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And then he puts me on top and teaches me how to ride his dick.
While he sucks on my tits and makes me moan to the sky.
Anyway, after all that, all the bike rides and amazing talks by the lake and all the sex, he brings me back home. He helps me climb up the tree and leaves me back where he takes me from, my bedroom. And then I try to go to sleep and I can’t. So I read on the phone he gave me — I do have an iPad now and tons and tons of paperbacks but his phone is the only one I read on — until I break down and text him.
And then he comes for me again.
He fucks me in my childhood bed and cuddles with me. Sometimes we end up watching a movie but we never finish it because halfway through it — maybe even before that — we end up kissing each other again. We end up making out and then more often than not, he isn’t satisfied just by kissing my lips, he needs to kiss me somewhere else too.
Down there.
I always let him, of course, but sometimes I make demands of my own.
Sometimes I’ll beg him to give me his dick so I can kiss and suck on something too. So we’ve devised a strategy for that. Or rather he has. When he’s eating me out, if I get hungry too, he’ll spin me upside down and put me on top. With my mouth on his dick and his mouth on my pussy, a sixty-nine. That I’d always read about but never experienced.
It’s intense.
So freaking intense.
But not more intense than when he refuses to indulge me.
When sometimes he absolutely refuses to give me his big bad Bandit dick while eating me out. Those times he will wring a crazy orgasm out of me and then when I’m still reeling, still loose and gasping, he’ll emerge from between my thighs, mouth dark and wet and dripping from my juices, straddle my chest. He will either fuck my tits or just stick his dick in my gasping mouth.
During those times, he goes crazy.
He fucks my mouth like he fucks my pussy, thrusting and pounding and plowing in my mouth, his balls hitting me on the chin, his scent choking me in the best of ways. He grabs the headboard and rolls his hips in a rhythm that reminds me of a dancer or the athlete that he so is.
And when I’m all dripping with my own saliva and tears of joy, both in my eyes and my once-again horny pussy, he comes with a pained groan. Sometimes down my throat, sometimes on the tip of my tongue. Other times on my face, my neck, my tits.
Or his favorite, my hair.
Whenever he comes in my hair, he makes sure to clean me up. He takes me to my shower, lovingly washes my hair and the rest of my tired and sated body. Well, not sated because all that fucking my mouth gets me going all over again so we fuck in the shower too.
And then,thenwe go to sleep.
Needless to say, I love movie nights.
Anyway, when I wake up in the morning, I always find my bed empty. Which I understand of course. He can’t be caught sleeping in my bed in the morning.
But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.
Or the fact that he won’t just stay with me in my bedroom the first time around, when he brings me back from the ride. Why do I have to text him, tell him I miss him — without him ever telling me the same — before he comes for me again.
It’s because this is just sex for him.
He’s only using me. This isn’t something permanent and I belong with someone else.
And even though I feel differently, I’m not allowed to talk about it.
Because I’m his good girl. And because if I do, he’ll leave.
But I do write about it in my diary.
Which, now if I read it, I’d call the lovesick diaries.
I write how even though he’s gone in the mornings, he doesn’t really leave me. He’s still there, the texture of his skin lingering on my fingers from all the touching I do; the shape of his muscled shoulders is imprinted on my thighs from all the times he goes down on me; the taste of his lips flutters on mine from all the kissing we do.
Not to mention, his dick in my pussy.
