The Time Traveller's Exes

15000 words, so a 45-50 minute read.

Everyone is (well) over 18 at all times.

Enjoy!

BC

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THE TIME TRAVELLER'S EXES

It's just an ordinary hardback notebook, but it sets Jessica's fingers trembling. This is it then, Max's diary. The explicit record of her husband's time-travelling infidelities. Giving him access to her time bath was a ridiculous idea, desperate even. But one of them had to do something nuts to break their spiral. She hopes it's worth the pain, because just the anticipation of these pages hurts more than she thought.

She takes a deep breath and opens the book.

ENTRY 1: MY MISSION

Diary, I'm going back in time to take up the opportunities in my past that I was too shy, or lazy, or proud to take up the first time round. And when I say opportunities I mean the women I rejected. I'm going to go back in time to when I was still young and desirable and tell these hopeful women, "Of course I'll sleep with you."

You see, it turns out there's only one thing more disappointing than my marriage, and that's time travel. It's nothing like the movies. There's no supercharged DeLorean or screeching Tardis involved, just a warm bath. There's no whizbang special effects, you just shut your eyes and relax. There's no high jinx to be had messing with timelines either. It doesn't matter what you do, or when, because, you know, multiverse and all that shit. You can kill Hitler, tell your old self the lottery results, whatever you like, you just branch off another time stream from that point like a piss in the ocean. Nothing you do in your past will affect your current life. Also, you can't kill Hitler anyway, unless you knew him, because all you can do is slide back through your own life. So what's the point?

Sure, initially I revisited all the best parts of my life, like the first time my Jess and I made love, before we were married and everything withered. What do they call it? Enshitified. In fact, that was the first place I revisited: twenty years ago, her sunny, tidy bedroom, rolling naked on her futon, gasping. I've happily relived that many, many times. But after a while, past joy either loses its shine, or makes current misery hurt more. So I stopped going there.

Then for a while, I tried to use time travel to fix my marriage. That's when I learned nothing I change back then affects our current life. If I could change anything at all. My tiny, elfin wife is one of the world's mightiest scientific minds--a quantum physicist. I don't stand a chance of changing her mind. Also, it's difficult to pin down when it started, this enshitification, it was a slow unbinding. We stopped making love, then kissing, then cuddling. Now we rarely even smile at each other-- and this is sad because my wife's smile is the biggest, brightest thing in the universe.

So I've decided to leave Jess alone, and find another way to deal with my frustration. My needs are my problem, not hers. That's why I'm going to revisit old girlfriends instead. Not just girlfriends. Specifically the women I rejected. Now I'm needy, I look back on those lovely, keen women and wish I'd made an effort.

I know, Diary, I know. You think that by revisiting old lovers I'm having affairs. But is it really infidelity to relive your past? All couples do that sometimes in the privacy of their own head. And going back in time is nothing more than that, travelling in your own head. Also, now's my chance to re-right wrongs and create new, happier timelines for the women I treated badly. I know from recent experience how worthless rejection makes you feel. I want to un-reject them all! If I happen to have interesting sex along the way, well, no harm done. Possibly some good, if it means I'm less sexually frustrated day-to-day with Jess. I'll pop back in time, say yes to some women I said no to before, and have new sex with old friends. For my wife.

ENTRY 2: REJECTING SARAH

I've chosen my first rejected girl. Sarah. She was my best friend at college, but we never got together romantically. I don't know why. I loved her kittenish looks. Diary, she looked so much like Jennifer Lawrence that once a nervous girl approached her for Katniss's autograph. She seemed to find me attractive too--she was always squeezing my bum or arms and going, "Cwor." And we talked about sex all the time. I think we both just liked pushing the envelope of what was acceptably platonic. But there was a time she put it out there, and I didn't bite.

She'd been dumped by her macho dick of a boyfriend just before they travelled to Greece together. She said she'd go anyway, but the thought of my new friend, morose and alone on holiday, was too much to bear. I said I'd buy a flight and go with her if she wanted. She was so touched she hugged me. Of course, we only had a one bed villa, and Sarah and I hadn't known each other that long, so I slept on the kitchenette floor while she got the double bed. It was fine, we were at the beach most of the time anyway.

But we were young and free and cheeky and after a couple of days of sun and sea and living in bathing costumes, a tension grew between us. One afternoon, we were lazing on our beach loungers, reading. I can't remember what my book was, but Sarah was devouring this book of 1920's French erotic stories. She was lying on her front in her striped bikini, frowning at the page, biting her lip, when she suddenly dropped her head into the book "Oh fucking hell," she said.

"How's your porn?" I said.

A fuse had lit behind her eyes. She smirked, staring at me, slightly winding her hips at the lounger. She chuckled. "Silly. But it's hit a nerve." She leant up on her elbows, and tucked her hair behind her ear. She had this cute black bob, quite 1920's actually. "Every story seems to be--" she put on a French accent "--he joyfully licked ze honey from her mound of venus."

I laughed. "Well you can't have too much of that."

I meant it lightheartedly but she quietened. She bit the inside of her cheek. "You like that, do you?"

"Of course. I love it. Wait, we are talking about..."

"Cunnilingus. Yes."

"My favourite."

"I wish my ex thought so. He hated it. He loved a blowjob of course. But then so did I, so I was my own worst enemy. Giving is underrated though isn't it?"

"Very."

The sea's long sighs seemed to take the piss for a while.

"God, Max," she burst eventually. "I loved his cum."

"O... K. Thanks for sharing."

She scoffed. "That's how it works though isn't it? You love the cum of the one you love." She snapped her book shut. "Whatever. I can't remember the last time someone loved my cum."

I didn't get that--at the time--but guessed what she meant. "Maybe he was gay." I said.

She laughed. Then turned those flaming eyes on me again. "How much do you like licking? I mean, do you do it because they like it, or because you like it?"

"I do it because I like it."

"You like giving more than receiving?"

"I've never thought about it. Probably, yes. As you say, giving is underrated."

"Bollocks. I don't believe you. You must have had crap blowjobs."

"No, I mean it. I love to be sucked a bit to get me going, or maybe at the end to finish me off, but otherwise it's all about the licking and shagging for me. And if there isn't time for the full suck, lick, fuck and suck, I'll forgo the suck and fuck. A tongue is just so reliably orgasmic, don't you think?"

My explanation seemed to have slapped Sarah's cheeks. "It is."

"Exactly. And when a girl comes for me... well, that can get me off on its own anyway."

Sarah cleared her throat. She traced the tastefully lit bare bottom on her book cover.

I thought I'd gone too far. "But then it sounds like you prefer giving to receiving, too," I added.

She peered into the distance. "Depends. I enjoy giving head more than getting head if someone doesn't like giving. But if someone loves giving me head then I prefer getting it to giving it."

She laughed at my confused face, then buried her face in the crook of her arms. "But a suck, lick, fuck and suck," she said. "I'd fucking love that."

Then she lay, quietly, radiating so much horn she was probably tanning me with it. Suddenly, she sat up. "I need to cool off. I'm going for a dip. Coming?"

I was lying on my front because I was ridiculously hard in my shorts. I grimaced, and tipped my hips toward her. "I don't want to disturb anyone."

She regarded my distorted swimwear with slitted eyes. "Well that doesn't help at all." She scampered off across hot sand. Five minutes later she came back, soaked, slicking back her hair. "It's no good. I'm going back to the flat for a bit, do you mind?"

I grinned at her. She smiled back shyly, throwing on her flowery sarong. "Give me ten, fifteen minutes?"

"Of course."

"Maybe longer. Maybe just knock, OK?"

For the next quarter hour I lay delirious at the thought of what was going on back at the flat. I had to go and check. I knocked as she requested, even though I had a key. She took ages to come to the door, so I was surprised when she answered it naked. OK, not entirely naked, she still had her bikini top on, and her sarong clutched to her belly. But it wasn't wrapped, just loosely hanging so it exposed her bare hips. I could even see her buttocks in the full length mirror behind her. So, yes, naked, really.

She bustled me in, laughing.

Young me, caught off guard, was suddenly, crushingly embarrassed. "Oh, sorry," I said. "I'm early." I wasn't. "I thought you'd be done. Shall I go and come back?"

We both squirmed while I turned away like she was too bright to look at. I think that doused her horn. My immature reaction must have been a turn off for a woman who fetishized "the strong, silent type" like her shitty ex.

Her shoulders dropped. "No, I'm sorry." She locked herself in the bedroom. When she came out, she was fully dressed. We never spoke of it.

Over my many sexless, sleepless nights I've imagined what might've happened if I'd behaved differently. I could definitely have put her out of her misery. Poor Sarah was crestfallen that I blanked her. Not only had she been dumped by her boyfriend, she'd been rejected by someone who boasted how they loved making girls come. Just not her. But also I was ashamed at how weak I'd been. I really wanted her, but let shyness get the better of me. I'd never behave that way now.

