04

Many thanks to my editor, theMasterBaiter, for their keen eye and insightful feedback.

*****

Chapter 3

[Tagebuch 10 Okt 2027.doc]

I'm sitting as usual at my writing desk; Zeph is fast asleep in bed. Somehow, I'm not tired.

We had a row this evening. I got home today and proposed we spend the weekend at Lake Como, but where I expected a reaction of delight, she questioned my motives for the trip.

Maybe what angered me most wasn't her jab about my parents but rather that she was on to something. I feel like things haven't been the same these last couple months, and I was hoping that getting away would help us work through whatever is standing between us.

I love this woman. Over the course of our relationship we've grown massively, both personally and professionally, and we've created the foundation of a life together.

But I have this terrible fear that one of these days I'll hurt her. Love can make a person do that. I've done it before.

She's the most beautiful person I've ever met: A kind heart, caring, with compassion for the oppressed of the world, always ready to drop some historically-grounded optimism into the conversation, a talented musician, confident, witty, daring and deadly sexy. Her lustrous caramel skin and curves in all the right places still hold me rapt after five years.

Just back there in bed as we were banging—? fucking? screwing? It certainly wasn't making love—I was reminded of just how good we can be together, which was a bit ironic since the key ingredient there was something like wrath.

I wanted to dominate her so completely that every inch of her body and every little movement was under my command. She's been so.. so

slippery

lately and I got so fed up with it that I pushed her hard just now.

Even though I try so hard to give her autonomy, I have to admit that letting possessiveness into my relationship with Zeph (even if inadvertently) had steamy results. It felt right, but when the rush subsided, there was the same old fear of hurting her, of losing her.

We crawled into bed on uncertain terms. It wasn't long before I moved closer to her and wrapped an arm around her midriff as we spooned. I wanted her close.

We lay like that for a few minutes, me smelling the sweet natural scent of her hair, her feeling my hot breath on her bare neck.

I can't tell which of us started it: Maybe I started to get hard after she started slowly grinding on me, sharing the heat of her excited pussy; or perhaps my cock is to blame for turning spooning into forking.

My hands wandered upwards, tracing a lazy path between her breasts, up and around and back down, cruelly missing her sensitive nipples. I placed my hand over her neck, gently but firmly, as if to say

you are mine

. She let out an anguished little moan of pleasure and suddenly I knew what to do.

In one fluid movement I shifted to a kneeling position, grabbed her hip and threw her on her stomach. Without waiting for her, I pushed her blue cotton panties to the side and fell onto and into her.

I drove all my length into her without mercy, using my hands to pin her at the forearms as I rocked her body in long, rhythmic strokes.

There was a fleeting instant in which I saw her spread out on the bed, at my mercy and in the grip of pleasure, and in this instant I saw her as Object, but through our sexual connection and her greedy moans of pleasure I also had this intense access to her subjectivity and it was

hot

. It's like I was with her in her mind. Her grip on the sheets tightened and relaxed with our rhythm.

Three minutes of hard fucking and I was ready to cum, so without hesitation I did, deep inside her. In the past I've nearly given myself carpal tunnel syndrome trying to finish this girl off but this evening I just collapsed on her, heavy as death and sweaty as July, cock still buried in her.

She looked over her shoulder and grinned in a combination of satisfaction and curiosity, as if to say

where did that come from?

There's more where that came from, my pet. She then wriggled out from under me, left the room, and returned with something in her hands.

With a weak smile, she held up a printed ticket and said "Italy?"

Chapter 4

The train wound lazily through the foothills of the Alps. Upward, ever upward. We passed many small mountain towns situated in valleys and on rivers, each one with its own breathtaking backdrop.

Why even did we live in goddamn Berlin again? Oh right, jobs. And in these corners of southern Germany, the locals' attitude towards foreigners—and by extension, towards mixed-race couples—hadn't exactly improved in the waves of northbound migrants over the last decade.

We got looks, for certain, even in the city sometimes. He—5'9" (still thinking like an American even after all these years, Zeph) or 175cm, fair-skinned, lean, mousy-haired with piercing ice-blue eyes—and I—165cm, chocolate-skinned and with short nappy hair—make an "interesting" couple.

