We were spent. We glowed in the light of one another's eyes although we were both supine. The bed was like a raft, not as much as due to the sweat and the effort we left on it, but in how we drifted. Side-by-side, hand-in-hand, up and down.
We talked about Caribou- well, I did, you just listened, and you laughed at the parts I wanted you to. You seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. Your eyes responded with a flare of delight when I equated music to sunlight. You told me not to be so hard on myself and I told you you were right.
I drove you to your car.
We exchanged numbers.
I liked the sound of your voice and how eager you were to please.
You said this was the first and last blowjob of your career.
I can respect that. I believe you when you say I was the first person to ever go down on you, and that's a tragedy. It was fun and so were you. You definitely seemed to enjoy it.
You walked off into the night, I caved to some Jack in the Box which I'd regret the next morning. The only thing I would.
We'll likely never talk again.
I hope you'll remember me too.