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You teased me about having such an old Moby song as my ringtone, trying to get a rise out of me because I still listen to dubstep and I’m hopelessly unhip.
I never told you why that song had such a strong …association for me. I never told you that I get aroused when I hear it, or why it has such an effect on me.

We were trying to reconnect- you and me, for the tenth time- and had driven up 101 to Port Orford for the weekend.
But of course, you had to bring your phone and your laptop, so it was just like every other weekend. You took a work call, and I mimed getting a drink and strolled over to that cute little art bar with the killer views. It was pretty deserted, but gorgeous waves to watch and I remember feeling almost happy. A nice Irish coffee in hand looking out at the violent Winter ocean.
A deep, pleasant voice asked from behind me If he could join me.
After very few sentences exchanged, he asked if I would like to take a short drive to the best view of the waves crashing on the cliffs, and I said yes with no hesitation.
We parked his truck and climbed out. It was freezing, sunny but with that coastal wind. He noticed my hands were bare and gallantly relinquished his gloves.
He pulled a little MP3 player out of his pocket and handed me an earbud. It was too noisy with the wind and the concussive whump of the waves to talk really. I screwed the earbud into my ear and he did the same with the other.
He was behind me, my parka-covered back pressed against his chest. It seemed cozy and natural.
I saw how red his hands were getting from the cold, so I reached down and guided them under my parka, on my belly, outside of my sweater.
When his hands had warmed up, he began stroking my flanks, as though soothing a horse, at first through my sweater, then on my bare skin. He leaned close to my ears, his breath warm and shivery…The song came on, our song: “Extreme ways are back again…” and then emboldened by my lack of protest, he reached up and stroked and cupped and lavished attention on my poor, long-neglected tits.
I moaned with pure animal pleasure, and he released one breast and slid his right hand under my waistband, deftly finding me. And soon, finding me wet. The angle was bad for his wrist, so he just scooped me up and opened the passenger door of his truck and dumped me onto the bench seat.
We didn’t fuck.
But he ate me and fingered me and that didn’t take long, then he walked around and climbed into the driver’s side, and growled:
“Now do me,” and pushed my head, more particularly, my MOUTH, where it was needed.

So you see, darling, THAT’S what I remember every time I hear the opening notes of that song…

NSFW: yes

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