When I first saw him that Friday night I wanted to be the typical (awful) white girl and touch his hair. He stood out from the crowd, not my usual type, but there was an energy to him that was appealing.
I was distressed, my family were in a city locked down by a terror attack, luckily I found out about the terror attack by the text they had sent me saying they were safe, they were hiding from the shooters and the bomb had been a few streets away from them. However, this meant I had a jumble of emotions, anxiety, relief, etc. I had popped into my local to have a drink and calm down.
He turned out to be a friend of my friend. Not surprising, she is amazing too, they have a lot in common; energetic, creative, good looking and fun to be around. She introduced us and we seemed to click. He was so camp and flirty. Open about himself and his desires, all in all he was appealing.
We ended up hanging out a lot that night. Just chatting about our favourite books, our dreams. We had a fair amount in common despite him being so creative and generous with his time for others; dreams, taste in books sense of humour. We both moved fast and had no reasons not to go home with each other. I have to admit it was some of the best sex I have had for a while. His kinks matched mine, it wasn’t serious it was just fun, playful. Joyous.
He tasted and smelt of caramel, I joked about it matching the colour of his skin. I’ve never tasted someone so delicious as him. I’m not sure if it’s my memory, because looking back I realise that all my best sexual experiences take on a misty glow in my mind. Senses almost dulled, but yet strongly lasting, like a sex scene in a film, viewed through gauze but still vivid.
I remember us laughing about what we’d do to an author we both really liked, the feeling of grabbing his soft hair as I climaxed from his touch. He romanced me with touch and sweet words, for the first time, for what I assumed was a one night stand it was so loving, tender and generous.
The morning after, ‘secretly’ snapchating our mutual friend to show him my grin. I remember getting caught, and the fun that then led to. When we parted ways the first time on the Monday morning, we both looked back at each other at the same time. A movie moment. Butterflies in my stomach. Lip biting potential.
I partially regret that he didn’t listen to the advice of his family, that I’m bad news. Not good enough for him. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it’s necessary to say. I certainly regret the way I acted towards him, I’ll never be able to go back to those first few nights, have the same sort of casual fun again, and nothing else could work between us… but man, I have a sweet tooth, and no self control.
Cake, Cocktales and Kink 