You have done your hair up. It’s easier to kiss your neck and back like this. I like it. I only undo it once when I want to pull your hair while I am shooting you full doggy style. The only time you allow me to touch your hair like that. And even then you say; ‘Am shocked. Am shocked. I can’t believe I let you do that.’ You are visibly perturbed, but you quickly do you hair up again with a large black hair pin. It looks like a bow tie. We are very far away from me orgasming in you. I haven’t asked for permission yet. Tonight I will ask for your permission twice.

So far we have made love, without me coming, and am not so insecure as when we began that I count your orgasms. I don’t know how many you have had. You had one immediately after arriving from your business trip to Amsterdam. You had spread your legs over the edges of the big grey seat in the corner of the living room, so I could sit in front of you and dip my face right between your legs. Very comfortable. Since then I have lost track of how many times we have done ‘it’ today. The evening turned into night and everything is now a sweet tasting blur of love making. Even our separate smells and scents have blended into one fragrant cloud. We smell like milk bread baking in the oven, but on the beach, so the sea air gets mixed through and add hints of chocolate, lemon, ginger and the smell of Portugese cork and… musk.

We are not taking breaks today. We are just being slow. Sluggish, unrushed, for one third sleepy about everything.

You are wearing my Czech me out T-shirt, but nothing else. Ah, and socks. Cause you don’t want to get cold feet. They are warm socks. I got them for you. They are thick and go almost all the way up to your knees. They look like the socks female soccer players wear. They are black with a long rose on the sides. You never wear them outside of the bed and only when it’s chilly outside.

I am licking your pussy, I can’t get enough of it, but in a way as if I have all the time in the world for it.

I stop to say something and slip my middle finger into you. I make this ‘come here’ movement. I push it up so am really pressing into the upper wall of your vagina. You curl your back and merely say: ‘that’s good.’

‘I have heard this theory that people in post-communist countries don’t make eye contact, cause you could never trust anyone AND under communism you don’t need connections to hop to new opportunities. Cause… there are almost no opportunities.’

‘Interesting’, you say, ‘I have talked to Siebe about societal systems. You know he’s from Poland. All these post-totalitarian countries have their own stories to tell.’

My tongue sloppily taps against the general area of your clitoris, so it hits a bit of everything. Cause you don’t know what my tongue will do your arousal stays steady, but without rising too high so talking would become impossible.

‘True. Poland never nationalized it’s agriculture, for example. We had a subject about communism in college. They said Poland was the only country dominated by the Soviet-Union that successfully resisted the nationalization of farms.’

You play with my hair, twist it into curls and pull it a bit with your right hand. Your other hand is cupping your breasts, you are squeezing them kinda lazily, but from time to time with a lot of force. I make a mental note of that.

‘How did they resist that?’, you ask.

‘They didn’t tell us that. It was always the last class of the week. On Fridays. One of the best professors I ever had. Koen Schoors. He has a PHD in the banking system of the Soviet-Union. If you could call it then. People were basically forced to save their money, cause there was too little to buy.’

‘He can’t have been that good if he didn’t explain why only the Poles resisted nationalization.’

‘He didn’t get that much time. I think we had only two hours per week and only for one semester.’

‘Enough time to explain such a bizarre rarity in historical developments. I would like to come now.’
‘Yes, sure.’

I lick you much faster and use my fingers to fuck you. Fast now. Very fast. I feel your vagina tightening around my fingers. Then you take a very long deep breath and you stretch your legs in your climax and clench my head in between your knees. It’s fantastic.

You push my head away and I go up and lie next to you.

‘I will return the favor in a little while’, you say, ‘but give me a few minutes now.’

I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my T-shirt. It has a large photograph of General Armstrong Custer. It’s a strong reminder of the adage ‘pride comes before the fall.’ You get that effect when somebody attacks the largest Native American encampment with 700 exhausted, malnourished troopers with crappy rifles and to make matters worse splits his small command in three smaller parts…

You asked about my t-shirt earlier today and that is basically what I told you, only with much more detail. Until you laughed and said: ‘Shut up and kiss me, Mr know it all.’

‘Don’t call me that’, I said, ‘cause it’s not true.’

You look at me your sweet, warm eyes and pulled one lip corner down as if saying, sorry, dude, here is the harsh truth. You said: ‘I won’t call you that, but you are still Mr know it all.’

‘It makes me uncomfortable, because I wish I did know everything.’

‘I know. I know. Some people struggle to out their sexuality and you struggle to out how ambitious you actually are.’

‘Now you know why I like Kurt Cobain so much. Similar dynamic. I mean, not that I have that kind of talent.’

‘No, no, no, God forbid, no, no, no. You have nothing extraordinary going on, nothing at all. You’re the most average Joe if there ever was one.’

‘There is a Joe Rogan and he is anything but ordinary. Have you watched some of his interviews? Some are really worth watching.’

‘Worth watching right now is little Willy. Little Willy has been waiting for quite some time now. Why haven’t you asked if you could water the roses?’

‘Your roses goes the formula.’

