“Are you sure you want to hear this?” he asks, correctly surmising that it might be uh, counter-productive to hear about his feelings for me now that I’m in a relationship.
I nod. I don’t care. I want to hear everything. This is the end of us, for a while at least. I want to know everything. But I also wondered if he was just saying all this because he knew I was with someone else and was no longer really a threat to his freedom.
“I’m really into you, I would really love to have a relationship with you, but you said that you didn’t want one, and I’m not really up to that right now, but…it’s been a struggle.”
We’re in bed (of course), casually entwined. “Really?” I say.”I can’t stop thinking about you — that argument we had? I used that as an excuse.” Ah yes. I suspected that but wasn’t sure. This was a major admission. He wants to be self-contained and in control always.
“A relationship,” I say. “How would that even work?” I know it wouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself from asking. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look me in the face. Right. Not possible. Despite our incredible hunger for each other.
I love Mr. Jones, but for some reason I still need Terminator to love me, to want me, to fight for me. Even though I know he isn’t right for me, and even though, as my feelings for Mr. Jones become deeper, Terminator becomes less…important. I don’t say any of this. Instead, I give in to his caresses and lose myself in our hunger.
We both moan in ecstasy as he slides his long cock into me, and hits me so deeply I almost lose my senses. There is no slow gradual build up, no languorous intimacy about this fuck, just a crazy, hot pumping hunger. I feel my pussy tighten around him with each thrust, driving him crazy. His hands cup my generous ass so he can thrust more deeply (killing me). The harder he fucks me, the harder I want it. The deeper he goes the deeper I want it (yes baby, impale me), and in the midst of the grunting, screaming pumping maelstrom, I feel one of his fingers sliding into my ass. Just a little, enough to finish driving me out of my mind and over the edge into a screaming, hitting, scratching orgasm. Holy mother. When it’s over, I’m twitching and incoherent. The Terminator is kneeling between my legs, covered in sweat, breathing hard, with that lazy half smile on his face. I watch him for a few seconds as I come back to earth and catch my breath. “Turn over,” he says grabbing my knee.
Impossibly long and eternally hard, Terminator gently kisses my ass and moves up my spine, sending little shivers all over my body. Our legs entwine together of their own accord — it’s as if our bodies know each other — we’ve never had an awkward moment together. He slides one arm around my shoulder and with his other hand he guides his cock into my pussy from behind. Oh, bliss. He’s kissing my neck and back, whispering as we start fucking, sweet thing, nasty things, tender things and my name, over and over…this is new, but I like it because it gives me a glimpse of his emotions when he’s not controlling them. Then:
Do you miss this, baby? Yes (true)
You want this all the time? Yes (who wouldn’t?)
This pussy is mine? You belong to me? Yes (No. I belong to no one)
When you’re with him do you think of me? Yes (No. Never)
Is this what you want, baby, you want more? Yes. Yes. (Yes)
He thrusts like a mad man, and I tilt my ass up to meet him, wanting it harder, deeper and more violent, even though I’m practically screaming already. Fuck me, I beg, hurt me. And he does, until we both come, howling like animals.
We’ve been together five hours.
He helps me dress. We don’t talk much, but just before I leave, we share a long embrace, a tender kiss. “Can I tell you I love you now without it being a big thing?” I ask. He smiles. “I love you too,” he says. I don’t cry, probably because I’ve cried so much over him already.
We gaze into each other’s eyes for a moment, and I turn away. “Take care and be good,” I say.
I’m not sure what I feel. It doesn’t feel real that we won’t see each other again, but I feel bittersweet. Sadness? I think I was sad but refused to admit it to myself. Not so much at losing him but at losing the sexual freedom he represents to me. I’m thankful it ended amicably and that we both wish each other the best. There is no negativity between us, only love and friendship.
J. represents something far deeper and more valuable to me. Unconditional love. There is no contest whatsoever.