Visible Past

Some lovers are only a memory written out so you don’t forget them even though you should. Others become shadows that haunt your mind, that you find creeping into your thoughts as you butter your toast or the moment you pull a beer out of the fridge. You didn’t think you had a reason to hold on to them, but they’ve slipped too far into your psyche to ever leave.

He was that lover for me.

“Go into the bathroom and take off your panties. Tell me how it feels to go about your day like that.”

I’d never been one to take suggestions from a stranger, but something about those words filled the screen of my phone and sent a thrill of arousal through me. Working without panties seemed so small, but it’s amazing how removing one article of clothing alters your every thought process. So I stripped them off in the staff bathroom, tucked them in my work bag, and went on with my day.

Oh, and was I ever aware of my body. The way my pants pressed against my naked cunt, the wetness that appears naturally and increases as I notice its presence, wondering if anyone could tell. I liked the excitement and he was a source of excitement I craved.

“It was interesting. Every time I sat down I was aware of my nakedness. I couldn’t believe how wet I was.”

The first time he let me suck his cock, I fell in love with the practice. Not with him, though the taste of his cum coating my tongue is a memory I retain to this day. I fell in love with being on my knees and bringing pleasure with my mouth. The groans, the earthy smells, and the taste became my favorite.

When he took me over his knee to spank me just before he dove between my thighs with mouth and then cock, I should’ve known he’d take up permanent residence in a corner of my heart. With every resonating slap of his hand, with every answering vibration of pain, with every hard wave of arousal, hooked me. He secured a little of my devotion by delivering on my kink.

He’s a specter in my life now. Gone, but I can’t exorcise him, finding it hard to extract what I don’t want to be rid of. I miss his brand of excitement, the way he pushed me, the taste of his skin, the ease with which our conversation came.

I find myself in love with a ghost in a way the living person never inspired love in me.