She lives lit up in tiny screens nowadays, with the bright Parisian sun filling in the air around the pictures and sounds. Her hair seems blonder, brighter, in swoops and curls, brought up one day and then flopping fashionably around her face the next. Her voice, too, sounds so colored with French, as if the cuisine has altered the very movements and gestures of her tongue.

And here, with the rainy month of April refusing to give way, it makes me feel like everything around me is so pedestrian and monochromatic. A gray New York is instantly dirty and grimy, like the forgotten and discarded day-old newspapers collecting and brooding in the corners of subway cars. The frequent showers make it all a runny and cold soup.

I tell her of work and stress and things that I shouldn’t be wasting our time with, and it fills me with regret as soon as it leaves my lips. She smiles and I forget my cares. It’s the feeling of missing her that makes it so bittersweet.

The laptop lid is closed and I put it aside. The bed feels too cold all of a sudden. It is the presence of her absence that sits heavy beside me. A terrible companion that the cheap and free porn on the internet cannot chase. Reading of blogs and other smutty narratives just fall short tonight.

And still I cannot deny the half-hard state the endless Tumblr pages (filled with shot after shot of eroticism) have left me in. And the videos on YouPorn and Redtube leave such a visceral afterimage (whether I want them to or not) that I’m filled with want.

So I shut my eyes and shield myself from everything else (from everything not her) and instead fill my senses with the last memories I have of her, the ones that seem so far away and wrapped in the misty air of recollection. From the last glimpses of her face with eyes closing and lips ready for a kiss, to the smell of her moisturizer/makeup/perfume, to the feel of her skin beneath my fingertips, to the warmth of her body on top of mine, to the reassuring sounds murmured between her lips and tongue, to the weight of her breasts pressing against my chest. I do what I can to dream her up and with me now, time and distance be damned, and to soothe this sting of need.

Her lips, yes, wide and full, then wrapped around my cock and that sharp sound of the breath rushing up her nostrils. Or the grasp of her hand at the base before she guides it in with her legs parted and her pussy (wet and) willing. The arch of her back and the tightness as she writhes beside, under, on top, and poured all over me. The twitch of my own coming harder and faster like an echo that grows instead of fading with each time I am inserted deeper and deeper into her.

But as my eyes open it is with a pain and a pop, the fantasy suddenly gone without any of the effort took to conjure it. I’m left with a second to catch my breath, gather myself and wash my hands in the bathroom, before returning to the bed, alone, deflated, and no better or worse.

(This, actually, was prepared in advance, but does fit this week’s Wank Wednesday prompt so here it is.)

Her legs trembled and quivered as she held her hips above my lap in a deep squat, knees bent and arms held out for balance. Turning her head to look at me with pleading eyes, she shook even more, the stress on her back and thighs wearing her patience thin.

I made her shed the sweaty gym clothes in a crumpled heap by the couch— the yoga pants that were so tight on her ass rolling off her legs, the bulky and shapeless sweatshirt unzipped and slid off her shoulders and arms, and the sports-bra-tank peeled up and over her body. The tight clothing left lines on her skin, and she smelled of fading deodorant and sweat. And then, I put her in position hovering over my lap.

My pants were undone and around my ankles with my cock standing stiff through the fly of my boxers. Any movement caused it to brush against her suspended pussy and she only sighed louder and shook with strain. I bet the tops of her thighs burned with lactic acid, and her back ached with stiffness. She wore sweat on her back like dew and her hair was already matted down from her workout at the gym.

I undid my tie and the sound of fabric rubbing was loud in my ears— was it loud in hers? The shirt too, button by button, and I moved slightly when pulling it out from underneath me. The head of my cock pressed against her pussy and she rocked back slowly. She let a whimper escape her lips and I slapped her ass, making her twitch and turning the skin a bright pink.

I pulled my undershirt off my body and over my head, cock bobbing back and forth, tapping against her pussy lips. Her balance was wavering and her arms moved to steady herself. It had been enough.

Pushing her shoulders forward but her ass back toward me, I let her know: “You do all the work.”

She put her weight down, my cock suddenly thrust upward within her fiery hot cunt with a soft squish. Her hands grabbed my knees and she began to bounce up and down. I slouched down further on the couch and my ass slid forward, lower so she could get more leverage.

“Faster,” I said, staying still and watching her ass ripple as it slapped against my hips.

“Faster,” I said, hearing her panting and her grip on my knees tighten.

“Faster,” I said, slapping her ass to spur her on.

She landed hard and squirmed and stopped to catch her breath. Her neck and back glistened.

I pulled her off me and we went into the bed, and she collapsed while I fucked her from behind until my lungs burned and my chest heaved and I too dripped with sweat and tire. She closed her eyes and kept her ass angled up toward me until she finally shuddered with cum— pussy contracting and milking me. I fell forward and my cock slipped out as I came on her ass and thighs.

And that’s how we fell asleep, in sheets damp with sweat and cum and exertion.

(25-April, 2011: And so we meet again, Fleshbot!)

