Original Flashfic: Rawness.
Rawness
You were never sure on how this was supposed to go about, just like how you idly wondered whether you were washing your hair correctly, or eating off your plate, or brushing your teeth, because no one had taught you to do these things. These were simple habits of routine, and according to societal rules, this was supposed to be something different. Yet as with those simple habits, you began to care less and less about whether you had the right moves as time passed.
You were not so arrogant as to consider sexual intercourse a part of your routine, but every time you indulged in it, it ultimately appeared to be something done out of necessity and not emotion. However, that moment-it was certainly something different.
You were sure that it had nothing to do with the woman. She was like every other one-black dress, black high heel-ed, black generic lingerie and a countenance dressed up with black cosmetics. With your white dress shirt and rather pale complexion, you felt as if this was a scene in an olden black and white picture.
You were not clear on how ‘foreplay’ was defined, but for you it started with kissing first, backed up against the white hotel door and in a flash against the lime green wallpaper. The kisses at the later parts did not seem as prominent, as they had ceased to be the main highlight. You were pushed onto the bed, and it was when you became aware.
Maybe it had nothing to do with her, maybe it had something to do with her hands. Lithe fingers experienced with working in and out of complicated dresses and corsets, unbuttoned your shirt before heading southwards. As her smooth palms glided down your chest, it was not their lady-like feature which touched you, instead how you could practically feel your muscles relaxing and contracting under them. If you focused, you came to hear how heavy your breathing truly sounded and how pleasure could really cloud your senses, including the sense of sight, as her face became more and more hazy in your eyes.
From that point onwards, your mind could no longer register her existence, as if it solely concentrated on bringing you to greater heights. When you slide your genitals in the crevice between her bosoms, you gasped in amazement, not at her assets but oh god, how wet could your dick be? When you entered her, there was no recognition of female beauty in the act, driven by primal instinct as it was. You were unsure who had climaxed first, but when the high gradually wore off, you were still at the point of climax. It was pointless to prolong it, and so you finished efficiently, dutifully providing a satisfactory conclusion.
As usual, afterglow did not arrive in the next morning. You put on your filthy underwear and staggered to the bathroom, wishing that waking up could be as glorious as falling asleep.
You stared into the mirror, turning from left to right, before tentatively scratching at the bristles on your chin.
You were still you.