Let’s Write About Sex, Baby (Again).

It has been awhile since I shared this piece, and I’m in a creative writing rut, so here it is again!


Light up a cigarette and enjoy.

The sex before and after the event was much different.

Before he was always a more aggressive lover, to say the least, but that was the way she liked it.

They would have sex at least every other day, sometimes twice a day, sometimes three times a day. They had the things they both liked but would get a little more adventurous at least once a week, it seemed. Nothing really ever seemed to be too far for her, and nothing ever seemed to be unappealing to him.

The sex was never insane, though.

She had been with a couple guys who had made her evenings interesting, to say the least. Once she was with a guy who had a fetish for sticking anything that wasn’t attached to himself up his girlfriends, well, you know. She didn’t quite walk right for a week, but she didn’t hate it. She just didn’t feel comfortable with that every night.

She definitely felt comfortable with him every night, though, it never got that far or that weird.

She remembered her favorite time with him so far, that afternoon when they both played hooky from work after lunch and went to a bar on the edge of the state. It’s not like they cared so much that they would be caught, it was just more fun to pretend you’re doing something wrong sometimes. Luckily the edge of the state was only an hour away, and the city in question was dead mid-day on a Wednesday.

She remembered that she had dressed up that day, a summer dress showing her glistening tan long legs and her lipstick matching her earrings.He looked gruff and smelled like oil, mechanic shop musk, and she couldn’t quite keep her hands off of his arm or leg or knee during the ride to the bar.

He pulled out her seat at the bar, ordered two heavy drinks, and sat down promptly with his hand in between her dress, underneath the table but not hidden at the same time. She felt oddly turned on by the simple forceful act, and she couldn’t help but part her lips slightly to let an almost silent moan escape when he started exploring underneath her favorite cotton panties, as he took what he clearly thought was his, not caring who was around.

There weren’t very many people around, one nosy older gentleman in the booth to their right and the younger male bartender who pretended to wash the same glass three times in a row.

She could tell they both were watching from the corners of their eyes, and she never felt more turned on.

He watched her closely as she climaxed, he took his time and listened to her breathing toward the end. He lit a cigarette, took a puff, handed it to her, and asked the bartender for a shot.

She blushed as the bartender sat down two in front of her, one in front of him, with a smile on his face.

They left after the shots, him with a clear erection the entire walk out, and never made it out of the parking lot.

It was only 5pm and the traffic was bad. It was glaringly bright outside, and their car didn’t have much room to hide anything.

The bartender took the trash out twice before they were done.

She came three times before the afternoon was over.


The sex after, however, was much different.

He still took what he wanted, but he didn’t pay attention to her breathing anymore, he didn’t carefully help her climax.

Again, she was okay with this, that’s how she normally liked it.

It was hard, though, going from sex that seemed to be everything you could want, to sex that you were used to your whole life.


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