He’d taken the train to meet her. The blonde. She’d come into the city to see her girlfriend that evening, but wanted to see him first. In the hotel room she’d rented.
They spent a few hours together. Talking. Kissing. Touching. Exploring each other. His tongue bringing her to orgasm over and over. When he entered her she wrapped her legs around his waist the way he loved. She came again. He did not. Despite his attraction to her, physical and emotional, he never came.
As he sat on the train once more, headed towards home, he thought of another woman. A fiery redhead. The one that he loves. He arrived home and went quietly about his evening. Sharing a brief correspondence via email with the redhead.
When he crawled in between the cool sheets that night his mind went to the secret place. Where the redhead holds court. With visions of her in his head he finally achieved his release. Crying out and stretching his body as he came. He wrapped his arms around a pillow, pretending it was her, and drifted off to sleep.
He told her the next day. How he’d been with another but that it was she who sated him. And the redhead smiled softly.