It’s 7am and I’m still in bed, we don’t talk anymore, but I still take moments of pleasure in recalling how we were.

The thought of seeing you again thrills me. Our time together was as unpredictable as you were, the spontaneity is what attracted me to you in the first place.

In the thin veil between waking and sleep everything seems possible.

Breathing deeply, hands resting in the space between my groin and navel I focus on the feelings permeating my body. Acknowledging thoughts but not trying to remove them.

Scenarios we fantasised over but never did.

“I just want you to look at me down there”

I’d never heard a woman say that before. The image of you leant forward against the door of my flat palms pressed, legs apart slightly, dress hitched. Sunlight catching the wetness between your thighs, the glistening.

The night out, when despite not seeing each other for an age we still ended up with our fingers inside and around each other.

“Fuck me, I want to walk home with your cum dripping down my leg”

I’m fully erect now, lying on my side, the head of my cock brushing the bedsheet as I move slightly.

The first time you stayed at my city flat, the sight of your head bobbing, your lips gliding over my tip. And that moment when you stopped, squeezed and then licked up the gathering drop. My eagerness to repay the favour and your rebuttal. Odd at the time.

Still hard but not touching, I look down my body and can see a glimmering strand on my stomach. Nothing compared to the aftermath of the first kiss, building all day until it had to happen, you were with someone at the time. The thought excited me and after you left I checked myself, so wet it was embarrassing. I embrace it now.