On my way to the Thursday night dance, I pass by an area of town I don’t visit much anymore–not for any particular reason, just because I don’t find myself with any cause to go there. Walking past your old apartment, I am suddenly gripped by a memory, whisked away by nostalgia. I remember that first night, the first time I slept in your arms. You snored, so loudly it woke me up, but I didn’t care. I lay awake for a long time, not able to believe I was there, not able to believe how lucky I was (and still am). I was so unsure of your boundaries, unsure of what was and wasn’t allowed. I remember I asked you, awkwardly, if I could see you naked, if I could touch you, and you said “Yes,” surprised, as if the the thought had never occurred to you. How unused to being an object of desire you were back then! But you caught on quickly. You teased me a little, do you remember? Turning your back to me, not letting me see what I wanted until the last possible second, your lips curving into that mischievous little grin that demands to be kissed. But at last, you let your briefs fall to the ground (they were purple, do you remember? You wanted to impress me with my favorite color, and I was, although truthfully, I would have been impressed no matter what). You let them fall to the ground, and turned to face me.
And when I put my hand on your cock, you gasped.