a collage of fuck - part 1

I was still trying to process what you said, laughing, lying half on the mattress on the floor and half on the carpet. And you kissed me. I whispered to you that I was happy. We kissed and kissed, I remember you running your tongue over my teeth, you laughing, tapping them with you fingers, saying how perfect they were. Exploring the spot where the inside of my bottom lip mets my gum, and for some reason this was achingly erotic. I was scared and paralysed by desire, so I didn't touch you. But I felt you hard against my thigh, and neither of us acknowledged it.

When you ran your hand over my ass and noticed I wasn't wearing knickers beneath my tight pants, I was ashamed. But then you rested your fingertip in my wetness and I felt myself melt for you, terrified of you touching me at last and at the same time ready to faint from the anticipatory breathlessness of it all. I brought your fingers to my lips to taste myself, but all I could taste was your skin and then I knew I really was in love and even now my eyes well up as I type this tiny sweet memory of you.

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We'd lie in bed for hours, fighting over who'd cuddle who's back. I'd won this time, and we were looking out the window at tree tops twilight as you lazily stroked my tits and got progressively harder. And then you were inside me, one hand on my hipbone, the other around my throat, as it always was between us towards the end and I cried out with the little breath I had left.


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In the morning, naked together, under the glaring light of what we had done. You had you fingers inside of me as I played with my clit and tried to not let your flatmates know how close I was to coming. You could hear me breathe, though, and you pushed my other hand down to your cock. But I felt weird about it, so after a brief moment I moved it away. And then I was coming coming coming, wet all over your hands and mine, and I was only momentarily aware of you burying your soft moan in my shoulder as you added your own wetness to my thigh, though I'd barely touched you at all.

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You place your hand on my back, on my heart chakra and looked at me with your haunted doe eyes and told me I was sad. I said I wasn't but it was a lie. You see, I was in love with your best friend, though you didn't know it, in fact, didn't even know I knew him. I fucked you because of your connection to him. Later, when he and I had lived out our fate, I'll remember with a wry smile that you were infinitely better in bed than he was.

We lay there clinging in mutual sadness (you hated her, you loved her) and midway though what must have been our 16th fuck that night/morning, we stopped, me on top of you as you sat, my legs around your waist. We stopped, and you rested you head against my breast and I rocked you gently in your misery and felt sad for you.

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After a dinner at the Japanese/french fusion place, where the owner in horn rimmed specs flirted outrageously with you (I think his name was dave), we came home to the apartment and watched a little of the news. I sat close to you in my cream silk dress, and soon I was tired and lay my head in your lap and in a little while I felt you warm and throbbing next to my cheek as you put your fingers in my mouth to suck. And later as I ground my pussy down on you, your fingers dug into the flesh of my ass. And you were coming, my poor baby boy, coming like it hurt you, then you titled your head back, your face in your hands,  broken, baby and exhausted :"oh shit.... oh shit.... oh shit...."