I tried to Google your name, but there is so little trance of you.
Nothing on Facebook, hardly anything on Google, bar a sad work history timeline.
You were so good-looking.
Tall, lanky, with a slightly scruffy muso haircut.
You had the deepest, darkest eyes.
You smelled and tasted like cigarettes, and was sexy as hell.
You knew you had a way with the ladies.
You were so funny, and so non-committal that 20 year old me completely did not stand a chance but to be lost in your charms.
I thought you looked so much like Hayden Christensen, and could stare at you for hours.
And the way you played with me, sliding your fingers in me at Lounge Bar, or at the back of a cab. I vaguely remember we saw a movie together once, but I think we weren’t paying much attention to the film.
Sex with you was incredible.
I don’t think you were the first, but from memory, you were one of the first who introduced me to the sensations of light bondage.
I remembered one night you tied my hands up.
And I think what I remembered most was how big you were, and how you filled me and stretched me so much.
And then how you’d cradle me in your arms as I laid in the knape of your neck, smelling you, running my fingers down your boney ribs.
You’d never stay the night.
I recall being so miserable early on in my relationship with Jason, and naturally, I turned to you for reassurance.
He found out that you had visited me at my new place.
I might have regretted it all those years ago, and I am so glad you did.
That was the last time I saw you.
You said you didn’t do relationships, but met a girl so amazing but you just couldn’t let her go.
I do wish I could get back in touch with you.
I’d love to see you again, to see that smile. And if you were to ask if I would let you fuck me again, absolutely.
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