The Swimmer

He said "Would you like to come in?"

I hesitated. I went in. We talked a lot, about his degree, about movies, about music he liked and I didn't. We clicked. Equally embarrassingly nerdy.

He said "Let's get into bed and try and sleep".

I said I wasn't going to sleep. He kissed me. We kissed, then fooled around. He took off my top, but I couldn't, this time.

I said "I can't tonight, but i'll give you amazing head". He told me he was the 24th best swimmer in all of Britain, well when he was younger. I resent that I have never won a medal.

I lifted his shirt. I ran my fingers along his ribs. Tested the meat. Smooth and racked up. Bumped. Slick down to the hips. Beautiful taught skin, fed with muscle. Even and firm. It makes me shiver. I said "Take off your jeans".

He kept asking me what I want.

To please and oblige? I'd like to be the sort of girl you'd fantasize about.

I said "Is this what you want?".

I licked and sucked and spat. He thrust into my mouth and took pleasure in hearing me gag. Came across himself and my face (after I politely confirmed that he could). Even the sweetest boys are bad deep down.