And I can prove it.

ENTRY 3: PLEASING SARAH

So, that was interesting.

Today is my birthday, so to treat myself, I decided to try and please my old friend Sarah. I started by filling our bath, which takes ages because it's massive. I can starfish in it and not touch the edges and I'm six-four. Diary, I need to tell you about our bath because I suspect it might be the reason I can time travel. It might even be a time machine. Jess bought it. One weekend she got this bee in her bonnet about a sale of surplus equipment from her old laboratory and was insistent on us having this kind of burnished copper, upturned bell. Apparently it was designed for some experiment to do with harmonics. Sound baths or something. It cost a fortune. Jess sold it to me with, "It's easily big enough for two." A year later, we still don't know if that's true.

Anyway, once full, I laid back in the hot water, shut my eyes, and focussed on each breath. I counted down. It's the opposite of counting down a rocket. As I get closer to one, there's no ignition or blast off, it's like the little hooks holding my ghost to the inside of my skin, unhook, and I float loosely in my blood. It's like the bath knows when I'm ready, or maybe it's just the metal expanding, but there's always this one loud knock on the rim, setting off a long, resonant clang.

And I whoosh down the plughole of my life. Whatever memory I'm holding in my mind at that moment, becomes like the opening at the end of a long, dark tunnel and I hurtle toward it. That's how I tumbled back to Jess and I on her futon that first time, by accident. The memory is my goto fantasy in the bath when I masturbate. I got quite a shock when I was suddenly thrown right back to the actual epic session.

But today, I held the image of Sarah answering the door, a little giggly, and a little naked. As I slid down my life's flume toward her image, my heart rattled, an echo of the embarrassment of that day but also an illicit excitement. It'd been months since Jess and I last had sex. I really needed to eat this beautiful young woman, then shag her, using all my years' experience and everything I knew about the things she liked. Also I'd been beating myself up about my cowardice for years. Time to face it one more time, and turn a negative into a massive, orgasmic, positive.

Boom. I landed in my younger, fitter body with the sensation of jumping into a sports car. I stretched, like revving, standing effortlessly straight, my limbs taut and bulging. All over. And there was Sarah, holding the sarong lightly to her naked hips.

My older eye picked up immediately what my young self was too freaked out to notice. Sarah was trembling. Her smile twitched on her pert little lips. I grinned, and let myself in, shutting the door behind me. I kept my mouth shut, just nodded approvingly at her bare hips.

Sarah twisted her foot as I flagrantly ogled her. "You OK?" She stifled a grin.

I stepped toward her. My friend didn't move, just blinked up at me with fake innocence. Then her eyes darted between mine, like she saw something in there. She swallowed.

I tugged the flowery cotton from her grip.

She didn't resist. I folded it while I took in her rude display: the smooth, rounded packs of muscle on her calves and thighs, her bowling ball bumcheeks. Beneath the mohawked bun of her mound, her lips were more florid than I imagined. Juices looped between her sex and her thigh. She watched me enjoying her, anxiously clawing her bottom. This was all new. It was happening. I was recreating a newer, better past.

I paced around her.

She shivered. "There's something in your eyes. You seem older."

I didn't say a word, just paced.

She cleared her throat. "I like it."

My god, that ass. I pressed my hips against her hands where she toyed with her buttocks. I was still only wearing beach shorts. She squeezed my straining lump, and sniggered. I pulled away.

As I walked back round to face her she stared down at my erection like it might leap out of my clothing and club her to death. I stooped to kiss her, but she turned her face away, offering her neck instead. I kissed under her jaw. Her breathing hitched. She smelled of sun factor and ocean and tasted salty. I cupped her lightly covered breast and brushed her nipple stiff with my thumb. Holy fuck, I'd forgotten what a young, firm breast felt like. Then the implicit comparison to my wife rocked me for a moment. Not cool, old man. Regardless, her knee trembled. She whimpered.

"Sit there." I pointed to a wooden armchair in her room.

Barefoot, barebottomed and on wobbly knees, she padded over to the wide, sturdy chair and sat primly. She didn't know that I knew this, but later on she'd tell me about the passage that got her so heated on the beach that afternoon. In it, a woman was licked while reclined in an armchair. So as I magically appeared to reenact this for her, my friend wore the look of someone having a secret dream come true. Good. What else is a time travelling lover for if not that?

I sat before her, took her sweet little feet and spread them wide as they'd go. I hooked her legs over the arms of the chair. She smiled down at me. I kissed up her inner thigh, skirting her gaped, bubbling sex, then leant back to take her in one more time--my sexy little friend in the milky light of her voile-curtained window, all happily splayed to me. She was somehow more naked than naked with her bikini top still on and just her sex exposed. Just for me. So I could eat her. I let the delicious moment stretch taut. My mouth watered.

She kicked her feet impatiently.

I dipped and pressed a firm kiss to her clit hood, then slid her lips apart and did it again, and again. Each kiss drooped her eyes, and when I wriggled my tongue inside her to collect my "honey" her jaw dropped. She spilled off my tongue as I basted her clitoris. She gasped, and stroked my head, shuffling her bum to the edge of the seat. In moments, her body writhed at my mouth.

I teased and licked, taking my time. I was just relishing the taste and sensation of her fleshy folds in my mouth to be honest, the noises she made were just a side effect. She rested her feet on my shoulders, murmured, "Oh fuck yes. F-fuck..." and rocked rhythmically at my face. Her hips seemed to unhinge, and her knees butterflied, sagging wide. Now she'd utterly given over to me, I took her up a notch. She wouldn't know I knew this either, but a year or two after this, one night when we were drunk in a bar, she told me, loudly, all about her clitoris. "It's not just this little button on the outside like men think," she bellowed, "It's inside my vag too, and all connected. That's why I always need a fuck after a licking." She nodded sagely, then squawked, "Or at least a good fingering while they're down there." She waved brightly at this squirming American couple sitting near us.

So, I slid a finger into her and curled up into the "spongey bit" she described that day, wriggling my finger in the "come here," gesture she showed me and I've used a thousand times since. Mostly with my wife. Every time I hear Sarah's voice, though. "It's like saying, come here little orgasm, come on! Come come!"

Now Sarah craned her neck to watch me, wide-eyed, like I'd performed some magic trick. "My god you're g-good." She flopped back and her cunt pulsed around my finger. I kept an urging, steady rhythm, rubbing and suckling her clitoris inside and out.

She gripped the backs of her knees, yanked them wide and cried out. I probed and sucked on. She yelped, once, twice, three times then clamped her thighs to my head. She twisted like I was wringing her soul out, howling--from what I could hear with my thigh muffs on. Instinctively, I eased off in case she was oversensitive and needed to calm down a bit. But she burst, "Fucking amazing, Max!" and hopped around on the chair to kneel, knees apart, on the wide seat. "Again!" She wiggled her bum. I couldn't believe my luck. I slid under her like she was a car raised for inspection. She beamed down at me, and splodged back onto my mouth.

Six times. Sarah came on my mouth and fingers six fucking times. I swear it was nearly dark by the time she was done. We were at it for an hour at least. Not once did she try to get me off, or even get me naked. She just clambered all over me, coming and coming and each time begging for more. Every orgasm took longer than the last, and was fiercer than the last. For her climactic climax, she was flopped upside down on the chair, head on the seat and hips up the back, legs waving. To get to her, I had to stand astride her head and lean over her like a feeding vampire--though I think she was feeding off me. My pent up erection was right there, straining in its shorts above her face, but all she could do was drag my head harder down between her thighs and hump it. She locked her ankles behind my head and screamed when she came, raw-throated, then spasmed and squirted all over me. Next door, some German tourists gave us a bawdy round of applause.

My tongue was numb and my jaw ached. I thought I might never eat anything, ever again. My head was soaked from her. Once she twitched her last, I stood over her and she sparkled up at me, crimson from cheeks to bikini top.

"Good boy." She sighed croakily and stood up too. "Thank you, Max. Would you like a cup of tea?"

No fuck. No suck. Not even a handjob. She wandered off, and I glared after her, incredulous and painfully hard. This was a joke, surely? Sarah padded bottomless round the apartment, yawning, marveling at how great her orgasms were and making tea I hadn't asked for. It was my own fault, I suppose. I had told her I was happy just to lick, and she hadn't been treated for so long, of course she'd make the most of it.

So, I thought I might as well return to my own time. My younger self could take it from here. I pictured myself back in my bath, and was sucked back up the tube of my life to my own time with the uncomfortable sensation of being reborn into a rickety old body.

I wonder what the guy I left made of his sudden, sexually experienced, performance. Did he feel possessed? In a good way, I hope. I also wonder where he and Sarah ended up in that universe. Maybe they got together. There's no way of knowing, given that I don't have his memories to revisit. That new timeline belongs to him now.

