Blue Sunday

The name caught my attention first. It was such an intimate, humble nickname and this man looked neither cuddly nor docile. Yet his confidence seemed to pervade the friendly smile on his face as if to warn his audience that his natural jolly demeanor came with a dark side.

I smiled at the endearment that this man apparently allowed his friends to use as a moniker. I wouldn’t have dared join in the fun, but the moment those arctic blue eyes turned on me, his quiet confidence consumed me, and I knew I had to touch him.

The casual conversation carried on much longer than it should have. We shared anecdotes and dreams and regrets over a chocolate dessert that did nothing to satisfy the carnal appetite I was trying to ignore. I enjoyed him, although I knew better. I wanted to be enjoying him in an entirely different way, but his refined manners and easy banter made it difficult to objectify him as I had been.

But then he touched me. I felt that large, unusually strong hand grasp the back of my neck just fractions of a second before falling slightly into his gentle, cradling arms. How one man could be so terrifyingly tall, broad, and emanate such a primal strength while simultaneously drawing me in with his kind gaze and warm, melodic voice… It was baffling.

Within moments, I traded the arrogant, idiotic personality I’d been assuming for the innate submissive that had been begging to be expressed. Our bodies instinctively moved together in a sensual harmony as if we were long separated lovers coming together in a passionate reunion. Perhaps we were.

I drank in the moments spent pleasing him. The sounds of his gratification goaded me into slutty servanthood. Our sex was nearly wordless. Our communication consisted entirely of instinct and raw desire. Right before I felt him explode inside me, I realized I only knew him by that humiliating nickname, which was likely more than he knew of my own identity…

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