Only a Matter of Time

This is a much shorter one than the last but no less enjoyable to write. As for reading it depends what you're looking for. The emphasis is on the aftermath of the first chapter but also features one hell of a quickie.

Yes! It's a quickie within a quicky. Fuckception!!!

Enjoy.

*****

Ever since we made love last week things haven't been the same!

Elated, ecstatic, out of my mind, I keep reliving that afternoon and I want it to happen again and again.

I can't think straight. My attention span has been burnt down at both ends. Like the highly sexed teenager I was all those year ago I'm aroused by the slightest touch.

I just have to see your name, to read your messages, to think about us back then, and I begin to harden.

And yet I have to respect your wishes, not to chase you, not to interfere in your life. It's left me at a dead standstill.

Just those words, though - Making Love - they drive me over the edge of this sad normality and into a mindless state of need and confusion.

Because making love isn't just animalistic fucking, physical need or just a slow comfortable screw. It's the closeness, the intimacy, the chemistry between us and that electricity and excitement that passes between humans at the slightest touch.

It's the declaration of a bond, a deep seeded connection. We already had love like family. Now we have something stronger. And your boyfriend isn't competing...

But our friendship will have to become an ordinary boring thing in order for it to survive; and for your own relationship with Lee to survive.

We spent half the day in bed together, wrapped up in each other, falling hard for each other, surrendering.

The smooth friction of our bodies crackling with electricity as we joined and melted together in a mess of orgasmic bliss, wanting to go deeper than was humanly possible. And yet our imaginations, our minds, had performed sex together for so long before our bodies took direction, I think we must have been heading to that point already for this to have happened.

The way we kissed after the first time, staring into each other's eyes, as if something was awakened within us.

I never wanted it to end. I woke up harder today than I think I'd ever been in my life, dreaming about us all night and yet I couldn't tell you; not then.

I wish you could have been there so we could have fucked it out of my system, because I think I've made matters worse for myself ever since.

A week passed by before I had to talk it out. 'So how do you feel?' I asked you over the phone when it was safe.

'I really don't know,' you said after a pause.

I felt trepidation. Where could I even hope to go with this?

'Well how did you feel? On the day...'

'Well and truly fucked,' you laughed. Well okay then, but it wasn't exactly what I was hoping for.

'Do you feel guilty?' I asked.

'No! Do you?'

'No, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about it...'

I hear a stifled laugh from you. It's devilish. Mischievous. 'What exactly?'

'You don't want me to say it,' I dismissed.

'But you'll tell me anyway.'

I wasted no time. 'I felt something special, sad as it sounds coming from me. But I'd do that again in a hurry.' Again, silence.

Maybe you're afraid to admit it, or maybe it's respect for Lee, or simply your relationship with him. But there's something you're not telling me and I have to stop myself from trying to draw it out of you for my own satisfaction.

'Yeah it hit the fucking spot, repeatedly,' you say casually.

'And we fit nice together too,' I add.

'Stop!'

I stop. But then I hear you laughing again. 'If only you'd told me how you felt three years ago.'

That doesn't surprise me. But I am elated by those words. They affirm what we have. Aren't I just a sad, sad creature?!

A week passes and it hurts but we care, so we do what's right. You go back to him and I go back to me. It is what it is. I can laugh about it, but we don't talk about it.

In fact we laugh and joke about everything but that, emphatically everything but that, and otherwise there's no distance other than the four miles between us.

Then I go for a walk up the canal one evening and I'm on my way home when you call and ask where I am.

I've passed you by, thinking little of it as my walks tend to be between me and myself. Some people think in the shower or at the bar. I think on the move, just trying to gain ground on my overactive mind.

I tell you I'm not far away. You ask if we if we can meet to talk face to face. Thinks aren't going great at the moment.

What can I do? Leave you alone to what I got you into?

We meet by the bridge by your house. It goes over the canal and towards the nearest road in and out of town. It's never without traffic by day, but at night the odd lone car stops and waits by the traffic lights in an all but deserted area.

At the side of the bridge is a low concrete wall, just by the traffic lights. The road is dead and it's a bit chilly, so there appears to be nobody else but us. The silence all around us is palpable and frankly dead still.

When I meet you, we hug and kiss as always. That hasn't changed. Maybe it's habit, but maybe it stops me from otherwise sscaring you away.

We sit, shoulder to shoulder, looking over the black water, glimmering and rippling that golden streetlight glow, hands in pockets when we're not smoking cigarettes. And there's the slightest awkwardness, but not because of how we now regard each other. It's because of the way that we can't.

I sparingly look into your eyes, inches away from you, because I want to kiss you. You break my stare often because five seconds into every moment, you're magically transported back to one most obscenely romantic moment.

It comes into the conversation, inevitably, because the elephant that seems to fill every room can now apparenly fill wide open spaces too.

'What's on your mind?' you ask.

'You.'

'Not in a bad way I hope.'

'Hell no! I just don't know how to go about it,' I sigh.

'Are you sure you don't feel guilty?'

'A little bit. But it's more like regret.'

'Oh...'

'It's not what it sounds like,' I say trying to disarm you all of a sudden.

'I regret holding back. I regret respecting wishes and hoping for the best. I know I started this, and I'm really not that sorry, but part of me just wants to say "fuck it" and tell you how much I love you and how rock fucking hard that makes me!'

