We Dont Talk Anymore

We don't talk anymore which is a shame. We used to be friends. I remember conversations that were completely innocent. I know we used to talk about hobbies, tv, video games and work too. But I know if I reached out with a 'hey, how are you?' now it would almost certainly end up in a conversation about your cock or my pussy. It's too easy to fall back into those old, familiar patterns. I miss the innocent conversations; I miss the not so innocent ones too. I'm with someone now though, and I'm happy and I love him. He's much better than I deserve, I know that too. I shouldn't miss talking to you, he gives me everything I need. If I could just make him a little more adventurous, he would be the perfect man. But still, sometimes, and for no apparent reason, I miss you.

It was how you always unashamedly wanted me. How rough you could be, or how you pushed my limits of comfort. So instead of reaching out I'm thinking about the times we spent together. Some of my favourites. I wish, even, that I still had the text conversations, or the copies of the stories that I remember writing for you. But I don't. Reading those back over would scratch the itch. The other day a memory popped up on the photo app on my phone of you fingering me on a video. I could have sworn I had deleted every video we ever took, along with the countless nudes I sent you. But I dug through the app and found more than a few that I must have missed. That gave me such a thrill. My pussy was soaking by the time I had finished looking through them all. I had to find my boyfriend and have him fuck me then and there. It was hot and passionate and exactly what I needed.

But I often find myself watching that video back and remembering how that technique you used felt. No one else has ever fingered me in quite the same way and it used to make me so wet. You would have me lie on my back with my legs open on that uncomfortable curved sofa that used to fill half of my living room. You always left my panties on when you started to rub me. I distinctly remember that you barely touched me to start with. You'd cup my pussy and feel me grow wet through my panties in anticipation. Sometimes you would give it a gentle slap before you massaged it a little with your fingers. As soon as you started to feel my wetness through my panties you would pull them down my legs.

Once you had me laid bare on my back you would take your middle finger and place it at the very top of my slit. I would always shiver just a little the first time you traced that finger down, so slowly until you reached my asshole. Then you would come back up, gently sliding ever so slightly between my lips as you came back up. I remember you would do this for what felt like forever until I was sopping wet, and your finger was slick. I was usually begging for more by then too. Then, and only then would you do one more journey downwards, only this time you would slide that slick finger inside me. You would take your time and make sure I savoured the feeling of it sliding into me. Then you would use your other hand to part the folds around my clit and you would start to lick me, ever so slightly. You'd press your tongue against my clit, then flick it as you added a second finger. Before I knew it you would be rapidly pumping your fingers fully in and out of me as you frantically licked my clit.

I could never hold my orgasm back when you started to suck on my clit at the same time you rubbed my g-spot with those deft fingers deep inside me. It was just too much when it was combined with you growling and moaning your pleasure as you drank down my juices. Seeing the grin on your face as my pussy tightened around your fingers was always bliss. You were never anything less than rock hard as I came. More often than not you would be inside me before my orgasm had finished and that felt like heaven. To feel my pussy still convulsing as you sheathed yourself inside me was an intense, indescribable bliss. You always made sure I felt every inch of your cock too, starting slow and sinking your full length into me as you pinned my hip with your hand and fondled my breast with the other.

Your cock. It was thick, I always remember how my pussy would stretch to allow you access. It was so easy after you'd brought me to a shivering orgasm with your fingers and tongue. You weren't the longest but the girth more than made up for that. When you fucked me, I felt as though you were still inside me even hours later.

I always loved watching your face change as you grew closer and closer to your own climax. Your gentleness would disappear entirely as you flipped me over onto my stomach or pulled me into your lap and thundered your cock into me over and over, as hard and fast as you could manage. I loved the feeling, and the sound your heavy balls made when they slapped hard against my clit. I loved just how wet I was and that I could hear that each time you rammed me with your thick cock. I loved it most when you would get extra rough, slap my arse, put your hands around my neck or leave those tell-tale fingerprint shaped bruises on my tits and thighs.

You usually would have me suck on your thumb, too, just as you drew close to cumming. I always knew you were about to fill my cunt with your seed when I would feel that slick, wet thumb press firmly into my asshole. This would drive me just as crazy as you and I would buck my hips in time with your already jack hammer thrusts into me. With your free hand you would hold my hip in such a way that I could no longer move as you pummelled me for the final few times as hot cum spewed from your cock and deep into my pussy. You always held yourself inside me until every drop of your cum rested inside me, but I would still suck and lick you clean when you pulled out and collapsed next to me. I loved the taste of our mingled juices and the feeling of you going softer as I dutifully cleaned you off.

That's what I miss. The intense, physical connection that would leave me glowing for days after. That simple act of taking your time and exploring my body. It pops into my head almost every time I masturbate. I miss that, and your easy laugh and having someone who was just a big a nerd as I was to talk to after we had thoroughly explored and pleasured each other. That, I think, is why it's a shame we don't talk any more.