The Traveller
A squeaky garage door and a box of useless things from the past is all she has left. Anna looks at the box where the swaying snowflakes slowly disappear into thin air and watches the last inch of the garage door close at her feet. This gate is now finally closed, she thinks to herself. The last few weeks have been nerve wrecking. She didn’t want to be anybody’s woman, her inner restlessness inspired her to keep moving and not to stop anywhere. With Blake it was different. He had managed it, he had managed to bind Anna tightly to himself for at least two years and she felt more than perfect for that period. Now she walks along the snow-covered streets of Pennsylvania with her box and wonders how she managed to make someone who means a lot to her so angry again. Blake threw her out the door. Nothing she once knew would still matter. Nothing of what she once called her home would continue to exist here.
The Bar Louie is opening right now. It is 11 o’clock in the morning and Anna decides to take a breath. She throws the box on the counter, dusts off her coat, takes her hat off, sits down on the sticky bar stool with a deep sigh and orders a whiskey. She remembers how she last played billiards with Blake here, how he slipped past her buttocks, while she tried to place the cue in focus. »Queue« is French for tail, the tail of an animal or a bird and is called the baton with which the balls are hit during a game of pool. She remembers his stiff limb while still trying to focus. He was over the moon to unsettle Anna that way and often she missed the right shot. Then he took her in his arms and gently pressed his excited cock between her legs. They kissed and left the bar in a hurry. It were those moments that Anna remembered especially. It didn’t matter where they were, whether at the checkout at the supermarket, in the dark corner of the cinema or with friends at the guest’s table, each time their passion went off the rails and only a brief moment later they fucked hard and uninhibitedly.
Just like that particular night when they left the bar and disappeared around the next corner. She loved the smell of wet snow on his skin, the creaking of her soles, his moaning, which she could convey like a great silence, because that was the undisputed message of the winter, when the snow rushed in and no one hurried forward, but had to adapt to the circumstances. »Please don’t stop!«, she whispered in his ear as he immersed in and outside of her and looked into her greedy eyes. Their bodies were hot and cold at the same time. Anna was so wet that rivers of joy ran down her thighs. Blake knelt in front of her and licked the juice from her legs, looking up at her. Anna came quickly as he lay at her feet and shoved one finger after another into her vagina. No one could give her satisfaction in such an adventurous way. He knew that Anna preferred to have sex outside the beds with the likelihood of being watched, when he did what he wanted, without asking, without waiting. She came wildly and stroked his blond hair as he kissed her knees with a smirk.
Anna pushes the half-empty whiskey glass back and forth in front of her bleak eyes. It was the last evening she was content with Blake and after he found out that she was seducing several lovers simultaneously. She wished she could be faithful, she wished none of it meant anything bad. She felt like a child torn between exciting adventures she couldn’t turn her back on. She loves Blake, but she also loves Adam, whom she met on her trip to London and who has been stuck in the back of her head ever since. She texts with him, they exchange hungry fantasies and plan to see each other again. She dreams of his body, sitting on it and caressing his hairy chest. How she rides him and the sweat runs off her breasts. How he pulls her towards him and throws her on her back. How he penetrates her and how they watch together as his pulsing dick disappears into her wet vagina. How he presses her nipples together and then indulges them with his tongue. How he holds her mouth shut, then changes his pace. How he pushes harder and harder and looks between her thighs, filled with pleasure. How his gaze changes and the wet strands lie over his forehead. How he comes into her, how he comes into her.
Torn from her daydreams, Anna notices a hand on her shoulder. Shocked, she let go of her glass and wipes her sweaty wrists. These erotic fantasies make her lose her mind, she can dive into them, she can bring her body into ecstasy through these fantasies alone, no matter where she is at the time being. She looks at the hand on her shoulder. She knows the long, narrow fingers with the nibbled nails all too well. She remembers a certain femininity attached to these hands, an expert of his trade. Only someone who could play a musical instrument could touch her body the way he did. These delicate fingers, every bone visible, she studied these fingers. She had put each one of them into her mouth, played around them with her tongue, just to slide them inside herself, one after another. He remembers her devoted face, which radiated so much longing as she sat on him and he looked at her perfect curves. How she danced rhythmically on his limb as if it were her only pleasure. How she alternately leaned forward and backward to feel him even deeper within herself. How she sat down on her knees to watch his cock slide into her vagina. As she led the tip of his cock around her clitoris as if it was her toy. How she came on him, how she came on him.
Anna reaches for the hand on her shoulder. Glances collide. It’s been a while since she last saw Thomas.
