The first thing I know is a sensation of intense arousal – an absolute, blind, urgent need which yanks me up from sleep towards the surface of consciousness like a life preserver. I emerge into wakefulness gasping, eyes springing wide, heart pounding, a pulse in my groin. My cock is achingly hard, and in that moment I am aware of nothing else except the overwhelming desire to fuck.
It’s like this sometimes when I first wake up. For a minute or two I can’t remember anything – not my name, nor the city in which I live, nor what I did the previous night. The memories return soon enough, but in that brief, vital minute I’m left with nothing except lingering sensations, the leftover feelings from my dreams or nightmares.
And in this case, that’s need. A blazing, searing arc light of desire that I feel not just in my groin but in my chest, in the back of my brain, even in my lungs. It takes a moment to realise that I’m not alone in bed. Someone sleeps beside me. I reach out in the dark and my hand meets their hip. Warm, soft body. My brain, still fuzzed by sleep, calls to mind the sound of their voice. My girlfriend. I cannot recall her name, only a rush of faint impressions. Her hair. The way she kisses. The way she clutches me when we fuck.
Before I can think further I’ve straddled her. Her body hot in sleep and heavy, a deadweight. We are both sleeping naked and her skin is a little damp, a little sticky to the touch. I grip her shoulder with one hand and my cock with the other. I need to be inside her. It feels as if this is the first woman I’ve encountered after a year alone on a drifting life raft – as though I might die without release.
But she’s sleeping still, unaware, serene. I can barely see her in the dark. I only know that she is female by the feel of her body, the softness of her, the somehow-familiar curves and ridges of her hipbones. I can feel a few of her hairs trapped beneath my hand. Reaching down between her legs I feel the slight mound of her cunt. Short hair there. A fleshy, fine slit. The swell of her thighs. Feeling it beneath my hand sends a jolt through me like a lightning bolt.
Her legs are heavy as I push them apart. Her lips don’t part in response to mine. I push my tongue into her mouth anyway and reach down and ease my throbbing cock into her. Her cunt is slick and warm, dewy with wetness. Sleeping wetness. It slips in easily, and it’s only then that she stirs. Her body trembles. She moans, low and sleepy. As I sink all the way into her the deadweight of her body becomes live, her arms moving to encircle me, her body rising up into me as I push down into her.
I’m fucking without thinking about it, hips rolling, driving into her as she clutches me. Her sounds of surprise giving way to familiar moans, and then she’s awake and kissing me, fiercely, our tongues pressing. Neither of us speak – only soft groans and grunts that seem loud in the quiet space of the bedroom. Everything pulled tight like a thread. Sweat between our bodies. I felt like I’m pouring into her – my whole body liquefying and surging into hers.
It’s a quick fuck. I was on the edge when I woke, and it takes me only minutes to get there. She clutches me, panting. The two of us abstract, almost strangers. Unknowing animals driven by urge. As I come I breathe into her, our mouths locked, bodies shaking. Throb after throb of sweet, molten pleasure. It takes a long time to fade. The heat of the room and the distant buzz of traffic and the feel of the covers beneath us all tune slowly back in.
I pull out and fall onto the bed beside her. The whole thing has been so sudden, so abrupt, like a heavy rainstorm that soaks everything and then disappears, leaving nothing but bright sunshine and shocked, rain-drenched people. We lie panting in the dark for a long time, sweat drying in the breeze from the open window. Her hand finds mine, grips tight. I remember her now – not just her name but the complexities and nuances of her. Every little thing. I am myself again. Awake. The animal, urgent lust of the dream receding like a spent wave.
Eventually, despite the heat of the room, she nestles into me. “What were you dreaming about?” she asks between breaths. But I don’t remember. I never do.
This is a true story from a couple of years ago. If you enjoyed it and want to read more about my sex life, consider picking up a copy of this book, which features over a hundred pages of filthy, philosophical, 100% true smut.