‘Well, yes, yes, my roses. So why haven’t you asked. We haven’t seen each other for eight days. Did you ejaculate?’

Your hand is firmly gripping my balls by now.

‘Are these two full?’

I have penetrated you a bunch of times today, but I haven’t asked for permission to orgasm yet and you haven’t ordered me too.

‘Your testicles are full up to my eye balls’, I say.

‘Does it hurt?’, you ask.

‘It’s a throbbing sensation. It’s not pure pain, but there is certainly more than a hit of pain. Like a cramp you can bear and is not completely unpleasant, but also not fully pleasant. I don’t know if that makes sense.’

‘Well, you know what you need to do to get rid of that cramp. I just don’t understand why you didn’t ask this week.’

‘You were on a business trip. I didn’t want to distract you from your work and your time in Amsterdam, taking in the sights and enjoying the city.’

‘You could have asked. Normally you ask every three to five days. At least once or twice.’

‘I wanted to save it for today. And you could have ordered it.’

‘I know I could have ordered it’, you say as you squeeze your balls a bit harder.

I turn to you now and look into your eyes.

‘Shall I water your roses?’, I ask. I feel myself flooding with love, devotion, gratitude, trust and respect, if not awe, for you.

‘Permission granted’, you respond.

You vanish towards the middle of the bed.

I feel the warmth of your lush lips swallowing my penis. I feel like am falling at breakneck speed and landing into a bath of Roman decadence.

‘Do I really have your permission to come?’

‘Yes!!’, you say in a strict, mildly impatient voice, but not rude or angry.

Of course I come then. I haven’t come in 8 days and we’ve been having sex for close to four hours, non-stop, even if we weren’t do high energy gymnastics, all that arousal has been peaking since the moment we went to bed and you removed your knickers and threw them on my face.

I feel myself dripping into you in waves and spurts. Some weaker and some almost stormy.

You don’t swallow it, but you keep your mouth clutched around my still gratefully shaking dick until the last ripples of my violent orgasm have faded.

You very discretely spit what you have milked out of me into a big wad of tissues. It goes into a tiny bin we keep for that purpose.

‘Next time ask for permission sooner.’

‘Ok, I will.’

‘Do you feel how much power you have?’

‘I do.’

‘It means a lot to me.’

‘I know. It means a lot to me too. More than you know.’

‘Then am glad.’

We snuggle for a bit. You have your head on my chest this time. Am careful about not touching your hair.

‘Can we empty your balls one more time?’, I ask.

‘So soon?’, you ask surprised.

‘yes.’

‘Ask properly.’

‘Shall I saddle your horse for you, My Queen?’

‘Permission very much granted.’

And so follows our hair pulling doggy style moment.

When we’ve calmed down I hold you tight, but my fingers won’t let your now quite battered pussy in peace. It’s very sensitive and I can feel it’s a bit sore, so I am touching your highly addictive yoni only very gently.

‘Markus talks a lot about how individualism bothers him. How he finds it disturbing that people are seeking themselves and trying to develop themselves in a vacuum. Without any regard for the collective. And everybody is flexing. Jaro says the same thing. Everyone is trying so hard to look free of emotion, to always look in charge, cool, calm, collected, successful. They all look like Terminators and they actively cultivate that devoid of all vulnerability look.’

‘Jaro can talk about something else than treating girls on the streets to lame cheesy pick-up lines? Consider me shocked.’
‘He does, he does. Not often, but he does.’

‘It shouldn’t bother you what other people do. Let them flex. The people you attract into your life aren’t like that.’

I can hear in your voice that you are getting sleepy. Am sleepy too now, but I don’t want to close my eyes, because if I do then this moment is gone and I feel myself clinging to it as if it’s the most precious possession ever.

We both have to start early tomorrow.

‘I love our talks’, I say.

‘Me too.’

‘Is there any chance of getting you to one last climax before we fall asleep’

‘Honestly, I don’t think so. Me and my yoni are very exhausted. Are my balls empty?’

‘They are.’

‘That is good, that is very good. Let’s sleep, please. It’s way past midnight and am not 19 anymore.’

‘Just this. Do you think everyone is flexing and too egocentric?’

‘It depends on where you want to look. You can also look at Helena’s former flat mate in Vienna. She studied psychology and is now in Brazil doing charity work in the favelas there. She is not flexing. Many people aren’t. The ones that do bother you, that’s all. And you why that is.’

‘Cause I am so uncomfortable showing what I can do? Damn, even this is hard for me to say.’

‘Bingo. You’re just gonna have to accept that there are things you cannot do and that there’s a bunch you can do very well. Those flexers won’t bother you so much anymore then. You will stop noticing them.’

‘I love you very, very, very much, but you know that.’

‘I do know that.’

You’re practically asleep. Am practically asleep.

‘This was nice’, you mumble drowsily.

‘Yes, tonight was…’ and I want to get baroque-ishly elebatorate, but you cut me off.

‘Shhst now, sleep. Nice is enough. Nice is very, very enough.’

We’re both fast asleep in less than half a minute after that.

You like your space when you sleep, but your banjo shaped butt is pushing against your blissfully empty balls.