However, later, after being denied a birthday blowjob by Jessica, I returned to that memory of just before I left, when Sarah nakedly made me tea. Of course, Jess had every right not to suck me on my birthday. It was disappointing, but her choice, and she never did it any year now so was it even a thing anymore? However, Sarah's behaviour was plain selfish after all the effort I'd made for her. I'd get her to do me too. I just needed to make my needs plain. I dropped back into my young self again and made him drop his shorts, showing off a cock rigid from giving Sarah all those orgasms she boasted about. I stood before her, naked, and angry all over.

My friend looked up from the teacups and regarded my cock like it was a naughty puppy. "Oh sweetie. Look at you, poor thing. I got you all worked up. Go on, you can come if you like. I don't mind." She handed me a piece of kitchen roll. "Or do you want me to give you some privacy? Ten minutes? Fifteen?"

Unbelievable.

So I guess some timelines don't improve by redoing them. I thought about going back again, playing it differently over and over until I got what I wanted, but to be honest I didn't fancy Sarah any more after that. I felt kind of used. Also, I missed the memory of the flirty potential we used to have before the all-you-can-eat-cunty-buffet.

Part of me wished I'd never gone back at all.

ENTRY 4: ONE WEEK LATER

You know I scrawled all of that last entry right in front of Jess in bed while she scrolled on her phone, oblivious? That's a shitty thing to do, I know, but I get so frustrated by her lack of interest, I feel like I need to punish her.

Diary, my wife's been taking very long baths too. I've got it into my head that maybe she's doing the same as me, revisiting old lovers. Perhaps she's visiting people who were better than me, and is properly satisfied now, so she doesn't need me. But she lost interest in me long before the bath arrived, so maybe not. Whatever, she's a physicist and the bath is from her lab. Maybe she knew what it could do and bought it just so she could satisfy herself with it? Probably with that fuckmaster ex of hers? The one with the huge, well-trained dick that could come on demand, and only then? Fucksake, listen to me.

Whatever, I had to know if she was using the bath the way I did, so today I came back early from work. She was working from home so I knew she'd be in. Sure enough, there was a sloshing sound in the bathroom. Was she time travelling? Back To The Fucker? I knocked. There was no reply so I quietly let myself in.

Jess was lying fast asleep in the steaming water, a little smile on her face. I feasted on my much-missed favourite thing in the world, my blissed-out, naked wife. She still has an astonishing figure. In fact, age has sort of sharpened her and made her less girlish and more statuesque.

Then, as I watched, she looped one leg over the bathside. "Yes," she whispered. "Like that. Like that. Oh."

Her arousal hit me like a cannonball. I bit my knuckles. Fuck. It hurt so bad, but I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her hips rocked in the water, setting off waves. "Yes! YES! I'm coming! I'm coming! OH!"

I thought I might throw up. I staggered back. Jess shuddered, eyes still shut, then sagged, laughing breathlessly. Oh God, it was so long since I heard that sound.

"Thank you, that was yummy." She stretched and sucked her lips. "Oh, Max."

Love overwhelmed me as she writhed and moaned in the water. I unfastened my shirt. I'd join her. To hell with our turgid old marriage. We'd start again.

But suddenly, my blood boiled. What was actually happening here? She was either fantasising about me or she was back in time with me. But, still, neither of these options were the actual me, were they? They'd be some better version. And worse, she knows how much I've needed her for months now. Years. Why not wait and do the real thing, with the real thing?

I let myself out of the room, and let her be.

Later, after I made her dinner, I kissed my wife's plump, kissy lips when I collected her plate. I hoped she might still be horny--it used to work that way when we were younger. Unlike me, if she made herself come, it only got her needy for more. She kissed me back, but stiffly. I thought, what would time travelling me do now? The better me? I kissed around her neck. That's the lovely thing about her pixie-cut, all that free skin. She got the giggles, and jumped up to clear the dishes. I stood behind her, and let her feel my readiness against her bottom.

"You smell divine," I said. "New bath oil?"

"Yep." She didn't move her hips but didn't encourage my needy nudges either. "I had a glorious bath earlier," she said. "Why don't you have one?"

"I see..." I stroked around her front. "Then what?"

She squirmed. "Then, we'll both sleep well. You always seem satisfied after a bath."

"What does that mean?"

She stepped away from me, drying her hands. "You know." She shook a loose fist. "Satisfied." She smiled, like she was making a joke, but there was an edge to her tone.

"My love, have I pissed you off?"

She threw the tea towel away. "Course not."

"I have. What have I done? Is it because I'm horny and you're not?"

"I'm NOT"--she starfished her fingers-- "having this fucking conversation AGAIN!"

ENTRY 5. REJECTING MALIKA

Later, I lay in the bath, fuming. OK, I thought. I will satisfy myself then. Just as Jess said. Who should I visit? Instinctively my thoughts returned to the broken-hearted girls I'd rejected. I'd get back to my mission to make them happy.

Yes. Malika. Now there was a girl who adored me even when I treated her badly.

I was sharing a flat with her back in my twenties. She was French Moroccan and slim with big brown eyes and a generous mouth with that typical French, kissy pout to it, like her native tongue had trained it into that shape. We were just flatmates, not a couple. I was nursing a crush on another girl, someone I worked with, and felt it'd be unfaithful to start anything with Malika, even though my crush hardly knew I existed. Malika had hopeless feelings for some superman too, a bloke she knew who sounded both too good to be true and an asshole.

Malika was simply a friend of a friend in need of a room and I had a spare. She was a professional yoga teacher visiting London to try and set up on her own, and earned very little so I didn't charge her rent. In return, Malika taught me how to cook her fabulous food, and of course acted as my personal trainer too.

Then one rainy Saturday morning, things turned cheeky. She skipped out of the bathroom after her shower, a towel wrapped round her. She smelled sweet and steamy as she passed me, way closer than she needed to. She winced and squeezed her shoulder. I couldn't help myself. I offered her a massage. I patted the kitchen table. "Pop yourself on here. You can lie on your towel."

She could barely speak for grinning. "That would be lovely," she said. "But I'm not wearing anything under this?"

"No problem," I said. "I don't mind."

Everything changed after that. I hadn't even gone back in time to optimise the moment either, I got it right first time. That morning, with a boldness born of simple horn, I created another, more interesting path through life's possibilities. A sexy path. I was good at that in those days.

As I rubbed her naked back from head to toe we laid out the rules. This was just for fun, nothing serious. Our crushes need never know. Malika didn't answer, just slid her feet apart.

So, just for fun, every now and then she'd ask me if she could "borrow the mirror" to practice yoga--the mirror being my lascivious stare--or we'd play strip chess, or we'd sneak into each other's rooms in the middle of the night and lick each other awake for a shag. However, it soon became clear that Malika wanted more sex than I did. For me it was a way of passing the time, but she seemed to depend on it-- her French-blathered, joyous orgasms still haunt me almost as much as Jess's yesses. I felt guilty, or like I was exploiting her. It felt like she was paying her rent with sexual favours.

I told her this once, when she offered me "a special pudding" after a meal I cooked for her. She laughed her socks off. Literally. Then she laughed her jeans and knickers off too, and sat on the table in front of me, legs in a wide M. "I live rent free, have my food cooked for me, and sex whenever I want. Who is exploiting who?" She fingered herself as I watched with folded arms. At least, until I couldn't hold back.

All harmless, but one quiet Sunday afternoon, we were watching TV and she yawned and stretched in this smirky way that meant she was horny. I knew she was on the prowl, because she'd spent ages in the bath that morning, with a pan of this sugar and lemon paste she'd make as a de-fuzzing wax. Then she padded around in her skin-tight yoga pants and top all morning, as if to tempt me with the prospect that she might practice in front of me again at any moment.

But I wasn't in the mood. I'd had an old friend, Eleanor, stay over the night before. She'd just turned up at my doorstep out of the blue claiming she needed "head and a fuck in that order and repeatedly." Eleanor was very posh, with these willowy preraphaelite looks--the last person you'd imagine demanding head and a fuck. But she got her way that night anyway. Safe to say, come morning, I was knackered. My heart sank when Malika got all slinky with me.

She cuddled up and told me she'd been "very distracted" by the noises coming from my room the previous night. "And by distracted I mean--"

"I know what you mean, Malika."

She chuckled. "You know I looked through your keyhole? While I... distracted myself?"

I balked. "Seriously?"

"Oui. I couldn't see anything. Only your shadows on the wall from your lamp. But still. All those positions, it was like an erotic movie. Your pretty friend's legs waving in the air, and you between, lick, fuck, lick, fuck. She seemed very happy. You were very thorough, I think."

"Well, she'd come all this way, the least I could do was make her come."

"I came too. Once, anyway."

"In the hallway?"

"Oui. Right outside your door. I came with her I think. Did you know that? You were climaxing two women with one penis?" She rested her head on my shoulder. "I saw that you didn't come though? Not even once?"

