Ghost of a memory

By C. Howe

It had been another tedious, tiring and altogether long day at work. Mending bridges of communication, trust and peace, never was easy. Neither was rebuilding a country and government, after it's ruler shot it to hell and then disappeared. Least that's the story that was put out. I and many others know the real truth. Just as you do, don't you. My apartment is cold, dark and silent. After locking the door, hanging up my coat and jacket, I head for the lining room...and my liquor cabinet.

You always hated this habit of mine, didn't you.

I guess Whiskey is an acquired taste. A wide tumbler glass filled almost to the top with the caramel colored liquid. It's gone in one gulp, burning it's way down my throat. I don't even give it a second though, as I pour another. It's Friday, It's fine to get a little hammered. It helps in fact. Helps to numb me to the ache in my chest. The ache you left there, when you walked away from here...from me. I slump in my favourite chair, eyes shifting to the left and I snap my fingers, the fire bursts to life and I just watch it. The way it curls, bends and twists, contorting into a myriad of shapes and patterns. So unpredictable. So raw. So hungry to consume everything it touches. It reminds me of you.

I don't even realise that my eyes close, but they do and I open them again.

And there you are in the doorway. You haven't changed at all, still a sight to see and smirking at me, like you always did. Your stalking over to me, slowly peeling off your clothes as you get closer to me. I'm acutely aware that, I'm already naked. Laid bare before you in the chair. By the time you reach me, your body is fully exposed to me and my god, you look amazing. Toned abs, a moderate six pack, nothing too drastic, just perfection for your frame. I watch you intently, I already know how this game will play out.

Sinking down to your knees, between my legs, you run finger tips up my shins and along my thighs. Two sensations, one warm and soft, the other cold and smooth. I love how the contrast feels, makes me shiver deliciously. My lips part, as I breath faster, your hot breath and cool nose are brushing along my over heated cock. I need you to do something, anything other than tease me, but that is how the game is played.

This little game for two.

My heart stops, as moist heat surrounds me and the soft, wet sounds make my pulse race. Slow is pace, so much so it drives me crazy. All the way down you go, sucking so hard on the way back up. It's impossible to fight it. You have an uncanny ability to make me loose control. I come all too quickly, spilling down your throat and feeling, as well as hearing, you moan around me. Oh how I desire to fuck that sweet mouth.

But you don't like it that way. This game, goes by your rules. Like always.

Those mismatched hands, are travelling again. Over my abdomen and up my chest they creep, your body following. Climbing up onto my lap, you then balance yourself on the arms of the chair. Your proud of this little trick. This way your in a prime position. And so, there it is before my eyes, twitching and weeping, begging to be tasted. It's a taste I can't resist either.

Placing your hands on the top of the chair, you swirl your hips, as though your playing with a hula hoop. Enticing me, daring me, beckoning me. I waste no time. I have to have it, have to taste you, to feel you throb against my tongue. Hard, thick and pulsing in my mouth, dancing on my tongue. I suck and I savour. I can hear you, groaning and muttering my name, like some medieval chant. Deeper into this haze of madness we fall. I slip a hand under you, making sure to wet two fingers along the way, so that I can prepare you.

There is no resistance at all, as I sink them into you, curling them to seek it out...that sweet spot that will have you seeing stars and worshipping the ground I walk on. For a while anyway. I know I've hit it, when you suddenly hit the back of my throat hard and the leather of the chair creaks in protest at you brutal grip on it. The taste of you seed excites me more and I know you ready now. Releasing you from my mouth, you lower down onto me, slipping your legs off the chair arms.

So tight. Such incredible heat, I swear my cock will melt away.

But we are connected now. Joined in the most primal way. The feet of the chair scuff and scrape on the hard wood floor, as we fuck intensely. Wildly you throw you head about, hair the color of the sun, getting tussled and sticking to your sweat slicked skin. Faster and harder we go at it, making a lot of noise. But who the hell cares. Not us. How can we, when we are too lost in our passion to notice. Your the first to finish, spraying my chest with that warm, sticky seed. But it is how much tighter you become in that moment, that pulls me over the cliff with you.

My eyes snap open.

The fire is still popping and crackling, but I'm alone. Your not there. I'm still dressed. My empty glass is still perched in my hand. I have the last remnants of an erection in my pants, along with a sensation of something wet and sticky too. My body still thrums from the pleasure. But it was just a memory, not even real at all. Your not here. You were never here. It was all just...a ghost of a memory. That haunts me still.

Fin.