Passengers - Sex Stories

Passengers

... you scream my name. The volcanic grip tightening around my length, flooding it with your release. My seed bursting, pumping thick jets into your pulsating sex, bodies both tremoring, the universe around us momentarily obliterated. How your arms drape tighter around me, hugging, my cheek against your hot skin and the thundering heart beneath. The way you stay almost entirely still then, keeping me inside you, as if you not only refuse to let me go, but also want to make me a part of you. Fuse us together. The way you whisper the word just one more time. Mine. These are the ways we mark one one another. They are ones that will not be imprinted upon skin. They are marks that go much deeper, thrumming echoes and bright flashes that will always remain with us. Inside us. I know we can't stay very long. So I just close my eyes and hold you a little tighter, wanting each second here to here to carve itself into my being. I listen to the wind blowing, swaying branches in a hesitant dance. I know that winter air still seeps through places in the car that can never be entirely sealed off. But I only feel your warmth. The tapping against your chest,soft rhythms that can lull me into sleep. Something in me almost cracks then, so strong that I almost expect it to make ...

... a sound like the snapping of a bone or thick tree branch. It's like my heart almost cracks with gratitude here. Out here in the late night,in the windy cold of winter, parked near the ominous stretch of forested land before us, I've never felt safer. The real darkness is what awaits us when we part later on, the true cold comes when we close the doors to our homes and seal ourselves away there for the night's remaining hours. The true pain is when we long for a touch that we find home in and realize that the skin we wish to reach for is somewhere else. Someone else. The real ghosts haunting you and I will not be each other, it will be the apparitions in our homes, the phantoms of what once was in each hall and room, in each displayed and framed memento. But we don't have to worry about that or anything else here. The place wouldn't really matter. Whether parked at the end of an unfinished road or shadowy parking garage or in the small space of some anonymous hotel room, the safe place we have found is a person. A safe haven in one another. And for all the things in the world we can acquire like money, praise, the facade of companionship masking who we really are and what we really want, the one thing in this world we can never have too much of is safety.