Roasted beans ignite my excitement. The possibilities of this hump day arouse my nasal passages. I order takeaway coffees for McDreamy and me. Internal narration takes over. What will happen upstairs? Will I open the door and he’s standing there in nothing but tightly fitted briefs, his chest hair scented like the cinnamon of an apple crumble and will his chocolate brown eyes undress me upon arrival? “Takeaway Long Black and…” I stand upright “Suck me off now, I mean me…”

He answers the buzzer with a melt-worthy tone, and I begin to question whether I am just coming over to view this Abbotsford apartment space, I mean, it was the subject of our post-party conversations and who really has sex at 10.30am. I queue Lady Twerks Yankin as I ride the lift, smirking to myself in a slutty manner in the mirror as the lyrics “close your eyes hold my thighs, nigga that’s the perfect size” caress my aural passages.

He answers the door in baby blue trackies and a black V-neck tee. His chest hair pops from his V-neck, whispering lash me with your tongue. His salt n pepper hair is ruffled in a suspiciously perfect manner, his defined jawline lathe with subtle facial hair, his skin is still impeccably well moisturized and his lips are full like a Ryan Phillipe masturbation-worthy scene. I get the tour, and as I compliment his interior design, with every piece of dialogue exchanged, his eyes linger intently on me, ensuring my gaze mirrors his transfixed scans.

I lean against the kitchen table, admiring the view; he takes the empty cup from my palm and firmly rubs his hands up my torso, tenderly kissing my lip crevices with his saliva. He searches the corridors of my bashfully blue eyes, then places his right thumb on my lips. Grazing his nail along my bottom lip he utters “You’ve been my wank bank for the past week”. I try not to pre-cum in awkward Mindy Kaling excitement, I kiss him passionately and lower my body onto the table, hitting my head a little too hard on its surface. He raises my sweater, his tongue sketching lines up and down my chest like a Magna Doodle pen as his teeth penetrate my nipples.

He pulls me upright, undresses me swiftly with arousing roughness, and his teeth rip my briefs down to my ankles. I strip him bare, and he thrusts me onto the couch, our ass cheeks intensely assault lemon cushions, he pushes them to the floor and we fall upon the timber flooring. Bedroom dancing unfolds. His nibbles against my skin and earlobe feel euphoric. I pull him upright and push him against the wall, natural light emits from the window, crafting resplendent light upon our naked torsos, and we make out with force. Our hairy chests tickle against each other’s scruff with excitement as our cocks touching ignites a second fuck.  I spot an 8–year–old child in the house next door drawing with crayons as she gazes at us. His dimples form a sultry grin as I point this out, and he throws me back on the bed.

Four condoms later, we find ourselves in the shower, and we attempt to clean our bodies, but our lips and tongues become intertwined. He thrusts me against the tiles; his tongue massages my entire body, and he steps in front of me, firmly placing his cheeks into me. Dripping wet, we dry each other’s bodies against his sheet covers, he lifts my legs and the tongue rimming begins, his gaze alluringly transfixed on mine as he rims with rigour. I attempt to look seductive, chuckling to myself as Azealia Banks lyrics “I guess that cunts getting eaten” play in my head. We return to the shower an hour later, and he leans back beneath the flowing water. My stare is captivated by his ravishing Jude Law early 00’s poise. He opens his eyes and pensively penetrates me with his gaze, before pulling me into his chest, we make out beneath flowing water for what seems like an eternity.

I look at my phone, shit it’s 4pm. We hydrate and he opens the fridge door; my hands are glued inside the back pockets of his trackies. A fridge magnet drops, I pick it up to see McDreamy and his own McCharming framed with a cupcake and candles in front of them. I turn the photo over, and it reads, “J & R happy 13th anniversary, here’s to 13 more!” I smirk at him, “he’s rather handsome”. He smirks back, then says, “he doesn’t have your eyes or stamina, though, kid”.

He pushes me against the floating island kitchen top and sensually kisses me; my legs go weak as I melt from the passion of his force. I contain myself, “Yeah, I should really go once this hard on disappears and before your partner returns”.

Written by Samuel Elliot Snowden.