We are discussing ~ rationally, somewhat perfunctorily ~ oral sex – how to refocus on breathing so as to distract from the pressure against the tonsils, how to relax the shoulders and throat, how to change angle for comfort and depth, how to lave the back of the tongue against the underside of the cock and swallow against the head – when an (incorrectly) assumptive comment on my part leads to clarification on his, followed by a complete surprise.
“My experiences with you,” he says, elaborating on how he feels about my oral ministrations with a humorously pleasured sigh, “are like… Here’s some TNT for you to sit on” (‘you’ meaning him), “Now just be still a minute while I light it.”
And something inside me goes…
So often, compliments are given with too-sleek planned smoothness. With ulterior motives. With artifice.
Especially when said compliments are sexual in nature.
But when a compliment is real – when it’s full of bright-eyed enthusiasm, bewildered appreciation, not-perfectly-worded artless honesty – when it’s genuine…
It starts a slow-burn fuse somewhere deep inside of me that sets off chain-reaction fireworks, leaving an echo-boom sizzle-bright smoke trail in their wake for days.
I am looking forward to seeing him again.
I’m feeling the need to set off an explosion.