I hate pillow talk
“Weren’t we in the same year?”
I keep my eyes closed, breath steady. Maybe, just maybe, this will work.
“Come on, I know you’re not asleep.”
How would you know?
A finger digs between my ribs causing me to jump slightly.
“Hm?” I say, still trying to convince her I was asleep. And if I can do that: maybe convince her I need to get back to sleep. I really hate pillow talk.
“We were in the same year? Right? ’91.”
“Yeah, I guess we were,” I reply, not remembering her from any classes. Different circles I suppose. Two hours ago me and Hopkins were in a bar celebrating another successful job. An hour ago we were leaving with the night’s catch.
“I remember you being sorted, you know?”
No, I didn’t. What the fuck, stalker? “Why would you remember me out of everyone who was sorted? Especially since everyone else was gawking at Potter.”
“It took so long for the hat to announce your house,” the blonde trails off before adding, “and you looked cute up there. Like you were arguing with yourself.”
“I was. Well, with that stupid hat. It wanted to put me in Slytherin.”
Yes, great ambition, but brave too….
“My mum had told me what they’re like. I’d have had to spend all the time at school pretending to be full blood.” Can this conversation be over?
We danced, grinding against one another. We had shots, body and otherwise. Exchanged names over the music. ‘Hi, I’m Seamus and I’m looking for fun for just tonight. - Hi, Seamus! - Hello, I’m Mandy and I’m willing to be tonight’s entertainment. - Hi, Mandy!’ OK, so it’s not as simplified as some twelve step program for people seeking sex rather than solace, but it’s not that big of a stretch of the imagination.
She laughs before replying, “I was Ravenclaw through and through. Though, I kind of always wished I could have been something else. You know,” she says, trailing a finger down my stomach, “so I could be a bit wilder ever so often. All those books just weren’t as…” she bites her lip as her hand drifts below the sheets, “…fun.”
I run my fingers through her hair as she starts to kiss her way down my abs, belly button…waist line. I wonder if when she was putting conditioner in earlier she was planning on her night ending like this. Was the outfit planned just to catch an eye? Is this her normal? I don’t know if she thinks I’m calling her tomorrow.
I don’t care.
My eyes drift closed as she shows some house spirit and uses her head to finally shut up and do something more useful with that mouth of hers. Her tongue now working me instead of syllables.
Just the start of round two then. It was just a bar, and now two people cut the bullshit and get what they want. Mandy Brokenback, or something, uses me exactly the same way I’m using her. I wonder if she’s mentally screwing up my name as she’s giving me a final lick. As she moves up and parts her smooth thighs over my legs.
As a stranger enters her.
We went to school together, sure. But I don’t know lots of people in the same year, hell, the same house. But I don’t care. Half the thrill of having her here now, naked, watching as she rides, bounces slow, gaining speed with a need to cum again, half the thrill is that I’m just some guy. Sometime down the line maybe she’ll be sharing this same moment with someone she loves. But I bet whatever it is when girls get a nagging need to share their pasts with people, my name won’t be mentioned to him.
And not just because she’ll have forgotten by then.
No. I’ll be in that dark corner of her closet. Some guy she met and in the same night fucked. Meaningless outside of the moment where her fingernails will dig into my skin and she’ll expose her most intimate secrets. This one, when that magic moment hits and her walls are milking me for my own climax, her pants turn into whimpers with each thrust. She doesn’t stop though, just keeps going, whimpering away until she subsides and falls flat on me.
Maybe, that day in her future, when she’s loved, and her husband has found out she’s not only quick to climax but likes to go multiple times, and he, like me moves from under her and lets her rest on her belly, when he spreads her legs to finish up and her breaths are little moans in the afterglow, maybe he’ll never want to know about that nameless dark corner.
God knows how much he would hate to know some dickhead out in the world knows those little motions she makes. The noises. The feel. All those things he wishes only he ever knew.
But as I bottom out, still and spill inside her my mind blanks completely.
And the future, the rest of the world, everything, for these few moments of bliss, well, they can go fuck themselves.
Once done, a little sigh escapes her.
I’m lighting a cigarette when I notice her eyes are closed and she’s stretched out a little. On the cusp of sleep she murmurs, “That was nice.”
Sure.
Some part of her maybe thinks I’ll call tomorrow. Maybe she thinks this is the start of some kind of relationship, what with all the talking and all. Or maybe she was just lonely, or wanted her one wild night out.
Then again, no matter how you look at it, it’s just her using me using her. That’s all everyone is when you get to the bare bones of it. I learned that all too well.
As I stub the cigarette her breathing is deeper. Good. No more talking. I hate pillow talk.
Though, it did lead to round two….
Maybe it’s not as bad as I thought.