I shifted away. "Fuck, you really were paying attention."

"Why didn't you come?"

"I was concentrating too hard I suppose. I couldn't relax."

"Why didn't she suck you? She came so many times, it was rude not to suck you, non?"

"That's not how Eleanor thinks."

"Merde..." she breathed and rocked her hips at my side. She whispered into my ear. "If you looked after me so well, I would have sucked you dry."

"Stop." She'd never really do that, not like she was making out. She said my cock was too big for her mouth and she found it overwhelming to be "plugged full." She didn't like cum much either. Instead, she'd do this licky, sipping thing on my end, and I patted her head when I needed to cum. Looking back, it was kind of horny in its own sweet and gentle way, but at the time I found it frustrating. One time, a while after this morning, not long before she left, I didn't give her any warning and came all over her tongue. She gagged, but kept going till I twitched my last, then she literally ran to the sink to spit me out. The sound of her rinsing and rinsing her mouth under the tap is the sound of my shame to this day. A depressing memory, but it meant I knew for a fact that all Malika really wanted was my attention with this dirty talk. She used it like her yoga, to get me all worked up.

She wouldn't stop. "But you must be ready to burst. Let me help."

"I'm good." The minute Eleanor left, I'd wanked a fountain. I guess Malika missed that.

She leant into my ear again. "Let me make you come. Please."

A blooming darker patch in her gusset caught my eye. My cock shifted uncomfortably in my clothing.

She must've been watching out for it, because she squeezed the front of my jeans."Oh oui..." She closed her legs on her damp patch, and wriggled. "I will come when you come, I think."

"Malika, I'm too tired."

"You won't be. Look." She stood in front of me, with her back to me. By the careful way she placed her feet and poised herself I just knew she was going to show off some yoga. I really didn't want this. Why was she so obsessed with turning me on? She reached into a stretch, but unlike her usual routine, she caught her top mid stretch and pulled it off over her head, leaving her sinuous back naked.

She looked at me over her shoulder. "If your penis is uncomfortable, you should release it."

I didn't. Even when she grasped the waist of her leggings and bent over, wiggling her naked bottom free of them, stringing juices as they peeled from her sex. She bent double with her clothing round her feet, presenting her glistening peach, and peering around her legs. She wore an expression like she knew how sexy she was, but it looked performative. Corny even. It made me feel awkward.

"No erection for me?" She pouted theatrically.

And this is where I went wrong. I didn't answer her, I did something shameful. I looked away from her, back at the TV.

In the corner of my eye, Malika stood. She stamped her foot, then she sidled past me, naked, swinging her hips, still trying to seduce me. I felt embarrassed for her. She paused at the door, and looked over her shoulder again. She caught me checking her rear, and smiled hopefully.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Sure?" She jiggled her bottom.

I shook my head. She left the room.

I know. What the fuck? What an actual lazy asshole. I looked her up on facebook not long ago. After living with me, she moved back to Paris, met the love of her life, and they still run a yoga school together, along with their six kids. But that poor woman, at that moment, didn't know her happy future. There's so much I could've done instead of rejecting her. At the very least I could have shown her my hardon while she made herself come in some crazy yoga pose. Or I could have come too. It's all she wanted, really. Later that day, she came into my room in tears. "You didn't even have to touch me, or let me touch you. I just wanted to see you orgasm, and know it was me in your eyes when you lost control."

I should have shown her some appreciation. I wish I'd left her dozing and happy.

Luckily, I still can.

ENTRY 6: PLEASING MALIKA

I floated free in the bath, shut my eyes and pictured Malika standing from the sofa, stepping in front of me, removing her top...

Bong. Whoosh. And there I was in my young body again.

Damn I'd forgotten we used to smoke. My old lounge smelled of ashtrays, and Malika's incense, lit against the smell of ashtrays. An underwater kind of light spilled through a tall Georgian window. On the white-painted floorboards, a boxy old black TV played an even older black and white movie.

And, of course, Malika.

"If your penis is uncomfortable, you should release it." she said over her shoulder, and bent over, sliding her leggings down by degrees, wriggling each round buttock free.

Even against old tobacco a delicious waft of her homemade fragrance rose from where she'd laid her head on my shoulder. I'd forgotten that too. Lemon and Patchouli. She was much prettier than I remembered. Perhaps it was my older eye seeing the beauty in her youth, or my negative memories had tarnished her looks. Or my simple excitement at being here with this keen girl, and knowing what we were about to, hopefully, enjoy. She had an unearthly kind of beauty: huge eyes, a long neck and a heart-shaped face like some picturebook fairy. Her dark eyes were so kind they verged on sad. Why did young me never notice that? She had an easy grace as she rolled her hips and dragged her leggings over her smooth, ample bum. She had no idea that the tired young man she was trying to seduce was now a much older, hungrier specimen.

I won't lie, watching this lithe girl try so hard to turn me on after all Jess's rejections raised a lump to my throat as well as my jeans. I wanted to tell Malika how much I'd missed her. But this was no place, or time, to be maudlin. It was no time to lie, either. I didn't really miss her. I missed being desired. Whatever, I did as I was told this time, and while her back was to me, I quickly stripped.

She was bent double now, her podgy sex pushed out between her bottom cheeks and thigh tops. It looked varnished. She checked around her knees to find my erection bouncing in my lap. She lit up. "Pour moi?"

"There's another beautiful, naked yoga teacher here?" I gripped my shaft and balls and she snickered.

Yoga teachers have unique ways of expressing joy. She grinned fit to burst, planted her hands flat on the floor and scissored her legs into a perfect handstand. Her entire naked, waxed bald, front was presented to me, upside down.

She pressed the pads of her feet together, and brought them down to her bum, twisting her knees apart and opening her cunt up like a flower. I stroked myself, my eyes latched to her sex, and hers to mine. Her dance continued, pointing her legs out into a dead-straight T. All the while, she gawped at my dick, mesmerised by her effect on me.

We were officially not reliving a memory now. This was all new. It was OK, wasn't it Diary? I mean, coming here angry with my wife and enjoying this girl instead, that wasn't cheating was it? This is what really would have happened if I'd acted in a different way. Like a fantasy, made flesh. It wasn't cheating to fantasise.

Then it came like a slap, the image of Jess in the bath, lost in her own fantasy. That still stung, and she was only, apparently, with a version of me. No, this would hurt my wife, so it was betrayal however I dressed it up. But it still felt darkly exciting. Jess didn't want me, so here I was enjoying myself with someone else.

I slid from the sofa as elegantly as my cumbersome body would allow, so I could kneel in front of her handstand blossom. I pressed a firm, slow kiss to her protruding clit. She trembled. A sigh billowed over against my cock and balls. I squeezed her bum, and licked along her slot. Fuck, it felt great to have that slick lemony-honey salt on my tongue again. She gasped, and her arms unlocked. I caught her without skipping a lick of my feast.

She laughed, swinging to the floor with her bottom facing me, feet planted either side of my lap to spread over my face. Her hands stayed put, leaving her bent over in an effortless downward dog. I slid further under her, leaned back and slurped her from her clit to her pink little anus. She rested along my torso, stroking my sides, her nipples grazing my abdomen, her face over my cock. My erection tingled under her heated gaze. Inside, I begged her to not ignore me like Sarah ignored me. Like my wife ignored me.

Malika was nothing like Sara. I couldn't see her but still felt tentative fingertips brush both sides of my shaft, lightly squeezing it like it might burst.

"Merde, I have made you so big today, non?" She murmured to me, or it, I couldn't tell. I just hummed into her cunt.

I felt her lips on me in loose, breathy kisses, while her fingertips played. Something exquisitely snaky and wet daubed my length. Then her sipping started, both hands stroking me into her mouth.

I groaned. "Malika, I'll come."

"Mm-hmm."

I wanted to let go. I wanted it more than anything. I needed it. I suddenly realised, having a woman want me in this way made me feel primally desired, literally inside out. Sarah even believed this was love itself, to adore her partner's cum. And I'd been denied for so long by Jess, I felt unlovable. I needed someone to want me as much Malika appeared to want me, and as much as Sarah wanted her ex, and as much as Jess used to want me.

But something strange happened then. As I took my time adoring Malika's tender flesh and she took her time adoring my stiff flesh, my mind became lost in a much adored memory. Here I was, in the past, remembering something that wouldn't happen for many years yet.

Jess and I had just moved into our house, I was rebuilding the kitchen. My new, young wife always got silly when I built stuff and she filmed me as I hammered and hefted. This one day she got really carried away. While I was stuck up a ladder, my hips level with her head, she dropped my trousers and shorts and sucked me from soft to hard, then didn't stop sucking until I was soft again. She redressed me, patted my spent bulge and wandered off. I carried on working, dazed, still up my ladder, literally halfway to heaven. But it got better. She didn't know I could see over the kitchen door. She was sitting on the stairs, watching her video of me, with her hand thrust down her jeans. She squeaked like a creaky door when she came. I called out to ask if she was OK. She lolled on the stairs, smiling. "Brilliant!" she said.

