He used to try and open condom packets quietly.
Not sneakily, like he was going to slip one on without me knowing. Just quietly – like he didn’t want to disturb the moment.
We’d be lying on my bed, or his bed, or a bundle of cushions placed haphazardly on the floor. Or sometimes we’d be curled up together on an armchair, duvet covering us for privacy while our friends drank and smoked nearby. Occasionally scrunched in a dark corner at a party, my back cold against the rough carpet, his knees pushing my legs wider while we snogged.
He used to try and open the packet quietly.
At some point during a snog, when my wet lips against his weren’t enough, and when we were grinding harder against each other in eagerness to get it on, he’d sneak a hand down into the back pocket of his jeans. He always had one there – sometimes two. Occasionally two in each back pocket. I carried condoms too, but rarely got to use them, because his supply was almost infinite. I remember thinking he had a similar attitude to condoms as he did to rolling joints: he liked to be the one in control. It made him feel grown up.
The sticky heat of snogging and make-outs would build. His short, fat fingers would paw and poke at my cunt through my knickers, wrist angled weirdly to get around the pretentious chain-belt I wore once I’d decided to be a goth.
I’d run my hands around his back, under the t-shirt, feeling his taut muscles and the delicious dent where his boxer shorts gripped tightly against his skin. Sometimes I’d pull them down at the front – fumbling with the zip in his jeans and pulling them just far enough that I could wrap my pale hand round his cock. Sometimes even that would be too much – the logistics of undressing being less fun than immediate satisfaction. I’d undo his fly and rummage in the front of his pants, pulling his dick out and squeezing it tightly. Pulling the foreskin back slowly. Grinding against him a bit to tell him it was time.
That was when he’d reach for it. Never breaking lip-to-lip contact, he’d slide a hand back and down to the back pocket of his jeans.
At this point he could have sat up. Could have said ‘hang on’ or ‘wait’ and fumbled. But for some reason he was so, so scared of fumbling. He didn’t want to break the kiss, like it was a winning streak and if we split apart he’d lose.
With the condom in one hand he’d assume the position: face squashed against mine and hands behind my head. Elbows resting on the pillow so he could manoeuvre.
That wasn’t why I loved him, but it was definitely part of it. The ache in my cunt as I waited for him to fuck me, and the extra seconds that ticked by, with me writhing wetly beneath him and sucking kisses into his neck… all of that helped me to love him.
That we had so little in common, and so little to say to each other, mattered less than the small touches that were uniquely, oddly him. The way he’d keep lip-to-lip contact through an entire five-minute fuck. The way the waistband of his boxers dug so perfectly into his flesh. And the crackling sound behind my head that meant he was ready to fuck.
The way he’d always try – and fail – to open a condom quietly.
12 Comments
Oof. Oh, god. Yes. I enjoyed that.
I think you wrote something on here once about condoms being so sexy because once he’s started to unwrap one, you’re going full steam ahead, it’s happening, it’s serious, and that always stuck in my mind. That excitement, and the anticipation that any second now he’ll be pushing into your cunt…god, it’s the best.
My guy’s thousands of miles away right now. I’m grumpy.
I’ve read in other posts how stopping to open a condom wrapper can totally kill the mood, and this where he tried to open it quietly is so sweet, so considerate. Keep the mood and practice safe sex. Great!
Rebel xox
This us beautiful and somehow a little bit heartbreaking xx
Loved this. I once had a problem with a condom wrapper that refused to tear open; I tried, he tried, I tried, he tried, we gave up and grabbed another that I dropped as I opened it because it opened so easily. Lol. :-/
Omg, something about your comment was so frustrating. Like I’ve got a cigarette and I NEEEEEED it and I don’t have a lighter. The problem with condom shags is the necessity sometimes genuinely puts a full stop to the proceedings.
This is absolutely wonderful. I love this sweet sexy story. You tell it so well.
Lot of posts about condoms doing the rounds at the moment, but this is the best.
Ah, it’s because of Wicked Wednesday =) And thank you! I’ve got the others bookmarked for my bedtime reading!
Sadly many years of waiting for my ex to put the condom on, which always involved him sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to me, has left with an indifference to them. Maybe I should send him this piece to save his new wife from the same fate…. and you have no idea how fucking funny that thought is to me
Mollyxxx
Oh lord no. Turning back to put on condom like he’s doing something secret and shameful? Argh. In my head I am picturing Gollum turning his back to protect his precioussss.
YOU ARE SO MUCH FUN TO READ.YOUR IMAGINATION FLIRTS AND TEASES AS YOU TWIST EVERY WORD LINE SENTENCE OF YOUR INTIMACIES TO PLEASURE YOUR AUDIENCE.YOU CAN CREATE A VIVID SHOW – LIVING IN ME – SHARED BY YOU THAT OUTDOES ANY REALITY.WITH YOU I ENJOY LIFE AND LOVE AND LOVEMAKING THAT CANNOT EXIST IN THIS MUD WORLD WITHOUT YOU.YOU EXPERIENCE EVERYTHING FROM A PERSPECTIVE SPECIAL DIFFERENT WONDERFUL.YOU MAKE ACHEMY REALITY.YOU DO MAKE GOLD FROM LEAD.NOTHING IT SEEMS CAN DAMPEN OR CLOUD THAT CLEAR HEART.IT SEES EVERYTHING IN A WAY THAT MAKES YOU IRRESISTIBLE – IT MAKES EVERY MOMENT YOU SHARE A MAGIC WONDERLAND – OF HAPPY – OF FUN – OF THE UNEXPECTED THAT CHARMS – A TOPSY TURVY RIDE THROUGH YOUR UNIVERSE – SO REFRESHING – OF THIS WORLD – NOTHING BUT THE STUFF OF THIS MUD WORLD – BUT VOID OF IT.
WE ARE DELIVERED TO DIMENSIONS INSPIRED BY THIS LIFE BUT TRANSFORMED BY YOU – AS ANY ARTIST DOES – INTO OTHERNESSESS.WONDERFUL WONDERFUL YOU.ANYONE IN YOUR EMBRACE WOULD BE IN HEAVENS AND HELLS BEYOND THEIR COMPREHENSION – LOST IN YOUR FREE IMAGINATION.YOU ARE A RARE GIFT.
THANKS FOR SHARING IT.
Am I the only one that loves being “dressed up” by the woman?
(Some talented ones wrapped it around my cock with a “kiss”)