I wrote my first piece of erotica for a stranger who arrived at my house for a party and left as my lover. We've kept up an intermittent affair for years since then, meeting to fuck everywhere from rooftops to hotels to mountainsides. He's a beloved friend, and this expanded version of the story is an anniversary gift to him from far away.
When you showed up at our house for my boyfriend's 4th of July party, the first thing I noticed were your lips, full and pretty, and a little pinker than I could reconcile against the flawless brown of your face. Your skin had a luminosity that kept me stealing glances while friends were introducing us — the hollow of your throat, the inside of your wrist, the divot in your top lip. Your smile was sparkling and genuine.
The sun was blazing, and I noticed that you had a habit of sweeping your shiny black hair out of your eyes, off your forehead. I caught myself thinking it would feel like heaven against my skin. Almost before I'd even learned your name, I knew I wanted you.
That party was pure Texas chaos, and I was a reluctant hostess. I loved our crowd, but damn, those motherfuckers could drink! Though usually I was glad to get wild alongside them, the sheer volume was wearing me down. Keeping the beer iced and mountains of recycling contained were not my idea of a party. So I was relieved whenever I could steal a few moments away in my bedroom, door locked, in relative quiet and privacy.
Until the time you happened to be standing by the bedroom door, waiting for the bathroom, reading the book titles on the hallway bookshelf. I thought, "I'll bet he could cheer me up," so I beckoned you in and locked the door behind us. Then I found out that my suspicions were right — about your hair, your skin, your lips, your hands, your belly: delicious, silky, and sweet. And then I found out about the rest of you: hard, hungry, and relentless.
***
Since then, I've been thinking about those soft lips on the inside of my ankle, sliding slowly up the inside of my calf and my knee and gently biting the skin inside my thigh, and then your sweet breath cooling my hottest place — just for a second — before you start again at the other ankle. Torture. And rapture. Your hair, softer than anything I've ever felt before, brushes inside my knee and makes me twitch, wanting all of you. Now.