u/cherrylipsweet

I used to use a chat program called ICQ.

I can remember the usernames of my friends on there. Men in America, men in the U.K. Older men. Always much older men. I knew they were into dark things and I liked it, courted it. I knew I was doing something dangerous but I craved it.

One man in his late 50s asked me to meet him at a motorway services that was a couple of hours away. He wanted me to suck his cock in his car. I hadn’t been talking to him very long. Days perhaps? (Or was it only hours?)

“Don’t wear any perfume” - he told me.

I set off. No one knew what I was doing or where I was going. I hit a pigeon en route. The loud thud against my windscreen frightened me for a while after it happened. I kept driving. I was going to arrive with feathers in the front grill hoping he wouldn’t notice. Embarrassed that my car was dirty from dark red bird blood. When I see pigeons on that stretch of road I’m reminded of that day, and my behaviour… and my choices.

I pulled in at a well known motorway services. I knew which car was his and parked next to it. I got in. He’d asked me to wear a skirt so I had. He told me to remove my knickers. I pushed up my skirt, pulled my knickers down. I could feel him watching me but didn’t meet his gaze. I was shy but wanted to do what I’d promised. I removed my damp panties and held them in a ball in my hand while he leaned over and fingered me.

He wanted to kiss me. I remember his tongue was disgusting. He hadn’t brushed it or his teeth and I felt myself recoil. What could I do though? I’d come this far. I didn’t want to be rude. So I kissed him and felt his plaque covered tongue enter my mouth.

He explained he was married and didn’t want to draw attention by brushing his teeth at an odd time of the day. But it’s something I’ve never forgotten and I often wish I hadn’t opened up to let him explore my mouth with that furry, yellow tongue.

He unzipped his trousers and took out his cock. My eyes flicked around weighing up if I’d be caught by anyone walking by. I leaned over and sucked him.

He came in my mouth, I swallowed quickly so as not to taste it and it was finished. I adjusted my skirt and got out still holding my underwear.

We stayed in touch but I never saw him again.

I didn’t want to do the things he wanted next. Today I am sad that I can’t remember his name … just the familiar feelings of excitement, disgust and … obligation?

I also like the scene from Irréversible in the underpass, her on the ground, his cock in her ass as she screams.

I like and look for porn where I can see authentic pain, regret and shame in the women’s eyes.

I wonder why. Is it because I understand their discomfort? Can taste their embarrassment, feel their displeasure, smell their hurt? I know their dead eyed look. I’ve used it many times. My mind has switched off and escaped whilst my body endures the motions on top… always him on top… smothering, crushing. My petite body hidden underneath him.

Say the words he wants, make the sounds he likes, tell him lies…tell him sweet little lies. Be a good girl. Will it be over sooner if he thinks I like it? Did I like it? Such a complex question to answer. What is love anyway?

Desperate to be loved, to fit in, to belong. The wolf smells my aroma; sweet tang.

“Please love me, take care of me, don’t leave me.”

He sniffs me out every time. The stench of expensive perfume masking deep neglect and sorrow.

Does his cock twitch?
Does his chasm flood with sticky, thick saliva?
Do hooked claws extend from their sheath?
Do deep growls become a roar? Can he sense my blood?

I hunt you too, you know. I hear your approach. Snapped twig making little Bambi’s head twitch.
Relief, fear and longing at your presence.

Like sparkling diamonds to attract a magpie’s beak, earrings flash to draw those hooded eyes.

Cracks are papered over. Crumbling walls disguised by smart clothes, pretty shoes, designer handbags.
Tempting, beguiling seductress. I’ve learnt my craft well - hunting to draw danger.

Twitcher in the hide. Look closer, closer still:
Not diamonds but glass, the bag’s logo slightly off, the perfume synthetic not rich.
All fake.  Dressing the broken mannequin, never disguising my blank pain.

Dirty, mangey jackal.  Laughing. Running. Joke’s on me if I think I escaped.  Stupid bitch.  I lost years ago.  Earphones in. Bronski Beat plays.

Wound in my side, I drip.
Blood breadcrumbs through the forest to the candy house. For therein lies the cage.

Hungry wolf hunts my thread spun from fine pinchbeck.

Limits: shock collars, extreme violence

My first open mouth kiss was with a much older man. I liked that. I wanted to be taught how to get it right. I wanted him to guide me. I looked up to him. He was effortlessly cool and popular.

Open mouth kissing seemed so intimate and exciting, but scary… I’d tried to practice in my bedroom but it’s hard to perform solo. It was such a large step up from everything else I’d experienced.

What would his tongue do? How should my tongue respond? How far do I open my mouth? Which way should I tilt my head? What do my hands do? Will I be able to breathe?

He taught me what I needed to know. He went on to teach me so much more but we started with an open mouth kiss. That day, in the sitting room. Him on the sofa, me on the floor next to his long legs in those faded soft jeans. Saturday morning cartoons, long forgotten, in the background.

He bent over to whisper something in my ear and I turned my head and looked into his eyes. My tummy flipped and I knew it was going to happen at last. He was going to put his mouth, lips apart, on my small mouth. He was going to seal my hole closed with his. We were going to be joined and I was having my first proper kiss.

It was never awkward afterwards. Just exciting. I always knew it was our secret but never thought it was wrong. I always wondered when something would happen again and lived in a state of excitement, desperate for his attention and what I thought was love.

I liked and still like secrecy. I loved him. I thought we would end up together somehow. I wanted that so badly.

I was deluded. We didn’t end up together. It wasn’t possible. Today I prefer that deluded state to reality. I wish for a time that is forever lost. Now my mind is increasingly locked in my hidden history. Building up a protective prison of precious memories to keep me safe. Searching still for something that compares to that happy time.