“I miss the feeling of you next to me,” the tinny voice says, the sound coming to me faster than the image can catch up.

She is in bed, I can tell by the pillows and headrest behind her, and the time difference is like that, because I just grabbed food on the way home from work. I’m hoping the bags under my eyes don’t show. I’m hoping the weary misery of her absence isn’t picked up by the tiny camera and shot over the wires and reformed on her screen for her eyes to see.

“Do you remember that time,” I say slowly, hoping so much that the movement of my lips isn’t too far behind the sound, “we got stuck in the rain over on the West Side?” She nodded.

We’d gone to an Indo-Chinese fusion restaurant that got some review on Yelp, and the food was terrible, over-spiced, and over-priced. The waiter kept looking down her shirt, my napkin was dirty, and we vowed never to trust online reviews again. And after leaving no tip (the first time I think I’ve ever done that), we stepped out to a miserable cold rain that soaked our jackets and seemed to dribble through her umbrella.

“We got home,” I retold the story, “and the first thing we did was peel off all our clothes and climb into bed.” She smiled and interrupted.

“You were an ice cube!”

“Hey, I think I was the one who warmed you up though,” I reminded her.

I smiled and our hearts ached and I’m sure we thought a little about fucking and a lot about how far we were, and just talked a little bit more and both decided it was time for bed, since neither of us was a fan of phone or video sex. Those alternatives would be pale and shallow, and in no way adequate enough.

“Your cock,” she said, slowly bringing her hand to it and letting her fingers nest in the short pubic hair, and it wasn’t an insult or a jab, but merely a reflection as she finished her words: “gets so small when you’re not fucking.”

The television was on, but the volume was off, and the lights were off, so the room was lit with the flashbangs of commercials, scene changes, and random washes of green and blue. The sweat had cooled and the sheets now soaked us back. In all honesty, these were signs I should have gotten up, dressed, and made my way home.

“Yeah,” I said, acknowledging my limp and shrunken cock. I wasn’t offended or joking, but answered with the same tone as hers: “I’m a grow-er not a show-er.”

She left her hand on me and her fingers made the smallest of motions, and that was enough. I grew and it was soon that I was stiffer and fuller, and she noted the size difference.

“Travel-size,” she said, holding her index finger and thumb apart. “And fun-size,” she stretched them apart as wide as she could, but this play— this light-hearted and tender moment— was much too much for me to bear and I put my hand on her head, grabbed a fistful of her short brown hair, and roughly brought her mouth to my cock— it must have tasted salty with drying traces of my cum and her pussy— and the talking stopped because she knew what I wanted her to do.

It was useless to regret standing in her doorway and walking through. It was senseless to have shame or doubt or whatever else because that’s not what she wanted when she called me, and it certainly wasn’t what she wanted when she turned and saw my face and asked me if everything was okay and if I wanted something to drink or eat or any of those pleasantries that are tossed so faintly into the open but they’re transparent and thin and weak little ghosts of a dying relationship that fly with the wind as soon as we acknowledge why I’m really here.

There was fear in her eyes, in certain lights, and I would catch it every now and then. We sat on her couch awkwardly and at a strange distance as our bodies didn’t know how close or how far to be from each other.

I didn’t think she wanted to talk. It was simply too soon. And I knew that I was also struggling to understand what happened last time, and why I made her cry— no, why it felt the way it did to make her cry, and to make her bleed. “Get up,” I finally said, even though we had just sat down. I issued another command: “Bedroom.”

She reached for the hem of her shirt— this large, oversized thing with an oversized scoop-neck that slung off her shoulder— while walking and I batted her hands away. She turned her head and I placed my hand on the nape of her neck and guided her the fifteen more steps to the edge of the bed. I wanted to undress her.

Grabbing at the shirt I slowly raised it off her body and her arms went up with it. Noticing a thin tank top underneath it, I bunched up the two fabrics and brought them up together. At her neck I guided the shirts over her head and the short brown hair fluffed a little. The pair were thrown towards the closet and her back was bare to me.

I lay a hand between her shoulder blades and pushed until she leaned forward onto the bed. Her knee raised as if to crawl onto it but I held her hips and brought her ass against me— my cock already lewdly forming a tent in my slacks. Silently, she stood bent over and I reached my fingertips under the waistband of her tights. I didn’t feel another band of elastic. I didn’t see panty lines.

With a quick yank I pulled the dark gray tights down off her ass and to her mid thigh. The elastic stretched but still dug into her skin and her ass blossomed up and out of it. I might have heard her gasp in surprise.

This is how I left her and she wisely didn’t move as I stepped back and unknotted my tie, the silk scratchy and rough and very audible in the silent room. It rubbed against my collar with a vhurr and I undid my shirt, button by button, each almost with a snap. I slid the shirt off my shoulders and laid them on top of an open drawer of her dresser. The belt buckle clanged a little and it too vhurred out of the belt loops of my dress pants. The zipper zipped and I stepped out of my pants and boxers and socks.

She was waiting, very patiently.

