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The Sweet Meeting

I had to arrange to see you, you've been visiting the nearby town on and off for nearly three months, what was once friendship was now subtle and elegant hints over WhatsApp that fleetingly pushed over the line. Since you moved up to the north, calling it your home, the errands being ran, only down the road from me, I pretend not to show an interest when you announce it over Facebook, pictures of you tease, feeling like a crush, back when I was 21.

We'd met for coffee on a few of your trips down, strictly platonic as a few of your friends would come to hang out before you'd have to get back for dinner with your family, the mornings in meetings with the solicitor to organise the purchase of your parents house into your name. Each meeting making me lust you more, I expertly never hint that I like you, secretly my ultimate fantasy. 

It's been a few weeks and your next visit is in a days time, we chat on WhatsApp right up to 1am, your Uber to the coach ststion booked for 8am, "brave" I think to myself as you say "see you tomorrow" that early in the morning. When I awake, I am full of energy and the happiness cannot seem to leave me, your family are eating out this evening and you say you will meet me at the bar of the restaurant afterwards, the previous nights conversation littered with flirtation. I make sure to shower and eat three square meals, double checking my phone knows exactly where the pub, sitting in a small service area just after the main road leading into the town, was. 

Nerves start to tingle at the base of my spine, a mix of excitement and anxiety, as my car turns left into the service area, the pub, which shares a building with a premium, but not five star chain hotel, dazzles as the warm lighting inside, complimented with the almost harsh outer red strip lights, glows before me. I check my phone, pockets and my keys several times as my nerves almost chain me to the drivers seat, first time in years I've felt like this, like a feather pressing down on me, so light yet so heavy, the door into the pub paled in comparison.

The atmosphere hits me, that perfect comfortable warm temperature, contrasting to the chill outside, the homely yet diner smell, equals with the mild cigarette smell that still hadn't left from years gone by. There are only a few strangers at the bar, I check the time on my phone, a few minutes before you said you'd be ready, "maybe a few more if family hold me up" as I worry I've come too early, maybe for the first time you'd make apologies. 

Five minutes passes as I scroll through social media, it felt like 20 as I look up to see you walking towards the bar, it hasn't clicked you've seen me. I lose sense of control as things are automatic, a peck on the side of my lips as I stopped derealizing. We buy each other a drink, two rounds, one each, as I am put at ease by your warmth, the synchronicity of our rapport, like a sudden step into a puddle as your are now walking me up to your room. 

The goddess, the one I'd wanted for all these years, softly kissing me as a whisper of something more, I get comfortable on the bed as you go and change into the more comfortable night wear, fabric forgetting modesty as it does nothing but become your shape. The butterflies race upwards in the centre, as your skin touches mine, you now on top of me, an orgasm of allure as you come down to kiss me passionately, your perfume turning this euphoric. I mentally beg for more as you take my trousers and boxers off, the wanting of your body now more powerful than anything before. 

The butterflies swoop down as the feeling of me inserting into you, unapologetically and effortlessly hard as your body says "of course" as you get comfortable for simply sex. Every second, as I watch you move, feeling like I've won the earth, I manage to last longer, the first time sex was emotional and in awe. Your shape, complimented by your pleased moans, a true state of joy as you start to go faster, my penis now slick with wetness as pleasure turns to beautiful agony in your voice. I can no longer hold it anymore as you orgasm, both our hips becoming erogneous as the paradigm of wantingness yet spent energy is a joyous sore.         

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