When Paul pulled his underwear aside he found that his cock was thick and red. He waited a moment, bouncing it lightly in his fingers watching it flip over to his other thigh and slowly raise into the air. He took a deep breath. Emelia was still in the shower, he could hear the water hissing through the pipes. He hovered for a moment, deciding if he had time or not.
The air was hot, his apartment had a million windows – that’s why he had chosen it. Lots of natural light, he had insisted. I’m not moving unless it’s a place that gets it, that’s what he had told himself. It had been a miracle, a spacious loft apartment in Kreuzberg was a hard thing to get, let alone one the size of his.
It helped that he had been sleeping with the previous tenant – without an ulterior motive, he had to remind himself. It was all just good fortune, nothing nasty, just the perks of being young, poor and sleeping with men who weren’t.
It used to be a studio, there was evidence of paint on the parquet floor. He hadn’t much furniture to fill the spacious main room, so he had instead left many of the old art supplies around.
Plants had become his new hobby, to clip them, sculpt them. He had been blowing every paycheck almost instantly on plants and beautiful pots. Keeping them nicely shaped and well-watered could be a tricky thing to manage. He insisted on only having fancy plants, making sure they caught the sun at the right time and fertilising only in small doses.
Then they would split. He would give away as many clippings as possible, but now it had become a problem. He couldn’t bear to clip them, all those leaves he had watched sprout, all the twists and colours he had watched emerge, day by day, making sure they were safe and happy. Now it was all getting out of hand, growing and growing, he barely had space for himself, let alone for Emelia.
She had commented on the growth, she was the only one that would. Since she had arrived at the flat she had pulled apart every last inch of what he had built.
Why all these paint cans, are you an artist? Why don’t you throw out these wine bottles? Why aren’t you trimming this plant, or that plant? All sore spots of Paul’s, all said with her trademark thin smile. She had that way about her, to be cruel in the most loving way. To throw him off-guard.
Paul didn’t have a lot of visitors. His friends couldn’t be trusted, he had seen the light in their eyes the first time they had visited. He couldn’t bear to see his place debauched like that, all those wild eyed men stomping and spilling, sucking and spitting and rolling and sweating. The houses they would end up in after a long weekend out were never that nice, they carried the stains, held the scratches, the paint streaks were one thing, but his apartment would not end up like theirs.
So, when Emelia had rung him he had his reservations. She would be in town soon, in Berlin, she didn’t have a plan or a job but she needed a place to stay for a month or so. So of course she would stay, of course, it’s not like he had a choice, he never did with her – no one did. She had that way about her, she had a way of phrasing things in a certain tone that just made sense. He had seen her hypnotise people before, she spoke quietly in the back of her throat, a projected whisper. Her big brown eyes seemed to never blink, just bore straight into you, worming through every corner of your doubt. She had a way, even when she was a kid, she just had something. Besides he knew the amount of favours he owed her, after so many years of small loans, late night phone calls, he could never say no.
He hadn’t cum in a week. He had tried not to think about it. The bathroom walls were thin and he could hear her every creak in the other room. Since quarantine he had avoided dating, so masturbation had become very routine for him, even a little too routine. Emelia had given him no room to even try it, she was all over him somehow, she never left the house, if he got a moment by himself she seemed to pop up. He swore she was psychic, she must have been noticing, the bulge in the bed sheets every morning, he had been lying so close to her one night he could feel the electricity dancing between their skin, he couldn’t understand it, it made him uneasy to think about. It was the contact, he assumed, something desperate that made his breath short and eyelids droop, like he was coming up on something. She had even started following him to the shower. Several times she would trace her eyes all over his body, he could feel the heat from her. He would slip his hands down towards his cock, shielding it from her view.
“I’ve seen it a million fucking times,” she would smirk.
She wasn’t wrong. It was a pleasure for them when they were young, to be naked with someone you knew comfortably you had nothing for. They had bathed together, swum together, once they had even shared someone, in a hotel overseas, a long time ago.
It had been so strange, back then, to see her moan that way, to be so completely herself. As he remembered, it was unnervingly natural the way she came, like an extension of her being. She had cum the way someone simply walked into a room, smoked a cigarette, just naturally, honestly – the way she did everything.
It was not that easy for Paul, he had always to replicate the same sort of routine, with anyone, no matter how wrapped up in the moment during the act. He had to lie a certain way, stretch out a certain way, breathe a certain way. Had he cum in front of her? He couldn’t quite remember, he remembered after the guy had fucked him, she had lay next to him, her hair was a mess. She had just sat quietly and watched as the other guy had crawled over and pushed his dick into Paul’s lips. He remembered it was a nice cock, a long one. Why couldn’t he remember it now?
It bothered him, that all he saw was her.
He had thought about that night from time to time, but never about her so much. The memory in the hotel he found now was eerily complete, the tangle of her hair, her makeup running. The whole room had stunk of sweat. She had lay forward on her stomach, the bedsheets lapping at the curved back, her smooth round ass glowing lilly-white in the midnight. She had whispered something, he tried to remember, he remembered her voice.
“Come on, do it, give yourself.f”
He took a breath, his hand had been automatically climbing up and down his cock. He froze, listening for the sound, the sound of the shower. There was nothing. He heard a creak, no more running water, Emelia was finished showering. He flipped his penis back into his underwear.
He moved slowly towards the bathroom door. All the floor…