Teddy jovially bumps my hip as she wanders by me. Her auburn hair is in a messy bun, freckles sprinkling her cheeks, and one of my old t-shirts hangs off her shoulder slightly. I think she has shorts on, but the fabric of the top is too long to determine the clothing situation.
I love it when she’s like this. Comfortable with me seeing her in clothes she would never leave the house in. Unconcerned if the material flatters her shape because she knows my hands will explore under the fabric confines anyway. To gently warm my palms on her stomach, to playfully squeeze her small, “muffin top”, as she calls it. I strangely like how it has connotations with cake, appropriate because I could spend an age kissing and nibbling at her hips.
Teddy smells like a coconut. The essence of tropical islands fanning my senses as she indulges in childlike play and skips past me into the bathroom. I listen fondly, Teddy humming around her toothbrush and taking coy glances in the mirror at me. She spits out foam in the sink, lacking elegance and any sort of grace. But Teddy doesn’t need it, because she’ll reconcile points lost to pardonable manners in lovable gestures that make my heart swell.
Lips to cheek, lips to nose, lips to forehead. Sometimes the kisses that don’t lead to anything bedroom related are my favourite; just to have that almost childlike connection. Or the way she hooks her hand to the inside of my elbow if we’re out walking. I long to feel her presence and the welcome bubbling of complete adoration that brews within me when her fingertips unite with my skin.
She’s finished with the nightly ablutions and set her sights on me. Clothed toes wriggle against the carpet before striding forward to secure a place in front of me. Teddy is at optimum height for sweet kisses to her head but I capture her cheek instead. I’m repaid with an unforeseen palm to my arse, coupled with a burst of giggles.
“Get ya kit off, Styles.”
And with that, Teddy has slinked past me, subtly swaying her hips to the bed. Amusement gets the better of me when she hops up to the mattress and “sexily” negotiates the removal of her (my) socks. Once both are off she waits, a ready audience for my show. However, it seems she spends the majority of her time observing with a pink flush and through the cheeky gaps of fingers on her right hand. Despite our numerous adventures of eliminating our clothes (or each other’s), Teddy is still a bit diffident about putting on a performance, with the exception to instances of inebriation.
Most of the time, sex with Teddy is a giggly mess of slightly clumsy limbs (on my part). She’ll blow raspberries upon my middle to make me laugh and I’ll try to wriggle away from her. But I never go too far (mainly because she’s sprawled on top of me). Lips that were meant to tempt, tickle instead of seduce. Her laughter hiccupping as my hips meet hers and force the happy air from her lungs. Small, quick thrusts produce the best giggles, ones that pinch her cheeks pink and have her clawing my back for intimacy.
We’ll do it with her t-shirt still on, not bothered about the prowess of allurement. She already has me. It’s fun. And sometimes when Teddy finds something particularly amusing, she’ll cutely snort and I wouldn’t be able to prevent the laughter bursting from me. I haven’t put a name to what we do yet. But I don’t think it’s making love. We do that as well though, intimate and full of “I love you’s”. But this is something different.
I didn’t realise it could be like this until I met Teddy. The porn and films have got it wrong. Sex doesn’t have to be all intense bedroom eyes and loud groaning to be pleasurable; mine and Teddy’s relationship is treatment to that. However, there are times when that’s all that is desired, not to speak but instead to knock each other into the headboard and open ourselves completely vulnerable to the other person. To trust her, to have her trust me.
Although in contemplation, it appears I am perhaps more apt in the proclamation of love when it’s held in more playful regard. I don’t have the conduct for steely seduction as I’m more likely to stumble over the removal of my jeans than moult them sexily and stalk towards the bed. My nose bumps, elbows knock and my hands display a characterised incoordination that strangely only presents itself when offered Teddy in minimal clothing. Her nakedness does odd things to my composure.
And when we finish my tummy hurts more from all the laughing than anything else; laying on our backs and breathless with tittering amusement combined with post-sex fatigue. The creases inside my elbows will be traced. Teddy says she likes how soft the skin is there, delicate and untouched on most days. And then she’ll ask me if I’m hungry and we’ll have a picnic in bed, crisps and chocolate spread sandwiches. We’ll stand up together upon the mattress to shake the crumbs from the duvet, something to worry about in the morning. I’ll only be clad in boxers, Teddy in vest and knickers while conversations span to where we want to go on holiday and the attractions we want to visit. It’ll all be planned out as I trace the love bites and soft grazes left upon our sensitive skin.
I like it in the winter when we use the extra fluffy blankets to cocoon ourselves within the warmth. We’ll share the limited air under the covers as we kiss. Teddy’s fingers will lightly brush over the line of hair from my belly button to my boxers; pads running along the goose pimpled skin above the band of elastic. And I’ll hold her, tell her that I love her, stroke her hair and kiss her cute nose.
I haven’t told her yet, but I think she’s my soul mate.
