Plums.
Small and firm, a slick coating, glossier than any apple.
The small steel pairing knife rocks in my hand, thumb depressing on the backside of the blade guiding it through the fleshy fruit.
Fuck. Too engrossed in watching the way the fruit tears to the knife, I lose my grip and the blade slices a clean small cut into the palm of my hand. The thin smears of blood become tainted with the dripping juice of the plum.
Red violet.
I let my tongue dart out of my mouth, pointing it as I drag it slowly over the cut. Metallic, warm, and sticky. The jagged and square-like teeth in my jaw latched onto the half of fruit, devouring it hastily ignorant of just how deep the cut was on my hand, blood still flowing.
Looking down at my hand, my eyes grew wide. Oh, so bloody.
Setting down the remaining half of fruit, my long bone pale fingers went directly to the fly of my black pants. The silver metal button slipping out of the eyehole first, then the pulling down of the zip.
Sigh.
Standing against the kitchen counter I looked down at my hand once more. The blood starting to coagulate and crust. A moan escaped my lips as I licked along the thin cut, forcing it back open.
"Shit." Just seeing the blood my body created turned me on, my boxers tented as my pants had slipped down my legs and pooled like a black sea at my ankles. I pulled my boxers down and looked down at my cock.
'Nothing special.' I told myself as I bit my lip and started pumping my right hand at the shaft, blood from the cut creating an odd sticky sheen, helping the movement a bit. My left hand reached behind me, gripping at the counter. My head lolled to the side but I kept looking down.
It was just my cock. The same one that had been attached since birth. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Same with masturbation; it was something I'd been doing since I was 12, nothing new. But for some reason no matter how many times I touched myself, perverted thoughts running in my mind, it was always just as good as the first time.
Bliss.
My legs quivered slightly, my eyes kept down and open the entire time. The scene in front of me too splendid to miss, the only thing better would've been if my bloody hand would've been a bloody ass.
"Fuuuuck." Muttered obscenities slid past my lips, tongue slipping past to wet the pink chapped tissue. My thumb circles around the head, pressing into the slit just as pre-cum starts to dribble at the surface. That familiar rush of endorphins courses through my blood.
Blood.
Hips moving up, jerking almost violently as I slowed my hand down to tease out the impending orgasm. The feeling just before it hit was always the best, teetering over the edge of the great pleasure; throbbing, aching, need. It was desperate and dirty.
But it was almost as if parts of my body were detached of one another. The more my hips pushed the slower my hand became. It was too much for me to take, teasing was my favorite and least favorite verb in the world.
Cries, little hungry whimpers that made my swollen bottom lip tremble, mingled in the cool air of the kitchen. Sun filtering through the simple curtains, morning sunshine dancing over the linoleum floor, the sweet spring breeze dancing over my heated flesh causing goose pimples to rise over my body.
"Yes, baby… Oh, yes that's it." I muttered above a whisper even though I was home alone. "Shit, yes… gonna cum so good. Oh, OH!"
I'm not really talking to anyone in particular. Just have a little fetish for dirty talk, couldn't get off properly without it.
Messy. The opaque and creamy cum spurted over my hand. There was always a lot but there wasn't much trajectory. Laugh if you must, but I'd seen a porn once where the guy just shot clear across a room… I shake my head as I let my tired right hand fall to my side, my limp cock falling back in place. 'Idiot, that was just a porn.' I shake my head, taking in a deep cleansing breath.
I raise my hand to inspect the cut, it's on its way to being fully scabbed over. The afterglow of my orgasm starts to fade and I bend down to pull my boxers and pants back into place at my waist. I suddenly feel empty again, back where I started.
The earlier set-aside half of plum still sat on the table looking just as sad and pathetic as me. It wasn't whole, just a half. A visual metaphor for my masturbation, sure I got off, but it was never quite as good as actually being with someone. Having someone else causing that immense pleasure, my own fucking self. I hadn't been with someone since he left, packing up and leaving home for college. I'd been alone for months working at a job I hated.
Pissed off at my lonely sexual act and my own self-hatred; I picked up the plum, shoving it all into my mouth. Wishing I would just choke and die on it, end it all with that sweet dark fruit.
I wasn't that lucky.