In which the awful weather prompts me to wax poetically about fucking.
It’s a Friday evening, and the weather’s turned rather spectacularly. As the rain hits the pavement, and the traffic purrs along outside, my thoughts drift. It’s kind of funny how the rain can make you think of tangles of limbs. Of naked flesh and the sounds of slapping and moaning and the feel of your partner, inside or around you.
All sorts of images fill my mind.
Like the little dirty mind-film from last week. The memories are a bit blurry, but in my head, it’s as dark as it is today. There’s rain, or maybe there is not, but there is definitely traffic outside and it’s definitely a grey Saturday afternoon somewhere in September.
He asks me if I want to have sex, and I say yes, because my hand’s already on the bulge in his trousers and I want him, but sex hasn’t crossed my mind until he asks me, with his eyes, his voice and his throbbing erection.
Upstairs, we strip in record time. Or, at least, I think we did. What I remember most is his body, the way his face looks between my thighs, with his tongue licking and mouth sucking and making me wetter and wetter.
I want it to go on forever. In fact, I’d like to take this opportunity to pitch to you the idea of having one day a year entirely dedicated to oral sex. Giving and receiving. International Oral Sex Day, if you will. I know there’s such a thing as Steak and BJ/Cake and Cunnilingus Day, but fuck that shit. Let’s just have one glorious day dedicated to the both of them. And when you’re spent, you can enjoy some steak with cake as afters. Simple as.
But I digress.
At this point, I still don’t want him to stop, but my desire for his cock inside me wins over. He sheaths and positions himself over me. And then he’s inside me, and he kisses me as we fuck each other, and I can smell and taste my cunt on his lips. His cock. His cock. Oh, his cock, it feels so fucking perfect inside me, so filling and so, so, so fucking big…
A week later, and I’m sitting in the living room, writing this post. As the TV plays and the rain trickles outside, mingled with the hum of late evening traffic, I smile to myself. Because something tells me we’ll soon again be a mess of tangled limbs and bodies in synch.
And that makes me smile even more.
In fact, it makes me laugh.