It's been a couple months but a single-line email from him, an email requesting a repeat visit, sent a memory flooding back to my mind so sharply I almost cried out, so thick and real my tongue swelled and I could almost taste it, my fingers not feeling the phone as I gripped it tighter but feeling instead his warm flesh and a general sense of warmth around me.
The memory was a moment. Not of borrowing a car just to get to him with my car in the shop, not of his impossibly tall six-feet-and-some-unknown-gigantic-inches height topped by a impossibly handsome and freckled angular face, not even of the hunger of our kisses or my raw inches first sinking into him. It was actually a moment after we disentangled our bodies from each other, our bodies sticky from lube and cum, catching our breaths as we sprawl out on the bed he shared with his partner. I'm not even sure whose cum it was. Mine? His? Both? It was the moment after, when we decided to check out his hot tub on a deck that overlooked the ocean.
It was there that easy conversation led to fervent kisses and before I knew it, I wanted him. I wanted him mine. I pulled him up and turned him around so that I was hugging his back, kicked his legs apart in the water, and then folded him over until he was bracing himself on the edge of his tub. Both of us with warm waters swirling around us. My hands trace his long limbs as I stand on my tip toes and line my cock to his hole. A brief resistance from his hole. Then the silicone lube that resists being washed away in the water takes over and I glide in. Resistance cancels resistance. I barely notice that I'm on my toes as the water lifts me up to his impossibly tall and lanky frame. My hips struggle to pull back from the suction our bodies create in the water, but when it does I'm acutely aware that the source of the vortex and undertow between us is my hard inches cocking back the hammer before it pistons forward. Pretty soon, rough waters form as my violent assault on his hole shakes everything up and we're pitched forward and back, side to side. My nails dig into his hips. He struggles to remain in place. The coarse concrete and stone texture that's meant for safety so that you don't slip instead starts to slice into the balls of his feet, the hands as he maintains balance, his shins as the force of my fuck propels him forward and the rough seas jostles him to and fro. And then it all escalates to that moment. That moment where the rhythm of my fuck harmonizes with the peaks and troughs of this little pool around us. Rough seas become gentle waves. And every time my hips crashed into his, it was with the rolling weight of an enveloping tide behind it. A cloud of warm hands directing me how to fuck and how to fuck him completely. I'm fooling myself thinking that I was ruling the majestic fuck when instead I was just a pawn. He was being wholly fucked by everything around him, but there are worse things to be a slave to.
Too soon, that moment was disrupted. As much as I wanted to bathe in its beauty, I wanted power back. His ass was no longer mine. We both gave into something else. Toweled off quickly. Back in bed. And I took back control and fucked my load into him. Or did I fuck a load out of him before crapping out. I honestly don't remember. That moment in the tub where we were perfectly aligned, or maybe perfectly ruled, with this power that completely surrounded us... that overshadowed any other memory of that night.
So here I am, clutching my phone and remembering that sublime moment before I quickly send off a reply:
"Fuck yeah. When are you free next?"