At least not all the time.
I keep my eyes closed, breath steady. Maybe, just maybe, this will work.
“Come on, I know you’re not asleep.”
How would you know?
A finger digs between my ribs causing me to jump slightly.
“Hm?” I say, still trying to convince her I was asleep. And if I can do that: maybe convince her I need to get back to sleep. I really hate pillow talk.
“We were in the same year? Right? ’91.”
“Yeah, I guess we were,” I reply, not remembering her from any classes. Different circles I suppose. Two hours ago me and Hopkins were in a bar celebrating another successful job. An hour ago we were leaving with the night’s catch.
“I remember you being sorted, you know?”
No, I didn’t. What the fuck, stalker? “Why would you remember me out of everyone who was sorted? Especially since everyone else was gawking at Potter.”
“It took so long for the hat to announce your house,” the blonde trails off before adding, “and you looked cute up there. Like you were arguing with yourself.”
“I was. Well, with that stupid hat. It wanted to put me in Slytherin.”
Yes, great ambition, but brave too….
“My mum had told me what they’re like. I’d have had to spend all the time at school pretending to be full blood.” Can this conversation be over?
We danced, grinding against one another. We had shots, body and otherwise. Exchanged names over the music. ‘Hi, I’m Seamus and I’m looking for fun for just tonight. - Hi, Seamus! - Hello, I’m Mandy and I’m willing to be tonight’s entertainment. - Hi, Mandy!’ OK, so it’s not as simplified as some twelve step program for people seeking sex rather than solace, but it’s not that big of a stretch of the imagination.
She laughs before replying, “I was Ravenclaw through and through. Though, I kind of always wished I could have been something else. You know,” she says, trailing a finger down my stomach, “so I could be a bit wilder ever so often. All those books just weren’t as…” she bites her lip as her hand drifts below the sheets, “…fun.”
I run my fingers through her hair as she starts to kiss her way down my abs, belly button…waist line. I wonder if when she was putting conditioner in earlier she was planning on her night ending like this. Was the outfit planned just to catch an eye? Is this her normal? I don’t know if she thinks I’m calling her tomorrow.
I don’t care.
My eyes drift closed as she shows some house spirit and uses her head to finally shut up and do something more useful with that mouth of hers. Her tongue now working me instead of syllables.
Just the start of round two then. It was just a bar, and now two people cut the bullshit and get what they want. Mandy Brokenback, or something, uses me exactly the same way I’m using her. I wonder if she’s mentally screwing up my name as she’s giving me a final lick. As she moves up and parts her smooth thighs over my legs.
As a stranger enters her.
We went to school together, sure. But I don’t know lots of people in the same year, hell, the same house. But I don’t care. Half the thrill of having her here now, naked, watching as she rides, bounces slow, gaining speed with a need to cum again, half the thrill is that I’m just some guy. Sometime down the line maybe she’ll be sharing this same moment with someone she loves. But I bet whatever it is when girls get a nagging need to share their pasts with people, my name won’t be mentioned to him.
And not just because she’ll have forgotten by then.
No. I’ll be in that dark corner of her closet. Some guy she met and in the same night fucked. Meaningless outside of the moment where her fingernails will dig into my skin and she’ll expose her most intimate secrets. This one, when that magic moment hits and her walls are milking me for my own climax, her pants turn into whimpers with each thrust. She doesn’t stop though, just keeps going, whimpering away until she subsides and falls flat on me.
Maybe, that day in her future, when she’s loved, and her husband has found out she’s not only quick to climax but likes to go multiple times, and he, like me moves from under her and lets her rest on her belly, when he spreads her legs to finish up and her breaths are little moans in the afterglow, maybe he’ll never want to know about that nameless dark corner.
God knows how much he would hate to know some dickhead out in the world knows those little motions she makes. The noises. The feel. All those things he wishes only he ever knew.
But as I bottom out, still and spill inside her my mind blanks completely.
And the future, the rest of the world, everything, for these few moments of bliss, well, they can go fuck themselves.
Once done, a little sigh escapes her.
I’m lighting a cigarette when I notice her eyes are closed and she’s stretched out a little. On the cusp of sleep she murmurs, “That was nice.”
Sure.
Some part of her maybe thinks I’ll call tomorrow. Maybe she thinks this is the start of some kind of relationship, what with all the talking and all. Or maybe she was just lonely, or wanted her one wild night out.
Then again, no matter how you look at it, it’s just her using me using her. That’s all everyone is when you get to the bare bones of it. I learned that all too well.
As I stub the cigarette her breathing is deeper. Good. No more talking. I hate pillow talk.
Though, it did lead to round two….
Maybe it’s not as bad as I thought.
At least not all the time.