[Improvise as you want, gents]

It's 3 a.m.

My eyes are closed, but my mind looks for any reason to stay up. Any reason or excuse to stay active.

You.

You're the excuse it lands on.

Your laugh. How I hate it. It floats in my ears from memory. A soft chuckle. Pause. Then another. Like a fragrance that wafts in the air.

We've been apart for months, but I can't close off my thoughts of you. You were everything to me. My biggest fantasy.

So, here I am. A victim of your laugh. A fool that's up at the worst of times with thoughts of you. I'm up, there's no reason to be ashamed now.

Remember when you left me a picture of your legs with the tease of new lingerie? It was black, I recalled. You were always so clever with showing me your best attributes.

A smile, but then another with you biting your lip.

I can't help but descend my hand lower as my thoughts devolved into puddles of fantasy. Fantasies of you; because I can't have you anymore. But, for tonight, you're mine again. Mine to play, to use, to dream of.

Another flash. A black bra, your fingers visibly slipping them off. I used to unhook them with my teeth. You would moan in anticipation. As I am.

I scattered kisses up and down your neck, caressing your sides as I explored further. You knew I was always a curious man. A bite. A suck. Leave a note on your body when you needed reminding. My fingers drumming up and down on smooth skin. You used to shake when my fingertips danced. As I shake.

"Please." My favorite word. You asked so delicately; so softly. I always obliged. How could I not? When I teased your lips with my fingers, you sucked eagerly. When my lips met your pussy lips, you were already waiting for me. Weren't you? You always invited me in. I didn't need your voice to encourage me, but I loved it. "More."

You didn't need to be on your knees, but you preferred it. An expert at guiding my cock to your mouth. An expert at sliding your tongue up and down my length. You knew when to pause, when to lick, and when to suck. Your eyes always looked up at me. As if you were asking for approval. "Good?"

I filled you up. You always pushed back. Every time. So tight and wet. I needed support from walls, floors, bed posts, or tables. You needed to climb me every time. "Women are finally on top," you exclaimed. The worst joke.

My full length in you. Back and forth. Your moans, the only noise I craved. The soundtrack of our night. You sounded so good. When I slid in you, you pulled me closer. Your kisses masking our sounds; our gasps. My hips bucked, yours rocked. "Keep going."

We would collapse in a heap. A pile of two warm bodies, but never one.

I was never good enough for you in the end.