Have you ever held the end of a lit cigarette to a crumpled ball of flash paper? There’s this brief period of time between the moment when you touch it to when it catches fire, and in that second it could be that the paper isn’t special at all – maybe this is just normal paper, which will burn slow and steady instead of exploding into light. Then wait… beat… FLASH. A sudden whoosh of bright light and fizz. You have to chuck it up in the air quickly so it doesn’t burn your hand, and the release and catharsis of watching it burn eclipses anything that came before. The other day I was fucking a guy and he whispered something in my ear.
It was something so short and incidental that I could easily have missed it if I’d been moaning too loudly. Something that many people wouldn’t have found hot, or might have found confusing, or something else.
Three words, whispered softly.
And to me they were flash paper.
That moment when something that’s been quietly burning catches fire, and your body gives a rush of adrenaline in response.
We were missionary fucking, which I know will disappoint you all. Just firm, slow, powerful missionary fucking. And I was a little bit dry, because we were drunk, and despite needing it more often these days I’m still phenomenally lazy with lube.
But he was hard, and I was horny, and I loved the intense, steady rhythm with which we were fucking – the way his dick was pressing tight against the front wall of my cunt, and the fact that I could bury my face into my favourite part of his big, strong shoulders.
It was a good fuck, and it could have just been that, were it not for those three little words.
Because a couple of minutes in, as he gripped me tightly and shoved himself inside, his lips formed that short, simple phrase which leant heavily into the idea that I was gagging for a fuck. The phrase itself implied to me that he knew how much my cunt ached for it. That he was kindly dispensing dick which he knew I was fucking desperate for.
As he pushed himself inside and gripped me good and hard, he half-whispered, half-grunted in my ear:
“There we are.”
And as I say, it’ll mean nothing to many of you. It won’t sound particularly filthy or especially crafted to hit a specific kink. But for me it feels like someone dispensing dick to cure my aching cunt, and I know there’ll be at least a few other subby little fucks who really get it.
There you are.