I woke up with an erection the size of a cargo ship. Or that's how it felt as I dragged my cock beneath the covers, feeling like my boxers were the Suez canal and my oversize boner ship had lodged itself so tightly within them that it would require two weeks and a manned excavation to release. It's 10:36AM on a Sunday -- not a great time, not a bad time, just a time that fits awkwardly between a good time to wake up and a worse time to wake up. I sprawled out to stretch as my rock-solid barge continued to vie for freedom.
I lightly wrapped my fingers around the engorged head and applied torque, rubbing it on two axes while friction between my fingers and the pliable polyester boxers imparted an irresistible sensation.
My brain is mossy, percolating with the structured cognizance that slowly renews itself upon waking. In this state I feel almost euphoric. Nothing enters my mind but foggy recollections of dream fragments and the previous day's memories, each lacking any meaningful context by which to represent them.
With gusto my hips jerk upward and I jam my cock into the crook of my palm, now heavily stroking it.
An association drifts aimlessly between the cavernous spaces of consciousness. Someone had made me feel this way before -- recently? But I don't even remember the last time I had sex. My last relationship ended on questionably favorable terms almost three years ago.
At the behest of the gods I peel down my boxers and tuck the waistband under my balls. The ship is free; trade has resumed; the economy is saved. I grab my cock and hold it straight up amid slow, hard pumps as if directing it to safe passage. A tall blanket formation not unlike a circus tent occludes my immediate vision.
But... who could I be thinking of? And then it trickles back. A box, an ass in tight clothing. And cool air juxtaposed with hot tea. And then a smile, followed by laughter. And then a touch -- no, several touches.
My calves become tense. I cast off the blanket, exposing myself with only an elastic undergarment hanging below my ass, ineffectual. Mere nanoseconds before orgasm, the disjunction of memories crystallizes all at once. I erupt with the burning rage of a thousand suns as ropes of cum sail in parabolic arcs just long enough to reach my neck. I fully know who this incredible new person on the brink of awareness is, but it's impossible to stop myself now. One hot blast after another spills onto my chest. I writhe while steadily jerking, soon coaxing out the very last spurt of thick, milky cum.
"Unnnghh.... Miss... Wong," I say aloud, my voice so deep with post-sexual hormones that it's operatic. A sharp sense of guilt assails my heart, commingled with surging bliss. I told myself I wouldn't think about her like this... but she's so kind... and so
fucking hot
.
It's okay just this once, right? I didn't mean to. It just happened. I had no way of knowing who I was actually masturbating to.
I choose to accept this line of reasoning. After a few minutes the endorphins begin to fade. As I let go of my drenched, bulging member and survey the damage, a perverse thought comes to mind: I guess I've got something sticky to wash away in the shower now -- isn't that right, miss?
I didn't really have much planned for today. Supposed it might be kosher to head out on a sprint around the block before going to see Anne, but the idea soon appeared manipulative and a bit strange, especially following my lack of self-control this morning. Maybe I'd just settle for a few indoor exercises before picking up some groceries. Follow up with emails at literally any time at all today, check out some of the team's commits on G_Hub at the aforementioned time. I don't tend to care much about work during the weekends. Call it laziness; I sure do. If only Anne were here now, she'd see how lazy I truly am!
What could she be doing at the moment
, I wonder. Preparing tea? Reading a book? Watching a documentary? Ah, that's right. We hadn't even got the chance to set up her new TV and I left in a rush for some reason. She must be waiting for me to come back -- or was she able to set it up by herself? Surely a bit of patience for angles and masses would allow her to shimmy it onto a dresser or stand of any sort.
I let the musings defer to an enumeration of things that could be done and accomplished this instant. Calisthenics, a bit of body weight, check up on Anne then the store. I rolled out a meager foam yoga mat and stood on the ends for ten seconds each to ensure they were less curled but not completely flat, which would happen naturally during the course of exercise, the flattening that is. And then I went to work.
In an hour and ten minutes I was rolling the mat back up, grieving for its inability to just
roll out and stay flat
but also rejoicing in its compactness and therefore its great storage potential.
The sun had risen almost to its zenith. Canted light beams bathed the room as they sculpted skewed shadows that had a fuzzy or bubbly quality around the edges when projected onto any sufficiently shaggy medium.
I threw on an outfit that was different from yesterday's but which difference would be difficult to detect unless you had known I went through a small period during college of cutting the sleeves off every t-shirt I purchased. Ostensibly, the rationale at the time was that I would go to the university gym, lift hard, and spend my nights drinking and partying at the local bars while cute girls admired my huge gains and sleeveless shirts. Only half of that turned out to be a reality. I soon discovered that taking a full math and computer science load would dwarf any illusions of "free time" I had. Even hitting the gym often became a special occasion, but I figured if it came down to working out or having sex, the better thing to do would probably not include random sexual indiscretions.
Out the door and nearly downstairs, I head over in the direction of Anne's apartment. It's across a courtyard, in a separate building, and just a short stroll from the parking lot. Not too far away at all.
I rap the door of #127 with a relaxed fist, thumb at the side of my index finger. No answer. I wait a little. Just as I'm about to leave, I hear the deadbolt lurch. A moment later, Anne gradually appears behind the door. She holds an arm to shield her eyes and scans me from the thorax up, then enthusiastically opens it the rest of the way.
"Eric, it's you! What a nice surprise!"
