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I want to see that.
show me
—I slide off you. Stand up. Push you down on the bed.
my cock is yours
—I climb over you, up your torso. Slither up you. I am so wet, I leave slick along you where I touch you.
—I straddle your face. I’m up high – you can’t reach me yet. But you see me. And you feel me as I drip. Droplet by droplet.
mmmmm the sweet scent of you
I open my mouth to catch your sweet juice
on my chin, on my tongue, on my lips…dripping down the sides of my face
‘Play with your pussy. I want you to gush on me.’
—Christ.
Do as you’re told. Now.
—My hands: one on my clit, the other hugging my breasts.
—Yours – on my calves. Just holding them.
No, gripping them tight.
Feel the pressure of my hands?
—Yes…
— (can we match this in real life, my lover? Because this conversation is turning into the most erotic chapter of my life…And we’ve set the bar fucking high in the past.)
(yes, oh, yes, we will. In 11 days.)
—I drop a little lower, just graze you with my pussy
—oh god
—and again
my tongue just barely able to lap at your slit
‘squeeze your breasts fucking HARD. cum on me.’
my fingers dig into your legs HARD
—I’m not really there. I’m on that front lawn in…what neighbourhood was that? Do you remember? my skirt around my waist…
—and on your roof, your mouth on my pussy, my breasts
YES
—…and in a stairwell…which one? oh god
There were several. All of them fucking hot.
—I scream again, and oh my god, I’m coming all over your face, right now, and every moment in the past all at once
i can see your pussy clench and spasm as your juice pours down on me hot and sweet
—I collapse
you are delicious
—the world spins
And now you’re ready to be really fucked. Before you can recover. I’m far from through with you.
Though sadly I have to leave now. To the gym. With my wife. Reality does intrude. But you’ll know I’m sweating to look good for you.
And you have a photo to take for me.
—Reality is.
—But. Wow. Thank you, my lover.
Thank YOU. You know what I want to see, don’t you?
—yes
Good.
I’ll check later.
—xx
xo
I am not going to send him a picture of my pussy. What sort of skank does he think I am?
Day 3 Fuck Foreplay (#u433b8edc-fe1b-5067-8913-7b44cc7efb39)
Wednesday, December 5
I don’t sleep. I don’t think. I just…is feel even the right verb? I’m sick with desire. And generally sick. And resentful. And angry. And so filled with lust, sleep is impossible.
I go downstairs and try to find a make-work project. But it’s too early for even Toronto to panic and send me work and I’ve met all my other deadlines. I work to calm myself by organising family photos. Thanksgiving. Halloween. Random life shots – but all real life. Children. Mother. Not a psychotic skank whore orgasming on command to words on the computer screen.
Mmmm, orgasm.
Fuck. I slap my face. Then, stupid, thoughtless, log into Twitter and Facebook. And read this:
You kept me up all night, lover. I dreamed I was watching you fuck a man like an animal, your eyes locked on mine the whole time. Even when you came.
Ten days.
Oh, my fucking God. Real life. Children. Mother. Wife! It all recedes into the background. Instead:
—I walk around on edge of orgasm all day and I read this, and I come, instantly, immediately. Silently.
And he’s in Montréal, so of course, he is already awake, moving, online. And he writes back:
10 days. Nine, really.
Love the thought of you on a hair trigger.
—I’m still worried the reality will fall short of the build-up.
Reality has many things in its favour. Such as the feeling of you wrapped around my cock.
—Your tongue on my skin.
Enjoy your heightened state, my lover. And get on that photo. My inbox was empty this morning. Disappointed; verging on angry.
—Demanding.
You have no idea how demanding.
I slam the laptop lid down as Alex comes down the stairs. ‘Up early again? Is this one of the signs of the apocalypse?’ he jokes as he kisses me. Running joke in our household – me, the most un-morning of un-morning people. Alex, often up at 6 a.m. on weekends. Freak.
‘Possibly,’ I say. ‘Or peri-menopause. Am I old enough for peri-menopause?’
‘Jesus, I hope not,’ Alex says, shocked. ‘Working?’
‘Facebooking,’ I say. ‘I probably drank all the coffee already. You’ll have to make another pot.’
Alex sighs dramatically. I hear the whirr of the coffee grinder.
My fingers tickle the top of the laptop. I make myself think about Nicola’s rat-fuck bastard of a husband, whose two or three graduate degrees from MIT did not teach him to not sex-text with his intern on the un-password-protected family-plan phone. In the bathroom. At the dinner table. Apparently, in church. (‘You guys go to church?’ I remember asking Nicola in shock when I heard that story. ‘Aren’t you atheists?’ ‘Taoists,’ she corrects me. ‘But the grandparents…’ Her voice trails off. Grandparents. No need to say more. The things we do for grandparents.)
Alex tramps up past me, upstairs. I hear the shower. I open the laptop.
I’m hoping you disappeared to play with the camera. I am checking my email obsessively. Verging on compulsively. Where is my photo?
—The photo is not going to happen. Disobedient.
Insubordinate. Lucky for you, I feel understanding.
—More to look forward to.
Agreed. Mostly I just like picturing you being subversive.
—You are incorrigible. Corrupting.
And I believe you love it.
—Do you?
—So presumptive.
Wholeheartedly.
Deductive.
Fuck. Already want to cum. Jeans still done up. Hands only typing. Amazing.
—How was your sweat session? Focused on the task at hand?
I was. The task being to look good for you. You are inspiring. I imagined there was an email waiting for me back in my locker. I even imagined the subject line: come fuck me. I think that inspired 20 per cent heavier weights, minimum.
—I have a picture of you lying down on a bench. And I come in.
Yes.
Continue while I type with my left hand…
—Are you sure you want to do this again?
Very.
—And straddle you. You’re still holding the weight. But your attention is, um, divided. I say, ‘Fuck foreplay.’
I want to show you how hard you just made me.
—I just slide off your pants and slip you right in. You drop the bar – it just makes it into the safeties.
Shove my cock.
—I lean forward, feel that angle?
Mmm, yes, so deep. Your clit grinding into me now.
—My hands are on your hips and I hold you down as I lift up. You want to thrust, but I keep on pushing you down.
Hungry bitch. I love it.
