Baroque

He had one of the nicest cocks that I had ever seen. I won’t say that it was particularly large; it was the way it curved while he was inside me made me wetter than any other man could. Instead of making my mouth dry when I blew him, it only made me salivate more when I put him deeper down my throat. His body was smooth and white, and I loved seeing mine right up against his—the contrast was beautiful, and together, we were like a piece of art. A life-sized, three-dimensional painting; missing nothing—not even the hot breaths of his that I would feel on my skin; no, not even the tiny ripples that defined my clit as he rocked me back and forth upon his cock.

“I love your little creamy body,” he had said to me before. “You’re like a delicious cappuccino.”

“And I’ll bet you’re thirsty—won’t you have a drink?”

My body isn’t particularly dark, but it isn’t particularly light, either. It’s a warm, mild tone, but when I positioned it right next to his, it appeared a lot darker than it truly was. It was very chiaroscuro, and the stories were etched into words on our skin.

His fingers murmured across my body like whispers on a lonely night; a lone traveller secluded in the desert. It was different with him. It was the only time I could concentrate on nothing else in the world, for nothing else in the world mattered to me when I was in this state with him, except for him. It’s one of the strangest but most wonderful things that has ever happened to me in this life.

He told me that he loved me and I was truthful with him always. He held my head delicately, as if I was a helpless child that he was protecting from all the dangers of the world. It came to me then.

“Let’s have a baby,” I said to him, one afternoon. “It will be lots of fun.”

“A baby?” he asked me. His reaction was neither ecstatic nor devastated; rather, it was more a reaction of surprise above anything else.

“Yes,” I said. “A baby. Let’s make a brand new person, for the world, that will be a complete combination of you and me, except smaller.”

“We shouldn’t have a baby,” he replied to me. “What about your job?”

“I don’t have a job.” I was only untruthful on occasion.

“I do.”

“Then I will stay home and be a good mother and you will come home and we will be waiting for you, every night. We won’t miss a single night.”

It was a dream that only got worse after its inception; it was like a virus, and it couldn’t be cured. It had occurred to me a few times before that it’s possible for an incomplete concept to be completed, and it occurred to me then that his character completed mine. It was the things that I lacked and he possessed that made the two of us operate as fluidly as we did.

The thoughts of him always made me horny. I dropped to my knees and took his warm cock in my mouth. I felt his fingers as he threaded them through my hair; he groaned in delight. There was a barrier between us. That barrier was life.

His thrusts were deep and I felt the pangs of him throughout the entire inner surface of my body. I immediately got wet when he touched me. I moaned in a way that told him I never wanted it to end.

He held me close like one such a barrier never did exist and never would have to. He protected me from my fears. He protected me from my nightmares. It’d an absurd thing to think—that someone could heal your disturbed mind of its demons—but somehow, it was plausible on our nights together.

He came inside of me and I felt the rush of it; I felt it break into me and fill me with purpose. Not for a second did he ever let me go; not even long into the night. Not for a second did I ever want him to let me go.

But there was a barrier between us. That barrier was life.