The Weekly Mindfuck: Unzipped

Sometimes the details of my fantasies escape me after I've cum and drifted off to sleep. There are colors and movements and words, all fabricated in the part of my brain where conscious and subconscious thoughts slip over each other like oil and water, but I rarely remember any of them once the fantasy has passed. They're not details I handcrafted so much as conjured, ideas that evaporated from that place in myself that I've only started exploring. Sometimes, in this obscure space, I feel like pieces of my sexuality are drawn out of me like sharp splinters—I never know I've been in pain until I feel the relief of recognition. 

This particular partner had a way of creating images with details so intense they burned permanent silhouettes into my brain, difficult to erase even when I no longer wanted to see them. Mostly because they never came to fruition in real life. 

"And then what would I do?" The whooosh of my text sending, my finger absently tapping the screen to keep it lit. Thirty seconds. 

"You'd get on your knees and rub my cock through my pants." A click, or maybe it was a lurch, somewhere in my gut. 

"Don't stop."

"And then you'd unzip my pants, slowly pull them down, and start kissing and licking the tip." My heart rate accelerates, the crescendo of my pulse visible in my thumbs as they hover over the screen, twitching. I don't remember what I said next, nor do I remember how the rest of the scenario went. But that scene plays in my head late at night, my hands hard at work under the covers, the colors and lines of his pants, the rug, my arms more defined and recognizable with each repetition. 

I can't explain my fascination with the unveiling, the slow reveal, a desire so strong I want to release his cock myself, but I can certainly explain how it started.