Razor Dildo

Contributor: LA Sykes

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The day of the big opening. Display stalls quickly being filled by organisations wanting to be seen the most. Networking and getting their services out there. Being early my work was already done so I spied the chance to grab a smoke before the tape cutting started.

Exiting through the fire escape the summer sun bathed my face in warmth. Cool breeze lightly flickered the flame from the match as I inhaled deeply. It was then I saw her. Sweet strawberry blonde hair bobbed as she walked. My eyes took in her body. Fair skinned shoulders lowered to full curved hips and buttocks covered only lightly by a yellow summer dress. Knee length. No panty line. My blood rushed down and I felt myself swell pushing against denim.

She caught my presence in her peripheral vision. Turned and met my gaze. I caught her eyes and gave a small smile that she returned. Let her follow my sight to her pert rear swaying as she walked. She flushed and continued to her car with a confident stride. I couldn’t watch her go. Ground out the smoke with my heel and returned to the big hall.

Official announcements now over. I roam the place selling raffle tickets to disinterested staff. Wearily approach the local college stall and recite my lines as I stroll. A coin hits the table with a dink thrown by a pale hand. I follow it as my pulse quickens once again rousing me. Her.

Shows pearl white teeth as sweet lips part in that same smile. Sat behind the desk she eyes the swelling bulge in my jeans at eye level forcing me to follow her vision. I notice her nipples harden beneath her flimsy cotton and spy the flush return. Tear off the strip. Write my number instead of the office line. My fingers linger as I place the paper in her palm. Catch the dull gold on ring finger and feel my heart fade.

Move on completing the rounds. No interest. Ready to call it a day and go.

Phone vibrates in my pocket jolting me out of stupor. Unknown number with the two word scroll of fire escape.

Look around dizzily seeing nothing in the buzz of human traffic. Head to the doors finding her midway down the stairs leaning against the rail.
Descend to meet her on the step. Ether between us fires together pulsing electric. Feel her breath and cool lips and hot wet tongue on my neck sucking and licking as her arms pull me close. Lean in without resistance as my fingers run up her smooth thighs under the dress and grip her cheeks roughly spreading them. She moans quietly and brushes my bulging cock quickly fumbling with my belt and buttons. Pulls out my throbbing erection and grips the veined shaft. Wedding ring nipped at the skin as her hand massaged hard. I exhale with raw pleasure as she drops to her knees engulfing head first then deeper as I run my fingers through her fine strawberry blonde hair. She stands abruptly bending over and hitching the hem of her dress backing onto my erect prick and groaning as she grinds slowly down the length. Pull out and crouch licking her sweet wet pussy from behind flicking her hard clit and working up entering her moist pussy with my tongue deeply. Mouth moistens with her excitement as I taste with rabid hunger salivating wildly. The burning fire of lust fires me upright as I stretch her entering with my hands gripping her hips. Fuck hard with each thrust harder than the one before as we climax together.

Her tight lips milk every hot drop as I empty hard. Her juices drench my tight balls as we catch shallow breaths as one.
We dress and she faces me with shifting expressions I struggle to identify.

Want. Hunger. Regret.

Our fingers painfully ease apart as her eyes whisper something close to if only.

Breaks gaze with salt tears that drive shards of loss into my veins.

Then she was gone as swift as she appeared leaving me only her scent I still recall as clear as a December night sky.

Never saw her again.

Never even heard her voice.

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LA Sykes is a psychotherapist and published sports writer from Manchester England. Bringing a new voice in musings and satire from the inside.

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Author: LA Sykes

Contributor: LA Sykes

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‘’You will most certainly NOT be leaving the hospital!’’ Doctor Bubba stated hysterically. Talking to his patients was very stressful, triggering his self-diagnosed situation-specific social anxiety disorder that he’d diagnosed himself with after long periods of self-assessment. He was very convincing in his diagnoses, especially regarding himself, and was suddenly pleased with his expertise on the matter which reduced his anxieties in this social interaction. Relaxing, he leaned back cooly and caressed the sleeve of his suit jacket with the leather elbow patches that he wore continually in the belief they exuded intellectualism, which triggered severe bouts of self-consciousness, triggering an acute bout of self-consciousness.

‘’Why not! I’ve been compliant with this ridiculous charade to assuage my Community Psychiatric Nurses’ fears! If she hadn’t gone off sick with panic attacks she would have vouched for me to the N’th degree!’’, pleaded Stuart-the dog-shit-obsessionist convincingly. Then he realised his C.P.N. may have had a panic attack witnessing this and was caught between a rock and a hard place. Doctor Bubba may have attributed her panic attack to his plea for discharge which would have triggered a stress response in the doctor, ergo ruling out this as an option. He silently thanked his lucky stars for his C.P.N’s nervous disposition, simultaneously cursing her for her nervous disposition in not being able to vouch for him.

Doctor Bubba felt a nervous trickle of cold sweat break out on his lower back as he tried to remember what assuage meant. For a brief instant he worried profusely that he was in the early stages of Alzheimers disease and his short term memory was beginning to fail him, but this fear was quickly forgotten much to his immediate relief. He stated emphatically ‘’But you’re showing all the symptoms of someone suffering from severe paranoia, even persecution and removal of freedom of choice, more-so that somehow you are being controlled by an external influence. Because of this I will not sanction your discharge. In fact I will recommend you will go back on ten minute observations! It is necessary for someone to watch you every ten minutes to assess whether or not you are paranoid about people watching you. That’s my decision!’’, stated Doctor Bubba with an air of relief and subsequent self-conscious paranoia about the leather elbow patches being visible while gesticulating. ‘’And stop staring at my elbow patches will you! That is a covert attempt at ridicule!’’ Dr Bubba added firmly with no conviction.

Stuart-the-dog-shit-obsessionist was momentarily captivated by the leather elbow patches which he had never noticed before and as hard as he tried could not stop his face from revealing overt ridicule.

‘’Now that is overt ridicule!’’ Dr Bubba expelled with instantaneous detection. ‘’You are much worse than I thought! You’re asking for discharge? Why that’s insane!’’

Stuart-the-dog-shit-obsessionist was swiftly ushered from the consulting room with extreme despondency, not only because of his denial of leave or discharge but the fact was he still hadn’t been able to explain or express his concerns regarding the consequences of his dog shitting in public when he’d failed to carry a shit scooper bag. According to the council’s solicitors he’d been photographed and CCTV’d committing this heinous act of public indecency, yet he retraced his steps and couldn’t find the camera. As such, he’d began to reason people around him had been the instigators and therefore likely been videoing him and his dog on their walks, supplying the only source of evidence for the council charge. He’d then started to make attempts to find out which one of these vindictive bastard neighbours it was, to no avail. An innocent chat with his C.P.N about this and he was here, due to her anxiolitic proclivities. The terrifying problem was that Stuart-the-dog-shit-obsessionist had never been paranoid before, nor was he obsessed by dog shit and became increasingly depressed by being regarded as an obsessionist about his dog shitting. He had a C.P.N only because he’d had a depressive period in the past and was as such humouring a follow up. This worried him immensely and the dilemma was neither being addressed, nor seen in true light. It was beginning to evolve into his ball and chain of insanity according to the labile doctor with the bizarre overtly ridiculous elbow patches. Stuart retired to his room, his agitation increasing cold hard fear by the ten minute intervals he saw staff checking whether he was paranoid about being watched by people by watching him every ten minutes.

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LA Sykes is a psychotherapist and published sports writer from Manchester England. Bringing a new voice of satire and musings from the inside.

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.