Aftershocks

It was 1:30 in the morning, and a line was blinking at the bottom of his computer monitor: //your chat partner has just signed off.// Slowly, he let out all his breath and inhaled again, tasting the spoor of arousal in the air, feeling his heartbeat slow, bit by bit, back toward normal.

The last few lines above that still remained, as well:

--That was absolutely amazing

--thanks, you too darlin'. talk to you soon.

He smiled, his eyes heavy, his lips parted slightly, his breath already finding the pattern of sleep, though he was not ready to go to bed yet. He ran a hand through his short, greying hair – not the same hand he'd been using, of course – and it was slightly damp with sweat, tangled, the slightest bit greasy. He thought about whether he should take a shower, or wait until morning.

Morning won out, but he would still need to clean himself up. Groaning, he pushed back from the desk, his knees stiff, ankles locked in place. His right hand, which had still been curled around the dwindling shaft of his cock, as if to protect it, opened slowly, fingers connected by gleaming strands of milky liquid. He raised it to his face, savouring the earthy scent of his semen, putting out the tip of his tongue and tasting it – letting just a sample of his essence dissolve into his mouth. He smiled at its familiarity and swallowed.

He dropped his hand again, using his index and middle fingers to clean off the curved head of his cock, then wiped his hand off using a t-shirt he'd tossed to the floor an hour ago, when they first began chatting, when he needed to feel the air against his skin and to be able to touch his nipples one or two times while he stroked himself. He stood, stumbling slightly when he found out his feet were half-asleep, but forcing himself to walk the pins and needles out. They were already fading when he reached the bathroom, flipping the switches that turned the light and the fan on as one, and leaning against the counter to look at himself in the mirror.

His reflection stared back, shoulders hunched a little and freckled, eyes a little bit hollow with the hour but shining, lips a little bit puffy as if he'd been kissing someone, instead of just dreaming that he had. A smile still teased at the corners of his mouth, even without actively thinking about the conversation he'd just had, and the deliciously arousing person who'd been at the other end. He washed his hands, barely splashing the water across his fingers – the reason for coming in was to look at himself, to read what had just happened in his own eyes, not really because he wanted to remove even the slightest trace that would remind him. On the contrary, he wanted to remember it all.

At that thought, he remembered the conversation, still open and unsaved on his computer, and he finished in the bathroom hurriedly. His feet weren't asleep any more, but his legs were still weak, almost trembling as he made his way back to his room through the shadows of the darkened apartment. As he got closer, the light from the screen filtered across the carpet, leading him back.

The words were still there as he settled gratefully into his chair, the seat still warm against his bare thighs and the small of his back, and he flexed his wrist as he reached for the mouse. I'm definitely courting carpal tunnel tonight, he joked to himself as he cut-and-pasted the text into a Word file for saving; of course, it was the same hand that had been on the shaft of his cock for a solid hour in between describing the most wanton sexual acts he could think of with his cyber-lover, moving from one act to the other in a delirium of desire and joy that still glowed within him like the embers of a once-raging wildfire.

Sleep tugged at his eyelids, and he slid the pointer up to close the window, preparing to shut the computer down. But as his eyes followed its path, a line of text caught his eye again:

--Pulling you so deep inside, bearing down to keep you there, moaning and quivering ...

His eyes widened suddenly as the image took him again, causing him to shiver slightly, his breath quickening. He read down further, taking his cock back in hand almost without noticing, simply holding it there, fingers a tight circle around the renewed swell of the shaft as he used his left hand clumsily to scroll down, re-reading his words, his lover's responses, the places where desire and the need to touch became too much, leaving them inarticulate and wordless ...

His lips moved, as if shaping a name, as if preparing for another invisible kiss. "God," he whispered to himself, arching his back away from the chair, rolling his hips and beginning to move his hand along the ridged shaft of his cock. "Oh god, darlin'," he echoed as the embers within him struck a spark again, then another, then a shower, white-hot and spreading, catching fire everywhere they landed. He moaned, losing even the most basic of words in the grip of his need.

It wasn't long before he was rocking forward, his hand a blur against his semi-erect cock, fingers coated in precome. It wasn't long before he moaned that name aloud, biting on his bottom lip at the end, trying to hold back the inevitable. And it wasn't very long at all, only a few moments, before he felt that heat spread through his body, rising like the thermometer in a cartoon, racing for explosion – it wasn't long before he hunched over, his body wracked with such divine pleasure, such an echo of the previous bliss, and he burst, the head of his cock twitching and spouting forth again, once, twice, and dripping steadily after until he gave one last, almost savage squeeze to his aching member and milked the last few drops from the tip with a groan somewhere between pleasure and pain.

"God, god, god," he murmured as he wiped his hand clean for the second time, words slowly coming to him again, chest heaving, barely able to force open his eyes, much less rise from the chair. For ten minutes he sat there, staring at the screen but barely able to make out the words, completely drained, lost in the dreams of someone he'd never met, never touched – but who he was absolutely crazy for, even now, when their evening was long since over. "God, I want you, want you right here," he moaned, barely loud enough that he could hear it himself.

He wondered if he would write about this later, when he had the strength back to move his hands over the keyboard.