The morning after

Five in the morning and the city is quieter than I imagined it would be. I guess even New Orleans needs to sleep. The drive back from Mid-City feels endless, slow despite the lack of traffic, red light after red light, stop signs popping out of nowhere to remind me how late it is. How guilty I feel.

A street sweeper moves slowly down Canal Street, dirty fluorescent jacket tied around his waist, pushing the dregs of last night’s sins into the gutter. I watch him from the backseat of my Uber, still wearing the mesh top, the pink lurex catching the first gray light.

The driver steals quick glances at me through the rearview mirror, silent. I wonder if he knows I’m clenching for dear life, lest Chase’s loads seep out of my jockstrapped ass directly onto his fake leather banquette.

The whole fucking street will be clean before the light turns green. My mind flashes back between G, sleeping in our hotel bed, and Chase, pinning me against his bed. I wanted to stay there, I really did. I wanted to suck his cock for breakfast, to let him shower me and make me coffee.

I can still smell his Axe shower gel on my skin, still taste his sweat and his spit. He’s everywhere on me, so present he could be sitting next to me, waiting for the light to turn green.

The hotel lobby is empty except for the night manager, a young guy with the particular exhausted look of someone two hours from the end of an endless shift. He looks up when I push through the revolving door and takes me in with a quick smile.

“Breakfast won’t open for another hour, but I can get you some coffee if you’d like.”

“That’s all right, thank you,” I say. Somehow his shirt is still perfectly pressed. I feel the sudden urge to hang around with him for a while, crack open a bottle of whiskey and ask his opinion on my recent choices. Nah. “What I need is proper clothes and some shut-eye.”

The elevator takes so long that I sink into one of the lobby’s leather armchairs, the kind that’s been distressed on purpose, aged by a factory in Guangzhou to look like it survived the Civil War. The whole lobby has been renovated to within an inch of its life to look like a set from a TV version of Interview with the Vampire, all painted leather headboards and fake old books arranged by color on built-in shelves.

Someone taped the faux-brick wallpaper peeling behind The Complete Works of Charles Dickens in six matching burgundy volumes.

I slide the key card in and carefully crack open the door, trying very hard not to make noise. With the AC off, his light, rhythmic snores bounce around the stuffy room.

G left the blackout blinds up and the city bleeds through those awful lace curtains, a parking neon sign slowly blinking on the other side of the street. He’s on his back, naked and looking away from me, the sheets twisted around his waist the way they always are when he sleeps alone.

He’s gorgeous. Even now, even like this. Especially like this.

I should shower, brush my teeth, and drink several glasses of water but I dump my clothes on the floor and slide into bed behind him. I spoon him, feel his chest rise and fall in my arms. My hand travels down to feel his soft, sleeping penis and cup his balls. I’m hard again.

I kiss the back of his neck, his shoulder, work my way down his spine while he sleeps. He doesn’t stir. I pull the sheets back slowly and kiss the small of his back, the curve of his ass. Still nothing, just the slow rhythm of his snores.

I take him in my mouth, soft and warm, and just hold him there for a moment. Breathing him in. Tasting him, trading one sweat for another, more comforting one. Finding my way back.

He starts to get hard before he starts to wake. I feel it happening slowly, the shift from sleep to something else, his body deciding before his mind does. A small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a yawn. His hand finds my hair without looking, resting there the way Chase’s did, except lighter. Familiar.

“Mmh.” Another yawn. His hips shift slightly. “What time is it?”

I don’t answer. He doesn’t really want to know.

He’s fully hard now and fully awake, or close enough. I look up and find him looking down at me, his golden hair everywhere, eyes soft with sleep and something else.

“Welcome back,” he says. “How was your night?”

“Still going on,” I say. “Yours?”

“Uneventful. Until now,” he smiles.

I turn my attention back to his incredible cock, my head resting on his stomach, giving him pleasure without a show. I know where to lick, how to take him without gagging despite his size.

I rearrange myself without letting go of him. Head down, ass up, close enough that his hand doesn’t have to look for me. He finds his way up my thigh, my ass, my hole. I hold my breath for a second, hoping he’ll do what he always does. Two fingers make their way inside me.

“Someone’s been a bad boy,” he says, pushing his fingers deeper.

My cock starts leaking before his sentence is over. We never share details, but sometimes it’s good to feel seen. I don’t answer, just nod around his cock.

His fingers slow, then stop. I look up, chin resting on his hip. He’s watching me, calm and amused. Definitely turned on. He holds his fingers out toward my face, an inch from my lips.

“Lick him,” he says.

I do. I taste Chase and lube and the whole long night, as G watches every second of it, his cock hard against my cheek.

“I love you,” he says, before pushing his fingers deeper down my throat. I feel his cum on my cheek before I can say it back.

Next week, on The Sexistentialist: our final night in New Orleans takes us in bed with another couple…

Photos by Julia Sakelli (@juliasakell) and Matteo Milan (IG: matteo__milan__)