It was one of my most cherished memories. But it didn't make me feel sad. I know it sounds strange, given where I was, but It warmed me. I didn't feel its loss. Because here I was travelling in time. I could go back to that moment whenever I liked. It was always there, like a spare room I could pop into and enjoy. So it never ended. But this was a new day, and there I was, enjoying myself and being enjoyed. I didn't want to be anywhere else but right there, and then.

So I made sure Malika knew how I felt. I groaned as she sipped on me and I slathered her dribbling arousal over her clitoris. Her hums hitched as I switched from licking to pattering my tongue. In moments, her belly shook. Could she come like this? It felt like she could. I certainly could. I held her in place by her hips as if gorging on a huge fruit. Her rubbing grew urgent and she whimpered on my cock.

But my plan was to give her a taste of what I'd given Eleanor. Also, I wanted to tease out her impatient orgasm and make it last as long as I could. She was basically the opposite of Sarah. When Malika came, she came once, quick and hard, then fell asleep, like a man.

I played my tongue around her until she rocked insistantly at my mouth, puffing herself up to orgasm, her rubbing growing jerky as she wanked me into her. It was tempting to finish her, but I wanted to make it the best she'd ever had. So I jumped up behind her. She threw me a scowl, her lips flushed from sucking me, and I hoped I wasn't misjudging this. Eleanor loved to be edged, but did Malika? We'd find out. I cuddled her from behind, dipping my erection under her bum to slide along her smooth, slick sex. She went quiet, a heated, absorbing-the-moment quietness, and danced on me, then tipped her hips up.

I dipped and nudged my cockhead at her sopping entrance. Malika reached down to stretch her lips wide, her fingers jittery with need. She loved oral, but fucking simply unhinged her. I slid into her by degrees, her little wet pussy stretching until she engulfed every millimetre of me. I withdrew, and paused with her trembling on my end. Then plunged deep. She whooped like riding a roller coaster, and in moments was braced against the wall, pushing back, slapping her buttocks at my front.

I reached around and stroked her slippery clit, another of those things young me hadn't learned yet, and looped my other arm under her to take her weight from her increasingly trembling thighs. Her hole clenched at me and she grunted. It clenched again, and fluttered. I slid out and before she could complain folded behind her, replacing cock with tongue. She made this delicious noise, half frustration, half delight, like, "oh.. OH!" and bent double again to drop her own mouth over my glossy dick.

She lifted a foot up on top of the TV--still playing its old movie--and clawed her breasts as I took her entire cunt in my mouth. There was so much I'd learned since those days, and I poured it all into my younger tongue. In seconds Malika was panting, begging me, "N'arrête pas... n'arrête pas... " She grasped my cock in both hands as if taking hold of a rudder, and in moments her brisk grip brought me as close to bursting as she was.

"C-come," she whispered. "Come with-- mm." She gobbled my end back into her mouth.

My younger body was like, yes please. My cock pulsed, ready to let rip. Older me took a breath. I stood behind her again, and slipped home. Malika, cursing, immediately rammed back at me. I slid my thumb pad over her clit, slippy as a tongue, and she shuddered from her toes. "Oui-oui-oui," she said with every thrust. "Come. Come."

I pounded, ground and tickled, trying to keep my head while she totally lost hers. What would be her favourite right now? For me to explode inside her? Or give her the show she asked for last time, in tears, in my room? "I just wanted to see you orgasm, and know it was me in your eyes when you lost control."

She might've wanted to see me come, but she still cursed and stamped her foot-- in a good way at least, laughing "Max!"--when I dropped one last time behind her. I suckled her clit, flipping my tongue at it and, to replace the hollow need my cock must've left inside her, slid two fingers in too, working each end of the rainbow of her clitoris, inside and out, just as Sarah taught me. In return, unlike Sarah, Malika rubbed me into her.

I didn't move, or alter my steady sucking, tongue-flickering, fingering beat. Malika's grip on me lost its rhythm, but it hardly mattered, I was ready to cum in a blink. I took over rubbing myself below her, between her soft lips and tongue, gritting my teeth as her licking mirrored mine on her clit. "I'm coming." I blurted into her cunt, "I'm coming."

"Hmm! Hmm!" She suckered to me and ground to a halt, her tongue rigid. I yanked from her mouth and exploded hot lava all up my chest.

"OUI!" She writhed at my mouth and fingers. "OUI" She locked solid, like I'd shot a thousand volts through her. I held her steady and licked gently until she flopped and begged me to stop, clasping her hands over herself. She collapsed onto her knees and flopped onto her side, head lolled on my thigh, still shaking. "Merde. Merde."

She lay there regarding my lazily pulsing cock. I wiped my chin with my forearm. I was still shaky too, and splattered in semen up to my neck. She smiled. "You look so beautiful."

She traced my drips down the grooves of my abs--how I miss them!-- then took my cock in her hand again. "I would have swallowed you," she whispered. "But it was much sexier to see you come." She squeezed another thin white stream out, her eyes hooded. "Merci."

She leant over me to press a lingering kiss into the spill, her eyes closed. I jolted and she sniggered as she pulled away. She sucked her lips and turned huge, smouldering eyes up at me--a look of pure joy.

But as the rush left me, it left me cold. Malika wasn't the love of my life, but her joy suggested she thought differently. Had I only played into some misunderstanding she had about us? As if to prove my worst fears, she surveyed my splattered abs, and leant down to them, her lips parted and tongue pushing out. My stomach turned. "Don't." I held my arm in the way.

She went slinky again as she toyed with my somehow still rigid dick. "I want to lick all your cum. Let me."

"I'm good. You were amazing. Thank you."

She nodded at my torso, pouting showily. "Max, I have a secret." She squeezed my dick gently, tilting her head as she produced a pearl to its tip. She brushed it off with her thumb, and popped it into her mouth, laughing.

I didn't laugh. I only wanted to satisfy Malika, but I seem to have lit another kind of fire. She took hold of me again. "You know who it is, my secret crush? I think you will be pleased."

She pressed a kiss to my lips, then leant to my ear. "I love you, Max."

Oh no.

What could I do now? If I returned to my own time, I'd be leaving young me in a much more difficult situation. He'd have to make the ultimate rejection, not just turning down sex with Malika, but her love. And what about Jess? Addressing my own sexual needs behind her back was wrong, but I felt I had no choice. However, this felt like denying my wife's love. And that's when it hit me, for all Jess's indifference to me sexually, and how it made me fall out of love with myself, I never questioned our love for each other.

Malika buried kisses into my neck, tugging at my irrepressible, easily miss-read erection. I guess not coming in the real world had something to do with that. She pulled away to stare down at me in her hand. "He is pleased at least, but I have made the rest of you speechless, non?"

I took her face in my hands. She looked so wide-eyed and hopeful. I tried to project her future into her eyes. "Malika, you won't understand, but I'm not the one. I'm sorry. You'll meet someone much better than me, and live a much happier life. Trust me."

She peered back into me, and something crackled for a moment. I felt like she glimpsed the real me, thirty years in the future. Her lips twitched. "But... but you look after me so well?"

Then came the tears.

I slipped away from the moment, back to the bath and my middle-aged body. But I lay with my eyes shut, too gloomy to face the real world. What a shit I really was. Younger me instinctively knew how to save Malika from heartbreak. He never let things go too far or gave her false hope. He didn't reject her, he protected her. How have I got older, yet dumber?

I opened my eyes.

Jessica?

She was sitting on the bathside. "Looks like a good one." She nodded at my dick, jutting out of the water. "Who was it?"

"You," I lied. "Our first time. Remember that?" I hoped I didn't talk in my time-travel slumber, like she did. "It's my goto fantasy." That, at least, was true.

Jess nodded. There was something different about her. A darkness in her eye. And something else, something I almost didn't recognise. Lust. She spoke to my erection. "I invented this bath," she said. "So you could revisit your past and see it for what it was. You need to stop fetishizing past experiences, just so you can make your present seem shit, and paint yourself a victim. Nothing's changed in your life, in our marriage, except the stories you tell yourself, and this bath should make that clear. Temporal behavioural therapy I call it. Like CBT: cognitive behavioural--"

"I get it. I had CBT. It didn't work. Wait. You go back in time too?"

She opened her arms. "Clearly. I'm ninety-five. I've come back to your Jess to remind you that you will never be as young as you are right now. So enjoy it." She ran her fingertips along my cock. "Look at you, rock solid and vital. What a waste, sitting here on your own."

I bucked at her touch. Future Jessica smiled. "Be honest with her, asshole. Tell her what you've done."

