Me, I’m out of place. Pretty much everywhere. And not many see this, simply because nobody really wants to think someone doesn’t have a place to fit into. Be polite, do not show how tired useless talk makes you, and you’ll find a response close to acceptance. It was, if you must know, at a funeral that this feeling crept up on me. Of my girlfriends stepmother’s cousin. I don’t think even she cared, how could I be expected to? She was expected to be here, and I, not being rude to them, was for some reason believed to like them, and treated as a part of the family – this I did not like, just so we’re clear – and because of that, also expected to attent. I’m weak that way, I’ll even go to a funeral I don’t want to be at to avoid an unpleasant confrontation. So there I was, in a black suit, sitting with a blank expression, hoping people will ignore me, fully aware this was not to be. ‘There you are!’ Why can’t that one just die? It was an aunt, or something like that, and she was talking. I pleasured myself, circling the entrance to my vagina, rubbing my clit and scooping some fluids into my palm. I returned my damp hand to Thomas’s pole. Thomas instructed, “Now rub that onto my dick. Pull down the foreskin. Taste yourself.” I lowered my mouth onto his dickhead. I sensed mixed pre-cum and pussy juice. I slobbered more saliva onto the head, circled the base with my thumb and forefinger and pushed down. My lover’s hips instinctively pushed up, off the bed. I straddled him and hovered. He looked me in the eye and guided the head to my opening with both hands. We stared at each other as I impaled myself on my new fucktool. Once all the way in, I held still for a few seconds, relishing the feeling. Gradually, we started to move, in unison. He was looking into my eyes, into my soul. A sex guide I’d read talked about unity and individuality. Fucking Thomas melded the two. He was working hard to please me and I tried to find the best moves to pleasure him. Together, we.
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