Still in a sex haze from a long, giddy night of pot and orgasms that stretched into a morning of devouring all the leftovers in my flat before devouring each other, I lie silent for a minute, listening to the door click behind him as his footsteps run down my stairs outside. Everything is perfectly still and calm; I can hear birds chirping and see the first rays of sun starting to penetrate the sky. It’s too early for traffic – and besides, no one would be out on a Sunday morning. Except him. Perhaps whistling while he walks; perhaps listening to music. Definitely thinking about the way I taste.
I reach into my nightstand drawer and pull out a Batman stationery pad, flipping it open to the first page on which I’ve written the beginning of a list:
Double butt plug
Saran wrap fuck
Bound, spread-eagle fuck
The list goes on. I’d written it after a long conversation we’d had a few weeks prior in which we spent hours talking dirty about the things we wanted to do together. I had snapped a quick photo of it with my phone, sending it to him as a kind reminder; sure, there were things I had in a mental life-long fucket list of unlikely situations, but he was a rare and beautiful partner: the kind I could suggest any fantasy to, knowing he’d be game. I wanted to have a special fucket list for us.
I grab a pen and with a steady hand cross off the phrase “good ol’-fashioned anal” before ripping the sheet of paper out of the pad and neatly folding it into its own envelope. I write his address on the cover and put it aside for the moment, relishing the memory of sitting on top of him in the dark, his breathing shallow and yearning, as I lowered myself slowly onto his cock. I had slid back up almost immediately for more lube; once that was in place, delightfully messy and slippery, I found it much easier to slip him inside of me. I could feel every throbbing vein on his cock against my tight muscles; I turned on a wand and sat on him, telling him to hold still while I brought myself to climax. Once I’d come, my whole body relaxed, and I could start gliding along his cock – back and forth until I felt comfortable. Until I wanted it deeper. Until I came again, my whole pelvic floor contracting against him – which is when he lost it, moaning a guttural moan I’d never heard before. One of desperate release drawn out of him like a spirit.
My hunger not quite satisfied, I roll out of bed, throw on some sweats, and settle on grabbing a bagel down the street. I clip our list onto the mailbox on my way out the door for the mail carrier to pick up the next day and giggle at the thought of her opening it or trying to use the light to see what’s inside. On the way, I hear dull church bells ring in the distance, and once again I think of him; I hope he’s made it on time.