I pushed my hands into my pocket, and with the toe of my shoe kicked a little rock around on the asphalt. I could feel my dick beginning to pulse, as if it knew that twenty minutes later I’d be deep in her throat, her eyes watering, mascara running down her cheeks as she gagged on me like it could bring her eternal life. I looked up and smiled.
“I um,” she smiled and then quickly looked at my pathetic attempt to hide my erection “I um, you know this isn’t something I do a lot.”
I laughed, “yeah,” I said “I was just planning on going on a bike ride.”
There was a chill in the early summer air and the street light above us had begun to flicker on. The garage door of her condo was open and emitted a soft light against the damp, quickly darkening air. It was one of those old, pre-LED bulbs, all yellow and warm and homey as fuck. And I realized how lonely I had been the last two months. How much I wanted, maybe even needed a connection, right there, with her. At that moment, and maybe because I’m a pussy, or broken, or helplessly fucked up, but right then I wanted to be in love with her. I want to be in love with her black framed glasses, and her story about the time she spit on a moose, and her phantom tollbooth tattoo on right thigh, just below the hem of her tight, ripped jeans shorts. Read more »