Dear T,
In between these two merging extremes of pure touch and pure mind-fuck, there are thoughts of you. I meander there once in a while as well, do not bother to stop it.
I want to bring the girl still in with us, dream that I will find her now that I’ve stopped looking, and you will want to do it still. We watch her together as she strokes with languid fingers on her clit, her hands larger than mine, not circling and flicking like me, but waltzing up, up, up from her ass to her clit, her fingers as uncertain curtains for her cunt. And it the same fantasy always, I want her to watch us when you move to me finally. After you are done fucking her and I am done watching you fuck her, it is her turn to watch us.
I remember you telling one girl we chatted with what it is that I like to do with you, she likes when I whisper in her ear, she likes when I dominate her, she likes when I control her orgasms, and how it twists and tingles inside to hear you tell another that, my proud need to expose and exhibit myself rearing up again.
And on rare occasion, I imagine we really are all three of us connected and touching until we forget whose cock is in whose cunt, I am just touching somewhere on someone’s skin and someone is inside me and you are there, your energy is there, and I could cum just from it.
I remember the change that came over you after you first placed your fingers inside me and made me cum. You had already had an infectious enthusiasm, but I was still amazed at how you were now positively radiating sex, bouncing off the walls with it, devastatingly honest and open about it. It made me want to devour you alive. You had to leave to teach and I sat in your shorts and shirt, playing your videogames, finding I kept on losing, could not focus at all. You pounced into the room during a break, could not concentrate, thinking of you up there, having you in my house right now, you rushed, and you looked the part, you really did, that damn tremor in your breath, and I could only laugh, speechless from the start, and you told me decisively, come with me please, lifting me up from your couch with your hand in my hand and tugging me back into your room, and then lie down please, on your stomach, and then pulling the shorts down and then the panties, so that I was already gasping, fuck, it is this memory most of all that has me aching just to write of it, and then plunging your fingers into me suddenly in a moment of pain, but then quickly smoothing away as I became wet, terribly, terribly wet, so that you could go harder and harder, deeper in, completely fuck me with your two fingers, the cries coming out of me like a cascade, and cumming was easy, far too easy, and as I lay there moaning, trying to regain a hold on all that had passed, you asked me, was that ok?, wasn't too rough? and I mumbled with a mouth surprised into slackness a nu-uh, no, not at all.
And then I think of that time of our "three acts", on the third act, how I had gasped, I need a break babe, as you pounded into me, me on my stomach again, my cunt raw from over-use. And we both smiled secret smiles, because there are far worse things you can be then overly fucked. You pulled out immediately. And then after I had caught my breath, you slowly slid back in, asking again if this was ok, and I was, much, much better, yes, and then you sauntered in and out, pausing, bending over me so you could whhisper in my ear, is this ok, is this ok, until I was begging you for more, trying to push back against you, panicking every time you stopped to ask, and you continued to creep in and out every so slowly and gently, seemed to go on for hours and hours, your mouth occasionally touching on my back, until I floated into a haze that I thought would go on forever, and then I realized that I had actually drifted into orgasm, the easiest, gentlest, calmest, most rolling of cums, licks of smiling, pulsing waves that went on and on, and I had forgotten even about you, until I realisexd you were groaning and I felt your cum drip out of me and onto my ass, and I felt your shaky kisses all over my neck and I felt, quite simply, as I lay there trembling, blessed.
And then I just think of your clean creamy skin, remembering that time when I had you after a shower, your body laid by my side, at your naked disposal, you grinned, and I grinned back shyly. And so I peered over you, my head resting on my palm, on the hinge of my elbow, smearing with the index finger of my other hand the three dots of water on your chest, right below your neck, savouring, wondering what on earth to do with you next.
(How is it that such few, short encounters hold so many memories?)
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