'Yeah, that elephant,' you reflect with a knowing nod. 'To be honest, I let this happen because Lee just hasn't given me anything like that in a while now. And he's being a massive tit!'

'I can't speak to him lately,' I add.

'I'm not surprised in the littlest...'

'But it's not about him. I'm an absolute horn beast for you lately but I'm hopeless,' I say.

I think it's that fucking adorable smile of yours, the way you regard me so briefly, speechless for my honesty. And that little devil in you shows, just a little sparkle in your eyes.

I lean in slowly and tenderly put my lips to yours. You don't back away. Afterwards, I run a fingertip over my own lips and then pretend to wipe it away, apologising.

'If you keep that up I'm not going to be resposible for what I do,' you warn, then after a moment of reposition, 'so what's stopping you?'

'Shit!' I lose my breath.

I stand up, right in front of you, to face you eye to eye. I refuse deep down. At least I try. Badly.

I can't damage you, though maybe I already have. I look down, away from your eyes and the neediness I see in them, afraid that they mirror my own.

That's what tips me over the edge. That taboo of breaking us both. Of sealing the deal we made with the devil.

The clinch becomes hot and heavy, that second kiss becoming a war of hungry swirling tongues. And in that moment I'm transported back to that other moment...

'If we were in my room right now-

'Who needs a room?' you intervene.

You're wearing a skirt and it's rode up enough that I can see the flesh of your thighs. At the same time, you grab my belt buckle and pull me into you where you feel my hardness rising.

Then we look at each other and the world comes to a complete standstill. Hands scramble at clothing. You unbuckle my belt and almost tear open my jeans. I'm not wearing anything underneath. I fall free and my length finds its way into your hand and you're pulling back the foreskin to reveal the swelling tip.

I pull you forward by your hips so that you're perched on the edge of the wall. Skirt raised, you let me pull aside your panties to expose your glistening wetness, like the petals of a flower dewy with the rain of a warm summer morning. But it's cold winter and the night chill is freezing me. You run your hand up and down my stiffened cock and it feels like I'm burning under the warmth of your touch.

'Do it,' you beg.

I place myself at your entrance and run my head up and down between your labia, where the heat of passion invites me deep once more.

Holding you close by your hips, I slide in deliciously where I am warmed to the hilt and your eyes become glazed and half-closed.

Again, that whimper...

At that moment, a car pulls up and an instance of panic threatens to take over. We hold each other tight and wonder if they see us and what we're doing.

For a moment I can't tell if you're crying. Then it occurs that you're actually laughing into my shoulder.

'Fucking hell,' your muffled voice whispers into the padding of my jacket.

'Shhhh,' I say, daring to slide deeper into you.

Then I do. You gasp, then begin laughing harder, failing to hold it together.

I look over at the driver and no surprise, his red-lit eyes are beaming directly at us. So fuck it, I throw him a wink, because maybe he has no idea and maybe he's the guy who just stares at everything that moves.

And then as your protests begin to rise, I start slowly plowing in and out of you.

'You son of a bitch,' you mutter. 'I can't believe you.'

'Your pussy is the absolute sweetest. You feel so right around me,' I tease.

'Fuck you,' you laugh, then, 'make him go away.'

The light turns green. Peeping Tom realises this a few seconds later and slowly takes off over the bridge, leaving me wondering if he'll do a U-turn just so he can confirm what he saw the first time.

As soon as he's gone you look at me and I begin fucking you with a steadier rhythm.

'We're never going to stop, are we?' you ask, breathing heavily as I rub lovingly up against your hot spots. I shrug, offering you a mischievous look. Your hands are encouraging me, cupping my hips and setting the speed that's just right for you, while making sure that I won't be caught with my pants down.

'Do you want to?' You shake your head slowly and the sweetest sigh escapes your lips. I pull you in for a soft sensuous kiss, afraid to tell you that I'm so fucking deep in love with you. It's all going horribly wrong and I don't want it to be right.

Ten minutes later and the pace has quickened and hard, smooth flesh and warm, silky wetness are pistoning together. The intensity in your eyes definitely mirrors mine now and it isn't long before you begin to cry into the night sky.

Denying me that same, sweet inner release, you sense me coming and push me back away from you. But just when I sense your rejection, you come at me, pulling me down to the grass and take me into your mouth.

Now it's me crying out as I shoot my load so intensely, riding your hot tongue to the back of your throat where you drink me dry.

'We've got it bad,' I gasp, struggling for air.

'Yup,' you gasp, and just as I think you're replacing the crotch of your panties and lowering your skirt again, I come to realise that you have three fingers inside yourself and that you're literally finger fucking the come out of yourself.

'Splish!' I say.

'So much splish...'

'Do you want to go again?' I ask, knowing that I could go a second round. But your wetness is already freezing my exposed cock beneath the chilly night air.

'Not right now,' you struggle, bucking your hips and frigging faster and faster. 'Soon though.'

'Well at least don't make me leave you unfinished,' I plea, climbing between your cold thighs, and my hot tongue replaces your fingers.

I can taste myself in you. We're fucking delicious together. And then as you begin to tremble, your body wracked with those pleasurable little explosions inside, our fingers entwine and you surrender to me.

Ten minutes later and we're still lying there, the remains of two well-needed cigarettes hidden in the dewy grass.

We're looking up at the faintly glimmering stars and listening to the soft ripple of the water when you say, 'just don't make me leave him...'