“Turn round and get on all fours.” My mind will still occasionally drift back to my first experience of doggy, on a futon mattress in a flat in Acton, more than half a lifetime ago.
I love flashbacks. Moments become a library of visual stimulation I flick through when I’m alone, settling on the one that’s right for right now. The memories most frequently pulled from the shelf almost always involve fucking from behind.
Me, pushed over the bed. Him, his arse to my bedroom window. “Are you thinking about your neighbours watching us?” Yes, yes I am.
Crack. A new lover’s hand meets my arse, and my face is pushed further my pillow. He later comments on how hot my sound of appreciation was at that first smack. There’s nothing like the first time you realise someone is good with their palms.
“Watch this,” he says as he chucks his phone down in front of me. The sensations overwhelm me as I simultaneously feel him and watch us.
3am on a too-hot summer night. We are still awake. My lounge windows are low and knelt in front of them I can lean out of the window and grip the outside window ledge, biting my lip so I don’t let my sounds echo in the silent street.
Fresh from afternoon tea, I’m dressed like a lady. In the toilet near his office he bends me over and pushes my flowery frock up over my arse. I sit on a packed commuter train home with my knickers in my handbag. The next time I wear the dress is to a wedding and I smile at the memory as I sit in the church.
On my knees in front of my mirror, watching his hands on my hips and expressions of pleasure dance across his face.
Our eyes lock over her back as he fucks her, her face between my legs.
Ping. An email arrives moments after he leaves. A photo to add to the memory bank…