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Speaking of the Future…

Speaking of the future… what will it look like, perfect lover, when we meet again?

I believe in a magick tradition of manifestation. That what I call forth and embody will become real in flesh and blood. That if I vibrate myself at the aligning frequency, the future will unveil itself as this or something even better.

It works most of the time. It’s powerful. Many times the journey there is not what I predicted.

But in the end, I make my own reality. Speaking of the future…

I’m in a flat, an apartment, a rental, probably in Barcelona. Somewhere posh and clean and filled with light, yet central, near where you call home. Long windows. 

My things laid out, put away, food in the fridge, both ingredients and already cooked. I’m showered. My shower is clean. This place has been chosen for my shower as much as the long windows and the light.

I wait for you with heart racing. Breathtaking. Unable to relax.

And you arrive, perfect lover, knocking on my door. Not a doorbell. You rap with your knuckles on the surface I have rented to keep some out and let some in.

I open it, and you are stunned. You cannot move. And so I take you by the hand and bring you in, shutting the door behind you. I gingerly remove the mask from your face, hanging it on the coathooks near the door. It is a wooden strip attached to wall with metal hooks upon. 

We are unmasked, facing one another.

I lead you into the bathroom, perfect lover, turning on the hot and cold taps to blend into a warm flow. Natural soap that smells of vanilla and cinnamon. I wash your hands and mine, together. Leaning into you and the flow of warm water. I follow the WHO guidelines for handwashing, delicately, precisely. Our hands and fingers intertwine and the suds and warmth arouse us both. 

It is a ritual, it is magick designed to commemorate the times. I do not want to meet you in the far future. I want to meet you soon. When we still have to wash our hands before we commence.

And then you turn to me, but I do not want our first kiss in years to be in the bathroom. I lead you out, by your hands, into a bright, room with fluffy white bedding. 

And there, lit by sunlight, standing on wood – we stare into each other’s eyes. There is nothing to say.

We kiss. Our fingers intertwine like it’s the most important thing we’ve clung to. We are bodies apart but lips together.

You need permission. And so I pull you into me, perfect lover. I grab your weight by your hips and force you closer to me. I let you know how desperately I want you next to me through coercion and brute grabs.

And you acquiesce. You outdo me. You push me into the wall between the windows and grind your hips into me so I can feel your cock against me, hard and patient. And we kiss. We kiss like we have meant to for years. Desire. Mentality. Heart.

We are an altered state. I feel the music in you run through me, and I’m high and tingly and swaying. Difficult to stand. Running my hands over your unfamiliar body. Drunk on you.

We start talking. Experiences, words, emotions flow out of us into each other. We don’t stop except to kiss. We talk while undressing each other. Our clothing together in a pile on the floor.

“How much time do you have?” I ask you.

“I have time. Days.” you respond.

Perfect Lover

And so we fall into bed, into each other, into talking and sucking and licking and touching. The bed is soft, but firm. The bedclothes are clean, but have no scent. There’s nothing to mask the smell of us. Our sweat mingles. I suck your cock like it’s dipped in savory sauce, coated with spice and filled with water. Like it’ll hydrate me. 

We distract each other. There’s no rhyme, reason, or order to our sex. We are scattered and chatty and cannot stop touching and tasting and learning. Rolling around, exploring the playground.

Until your need breaks through. 

You need to make me come. Over and over. You alternate mouth, fingers, inside, outside. Working me like a spinning wheel. Pumping until my juice flows and your fingers are pulled out of my fantasies into every niche of my clit. Circles and pressures. I’m exhausted. I come more than I ever have. For hours. You work hard. I am complete. My spine lengthened, my heart open, my lips spread, wet, puffy, soft.

And then we’re hugging and before we know it the tip of your cock is teasing me. Pressing against my opening but not into it. I want that feeling where your dick sneaks into me without either of us willing it. Where it just happens. And you’re inside me, just a little. Just ringed. And slowly, ever so slowly, you relinquish yourself to me. You can’t help it. You slide inside. Perfect lover.

I want to see your face and hold your cock in my pussy. I want to look into your eyes again. Give me your weight. Your pulse. Give me your cock. I squeeze you, drawing you in further with my muscles, slipping around you. Holding you, fucking you.

I fuck you slowly, ever so slowly. Lots of stillness. Breathing. Snatching lips in needy kisses.

Dancing. Holding. Present.

Until your need breaks through.

Eventually we tire of tantra. Of stillness and of the building and the endless loop. Eventually we want to stomp on the sandcastle and tear it all down. Run drunk and screaming through the streets towards nowhere. Drive in the wrong lane with our eyes closed. Our dark parts connect, and scuttle into each other, infecting us with each other’s ruptures. Eventually I want you to hold me down, tell me how much you need it, and fuck me til’ you fill me with your hot come.

And then, after a few days of this and eating and fucking, talking and crying, singing and dancing, laughing and intense connection, I want you to get the fuck out my house and let my pussy heal. You come back, but not in any way I can predict. Wrench my heart around and leave me pining for you. You dominate my thoughts. You dominate me.

I want this, consistently, in cycles, until 90 days is up and I must leave the Schengen lands for both my freedom and my sanity. It’ll drive me crazy, and I’ll need to explore other parts of the world. But I want this. 

Love you. Need you. Want you.

I want to fuck you, screaming. I want to fuck you, silent. Give it all to me. 


For more about my Perfect Lover:

How we met: The European Lovers: Hookup

The first time: The European Lovers: Barcelona

Perfect Lover as Muse:

1: Whoring for Lifetimes

2: Cheater

3: Stop. Falling. In. Love. With. Monogamous Men.

4: Speaking of the Future

The first of our cybersex duet series: Halloween Lover


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