Matteo

I'll call him Matteo.

Not because it was his name. But because the name aggravated him. And since he is no longer in my life, he cannot stop me from calling him that.

Matteo was my secret. My tall, tan skinned, sexy, well endowed secret.

He left my life with valid, sensible reasons. Reasons that made total sense. And yet... I wonder.

I wonder if he thought I wanted more. If I was growing feelings of love.

A week before the end I told him of my secret wish to have a man look to me with a dark intensity of someone from my books. Matteo warned me that what I wanted sounded like romance. I told him no. I just wanted someone to want me so much that I can feel in the gaze. I wanted the heated, hooded look that makes you squirm and think naked thoughts even in a crowded room. I wanted to be looked at like that.

Maybe it was a silly notion. I shared it with him none the less. Maybe I did long for romance, But I didn't share my secret it with him due to expectations of him. I knew what we had couldn't go beyond what it was. I shared it because I thought he mind understand. As two people who sought comfort im a stressful chaotic world.

I sometimes wonder if that was the undoing. If he thought was growing love in what was supposed to be a purely physical experience.

Was I growing love? Maybe I was. But not in the way he should have worried about.

I believe in love. True love. And that comes over time and friendship. Of sacrifice and dedication.

That's not the love I had for Matteo.

My love for Matteo was a lot more selfish. A lot more.... carnal.

I loved the way he made me feel. The way he made me feel fucking Alive. Like every nerve of my skin was on fucking fire.

To me, he was sex incarnate. I had never had any person who affected my body like that. That could make my pussy drown the moment he entered the room.

And he made me feel like a fucking sex godess. He tested my boundaries and explored me in new and wondrous ways. It was heady and intoxicating. Time with him made me feel giddy. Jubilant. Happily Sated.

The first time we met at hotel he couldn't stop touching me. I felt like a teenager. Wild. Absolutely fucking horning and maddened with the need to touch and be touched. To discover. He had his hand inside my pussy even walking down the secluded corridor.

I would have let that man fuck me in the hallway under the hotel cameras if he had tried. That's how unbidden I felt with him. My Matteo.

When we got to the door, his fingers stayed inside of me. I fumbled with the keys. So much so he had to pry his fingers away from me to help me with the key card. My pussy juices shined on the card as he left us in.

Inside the room he kissed me up against the wall as I pried his belt off. And I sucked his dick before we even made it to the bed. He was hard as steal in my mouth and knowing I made him that way made me so fucking wet. To know that o caused this on the beautiful sexy beast of a man before me, gave me such fucking pleasure.

He pressed his dick into my mouth and I sucked it like it was my salvation. It tasted salty and like man. And it was fucking delicious.

Eventually he drew me up off the hallway floor and tossed me onto the bed. And fucked me. Gave me the most solid fucking of my life. In that moment, I realized the power I had as a woman and what my heights my cunt could bring me when it was being properly used. I was fucking alive.

I came over and over again on his big, beautiful cock. Until he came inside me. Guttural, raw sounds emitted from him as he painted my insides white. And I was fucking electrified. I loved knowing I caused him to feel like that. My feminine ego fucking soared. I was bathed in a glow of amazing sex and feminine satisfaction.

I was pleasantly surprised when he took me again that night. By the time we left that hotel room, the bed was soaked and I was filled with his seed. Every orifice of mine had been coaxed and pleasured with either his fingers or his cock.

My beautiful Matteo had fucked me into delirium.

....

The last time I ever saw Matteo, we were at a hotel again. And this time, something in the air was different. He told me about things going on in his life and I could feel the words he wasn't saying.

If you are aware of what's happening, a goodbye fuck is a different kind of fucking.

It makes you aware that each kiss is the potential last kiss. That each thrust is the last one.

It doesn't have the fervour that comes with a one night stand. Or the intensity of a new relationship.

It has the quiet sensuality of farewell. The awareness of what someone's fingers mean on your skins. What feelings their touch still ignites in your body.

When you are aware that this is the last time, it allows your body to memorize everything. To store it away.

Etched into my mind from that night are small details that I write now so I don't forget. Like, his body lit by the glow of the yellow hotel bulb. Carmel skin cast golden by the glow of the single hotel light. His fresh haircut that gave him a totally different look from all our previous encounters before.

That night, he showered before sex. Whether it a courtesy for me, or to clear what thoughts were going through his mind, I couldn't say. Maybe both?

But I watched him. I plopped my ass down on the hotels counter and I watched him. Even in the state his was in, I found him beautiful. When he found me watching him, he smiled. A coy smile. Like he appreciated being appreciated. And oh fuck, did I appreciate him.

6 feet of tan skin, dark hair, lean muscle, and a trimmed waist. His face was a high contrast of sad eyes and a knowing smile. He was masculine beauty to me. And he was naked before me.

Something had been in the air that night. And I could feel the change. It felt like the end was near. So I soaked up every curve and hard plane of the male before me. I gazed at his body and just appreciated that I got to see this beautiful specimen before me naked.

That night I touched him before he could touch me. And he responded. His hand clutched my hips and he held as we kissed. At first he seemed reluctant but I could feel when he

his mind shifted to the matters at hand. Whatever had been distracting him, finally released him, and he ground his dick into my folds.

I was soon as naked as he was. He whispered commands into my ear and I obeyed. I was his bitch. His puta. And everytime he said it my pussy clenched. I loved how heated his gaze became when those words were seared into the night.

For the first time ever, that night I sucked his toes while he finger fucked me. It was new. It was exciting and I fucking loved it. I felt used and explored in a way that no other person had ever dared to try with me.

Matteo had promised to help me explore my boundaries and kinks. And he delivered on that promise. That man knew how to make me come alive.

In the afterglow of multiple orgasms, I stared at him. Him catching his breath. And I couldn't help but smile. I very well knew that this would probably be the last time I saw him, but I was so fucking thankful in that moment I couldn't help but smile.

I felt so thankful that I had gotten to experience this beautiful man. That through him I learned how many times a pair of rough calloused hands could make me come. That I could still feel alive with sensuality. I got to explore deep dark fantasies that felt only possible in books. And he made those possibilities, realities.

I am sure all of that was in my eyes when he looked at me and the shadows that he had brought in with him to the hotel, reappeared on his face. I could see his troubles return. Every other time we had met for sex he had stayed, talked, sang, even joked around. But that time he left with a mumbled apology and an excuse.

My suspicions had been right. Maybe I should have been mad. Or maybe even sad. But I wasn't. I knew he wouldn't be mine for forever. I just felt thankful for the experiences I gained with him. For the knowledge I gained from our rendezvous.

When I finally heard from Matteo it was with a goodbye. It wasn't me and he hoped he didn't hurt me. He was very apologetic.

I wasn't hurt. But I was sad. Sad for losing what his body could make mine feel. But yet still thankful that he had been in my life in the first place. I wished him well.

We never spoke again. Sometimes I think of him when I apply makeup that I wore one night together. A makeup that held glitter in it. That left his face and his dick sparkly by the end of the night.

I will never know if his mumbled excuses were the reason I never saw him again. Or if he ran because he thought I wanted more.

I don't know what more would have looked like with Matteo. I didn't think those kind of thoughts.

But I do know that when I imagine if he were to enter back into my life.....it is him striding into my workplace, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me to place where the customers and the cameras can't see us. And fucking me into oblivion.