My bare footsteps brought me behind her and I placed my left hand on her left ass cheek and the skin was cold to the touch. My thumb was at her tailbone and I held it firm. I raised my right hand and my arm loaded with tension and even though she lay with her chest on the bed and her head on its side she could only see the left side of my body and the sound of something moving through the air came to her at about the same time as my hand landed flush on her ass and the skin rippled and gave way with the deafening slap surprising even me as I realized I hit her harder than I had planned but thoughts were out the window at this point as my hand pulled back and off her skin but I didn’t look at it or her ass cheek as I heard her yelp now and my hips thrust forward and cock violently shoved inside her slippery wet cunt creating a louder yelp— mid-yelp— and maybe we can call it a cry now.

I didn’t move and I was pushed in her as far as I could go with her legs unable to spread apart because of the waistband of her tights round her thighs. I felt the wetness around my cock and maybe even against the top of my balls but really my mind was to her back trembling and her hands grabbing fistfuls of the blanket and sheets as she cried into the bed. I let her notice that I stood still. She gulped back her tears. She swallowed and she said my name.

Grabbing her waist I bent my knees and loaded my weight and pulled out of her entirely before ramming in again with her pussy almost sucking me back in. She buried her face into the bed and her ass up with her on her tiptoes and absorbing each thrust and push and my legs burning with lactic acid and maybe I even grunted in exertion. Each time out the cold air splashed against the head of my cock and each time in the heat burning all the way to the base.

I was able to reach down and I tore at her tights as she raised one leg and we somehow got them around her knees and she was able to crawl up onto the bed as I followed her while still crashing my cock in and out of her pussy. Her foot pulled out of the tights and was ice against my knee and we managed to both climb onto the bed, her head still down and her hips still propped up with her knees. She was pushing back as much as I was pushing forward and I could feel the sweat forming on her back.

The underside of my cock was rubbing right against the front wall of her pussy and I panted and shut my eyes and felt the swell at the tops of my thighs and my ass clench. She had raised her upper body up on her elbows and whimpered. I came first, and my cock felt like it grew twice as thick or she became twice as tight. Shuddering, she sucked in a breath and shook and came right as I jerked and twitched hard in her cunt. Somehow we’d stopped moving but the room was still spinning as if still had to catch up to our frenzied motions.

And she melted as soon as I pulled out of her, lifeless and spent on the bed, soaking the sheets in a puddle of cum and sweat underneath me, and this transition to the liquid state is where we’ll leave it all for now.

“Everything is green,” she tells me idly, although I know it isn’t true. The sky is lit blue and the trees are still naked and bare and brown. The city is (still) swathed in varying shades of gray and grime, desperately waiting for Spring rains to wash the traces of Winter away.

Her face was fair and freckled, with only the slightest traces of makeup, and she tells me despite her blonde hair that she’s “some part” Irish and that’s what she really means. I laugh and tell her that I will kiss only “some part” of her then, and this is how we play (sometimes).

A carry-on is stuffed and sitting in the hall and she’s left the handle pulled up, and a tote hangs from it. Next to it is a larger, bulkier suitcase. Both are bulging and threaten to explode with clothing. And this is how I can tell that she can’t stay long. Sure, her jeans peeled off easily and she wore a baggy sweatshirt bearing the name of her college that went up and over her head easily. She didn’t rush or hurry or give me any indication that she had to go, but then again she knows me well enough by now: I figure things out.

But I’m also good at putting things at the back of my mind, like the truth that three months apart is an eternity. That Skype and iChat and FaceTime and even just phone calls won’t be the same as holding her in my arms and feeling her bare skin against mine.

And maybe this is why when we stopped talking and let our hands instead communicate with each other, fingers interlocking (or maybe when our lips wouldn’t part for longer than one breath) I looked into her eyes and maybe said a few words in my mind that I shouldn’t have. As if she could hear me, she looked away (eyes to the corner) and then back with a fiercer stare.

She slid against my body with little friction and let herself down on my cock without a sound. Arms wrapped around my neck, she bit her lip and held her breath but we didn’t speak. Our foreheads touched and my hands were at her waist and we sunk into the bed deeper and deeper. And even as we rolled over we held each other closer and closer despite the pushing of hips and the clenching of legs and the room spinning and going black as I’m sure I didn’t breathe for a long while.

I wanted to commit the curves of her body to memory. To swim in the feel of her pussy around me, to breathe nothing but the air from her lips. I was drowning myself, to burn the feel-sight-taste-sound-smell of her into my mind.

This is how we were, for the last time in what would be a long time, hips meeting in tenderness while our mouths stuck with peltering kisses that stole away even more air. I cupped her breasts softly as if to confirm that they were there, and that my hands were just there too. The pace quickened, and we both knew it, and maybe felt rushed now, but it wasn’t that much of a worry because she was cumming and so was I and that was very important.

Time passes so quickly (sometimes).

We lay still but then dressed quickly and she used the bathroom while I got her bags and we hailed a cab outside. And her hair was blonde and face was freckled and everything was green.