Detached tryst
In the fading light of an early summer evening, former lovers revisit their addiction— detached sex—unfolding in banal conversation.
Summer, midweek, 6 pm, the sun is softening. The temperature dropped to a bearable 28C, compared to the midday high of 37C.
They both sat on the yellowing grass, on the riverbank. Across them, the Edwardian boathouse is a symbol of middle-class Anglo colonialism. They watched the slow brown water flow past as the cicadas and birds chorused. It was cooler under the shade of a willow tree caressing the riverbank.
Discretion was essential. He hadn’t seen her for almost two months. They’d broken up years ago, but met up once in a while, for that thing. There was no emotion anymore - they were occasional fetishists addicted to each other, no longer in love.
She was 36, with red hair, pale skin, and a freckled face with a few thin lines. She had a naïve, waif-like look, almost like when they first met eight years ago. It excited him. He was 38 and recently married.
There was an expectation, an understanding that they’d be talking about sex, if not having it. What made it more desirable, and more erotic, was the lack of emotion.
“So, how’s it going?” she sneered, knowing she did not mean it.
“Great, thanks for asking,” he parodied small talk.
His cock hardened as he focused on her alabaster face, grey-blue eyes, and light pink lips. He began to imagine his cock in her small mouth.
He suddenly sneezed, “Ughh...” loud and sharp.
She immediately knew what that meant. Since the old days when they were a couple, in love, whenever he was about to have sex, he’d sneeze, big.
“Oh no... the sneeze…” she chuckled.
“Do you want to play with my cock?” he asked.
“Nope, we’ll just talk, ok? Nothing else,” she said, a smile cut across her face.
“Hey, just pretend not to notice, like I am not here; I’ll wank next to you,” he said. His mouth dried.
“Ok, but I’m not doing anything, but given I can see you’re losing it, if you want…play with yourself,” her eyes cool.
His nipples hardened – ran his fingers over them – his hands lowered to his crotch – he unzipped his jeans and took out his hard cock, and began to stroke it, very gently.
