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The Memory Collector

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“I swear if you say your name I’m outta here. I’ll leave you here with your dick hanging out.”

She had bad skin but the kind of face that formed a small constellation of perfections. Sculpted cheekbones. Strong yet graceful curve of jaw. Lips. God…those lips. Fine, dark hair drawn back with a plastic clip.

With dusk still minutes away, he saw the battle behind her eyes as she lifted them to his and narrowed her gaze.

“I want to be able to touch your face.”

She rubbed the swelling lump in his jeans, thought a moment, then nodded. “I guess that’d be okay.”

He touched her cheek and she kept her face trained on his, but her eyes swiveled to the side. Her skin was porcelain, soft but for the rough terrain of old acne scars. Nature had been vicious to her. And whenever nature decided to be vicious, there was always a host of spineless miscreants eager to jump on for the ride.

“You’re such a beautiful girl.”

She lowered her eyes to his zipper and pulled the tab down.

He was up against a brick wall between two dumpsters. She was kneeling on the toes of his shoes, keeping her knees off the grit. All the angled parking spots along the side-street were full. Anyone could come or go anytime. But after what she whispered in his ear at the micro-brewery around the corner – the way she’d mixed words with breath and looked at him with eyes bearing even deeper scars than her skin – half wounded, laden with the weight of self-reliance - Don’t you want me to suck your cock? – this was the only place he could be.

She loosened his belt and opened his pants, pushing his briefs under his balls. The way she placed that first, soft, barely damp kiss on his sac made half the world look like a mistake and the other half a bad attempt to fix it. She kissed his balls as if she would always love them more than the man. He realized she’d probably never kissed a man’s mouth in quite the same way. The mouth was intimate. A man could notice her ragged imperfections.

A sigh lifted from his throat as her tongue made a wet swipe across his balls. She took hold of his cock, squeezing and stroking while her lips parted and sucked one ball inside. Gentle suction. Tongue swirling. Coating the shaven skin with saliva.

She let the first one go with a soft pop and sucked the other like an egg she was trying not to crack. His cock was completely distended. Straining against its own heat. She palmed the ooze dampening the head along his shaft, smearing him with himself, slick in the dainty power of her fist.

Suddenly the flat of her tongue was slithering up the underbelly of his shaft, blazing a trail. When she reached the head, she traced the contours of his sap-coated ridge with her tongue. He touched her face again. Told her she was beautiful again.

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Stroking his shaft with the right, she cradled his gathering balls in the cup of her left. “I got this friend says if you seen one cock you seen ‘em all. Not me, though. I say it’s like fingerprints or snowflakes. Every one got its own personality. You got a pretty nice one.”

She licked the length of his shaft several more times before taking the tip into her mouth. His body was beginning to take on that petrified feeling – breathing almost painful – when every nerve feels centered right there in her mouth.

Her lips began stroking his shaft while her hand curled around the base, the last portion of cock she couldn’t take inside. Her head swiveled as she sucked and bobbed.
When she took him inside, it felt like his flesh was disappearing into a cauldron of humid sensation. He put his head against the bricks and closed his eyes, surrendering to the wet swirl of oblivion.

When she pulled back and let the air touch his cock, he was suddenly flesh again – suddenly aware of his own shape and dimension.

He wanted oblivion the way only this nameless, pock marked pretty-girl could give it to him.

He opened his eyes when he heard the voices. A couple getting into their car, a diagonal view on the space between the dumpsters. Early thirties. Attractive. They looked at each other and tried not to laugh as they hustled into their car.

The car never started. The couple sat watching as he melted into the sucking mouth of the girl who didn’t want to know his name. Moments later, the woman’s head lowered out of sight while the man behind the wheel leaned against the headrest with a leer.

The sky was flashing its last splash of burgundy before darkness. Her lips and hand were taking his cock in their concerted suck and grip. He was on the verge of flashing and burning out like the sky. He arched his back and gripped the sides of her face. Thumbs over the wet softness of her lips while spasms ripped down the length of his cock into her mouth.

She sucked him back to a relaxed state and stood up.

“You’re in my memory collection now,” she said.

“Fuck.” He kissed her. Held her face. She let him, but he could tell she was uncomfortable. His tongue swept her cum-spiced mouth. “Come home with me and make love. Just…make love.”

“Sorry, mister. I ain’t that kinda girl.”

She slipped away. Left him holding the sides of each dumpster, his cock dangling from his open pants while the face of the man in the car was caught in the rapture brought on by a woman’s mouth.

He hoped the woman was someone the man loved. He hoped the woman loved him back. It seemed, at least now and then. like someone ought to love somebody else.

 

Published 
Written by Frank_Lee
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