The urge to delete everything is real. To quit, to erase, and to pretend nothing ever happened. The feeling of regret is undeniable and I wish I could take everything back. But I can’t.
Why did I do such a stupid thing? Why did I base my decisions on emotions and feelings? I let a good thing stop because for reasons I can’t even remember. And because of that, the urge to forget by deleting is enticing.
But then I remember the good times.
How he would text me out of the blue about something silly but talk about thought-provoking thoughts in bed. How we would call and I could hear him smile through the other end. How we could just be by each other’s side in silence cause all we wanted was each other’s company. How he would give me presents nonchalantly while I try to hide my excitement and dumb smile.
How he knew what I wanted, in and out of bed.
How he would move in bed knowing exactly what he wants to do to me while I follow with anticipation. The way we would both lay down in bed and softly kiss before our tongues would explore each other as our hands do the same.
His lips would trace down to my neck, planting soft kisses, and move down to my chest as he removes my bra. My hands would feel his back as he starts by kissing my nipples and softly biting them down, eliciting soft moans from my lips. His fingers would follow and start pinching them, flicking them, and caressing them as my back starts to arch, craving more for his touch.
He would kiss down my navel and take off my panties, tracing my inner thighs with his lips, teasing me as I can feel how wet I already am. I softly moan to let him know how much I want him, but he knew better than to eat and finger me directly. He would endlessly tease to the point that he could easily insert his fingers from my wetness.
He would thrust and lick my clit, as I grab the sheets and moan in pleasure. I love being eaten out and he knew that so well. He would change his tempo, his rhythm, as my body starts to follow his every thrust and lick. I can feel how wet my pussy can get just from his touch.
We get into a rhythm before I start to crave more of him. He takes out his throbbing, hard cock, and with no hesitation, puts it in me as deep as he can. He would go slowly at first before thrusting me harder and deeper. My moans can’t be contained at this point and my hips would follow his every thrust.
And then, that feeling hits.
Every thrust feels different. It feels so addictingly good. And I often wonder if it was only me who felt it, or if he felt the same. His cock would reach depths of me and my pleasure points that I want it to go on and on. It’s something that I’ve never felt before and I can’t describe how every thrust can bring me to bliss.
We would fuck in different ways, different times. I’d open my eyes to meet his but quickly close them cause I don’t want to read into it. The moans that escape my mouth are moans that I’ve never heard before. And we would fuck just like that – him thrusting me deep and hard, my hips arching to feel him inside of me more, moans and groans that would fill the room, hands that wander from the sheets to each other’s bodies.
And in the end, he’d cum in me. We both lay down next to each other, smiling, taking care of each other. And I get the urge to do it again and again with him.
Each meetup always felt like we were getting closer – closer to something we both want yet never said. But the days in between always felt like we were getting farther. The feeling of wanting to be together but only within a distance.
Being chosen for the day but forgotten in the next few.
Each meetup, the sex felt different. It felt better. More addicting and something I crave for. But to him may just be nothing more than bodily pleasure.
The urge to delete everything is real, but the good times would stop me from doing so. The questions I still have wandering in my head would stop me from doing so. The feeling of regret would stop me from doing so.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/vv6r04/fm_to_erase_everything
the feels are real.