The morning

Nils had slept in the spare room because I like a man who can wait until morning without making the waiting a favor I owe. He is twenty-nine. I am fifty-one. He bought rope from the shop last week and I did not touch him there. I asked him to dinner on a day I was not behind the counter, and he said yes like a grown man. This morning the kitchen faced the water. I was in a grey linen shirt and navy trousers, bare feet, silver-streaked hair pulled back, the kettle cold. He came in dressed. I told him to leave the kettle alone. I want your cock in my ass before coffee. I have what we need in the drawer. If I say harbor, you stop. He said harbor back to me, voice rough from sleep, and he said he had wanted this since I named it at the table.

I unbuttoned the shirt and stepped out of the trousers. Fifty-one, unashamed, wet already from having said it. I bent over the table where the light was good and handed him the bottle. I told him to slick his cock and to let me take it. His cock was thick and eager. I reached back, set him at my ass, and pushed until his cock was in my ass. The stretch pulled a long sound out of me. I told him to hold still. My cunt ached. I slid my fingers into my cunt and rocked, fucking myself on his cock in small motions until I wanted more. Then I said fuck me.

He fucked my ass slow, then deeper when I told him the slow had done its job. His hands stayed on the table beside mine, not pinning me. I rubbed my clit and told him what his cock was doing to my ass, plain and filthy, because I like the words in daylight. I told him my cunt was dripping on my own hand. He said I looked extraordinary. I believe men when they are fucking me and still using whole sentences. I came with my forehead on my arm, cunt clenching, ass tight around his cock, a shudder that went down to my bare feet.

I did not want him to come inside. I said pull out and come on my ass. He stroked his cock and came across my ass, hot stripes, a groan he did not swallow. I stayed bent for a moment because I liked the picture, then I straightened and kissed his mouth once, grateful and not sentimental. We washed. I put the kettle on. He sat at the table in his shirt and did not apologize for any of it. Harbor had not been said. The shop stayed closed until I decided to open it. I sent him home with coffee in a plain cup and no promise about next week. Next week can ask for itself.