No Ordinary Ex

"What are you hoping to achieve?" she asked herself. "In sanity's name girl, get a hold of yourself!"

She stared blankly at the email message on her screen. In her direct and witty fashion she had penned an email message to an ex-lover, which sat idly waiting to be sent.

"You're a fool." Exasperated, she hit delete. Again. Each night for 3 nights she had done the same thing. This needing, wanting to re-establish contact after so many years still took her by surprise. She had thought him forgotten, relegated to that dusty place where ex-lovers go, only to be drawn out on those special occasions when you need to re-live a glory moment or visit the pain inflicted by some questionable romance.

But... he was no ordinary lover. She could still picture every inch of him. Could still smell him, could almost taste him. It had been over 5 years. They had seen each other twice in that time. With new partners both, and all full of that "I'm so happy now, now that I'm not with you" subtext. A pleasant dinner and friendly chats, nothing remarkable but how her skin still burned when he had kissed her goodbye. It was obvious he too felt the pull of their chemistry but just how much, she couldn't be certain.

It had always been complicated. Either she or he had had a partner each time they connected. Wild sex fuelled by guilt and excitement, exhilarating and degrading all at once. For her, it always came back to the physical pull he had. No other lover, ever, had had this effect on her. He would touch her arm lightly, she would reel at the contact. He would kiss her neck, she would feel instant warmth and wetness between her legs. But at what price this feeling, this intensity? Finally, she had said enough. Enough of the guilt she told him, but even now she had to admit it wasn't really about that. She just couldn't handle the rawness of it all. The blind desperate need of him. The agony when he was with another woman. No jealousy, not that, just agony that his body wasn't touching hers, making her burn from the inside out.

Ultimately they had had to admit they didn't actually like each other much. She was too 'straight', he was too earthy. She was wine & conversation, gentle philosophy and companionship. He was all beer and Babes, motorbikes and meat. He recoiled when she touched his softer side, withdrawing almost as soon as he let her in. She hated his 'with the guys' persona, his more man than you, who can piss the furthest routines.

And yet still they connected. She remembered the first time they met. It was at a party, at her then boyfriend's boss' house. It was a pool party, though her boyfriend had neglected to tell her that. She had had to borrow a t-shirt from his boss so she could swim with the others. She remembered going upstairs to change, the boss being ever so slightly suggestive. She had stripped to her undies and put on the over-sized t-shirt. In the mirror she saw her breasts clearly outlined under the light material, her nipples hard and inviting. She remembered laughing, despite herself. And then she saw Him. Coming down the stairs, she saw him standing near the front door, having just arrived. A friend called her over to the stereo to help choose some music and as she walked past, he caught her eye. It was like a jolt of electricity, corny but true. Dazed, she had stumbled past and sat in front of the stereo pretending to examine the discs, acutely aware of his presence and her lack of clothing.

Then she was alone, left to choose the next disc. Without looking, she could feel him behind her. She felt a light touch on her neck, hot and fleeting. Scarcely breathing she turned, only to see him walking away.

The next hour had been agony. She didn't even know his name but could feel him down to her soul. Finally, he approached her again. This time she was sitting by the pool, her legs dangling in the cool water, watching the boys play rough with a ball down the other end. The borrowed t-shirt was wet, her breasts even more visible than before. She was grateful that the generous size of the shirt covered her panties. He sat next to her, His thigh touching hers. No small talk, He just let his fingertips lightly brush hers and introduced himself. She gave her name but could barely talk. He was amused at her lack of composure but gently so. To this day she cannot recall a conversation. Her memories are more sensate. His fingers. His broad thighs. His masculine smell. She would never have such an intensely erotic experience again.

It was just a few days before they saw each other again. She had convinced herself it was all in her head, the product of too much wine and the heat of the day. They were all at the pub at the casino. She had come later, she worked at the other end of town. They were all well under when she arrived and inwardly she had groaned at the thought of facing her boyfriend later that night, especially the long drive back to his place. There was no way he was driving home.

She was at the bar, waiting to be served when she felt that heat on the back of her neck. She turned to find Him there, close. Too close. He said hello and took charge of getting her a drink. They stayed at the bar and the talk turned almost instantly to sex. What he wanted to do to her, what he wanted her to do to him. There was nothing lewd or filthy about it, it was just lust, pure and simple. She couldn't help but respond. She felt the heat in his pants, the telltale bulge prominent and promising. She felt hot and leaned into him, breathing in his masculinity. He was thrown by her responsiveness, as desperate to touch her as she was to touch him. She felt that everyone must be able to see what they were feeling but instead of concerning her, she felt exhilarated. She was sure the barman must know everything. He rested his arm along the front of the bar, manoeuvring himself close to her breasts. Her tight white shirt seemed tighter than ever, her breasts full and straining to be released. He lightly ran his thumb over her left nipple, his other hand casually resting on his cock. His eyes never left hers as he caressed her. She was grateful the bar was so crowded, edging closer to him until she stood between his open legs as he sat on the bar stool.

She sighed. Why was she revisiting all this? He was long gone. Wasn't he?

She remembered how they had dodged her boyfriend and headed over to reception. His credit card, her acceptance. A short, silent ride up the elevator and then finally, they were behind closed doors. They had stood there silently, immobile for what seemed like eternity and then, from nowhere, there had been an eruption of violent passion, of desperate hands on hot flesh, their clothes pushed aside or carelessly discarded. There was no need for foreplay, the past 3 days of each in their own imagination was foreplay enough, not to mention the scene downstairs. He pushed her up against the wall, forcing her legs apart, entering her wet and waiting cunt, all the while kissing her neck, inhaling her scent. She moved with him, their rhythm immediate and connected. He came in a furious rush, unable to hold back. Shocked and breathless, they had stared at each other. As his cum dripped wetly down her leg, she had realised the only thing she knew about him was his name.

She sighed again and shifted in her seat. She could feel a familiar wetness between her legs and her nipples were aching to be touched. Still she stared at the computer screen, one hand drifting down to her skirt. She lifted her skirt up so she could reach her fingers down into her panties and began to stroke herself. She closed her eyes and imagined him there. He had always been an attentive lover, giving her pleasures no other lover before or since had matched. He would stroke her clitoris, gently teasing and refusing to satisfy until she begged for release. His fingers, first one, and then two inside her. Gently he would suck and lick her, his tongue probing her deepest secrets and always holding a little back, making her writhe and voice her need. He loved to hear her say 'make me cum', 'fuck me now'. He loved to see her gentle and polished exterior disintegrate and be replaced by a desperate and wanton woman. She didn't like to analyse that too much, particularly as she realised how much it also turned her on.

Her breathing became more rapid as she stroked herself, the other hand massaging her erect nipples. Without thought to where she was she inserted two fingers into her cunt and began a more insistent motion. Her fingers slid easily in and out, she was so wet with remembering all that he was, and all that they had done. She paused and raised her fingers to her mouth, slowly, hesitantly licking and tasting her own juices. Half furious with herself, she returned to her fingers to her clitoris and quickened her strokes until she came hard and fast.

Exhausted, breathless and far from satisfied, she shut down the computer. No good could come of this. No good at all.