A Night in the Life..

I’m sobbing her name, and she’s pulling my hair, her fingers tangled through my dreads. Her teeth –jesus fucking god– she’s got my clit in her mouth and she’s biting me; my clit, my labia, my clit again. Tiny little bites between these long, slow licks and it’s too much and it’s taking me apart and it’s not enough and it’s absolutely fucking sublime.

I’m arching my back and grinding myself against her face, whisper-sobbing her name over and over again because I’m fairly sure that if any other words exist, I’ve forgotten them. But then, I don’t need to say anything but her name. I don’t need anything but her. Her. Brill. My beautiful, beloved, Brill. I love her like I’ve never loved anyone or anything in my life. I didn’t even know it was even possible to love, the way I love her.

Christ, before I met Brill I didn’t even know I wanted a girlfriend. Mostly I just knew I didn’t want a boyfriend. It’s probably a strange way to find out you’re a lesbian. A back to front voyage of self discovery. I have a tendency to do things back to front a lot, and it doesn’t always work out, but with this, with me and Brill I mean, it’s worked out fine so far.

It’s worked better than fine. Brill’s better than fine. She’s the finest thing in my life. And oh. My. Fuck, what she’s doing to me right now is so much better than fine. I’m still sobbing her name, but even that single syllable is getting more difficult, kind of beyond me right now. Might be because I’m still trying to keep it as quiet as I can. Those secretive whispers of mine, those gasped little sobs, I’m trying not to let them spill into the moans I know I’d be making if I could. If I didn’t have the back of my hand fuck! pressed to my mouth to try to keep them in.

We’re still probably making way too much noise, but I can’t shut up, and it’s not getting any easier because her fingers feel like they’re fucking dancing inside me. Curling and twisting and slipping deep into me one moment, and then doing this little rippling thing, that presses against– I don’t know what her fingers are pressed against. I don’t have words for this. I just know that every time she does it it takes me apart a little more. And suddenly I’m right on the edge.

I rode a roller coaster this one time, and there were these long, long moments at the top of the first high, slow, ramp. I was right at the front of the car, and as we’d climbed higher and higher, and left the noise and music of the other rides far below us, I’d felt more and more detached from everything on ground level, separate from it, as though I’d become an outsider and I was looking in at something I didn’t really comprehend. Those surreal details blended together, blurred and merged and added to the excitement of anticipation which was building as we inched closer and closer to the top.

I feel like I’m somewhere high above the city right now, on a ride that’s creeping towards that precipice and I’m going over it whether I want to or not. And there’s a tiny part of me wants to stay like this. Remote from the never ending crush of a reality too real, too problematic and worrying to have any place here. Far, far away from everything. Everything except Brill as she yanks my hair again, traps my clit between her teeth and her tongue feels like it’s going in more directions than are even possible as it moves over it, and her fingers are doing that same trick inside me, and I’m pressing against them against her face, and I’m sure I’m whimpering, and then suddenly, I’m there…

I’m there and the rush isn’t that tooth grinding, nerve jarring, too much coffee or red bull for breakfast, bad speed, false one. This is pure, and sweet and it’s gathering speed and I’m in free-fall. I’m dropping faster and faster and the metaphor of the roller coaster’s still holding because I’m twisting and spinning through its coils, swooping and gliding through the loops and passes of a track made up of physical experience so intense that it’s almost sensory overload.

It’s ripping me apart, tearing me to shreds. I’m fraying. I’m coming undone. I’m coming loose. I’m coming. I’m coming so fucking hard, and it’s so fucking much and I don’t know how to contain it. I don’t know how I’m remembering not to scream with the thrill and the adrenaline-fuelled spikes of pleasure and need and want and love.

It draws me faster and faster and it’s no longer a roller coaster I’m riding, it’s a wave that crests high, and then higher, and again there’s a long drawn out moment of suspense and suspension, a feeling of going over the edge. It breaks and I break with it, feeling as if I’m being scattered into a million pieces, into component parts that fly apart and reform, and every time I think it’s over it crests and breaks again, and every time I lose myself a little more.

And then she catches me. Like she always catches me. Her fingers are still inside me, but her body is wrapped around mine and she holds me, and she’s all I’ve ever needed. All I’ll ever need. I close my eyes, and rest my head against her shoulder. Brill. My beautiful, brilliant, goddess. Brill. She holds me close, and she lets me find my way back to myself again.

I love her.

I love her so fucking much.

-|-

'A Night in the Life' is part of the 'Shade of Dean' series.

Photography and writing by Danny Darke. For more information about the author and any of his other works, please visit the website at dannydarke.com Thank you!