Thursday, December 27, 2007

Tipping point.

There's a moment in Alan's fucking when he stops playing with me and he starts using me to come. His rhythm shifts from soft-hard-tease-hard to HARD-HARD-HARD-HARD. His eyes stop looking at me and fix on something a thousand miles away. He stops touching me and starts holding on to me. And he starts making the noises.

Raw, wordless, animal noises. Earlier in sex he might go "oh yeah," or "mmm", or "ahh," but those are words even when they're not. Past the tipping point it's nothing I can really type. It's "uhuhuhuhuh," it's "eerrrrmmm," it's "aaaauuufff," but those look ridiculous and it's not. Maybe from the outside it would be; who knows? There's a reason we don't videotape our sex.

I talk about my partners' quirks sometimes like I'm this dispassionate observer. I'm not. Today I noticed a big ugly abrasion on Alan's leg. "What happened to you?" I asked.

"You don't remember?" he said. "Last time you were here, when you had me up against the wall, you were scraping me on something. I should've stopped you, but you were, you know..."

I know. Past the tipping point.

God, I don't even remember it.

No comments:

Post a Comment