It isn’t an everyday feeling. It’s not even one that you can guarantee a person will ever have in their life. So how do I justify having felt it more than once? Am I super-special or just damn fucking lucky?

And how does a person quantify the feeling of complete and under comfort in the presence of another. The one where you feel as though you’ve known them for a thousand years. Where you gaze at them with warmth and affection, until they put their hand on your thigh and then your gaze turns to one of smoldering longing.

This is comfort born not of familiarity but of chemistry and mutual like-age. Incorporating NRE with unbridled lust, and a propensity to constantly feel the skin of the other beneath your fingertips. Where a finger run softly across your back turns your knees to mush, and you thank the deity of your choice that you are sitting down, as you know that were you not, you’d be in a crumpled heap on the floor.

And then later, as you tingle all over from their touch, and  try desperately to catch your breath after a protracted and deeply satisfying gush of an orgasm, you realise that you have to bid them farewell soon — but you know you’ll see them again. And again. Soon.

Ain’t nothing better.


Thank you for making me feel so relaxed and welcome. Thank you for liking so many of the same things that I do, and concurring on so many others. Thank you for the tea with milk, and for then rendering said tea irelevant as my mouth was busy elsewhere.

Thank you for stroking my skin, and playing with my hair. Thank you for being so much fun to be with.  Thank you for being a wonderful kisser. I could kiss you for hours, days even. I might end up looking something like Mick Jagger, but it’d be worth it.

Thank you for taking me from zero to tsunami in under 10 seconds — a feat hitherto only ever achieved (speedwise) by my glass friend. Thank you for taking me from behind; it’s my favourite position (see above “liking the same things as I do”).

Thank you for hugging me and holding me close. Thank you for making me laugh, and then laughing at my attempts at humour. Thank you for being so damn sexy. Thank you for making me feel so natural and happy.

Thank you for letting me pleasure you. Thank you for getting hard for me. Thank you for telling me to suck your balls — I’d have sucked them anyway, but I really enjoy being given, and following, (certain) orders in the bedroom (from specific people).

Thank you for the one for the road. It did indeed last the whole way home, the rest of the day, all of last night and is still going — not so much in terms of orgasmic buzz but in terms of glowing from the inside out. Were I to walk past a Geiger counter, I’d be surprised if it didn’t light up and dance all over the surface on which it stood.

Thank you for everything — and in particular, for thanking me. I can’t think of a higher compliment. As you said to me, it was wonderful having you, and I couldn’t agree more.

I can see the future.

The image is not as clear-cut as one might hope, but is less blurry than one might fear.

I see the past clearer, but that’s a given — the past is a reflection of what has been, and is, as so we well know, 20:20.

In the past, I see the comforting strong arms holding her passionately, kissing her as her knees buckle, preventing her from slumping to the floor in a delirious heap.

In the past, I see her, half-naked and half-delirious, legs akimbo, head thrown back, writhing in ecstasy. I hear the guttural sounds of unadulterated and pure joy escape her lips as his tongue and teeth work  their magic on her. I see her shudder to a thundering climax that seems to last for hours – and then another, almost concurrent, shakes her into further frenzy.

In the past I see his lips meet hers, and hear them murmur to each other through passionate kisses. Not words per se, but sounds of acquiescence and wonder, or warmth and affection, of sensuality and desire.

Looking forward, the images are not so sharp, but they are very real.

I see two figures, sans clothing. She is restrained, arms secured firmly to the side. He is poised above her, teasing her body with feathery licks and nips wherever he pleases. He has her at his mercy, or so it would seem, much to the delight of them both.

I see him straighten, and the reposition himself to thrust into her — but he stops with only an inch of cock inside her yearning cunt. Their eyes meet and each holds the others’ gaze, each willing the other to break first — he for her to beg, her for him to fuck her, hard… just as they both know they want him to. Eventually, she cracks.

“Fuck me.”

“What? Say again.”

“Fuck me.”

“Do what? Why? Tell me.”

“Fuck me. Now. FUCK ME NOW.”

“Tell me why.”

“You want it.”


“I want it.”


“You need to be inside me.”


“I need you inside me.”

“Magic word?”


“Please what?”

“Please … you know what!”

“No. Say it. Tell me. Articulate.”

“Please fuck me.”

“That’s a start. Give me more.”

“Please slide your cock inside me.”


“Please fuck me before I explode with frustrated desire. Please… just, for the love of god, just please fuck me now.”


“Because I need you inside me. Because you arouse me beyond belief. Because I want us to meld. Because… I can’t focus anymore… goddamit — please!”

It is there that the future dissipates. The vision swims and swirls before my eyes, and I cannot see what happens next.

Will he fuck her, slam himself into her, make her scream with ecstasy?

I prophesize that he will.

“You make me feel so relaxed.”

She smiled up at him, from her vantage point between his knees, and continued what she’d been doing.

He sighed, and stroked her hair.

“It’s such a weird sensation. I mean, when you do that — ohmigodddd — I’m harder than the fucking rock of Gibraltar…”

Catching his eye again, she winked.

He continued, lying back in his chair, and exhaling a stream of smoke from his mouth.

“I feel so… comfortable with you. It’s as though we’ve known each other for so long — I understand you; you understand me. And you arouse me immensely. I can feel it streaming throughout my body… but my dick is happy to relax. It’s not a reflection on you in a negative way — the opposite, in fact.”

She removed her mouth, sat back on her heels, and smiled up at him, stroking him gently with her fingernails.

“So I’m not doing anything wrong here?”

“No, no, god no. In fact… why have you stopped?”

“So i can talk to you. Communication is good. And i love how you feel in my hand. So… what, this is an unusual situation?”

“Very unusual. I feel closer and closer to coming, and you can bet I’m going to fill your throat with come. But when your mouth is off me, i… relax.”

“So I noticed. It is unusual. Very unusual.”



A beat of silence passed, while they looked up at each other, until he gently guided her head down back to what she’d been doing. She grinned, with her mouth full of his cock, and chuckled softly.

“So glad i can keep you amused while you suck me off — oh holy mother of god YESYESYES…

More silence, and again she looked up at him. He looked back at her, eyes wide and dismayed at yet another pause in the proceedings, particularly since she’d stopped doing that fabulous thing on that really sensitive spot on his glans. No comment, just a mournful look and a tiny disappointed mewl.

“That’ll teach you to be sarcastic when I’m working on getting you off.”

He laughed, and so did she. She resisted his hand at first, but then allowed it to guide her back to her task.

His state of relaxation revealed nothing about his state of arousal, which was an unusual situation for her; accustomed as she was to gauging time-to-orgasm by the state of the cock in question. It was only when he stopped articulating words and began moaning audibly that she could accurately assess how close he was; the tightening of his hand in her hair confirming this.

“Ohhhh. Ohhhhhhhhh. OHHHHHHHHHHH.”

She swallowed, and felt him soften again, this time inside her mouth. She looked up to see him offering her a glass of red wine, with a beatific and contented smile on his face.

“That was wonderful… you are as good as you boasted…. Now, have this, baby. Sit down. Relax.”