We were drawn to each other not only for what we are, but for what we aren't. We were each the other's opposite number. Not exactly an act of rebellion against the respective social circumstances of our upbringings, more like a half-conscious act of distancing and diversification.

Different tasted divine. The first time we slept together (second date?), I remember not being able to stop smelling him. Lying there, heaving and perspiration-drenched on his dorm room bed, his skin smelled addictively musky yet pure, clean and masculine but also earthy and sweaty... how I wanted to taste it again, bite and s—

I started, pulled from the daydream by a PA announcement. We would be arriving in Nuremberg in an hour, where we would transfer to a sleeper train. Mi was in the seat next to me. He did smell good. Thinking about our first time had made me all hot and bothered. I squirmed subtly in my seat.

Then I got a nasty little thought. I reached to my left and placed my hand on Mi's thigh, brazenly feeling him up. I looked over and as I fixed him with

that look

(as he put it), his expression of surprise turned quickly to understanding.

"Come after me in two minutes," I whispered in his ear, then, in my best seductive tone,

"Ich will deine Sahne trinken

."

I want to drink your cream

. I promise it sounds better in German. I rose and sashayed in the direction of the WC.

One and a half minutes later my bracelet buzzed. I opened the door a crack and let him in. Pushed him up against the wall, dropped to my knees, and went straight for the money. Foreplay was a casualty of time restrictions. Not like it mattered, though, since Mi was already half hard in sweet anticipation.

As I cleared a path through button, buckle and zipper, my pussy throbbed even harder in expectation of being filled. His guy is.. chubby. It's chubby in the best of ways, mind. But today his cock was going to feel my mouth. I kissed the underside of his shaft as it twitched, engorging and hardening. One hand around the base, one around his balls the way he liked, my lips engulfed the tip of his cock. I stuck my tongue out over my lower lip and licked and flicked until he was involuntarily gasping in pleasure.

After teasing the first couple inches, I went down and stayed down. His member bulged inside my mouth, tickling the back of my throat.

Right there I wanted to do a handstand: Whenever we 69ed I could throat him to the hilt, but here a bit of him was exposed. No matter. I grasped the base of his cock again and jerked him in short, sharp strokes. I could feel his entire body squirming under me. He was moaning more rhythmically now, and I could feel his shaft flexing inside my mouth as he got closer.

The words "Swallow.. every last.. drop" reached my ears through the delirious miasma of our sweat, my spit and my now rabid thirst for his cum. It drove Mikhael wild when I got crazy like this. BJ crazy, that is. He could get the same way about eating me out, just staying down there, clamped between my thighs, drinking me in. I was doing the same to him right now.

"I'm.." Gasp. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna c—aahhhhaahhhh" He let slip a breathy moan that let me know I had done my duty. His cock swelled and shot easily half a dozen bursts into the back of my mouth. I pushed myself deeper, coating his length in his own cum, which I then licked clean again. This was willful debasement on my part, but I knew it turned him on to watch his slut make a mess. And I was happy to oblige. I wondered if he knew.

"Good girl," he whispered softly, in a daze. "And thank you," he added, with a kiss on the lips.

I rejoined him in our seats a few minutes later. I was buzzing between the legs, but so happy to have served him.

**

That night as we slept, one above the other in our narrow bunks, I thought about the day behind us. Events like back in the WC were becoming more common. I wondered whether I was getting to that age where my body was telling me fuck all the time, ramping up my sex drive in the hopes of securing the future of humankind. Dick move, body. Maybe I should enjoy it while it lasts, I thought. Did I want to have children? I hadn't really considered the question seriously until recently.

Gliding through the quaint little towns, past valleys and fields, I had had a sudden longing to escape to this place. Get away from the smog and the horns and the sweltering heat of nine million bodies and just live in a small cabin on the slopes of one of these ancient mountains.

I wanted to run with Mikhael, if he would have me, to a remote alpine meadow. The sun would fill the gorge below us with golden light and the bumblebees would trace lazy circles above the grass. There I roll with him among the scattered flowers, where we would fuck, loudly and clumsily, with no condoms or IUD, and in time I would bear him three fat children. In the arms of this bucolic reverie I drifted into sleep.