The hospital misadventure screwed up most of my week. This interfered with many things—including my final date with Scarlet.
When she first came into my life a few weeks ago, we knew our time was limited. She had found my blog and decided to use her winter break from school, as she put it, “to get better sex than I can get in my home town.”
The two of us hit it off well, and she made the most of the opportunity to take part in two of the biweekly orgies I host with my friends.
She met new friends through the parties. She was going to be back in the city now and then, and would see a few of them. But now that school was starting back, the two of us would have to end out torrid affair. She had her job and classes, I had work and kids, and our schedules just didn’t fit.
Maybe another time, we hoped.
On Friday, I put aside work, and she made the trip into the city so that we could have a few final hours together.
I met her at the train. We were already old sweethearts with this routine. We talked and held hands as we took the subway to my neighborhood. It was gray and rainy, unseasonably warm—the kind of weather that is too cold to go without scarves, and too warm for winter coats. Neither here nor there.
I didn’t have time to shower before getting the kids off to school, so I shaved and took a long shower when we returned to my place. I needed something to settle my body temperature, and to wash off the feeling of unattractiveness that clung to me after the recent deformity of my neck.
I wrapped myself in a towel and went to her. We kissed. Come to bed, I said.
I put aside my towel and got under the covers. She undressed and cuddled next to me. The feel of our skin together, after so much longing, was electric.
We kissed and held one another. I was alive with the desire to be touching her, craving to be in her. We had time to enjoy this, to feel our want for one another, to let that happen.
I was divided between desire and hunger, grateful to cup my palm on her breast, gentle and tender, even as I wanted to bite open her flesh and live inside her, forever and always.
I wanted her so badly.
She was under me, kissing me so easily, our bodies becoming relentless in need for one another. I put on a condom, just to be in her as we kissed.
We kissed, still gentle and slow, hungry, as we fucked. Our bodies seized the moment to take over for us.
I held her face, her head, her hair, firm. Her eyes were closed, her mouth searching. She was mine. I was hers. It got elemental like that, very fast. I want her. I want her to be mine. She is mine. I am hers.
These are not the kinds of thoughts I ever think. These are the instincts that take over when the frontal lobes are disregarded, when heart and flesh are in control.
She was gasping, giving over. I wanted her on top of me. I wanted my hands on her.
I pulled her over. She lubed my cock, very wet, and sat back to fuck it. I took a nipple in my mouth and held her hips.
I put a finger in her mouth. She latched on. I soon had four fingers in her mouth, tugging her chin in synch with our fucking as I bit her nipple.
I took those fingers from her mouth, and gave her my other hand. My fingers, wet from her mouth, massaged her anus. Her body went into full attention, like an animal ready for the hunt. To be hunted.
I whirled my fingers around on her, as my cock fucked up into her, set in motion, regular and sure. My teeth were on her nipple, biting firm. My hand was in her mouth, pulling her jaw.
We knew each other so well.
We panted and grinded, everything right, every button pushed, but . . . we lost it. She didn’t cum.
I tossed her over. My mouth sought her tits. My hands pushed them together, forcibly, as my tongue worked between them.
I wanted her pussy on my mouth. Her body was mine to take.
I opted for ropes.
I bound her wrists, my cock in her mouth as I worked the knots. These were secured to the bed frame. Her left ankle was similarly bound, her right free so that I could move her leg as needed.
I fed her more cock, fingering her nipples behind my back.
I pulled out a length of rope to bind her tits. I pulled her breasts together and wrapped them tight, leaving her plump nipples exposed and in close proximity to one another.
My mouth went to her pearl clit. I lapped it in greeting: it’s me, your mouth, the one you know.
I kissed and sucked her, as her torso gave over to twitches I already knew well.
I was hard as I focused on her pussy. My right hand reached over and lubed a butt plug; it was slowly, gently in her ass.
Two fingers massaged her g-spot as I worked her with my mouth. Two more were in her, from a different hand, pressing down as the other pressed up.
She came for me, twitching, turning, pushing into my mouth. She came for me a few times, panting, her voice squeaky and exhaling like air leaving a helium balloon—“That’s it, don’t stop, don’t stop . . . . !”
In time, she was exhausted.
I talked with her, eventually untying the ropes as we spoke. I was so keyed up for her touch. I was so aroused by getting her off. She sucked my cock as I freed her wrists.
Craving her so much, wanting to feel her as she came down from her orgasms . . . her mouth plunged and pulled, and I came for her as well.
We lay together in each other’s arms. We had very little time left together. It felt fine. We were together. Close.
We had so little time. We needed to eat.
Scarlet eats bagels all the time, but—to the pity—she had never had a real New York bagel. I had picked up some H&H Bagels for lunch.
(I try not to be a snob, but this is a fact: elsewhere, so-called bagels are microwaved buns with holes in the middle. Here, they are boiled fresh. Boiled, not baked or microwaved.)
We curled under a blanket, listening to music, and ate bagels—hers with cream cheese, mine with whitefish salad. Our legs were interlocked. The sky outside was gray, and it rained. We felt very content, very much just in our skins.
Our bellies full, she lay against my chest. We talked about our time together—not just today, but our previous dates. It would be hard to let go of what we had found together.
It was time to get dressed.
We walked together to the subway. She felt confident to make her way to the train home alone. I let her go.
We kissed goodbye.
I pulled up my collar as I walked away.
We had been together for her first orgasms from oral, vaginal and anal sex; two orgies; her first black man, some lesbian sex; and just between us, plenty of cuddling and spooning and adoration . . .
A big relationship. All over in five dates.
Boy Scouts know the rule: leave the forest better than you found it. I know she is happy we met, and this was all a good thing for both of us. Our forests are much better off for our having met.
I can assign that rule to this situation. But still, I think: I’m lucky to get out of this one with my heart intact.
I can only hope I will see her again.
C’est au revoir, je dit. Pas adieu.