It wasn’t always like this,

back then I had an edge to my stupidity, maybe it was the drugs.

I know it wasn’t really, but a good excuse is always hard to let go.

I’m sitting on the floor looking over my shoulder with my cock hard and pointing in towards my stomach, my balls tensed and huge, bursting with cum, young dumb and full of cum…

I’m waiting for her to take the photo, she wants it she says for times we’re apart…but I don’t want to give her my face.

What I want is for her to put the fucking camera down, to get on her knees and hold the tip of my cock between those red lips, fucking her will come (!) later: she holds my cock between her lips and rolls her tongue, sucks like there’s no tomorrow and groans as her fingers hold my balls, trips through to my arse, runs her finger around my hole and then onto her cunt.

I’ve been through this 50-60 times now, but when her fingers reach her cunt I still feel mesmerised how she opens her lips, slides through collecting wet and then begins teasing her clit.

She’s dead now.

Moved on from me and wanting to slide her orange vibrator into my arse, wanting to fuck me and her mum with the same vibro, wanting to film us outdoors under the trees, spreading chocolate or yoghurt on my cock, wanting her arse fucked over and over until it spreads loose and throbbing as she tries on clothes in second hand shops, wanting to tell me of spunk dripping down her legs.

She moved on, I got to be too boring, my photos of her hanging naked, between the rails of a Surrey bridge, after spreading that pink wet bubbling cunt again, of course these were not enough, the naked backpacking over the moors were not enough.

We ended after the party I found her wanting to shag everybody present, her white lace knickers contrasting against deep tan, more vivid than any photo.

The women were up for it, already one was snaking thin ringed fingers under satin triangle, cocks were being released, her eyes glazed from the dope, the vodka.

I didn’t want an end like this, I’d given us another few months and then my being boring would end us.

But this I hadn’t reckoned on…should I stay should I go? Mesmerised again.

This time like a rabbit in the glare of headlights.

I ran, never to speak to her again. She and nemesis met some months later, the dope wasn’t enough, vodka stopped easing the pain.

Her party crowd got wilder, more adventurous, moved into smack.

I would see her as I drove by or as she drove by me, my cheeks flushing, whether embarrassment or shame is I guess up for discussion.

I heard of her being thrown out of jobs, pubs, clubs and eventually friends and family homes, her fantasies had to be acted out.

Court appearances came next, she would laugh, toss back that thick mane of hair, pay fines and run out to supporters and a party.

I shrank, becoming smaller, older and scared.

Having touched death and run away I did not want to attract that attention again.

Work became fascinating, took my time and attention away, I drifted gently into the sleep of those who prefer life with eyes closed, no fuss, no noise.

Then, dark, late night, I woke wanting a piss and heard her giggle, the window opened and she was there, standing, naked, one finger to her lips with a bottle and glasses in her other hand. She sat by me, sliding her hand under the duvet, feeling stiffness, she poured drinks, silently urging me to drink, she felt cold, head disappearing under the covers, her lips cold and gently biting, fingers tracing my balls, holding them, fingering me, insistent, pushing in deeper and deeper, wriggling inside of me. Then the covers thrown back as she opened herself and began to work toward climax.

My gut hard tight and feeling pressure to piss, her cold mouth working, sucking, licking, nibbling. I couldn’t do this.

This routine we’d had, to go back…she felt slight, lighter, yet her mouth more insistent than I’d remembered.

I pulled away, out of ice flame lips, she lay caressing sweet bitter cunt, her lips still opened in an O where my cock had been.

She came, shuddering quietly, silently, clenching thighs around her fingers.

Disapproval moved over her face, she laughed deep into my face and left, back through the window.

The next day dead. 

Supposedly a smack overdose.

And now I’m here, knowing that the dice have tumbled once too often, waiting for the wheel to stop spinning, holding my breath until I hear the soft tap on my door, the swish of darkness, knowing that this time I cannot run.

Neil Benbow

©neilbenbow2026