Then she blinked, and shook her head. "Oh." She recoiled from my erection, then me. "Sorry." Her brow puckered. The darkness in her eye had gone. "Wait. What's happening? What did you do?"

"Jess, we need to talk."

She jumped up, and flashed crimson. She flutter-blinked at me, then at my cock and fled.

My brain whirled. So that was future Jess... fuck. Am I just part of some new timeline made by her all along? She was right, Jess and I needed to talk, but how could I when my wife kept refusing? I needed to follow my wife, talk to her, but I couldn't do that in this state. My erections, just my horniness, always seemed to offend her. She'd only think I was angling for sex. Which, honestly, I probably would be. Even as I contemplated this my head was full of my wife leering at my dick just now. It felt great. It'd been so long. Ironic that ninety-year old Jess looked at me the way the twenty year old Jess used to. OK, there was no choice. I'd come now, quickly, then I could go and talk to my wife when I was calm.

ENTRY 7: PLEASING KATYA

It was an accident. I don't know why Katya popped into my head just then. No, I do know. Katya was the opposite of my Jess just now. Someone who I rejected when she only wanted to suck me. The second I started rubbing, her cheeky, hopeful face popped into my head. I must have still been unhooked from myself inside, because without warning, I tumbled back through my life.

Katya was this rich, bottle-blonde Russian dance student I dated for a few months. We lived together in one of her parent's many posh flats in Notting Hill where I, unemployed, paid my way by doing plumbing and carpentry around the house.

One morning, we were in her dressing room--seriously--and she was sitting on this huge buttoned leather day bed watching me get ready for a job interview in front of a wall of mirrors. She'd dressed already but always got frisky when I wore a suit--by her own admission, she had a thing for billionaires. She'd woken horny too, crashing my shower, cackling and shoving the soap into my nooks and crannies before scrubbing me raw. Now she was watching me with her legs crossed, twitching her foot. I felt like a stripper in front of a drunk.

"I'm going to suck you," she announced.

Kat was all about the unexpected. She loathed anything ordinary. That's why she was all buttoned up in a Cucinelli jacket and slacks just to go to the gym, her leotard and thigh socks hidden underneath. She looked like she was off to a job in the city rather than a ballet class. The thing is, this wasn't unexpected behaviour from her. She loved to get me hard, then leave me all wound up for later. I always fell for it.

"Kat, I don't want to be late."

She shrugged, and pounced at my fly.

I clutched myself. "No. Later."

"Why? I want it now." She dropped to her knees. She had an impish kind of face, but her slavic eyes were wicked, and her perma-pout borderline evil. She sparkled up at me like my "no" was just a game, and I'd let her have her way eventually. Her spoiled belief that no one ever denied her suddenly got on my nerves.

"No." I said firmly, and stepped away from her. Worse, I turned away to go to work, leaving her on her knees.

But now I landed back in my suited body I supposed that, while I was here, I could undo that rejection. I paused, regarding her dumbfounded frown in the mirrors. But no. I didn't want this. I pictured my bath, and tried to return it. Nothing. Unfortunately, my needy cock seemed to anchor me here. "Do it," it said. "Do it."

Again, I had no choice. The quicker I came, the quicker I could go home. I turned to Kat. "Go on then."

"Yippee!" She rummaged at my clothing and I let her open my fly and scoop out my cock and balls. My dick bounced in front of her face as if it was stuck to the front of my trousers. Jesus, it looked like a tree trunk. Revisiting my young body always got me so fucking pumped-- one poor member stuffed with two male libidos, I guess, and one of those libidos swollen from neglect.

"Hmm. Look what I've done to you." She leaned toward my double-stuffed limb.

But I was no young pushover any more. This Max had his own demands. If I was going to do this, then it would be on my terms. I pulled away from her. "One condition."

Her cheeks were flushed. She scowled at my cock. "What?"

"I'm going to come in your mouth."

Kat and I had never done that. She often insisted on sucking me, but the moment I said I was coming, she always finished me with her hands, wowing at my explosion like a shaken champagne bottle. She said she loved to watch me come. Actually, she loved anyone coming. If we did porn together, she hated all the "soft focus lovey-dovey crap" and insisted on cumshot compilations. A few weeks before, lying on the bed with the ipad between us and wanking each other, we watched this video where a woman sucked her lover dry, swallowing every drop. I said I loved the thought of that. What did she think? I expected Kat to recoil from the idea, but she never did the expected. She cuddled up to me and said, "Mm-hmm." Her hips stirred at my fingers.

"What does that mean?" I said.

"It means, mm-hmm. That's a hot thought."

"It is?"

"I think about it all the time. It's fucking hot."

"You do? F-fuck."

She rolled her eyes, watching the pornstar lick her man clean, then dip under him to shove her tongue between his ass cheeks while rubbing him, presumably for another load. Kat matched the woman's rhythm on me. "The thing is, when it comes down to it, I get scared. I've never done it. Also, in the heat of the moment all I want is to watch you spunk everywhere. After all my hard work, it's like my reward-- Oh I like that."

We went quiet, watching the man shoot his load for a second time while the woman tried to catch his spurts on her curled out tongue. "Why didn't you tell me before?" she said quietly. "That you want me to suck you off? I told you I fantasised squatting on your mouth and now it's our favourite thing."

"I don't know why I never said." Kat's fist was undoing me, alongside the squelch of her on my fingers, but nothing was hornier than her telling me my most selfish fantasy was hot. "Do you really think about swallowing all the time?"

"Not all the time. That'd be weird. But yes. It's something I ponder while playing with the shower head. A lovely hot mouthful. I'm picturing it now, actually-- deeper." She pulled my fingers into her.

I oofed like she'd punched me, and arched in her grip, ready to come. She didn't seem to notice. She flipped onto all fours and plonked the ipad on the pillow in front of her. "Fuck me." She bounced her ass. "Quick." She played the video again.

I shoved inside her, reaching round to continue my assault on her clit. She trembled inside and out. Her bum cleft shone with leaked juices, so while she panted over her pornstar rimming, I teased my thumb at her pink knot too. She laughed as she came, and there isn't a better sound than that.

So I thought that was a good sign, right? I thought I was bound to get a full on porno sucking sometime soon, but as the weeks went by, Kat returned to her usual handjob finishes. She never tried to swallow me, and young me didn't have the guts--or shamelessness--to remind her what I really wanted. Not old me, though. I said it like it was, and now my dirty demand echoed around her parents' clean, tasteful furnishings. "I'm going to come in your mouth."

She cut me a shy glance. "Mm-hmm," she said, and reached for me again.

I pulled away from her again. "Remind me what that means?"

She chortled, suddenly uncharacteristically shy. "It means, good." She addressed my cock-clutching fist. "I'd like to try that. It sounds hot."

I nodded, released myself and moved closer to her. She beamed at me, then took hold of my dick. "Fuck you're hard." She cupped my balls and stroked her cheeks along my length. "Tell me again what you're going to do."

"I'm going to come in your mouth."

She shivered, then kissed me gently, and pulled at me with long, miking tugs. Her kisses grew sloppy, then turned into soft licks, then cat laps under my head.

Rubbing with two fists, she looked up at me. She shone from behind fallen hair, joggling my cock on the pad of her tongue and laughing. I groaned. This wasn't going to take long. Then she dropped her mouth over me, humming, nodding, and I had to clench my fists to stop coming there and then. It was too much that this young woman was excitedly working for my cum, and that she wasn't going to stop. That was the thing. She wasn't going to stop. The only person that ever did this for me was Jess, but not like this, with this vigour, Jess was tender and slow. Jess was loving.

Suddenly I didn't want it. It didn't matter Kat was enjoying herself, this was wrong. I wanted Jess. I only wanted Jess. What was I doing?

I must've gone quiet, because Kat tipped her head back again to watch me watch her. She rubbed me into her mouth, grunting softly on my cock. I'd fantasised this so many times and tried to imagine just this moment, this delighted woman rubbing me into her mouth. Also, whether it'd been many months since Jess sucked me or not, Kat felt divine. My orgasm swelled behind my balls, "F-fuck," I growled.

Kat beamed up at me, rubbing so fast she couldn't quite keep my wet head on her tongue. She eeled it all round me as she wanked. "Come," she murmured. "Come."

My orgasm reared over me like a tsunami, swollen by her unstoppable mouth and hands. "R-ready?"

"Hmm!"

I arched onto my toes, roared, and exploded.

Katya squealed, and locked her mouth over my end. I burst frantic jets, filling her, and she squeaked with each pulse. Laughing nasally, she suckered tight to my thrashing body. My orgasm, amplified by the increasingly slick heat of her mouth, seemed to lift me into the air. She sucked and sucked, sending me little glances, like, "OK?" while I cartwheeled inside my own skin. A headrush suddenly made me howl with laughter. "Oh my love! Oh fuck!" And still she didn't stop.

