Last Night

Last night, I imagined meeting you for the first time.

I imagined the door closing behind us. The weight of the silence that falls, suddenly, as soon as it clicks shut. How my body freezes, tense, pounding. The eternity it takes for you to turn and look at me, and the instant between our eyes meeting and you having me pinned against the wall, your whole body heavy and hot on mine. A flash of panic.

I imagined your damp breath on my neck, and the low moan that escapes me, carrying every rational thought in my brain along with it. Your hardness making me all the more aware of my own wetness, my emptiness.

I imagined what your skin tastes like and how you would feel in my mouth -- first your lips, then your neck, your chest, your wrist, your balls, your cock.

I imagined how it would feel to have you tasting me, running your tongue wetly along my spine, how it would make me shiver and arch my back, wish it would never end.

I imagined how it would feel to have your hands all over me, gentle and hard and rough and soft, on my face, my neck, my waist, my ass. Inside me. Slowly probing and stretching, twisting and teasing. The need your first finger would open up inside me; the desperation rammed into me by two and then three of them.

I imagined your mouth following your fingers into my wetness, further drowning me in swirls and pressure, making me moan and rake my hands across your scalp, simultaneously desperate for more and for less, for faster and slower, to come and to never come.

I imagined taking you in my mouth and how my mind would never have willed my body to do something so strongly as it willed my throat to take every last millimeter of you, until my nose is pressed into your stomach and I can smell my own saliva leak out around my lips and into your skin. I imagined how good I'd be for you, and you for me -- moaning, gripping my head, letting go of everything except the feeling of my mouth wrapped around you, my tongue drawing wavy lines up and down its length.

I imagined how long we'd be able to go before we reach that undeniable, mutual need to get even closer. I imagine having to beg you to please, please fuck me. How unthinkable anything between you and I and our flesh and fluids would be. And you, being the good boy you are, obliging.

I imagined the way your head would feel against my opening, the way I'd be looking into your eyes for reassurance, intent on every tiny shift in your eyes, eyebrows, mouth, and forehead as you slowly, slowly start to push your way in. The way my own face would start to contort.

I imagined us negotiating that distance, working out how we fit together. The primal need for you to absolutely destroy me, tempered by some small sweetness between us.

I imagined us walking that line.

I imagined you driving into me, and all the places inside me I have never felt before. The pressure of you. The tight wetness of me. I imagined you panting. Pausing to grab my chin and turn my head towards you. Your eyes burning into me, you throbbing inside me. A few slow strokes and a sudden thrust. Your animal growl, your hand crashing into my ass, marking it as your property.

I imagined that -- after weeks of waiting for this moment, of days of anticipation and hours of feeling so silly for placing any sort of expectation on the situation -- that there we are. That this is unfolding. That there you are. Here I am. Totally ignorant to the rest of the world around us.

I imagined that I come first, that my waves of pleasure wash you into me. I imagine feeling your cum spurt deep inside me, my legs wrapping around you, willing you to never move, never make me go back to being so empty again.

I imagined the moment we'd inevitably have to disentangle our sweaty limbs. How I'd reach down to catch the result of so much desire as it falls out of me. How I'd lock eyes with you, bring my hand up to my mouth. Delicately clean it off with tongue. And how I'd then wait for your invitation to bring my mouth to yours.

Last night, I came imagining tonight.