It's not me, it's him Part One
Rick.
That name did not warm my heart. Instead, I felt sharp, uncertain, cold spears crash through it. When I thought about him, I thought of those blue eyes, much like the Mediterranean Sea I used to visit every summer. Though the water was so icy, it quickly warmed when you were inside. And the longer you stayed inside, the more you felt at peace.
Cold to look at, but oh so warm inside.
Rick was so fit, because he liked his sports. So smiley, because his heart loved life. So passionate, because we clicked.
Rick was the first person who'd fucked me in a very long time.
I hate being fucked. When a bottom suggests flipping, I suggest the fastest way for them to leave is through my second story window. But not Rick, his lips melted into mine as our bodies pressed together, so when he told me he'd love to fuck me, I told him I'd let him try.
Rick was only visiting my city as part of a whiz around Europe.
It might have been better if Rick and I had never met.
But that Wednesday afternoon, bored with my day and my job, I loaded an app in hunt of trouble. So trouble came in the form of him.
Rick and I clicked. It took a dick pic, a body pic and a smile and some compliments before I shoved my address across. Not a minute after the promised 45-minutes, he arrived looking better than his pics.
Maybe he'd been blonde as a child, or perhaps the sun did really kiss it as much as I wanted to kiss the rest of him, and with his fair skin, toned body and fashionably black-painted nails, I was all in.
He said something, I don't care what. He had an accent. He said lots of things, but I just wanted to get him naked.
We kissed as we made our way to my bed. I know Rick was ready to be fucked, and I promised with my eyes that we'd get there. I needed to push my full body into his, feel our dicks rubbing together as we slowly built passion, while my hands explored him.
A part of me just needed to make sure he was real. It's not often that the absolute perfect manifestation of what you desire turns up in your bed.
And when I say perfection, his 8.5 uncut dick should be cast, created into a mould and sold to the highest bidder while his perfectly fit arse, slid onto my dick like it had been made for me.
When it's this good, and the sex is incredible, you're in heaven.
But when the kiss is precisely as passionate as you could ever hope for, what does that make it? Beyond imagining.
"Open relationships are totally fine," I'd argued with a long-time single friend, "you just need trust and respect. Then you can have fun along the way."
He, after countless years of eternal singledom quipped, "No. You kid yourself, but if you're looking for sex in other beds, yours isn't a good one."
"And that's why you're single," I said without shame, though I should have felt some.
And I meant this. Every. Single. Word.
Until that day when Rick came into my bed, and my husband of nearly 9 years disappeared from my mind completely.
I fucked Rick and I sucked his dick, discovering I could deep-throat like never before. And as deep as I could suck, I could fuck even deeper. Watching his eyes mist with the pleasure of it, then lock on mine with gratitude and then rewarding me with an even deeper kiss.
I swam in a bit of euphoria for an hour or so, as this random visitor fulfilled fantasies long since sequestered to...well, fantasies.
I know it had been an hour because I was late for a meeting.
I jokingly said, "you're here for 2 more days. So does that mean 2 more fucks?"
And he smiled, giving me a smile I still remember. "Yes please. And can I fuck you?"
"Of course. I haven't bottomed in decades, but I'll give it a shot if you go slow."
People say all sorts of shit in the heat of the moment and when Rick left that day, I figured we were giving each other the same old lip service.
I dreamed that night of Rick, even as the love of my life slept next to me unaware of the mind-blowing experience I'd just had.
I thought a lot about Rick the next morning, though I hardly expected him to message me asking for round two.