"Rook," she said eventually, and with a cheeky smile opened her mouth. Semen spilled off her tongue down her chin. She snapped her mouth shut, and showily rolled my cum around it.

"OK?" I said.

She nodded, squinted and swallowed. She smacked her lips. "Yummy." She peered at my lazily pumping end, then gobbled me back in, making me spasm. My knees shook, and she grabbed my bum to hold me steady, but still didn't quit gently suckling.

"I'm done," I said. "I'm done."

She sat back on her knees and looked very, very pleased with herself, not seeming to care about the mess on her bottom lip and chin. "Fucking hot," she told her messy reflection, dimpling a literally filthy smile. That's when I realised she still had a tight grip on my bum and was staring at my dripping, mystifyingly still hard, penis.

"More." She pulled me back into her.

I'd never come more than once, but the sight of this prim young woman with a very messy mouth, sucking for more, seemed to light something in me, something even older me didn't know he had.

She removed my trousers and shorts and played around this time, experimenting, covering me in kisses, licking me like an ice cream, testing how far down her throat I'd could go. My orgasm swelled by agonising degrees. It seemed to creep from the edges of me, drawn from the tips of my fingers and toes, dragged through my body by Kat's eager mouth. Impossibly, this second climax threatened to be more intense than the first. It didn't burst, just kept growing. And Katya wasn't complaining. She seemed lost in me. When my legs threatened to give way, she pushed me back on the daybed, moving with me, suckered, saucer-eyed and almost feral in her feeding.

Knelt between my knees, she took a breath, rubbing me, blowing hair from her face and surveying my naked lower half laid out below her. I felt like her playground. She pushed my legs apart and back, like I'd done many times for her and other women, but as a man it felt weird to be so vulnerable and so exposed. I was at her mercy.

She ducked under my balls, to wriggle her tongue around my--thankfully scrubbed--anus. I quaked. She laughed malevolently as she licked, and gripped my cock in two hands to wank me so vigorously my balls joggled in her face. "Come on," she murmured hollowly, slopping her tongue round my bollocks, "I know there's more." She disappeared down below again.

It was too much. Her tongue found some secret switch in some private place I'd never even visited myself, and I jolted, and couldn't hold back. I shook from my bones and erupted without warning. She yelped and leapt back to my spurting end, scrabbling to gobble me back in as I jerked. Kat cheered, "Mm-hmm!" as I pulsed into her happy hums. Nothing to see in the mirror this time, we were a tableau of stillness, just my dick throbbing between Kat's lips, her eyelids drooping, gulping at me.

Again she was in no hurry to finish, this time suckling me slowly, gentle as a lamb on a teat. She squeezed my balls as she drew on me, like she might squeeze every last drop out. Time melted away. She might've been there a minute or a day, I couldn't tell you.

Eventually she sat back, tonguing cum from the corner of her mouth, and frowning at my stubborn erection."I don't get it, you're still rock hard. Am I doing something wrong?"

She kissed my ridiculous member. "Let's go again. I'm not stopping til your limp or unconscious!"

A flash of panic. I sensed I wouldn't go limp here, in this time, if I didn't come in the real world. Fuck, I thought, she might be sucking me for ever.

I stroked her cheek and opened my mouth to say thank you, I'm done, or something, I'm not sure what, my brain had fizzled out.

But her phone rang.

She checked the screen, grinned and answered it. She put it on speakerphone, tossed it onto the upholstery and took me back into her mouth. I grunted.

"Mm-hmm?" She said, presumably to the caller.

"Babe?" Her friend, Magda.

"Mm!"

"What are you doing?"

"Hucking hock!"

Magda laughed. "Lucky Max. Shall I call back?"

Kat kissed my end, and winked at me. "It's OK, darling. Guess what?"

"Um..."

"I've lost my spunk cherry!"

"Woo hoo! At last! How was it?"

"Call me cum slut. I love it."

"Well done. It took you long enough. Now you can stop boring me with your agonising. There's nothing to stop you now. Get down to Mayfair. The oligarchs will be queuing up for you. Especially that gorgeous--

"You're on speakerphone sweetie!"

"Oops. Well, how's Max? Still grinning?"

"He can't even talk. He's dead. He came twice! I reckon I'll get a third too. He's still stiff, the horny fucker."

A moment's silence. "Babe, I don't think that's possible."

Kat regarded herself in the mirror. "My cum facial might disagree with you." She fingertipped a drip into her mouth, then cursed at a splash on her top. "My Cucinelli disagrees too." She unbuttoned it.

"Well, I'm jealous. Of Max and you. I've never come three times and I'm a girl. And I'm jealous of you because that boy clearly adores you."

"Max just adores being adored." Kat chucked her top. "And I'm giving him hardcore adoration." She wriggled her slacks off too, leaving her in her white ballet leotard and thigh socks. She caught me looking and raised an eyebrow like I'd proved her point. Then she smirked at my erection. "Actually, darling, I'll call you back."

"Oh God, don't go for three loads. Poor Max."

"No, I'm needy now." She stepped onto the daybed and stood astride my face. "Bye sweetie!" She thumbed off her phone, reached between her legs and pulled the poppers on her leotard. It sprung up, revealing her puffy lips, smeared and glistening. Fuck, just from sucking me off? She lowered into a deep squat over my face. When her slobbery folds hit my lips she made a noise like settling in a hot bath.

What did Magda mean, nothing to stop Katya now? Was her inexperience swallowing the only thing preventing her from coming onto billionaires? She'd just been practicing on me. Though it was no surprise. She made no secret of her life goal: "Be irresistible. Marry money." I'd hoped that meant she had faith in me.

As I lapped and she trembled above me, I considered telling her that, actually, she dumped me for an oligarch who chatted her up anyway after one of her shows. Swallowing was irrelevant.

I pictured my bath and headed home. Katya had left me empty, but not in a good way. I had a flash of Jess after she sucked me on the ladder that time. As she put my cock away, I thanked her. "No." She patted my crotch. "Thank you."

It was dark in the bathroom. I rubbed my dick and came almost immediately, not into a hot mouth, but into chilling water. Then I washed and pulled on a bathrobe to go to Jess.

But, on the other side of the flat, our front door slammed.

LAST ENTRY: US

I'm going to stop this. Jessica moved to her sisters for a few days. She texted:

--Everything's getting a bit much.

That made me angry. From what I could see, my wife had everything she wanted. More than she wanted, sexually. I mean, no-one was denying her anything. I texted her back:

--I don't know what that means.

She replied:

--You'd rather be in that bath, reliving sex with other women, than with me.

How did she know? Three dots flashed. I pictured her thumbs thumping at her screen. She added:

--I literally saw you. I went to you in your bath today. I was going to make amends, make you happy, but you were moaning Malika's name. Then I got a visit from future me. She left a note that said she read your diary. She told me what you've been doing.

There was nothing I could say. The same Jess that visited me, must've left a message for her younger self too. But how did, will, future Jess get hold of my diary?

Oh, I see.

She said I needed to be honest with my wife. There's only one way I can do that when she won't talk to me.

So, Jessica, my love. I'm going to send this journal to you. It's my confession. And my apology. You might never want to come back to me after reading it, and I'd understand. But if you do decide you still want me, let there be no secrets. Here I am, warts and all. If, somewhere in these pages, you see some hope for us then, please, my love, come home.

###

Jessica's too early, it's only 6.30. She stands fiddling with her skirt in the kitchen waiting for Max to wake up, then she waits while he has a shower. So, he's not having a bath, that's interesting. His diary waits on the table in front of her.

When he saunters into the sunny room, tying up his robe, he lights up. Then he wells up. His eyes dance over her and she wishes she wasn't barefoot in this light summer dress. She feels naked. She regrets a secret decision too, which she won't even contemplate in case his permanently horny senses read it off her face. She wraps her arms about her middle, and crosses her legs.

He strides toward her, arms open. "You've come back!" Then he clocks the diary, set like a landmine between them, and falters. He turns to the coffee machine instead. Her heart hammers so hard she feels nauseous. But there's something calming in his confidence and care in grinding beans, brewing, steaming. He places a perfect oat milk latte in front of her just like every morning their entire marriage. And just like every other morning, he's fashioned a love heart on the top of it. She sits at the table.

"OK?" he says.

"Yes." Jess picks up the coffee, but the cup rattles in its saucer. She puts it down. "No." She clamps hands between her knees. "I didn't expect your diary to be so... detailed."

He flushes. "It was awful, knowing you were reading my worst thoughts and actions. I saw it all again through your eyes, and I hated hurting you."

"That's something. You still did it all though, didn't you?"

"You're angry with me."

"I don't know, Max." Her voice comes out louder than she expected. She sighs, and quietens. "How would you feel if I told you I sucked some man to orgasm six times, and bent a yoga bloke over and edged him with my tongue and cunt until he squirted all over me and pledged undying love? Then I had multiple orgasms with some dancer's insatiable anallingus?"

