It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen M. I was visiting a friend in Germany then spent a few days alone in Ireland. It was an amazing trip, but I’m happy to be home. And I’m happy to be outside M.’s apartment door on the 25th floor.
Earlier in the day I texted him and asked if when I arrived, he would pull me in quick and push me against the door. I pause before knocking wondering if he will follow through. The door opens, and he pulls and pushes as promised.
He tells me to stand facing the door while he finishes tidying the apartment. “It should only be an hour or so.” He says.
“I’ll scream.” I say.
After a minute it grows quiet so I turn around and sneak a peek. “No one said you could turn around.” He caught me.
He comes up behind me, touching, kissing my neck, attempting to take off my shirt, except I’m wearing a romper. I’m a stylish Brooklynite! I laugh as he struggles, wishing a montage existed of men trying to figure out rompers, but he undoes it quickly and is rewarded with the discovery that I am braless. He takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. “It’s time to take a shower,” he says. I am grateful because I didn’t have time to wash my hair.
My now naked body tenses up when I realize the water is not as warm as I prefer. He urges me in the tub anyway. I cling to the back of the shower until he gets it just right. He tells me to clean myself as he goes to make coffee.
Coffee has become ritualistic in my meetings with M. When he gets a new batch of beans, he invites me to bury my face deep into the bag and breathe in, sometimes grabbing my hair as he does. But it’s not the coffee I smell now. I smell the soap on my body, his soap. I leave the shower smelling like a man. Smelling like M.
He takes me naked and wet from the shower and has me sit at the end of his bed. My wet, clean hair is dripping everywhere. As I drip, he returns with a cup of coffee in his hands. He always serves me coffee in the same, red cup, which is hard to miss in his white-walled, minimally furnished apartment. His other hand holds the milk he knows I enjoy in my coffee. He pours just enough in my cup so that it swirls and moves in the sexy way we’ve witnessed together before. We both ‘Mmmmm.’
“We’re creeps,” he says.
He disappears for a moment, eventually returning to the doorway with his own cup. He leans against his doorway and takes a sip. “Spread your legs,” he commands.
I spread my legs. He takes a sip.
“Touch yourself,” he says next. I ask him where to start and he says my thighs. He watches me. I watch him.
“Keep drinking your coffee,” he tells me.
I don’t usually like touching myself in front of others but I am comfortable in this moment. It’s no longer only my hair dripping. He continues to watch. I am trying my best to maintain the sexy vibe of this moment. I speak slowly and calmly. I don’t want to mess this up with one of my signature snorts of laughter.
“It’s a beautiful sight,” he says.
“I want to remember every moment of this night,” I confess.
“Keep drinking,” he says.
Finally he comes over, petting me on my head before getting on his knees in front of me. Our heads are now level. “Move forward,” he says. He puts his fingers inside me, his other hand still holding his coffee. We sip at the same time. I’m proud of myself for holding eye contact. I wish I had a video of this to watch later.
He wants me to move back on the bed but I need to finish my coffee. I take a long, final sip as he takes his pants off. He puts me on my hands and knees, my ass facing the end of the bed. He has his belt in hand and starts giving me a little whipping. I ask him what I did wrong.
“Nothing. This is for my pleasure. You are for my pleasure tonight.”
I ask him to please hurry up. This foreplay is fun but I need him. He puts himself inside me and it is hard and fast and too good. I can tell he’s excited too because soon he is kneeling on the bed fucking me.
When I’m getting fucked, it is common for my imagination to wander. Not in the usual way that is joked about (to-do lists, what’s for dinner) but in a surreal, out of body way. Right now I feel like we’re fucking in a castle with candles lining the stone windows. Probably due to my recent European trip.
He puts me on my back and begins rubbing my pelvis. I love this. His fingers track the orgasm under my skin. As it moves, his hands move.
“Get it out!” I beg, and by the time I come I’m moaning in an unfamiliar, primal tone.
Now it’s his turn. His dick looks very good. I swear it got bigger since I’ve seen him last.
“You’re my slave tonight. Say it,” he commands, and I repeat it for him right before he puts himself inside my mouth. He stops me at one point and forces our gaze. The oxytocin screams.
He comes as I’m on my knees and I swallow almost all of him. He falls to the corner of his bed, defeated. My head falls to his chest, exhausted.
I close my eyes and return to the castle I created in my head.