.

This caused the damnedest reaction in me, like someone had wrapped my groin in a heating pad. “I’m–I–are you? We’re going to do it again?”

“Soon,” he promised, bending down to kiss me. “Recharging. You know guys aren’t ready again quite as soon as girls.” He kissed again, just little nibbles with his scratchy cheeks brushing my lips in between and making me nuts.

“Uh-huh.” I licked my lips myself. “Yeah, I know.” And I did, one of the advantages of being a receiver seemed to be not needing time to get ready. Well, some girls needed time to get hot for it. Evidently, not me.

“Am I gonna be your cupcake?” I asked, whispering.

He liked that. “If you wanna be, sure.” He chuckled, that noise he made deep inside, laying up against him I could feel it as much as hear it. “Long as I get to lick the frosting, huh?”

I giggled. Sure. The thought made me squirm.

He let me go then and rolled onto his back, the evidence of his need for a recharge lying across his leg like a sentry half asleep at his post. Even not quite ready, it looked ginormous, not just built to scale with the rest of him, maybe a bit over-sized.

“God,” I said. “That went inside me?”

He chuckled. “I thought you liked it. You certainly sounded like you liked it.”

I giggled some more, too awed to actually blush. “Yeah, I liked it, I guess. Uh-huh, oh, shit, yeah.” I nodded, feeling blonde to the bone and smarter than peel-and-stick kitchen tile.

He laughed and pulled me toward him. “You want to hurry things along a little bit?” he asked, pushing my head down toward his middle.

Oh, and I knew exactly what he meant by that, too. I didn’t feel at all nauseated or turned off by the idea either, in fact, my mouth started watering. Face it, I told myself, you’re not just a girlfriend, you’re a complete slut of a girlfriend.

I started to crawl through the brushy growth on his chest, turning my own bottom up toward his face. “If I’m going to have a taste of your gander, I want you to sample my saucy goose,” I said.

Well, when all was said and done, a half-hour or an hour or whatever later, guess what he wanted to do? Right. Go back to bed, to sleep. Men!