"Actually, Malika didn't squirt. That was Sarah."

"Seriously?"

"Sorry. But I have to say, if you'd done those things years ago, then chose to live with me. I'd be proud."

"But you didn't do them years ago, did you? Not really."

"I could have. Clearly. If I had, then, would we be having this conversation?"

"But you didn't! You chose now, to go back in time and do them. You chose them, even though you're married to me."

Max covered his face and groaned. "I know. I know. I'm sorry. I'll never do it again. You know I won't. Honestly, they just made me want you. I just wanted--"

"To be wanted, is that not obvious? And did you get your adoration?"

"I did in a way, but I wanted to be wanted by someone who mattered. Someone I loved. I wanted-- no, needed to be wanted by you. You ignore me. It felt like it didn't matter what I did because you didn't care anyway."

"I love you, motherfucker! I love you enough to care about how sad you are. I love you so much I stay, even when your negativity is exhausting and I'm invisible to you until you have an erection. I love you so much your pervy little diary got me wet, wishing those girls were me."

"If you wanted sex like that, you only had to--"

"It's not about the sex, moron. It's that man I miss. The man with passion, who cares about pleasing someone. And here I am, in love with you, looking after you, and you ignore me."

"I thought that's what you wanted?"

"Why would I want that?"

"You complained about me leering at you and pawing at you all the time. I thought I was pushing you away."

"You always choose times when I'm in the middle of something else, deliberately I think, so you can make some point. I love your attention though. I live for it. You used to look at me with such... life and any waiting was like foreplay for the next time. But now if I ever say, later, you slump and plod away and I feel crushed and inadequate. You never thought that when I appeared to take you for granted, it was a compliment. I believed in the reliability of your adoration of me?"

"Really?"

"We've been married twenty years. You don't know that?"

He glares into his double espresso cup, then necks it. "Whatever. I'm not the only one who used the bath for sex. I saw you. Coming."

"Good."

"Was it good?"

"Extraordinary. Suck, lick, fuck, suck. All the hits."

"Was it with me?"

"You know it was. Your diary said you watched me talking in my timesleep. But it wasn't something we've done already."

"I knew it. You went back in time and made me do things the way you really wanted. When the real physical me was right there and desperate for you."

"Maybe your desperation isn't the turn on you think it is. And you don't get to play the jealous card."

"Of course I'm jealous, what's wrong with the sex we've had that you had to make something up?"

"You are really asking me that question? After what you've done with those women?"

"The way I see it, you owe me. You've read my fantasies, now you have to tell me yours. "

"How old are you?"

"Too old clearly. You went back in time didn't you? To a younger me?"

"No, I didn't. I went forward. To a possible future."

"You can do that?"

"You can't? It just takes a good imagination. The bath doesn't know the difference between a memory or a vivid fantasy."

"So, what possible future?"

Maybe, today. Jess thinks, but daren't say. "I fantasised about us being honest. Clearing the air. I fantasised about you telling me how you feel. Beyond being horny."

"That's why I sent you the diary. I made it pretty clear how rejected I feel."

"I feel rejected too. Especially when you ignore me to wallow in the bath with your sexy--"

"I just was trying to find some fucking joy!" He shouts, then presses a fist to his lips. Tears pop. "Getting old, it's all so... fucking dark."

"I know." Jess takes his hand. "It is for me too. I thought if I showed you this mythical brilliant past you keep comparing everything to, then you'd see it's no different to where you are now. Where we are. The only difference is how you see it. You always look for things to prove enshitification. Can you not see how that constant negativity brings us both down?"

"I'm not negative. I'm... fucking depressed."

A tear spills down Jess's cheek, she swipes it off. "I know, my love. But it's hard to empathise when you blame me."

He moves to cuddle her but she leans away.

He folds his arms. "I just want us how we were."

"I want that too."

"Well that's easy then, isn't it?"

"Is it? Tell me, Max. What would it look like, us being how we were?"

He scoffs, as if to say, "isn't it obvious". She waits. "OK," he says. "Remember when we first moved in here, twenty years ago? I was building this kitchen, and you got... overexcited and you--"

"I know what I did."

He presents his palms like offering a gift. Or a checkmate.

She smiles, but feels no humour in it. "Actually, you know what? I agree. I'd like to go back to us like that too."

He swallows. Smiles. She crosses her legs.

"But?" he says.

"But my Max, the Max that overexcited me, where is he?"

"Right here. I'm sorry I'm not as young and fit. I've lost a bit of muscle and--"

"You think I care about your body? I miss the Max who, when we couldn't afford the kitchen we wanted, made it himself. Who worked, hard, to make our life as good as it can be. Instead of constantly complaining about things that go wrong. You know you complained about this kitchen the other day? That it wasn't as good as it used to be? Remind me again, how long ago it was that you got me so"--air quotes--"overexcited?"

"Twenty years." He drops his head.

"Things decay, Max, if you don't look after them."

He nods at his feet, blinking like she's wallopped him in the jaw. A gush of love overpowers her. She strokes his still-folded arms. "I'm sorry you're depressed. I'm sorry about... fucking enshitification. Entropy's a bitch. But my Max, he pushed back. He made things, repaired things, cared for people and looked after them."

"Right," he says. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm sorry. I should encourage you more. Support you."

He looks down at her with a glint that suggests he's thinking: "Encouragement, or support. Which one of those comes with a blowjob?" But then his jaw sets stoically, like he's reining himself in, and his effort melts something in her middle. Her belly flips. She drags him closer and leans her forehead against his hip. "Let me bring you joy. To bring you back."

He strokes her head. Something swells against her cheek. She likes it. Somehow, despite all that's happened, and all she's read, his simple human reaction to her feels wholesome and weirdly flattering. She nuzzles the bulge. "I thought that might happen."

Max reaches down, takes Jessica's face in his hand and kisses her. He has no idea what his great, leathery paw on her cheek does for her. Their kiss seems deeper than just lips and tongues, like their insides briefly glue. He's doing well. No ripping off his bathrobe, shoving himself at her. Has he really learned something?

One more test.

"If you like," she finds herself suddenly coy. "We could have a bath?"

He shrugs. "If you want. But do we need it?"

"We could go back and relive our first time. The bath is big enough for two, remember? And the only time we could return to, together, is a time we lived through together. Imagine, both of us now, back in our young bodies, making each other's dreams come true for the very first time? And if we wanted to show those young things some new tricks, too, why not?"

Max smiles. A proper smile. His old smile. "That's my girl." He kisses her again, with soft pecks, as if just for the sensuous joy of her lips. "But we don't need to go back in time for that."

"You don't have to pretend, Max. I've read your diary, remember? You crave young, fit women. Christ, a sex kitten Katniss, a russian dancer with a cum fetish, a fucking... sugar-coated fairy yoga teacher!"

His kiss finds the spot under her ear. The bastard. It goes off in her head like a love grenade. Her midriff warms. She hopes he's not too worked up to work out that she's still testing him.

"You know I reached for them because I thought you didn't want me. That wasn't clear? I crave you." He looks into her eyes, as if literally trying to read the pages of her mind. Fair enough. She's read his. "You are the only thing that's never enshitified, my love," he says. "You're the only thing in the universe that only gets better."

Oh what lovely bullshit.

His next kiss comes with a wandering hand, stroking her breast through her dress. He rumbles in their kiss. She didn't wear a bra today because she's proud she still doesn't always have to. Her nipple hardens and she presses him tighter. He pulls from her lips and searches her face again, suddenly a little awkward. "But I'll go back in time with you if that's what you want. I mean, if you'd prefer the younger me."

"Silly bugger." Jess rolls her eyes. She unfastens his bath robe and opens it. Yes! Massive. She presses her lips to his cock, right on the tender spot under his head, exactly where he loves it. "Have you not learned the time machine's lesson?" She cups his balls, as if holding him on a plate. We're not old... hmm." His weighty flesh against her cheek pulls a sigh right from her soul. "We've aged."

He throws back his head and laughs like a pirate. Jess too. She flaps her tongue under his end, and reaches into her pocket. She finds the panties she removed earlier, when she heard him in the shower, and drops them on the table. Max looks like he might faint.

"Remind me?" she says. "How does it go again? Suck, lick, fuck, suck?"

While his brain fumbles, she takes his cock into her. Lord that feels good. They fit so well together. Her eyes droop shut. A moan comes from nowhere. Goodness, it's coming from her. And it won't stop.

Then his cock is gone. She bites back a grin, keeps her eyes closed and reclines in her chair, sliding her bum to the edge. She pulls back her knees until she can curl her toes over the edge of the table. There's a shuffling sound. The scrape of a chair. Rough palms press the insides of her thighs. Rumbling laughter heats her wetness. Ah. There he is. Home at last.