He made a recklessly sharp turn in front of a car and she squealed, hands up in front of her face.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn his head. Grinning at her. The desired effect. They’d fucked a lot but barely knew each other.

Feel me.

She moved his hand from her thigh to inside her loose cotton pants. Delighted in his sharp intake of breath when he felt how wet she was. Soaking his fingers as he pushed them slowly inside her, eyes back on the road.


I want you badly.

Are we ever going to be able to see each other again?…I’m obsessed by the thought.

He’d sent the message at the beginning of September and she’d stared at it near daily for almost two months before replying. Calling him one night as if in a trance, setting off the inevitable end of her marriage. He wanted to come to her then, but she denied him, invited friends to her hotel to stop herself.

Now, in mid-November she stood outside his door with a shattered heart. Longing for the drug that would dull her pain just as it had three and a half long years before. Him.

I would do anything to fuck you again…You can have me, whenever, wherever, however you want. You’re my vice.

How her blood had thumped reading his messages over the last fortnight, hearing his voice on the phone as if in her ear whilst inside her. The things he’d said! He was fearless. All she needed was to surrender into him and be entirely devoured.


Usually cautious, today reckless and numb.

She was oblivious to everything except her hunger. Wild with it. It was between sex and grief, and her choice was sex. They were at the mouth of Toohey Forest, the cars of Griffith uni students strewn untidily everywhere. The beginning of the upward trek to campus.

Pull over. There.

She climbed into the back seat and he paused at the open door. Standing long enough for her to release his cock, hard, from his fly and swallow it. She tasted the faintest acridity of urine, he hadn’t showered from work and today she didn’t even care. The familiar sound of his groan set her on fire. Her eyes were closed – she jumped as he bent forward suddenly to stroke a flat tongue over her clit and into her. Strong worker’s hands pinning her down where thigh met hip. Eating her like he’d eat food if he were hungry. With relish and not a hint of hesitation. Slowly. 


Come in

He called out, but she stood frozen with a bottle of expensive gin in her hand until he opened the door. Suddenly she was so unbearably anxious she could hardly stay upright. Her throat was tight. She’d dressed in a beautiful silky bodysuit and a long skirt. Looking femme fatale. Feeling more schoolgirl about to speak in front of the whole class. They kissed too fast, because it was easier for her than speaking. An awkwardness sat heavy in her gut.

It’s been a long time.

Yeah. It has.

I’m not sure we could ever live up to that day.

His reply crushed her a little.

Maybe we can’t.


He fucked her from behind. Pants pulled half off, bra shoved up to expose her breasts. Flipped her over onto her back. Her mouth open in rapture, head thrown back. He was smiling at her pleasure, sawing slowly in and out of her. Making her wait just the tiniest fraction of time for each deep stroke. He was beautiful, golden skin in the midday light. As she started to shake from within, grasping him deep, he paused. Raised an eyebrow. Inside her to the hilt.

Uh uh. You can wait and come with me.

At this she bit into her wrist to stifle a cry. She might never forget it. 


Truth and myth had come tumbling out far too fast in their excitement talking again. The barrier of the phone and the years gone by had made them unnaturally bold until they were face to face.

Now it was too strange after so much time and longing. Hard to look at each other. They’d both aged a little and it was odd. Tiny, spidery lines around her eyes. His hair perhaps thinning by the way he kept pulling at his unseasonable beanie.

The longer he kept her on the couch, or showed her around his house, or talked about the women he’d fucked whilst dreaming of her made her more and more anxious. She wondered why he hadn’t picked her up immediately, thrown her down on his bed and pushed inside her as he had so vehemently promised he would.

Wasn’t he hungry for her now she actually stood before him?

 I’m going to cum inside you and just keep on fucking you. He’d told her down the phone, & she’d felt the prickling of tears in her eyes. Remembering that long lost sensation.

I haven’t felt that in so many years.

She’d lain herself completely bare and now, either through his own nervousness or cruelty, she wasn’t sure which, he toyed with her like a cat with a mouse.

Take me to bed.

And at long last he picked her up, legs around his waist, and carried her away.


She’d somehow held back at his demand, until moments later he thrust into her one last time then pulled out and ejaculated all over her pubic bone, soaking her clit. At the sensation of the hot liquid on her skin, the sound and sight of him, she came so hard it hurt. She did not know if she was screaming or silent, or what happened in the moments after. She was floating. Nirvana. Not a single thing mattered and it was fucking perfect.


He was fiddling with porn and teasing her with his fingers. She wanted neither thing and begged for his cock. Her throat was tightening more and more. God help her if she started to cry. This wasn’t going to plan. Her frustration gave way to anger, she could feel the grief she was trying to push aside just for one night rising up, ugly and immense within her. She’d just lost her marriage. She didn’t want to watch fucking bukkake in a dark room. She wanted to feel overwhelmed by her senses, she wanted to feel him just take her like he’d promised. What the fuck was going on?

Furious, she turned around and tried to take his cock down to her tonsils. But her throat snapped shut with emotion. She vomited in her mouth. Mortified, she ran to the bathroom and stared at her reflection in disbelief.


She’d gotten in her old Toyota and driven to her weekend class, making it in just a little after lunchtime had ended. Cleaning herself up in the toilet, her head swimming and her exterior dead calm. She could still feel where he’d been inside her. She could still feel his hands hard on her hips and his lips on hers.


The sex had been abandoned and he held her close. Her head was against his chest. It was intimate but she felt like a cat being restrained. Intense hurt made her want to squirm away. She wore one of his t-shirts. There was no way she was putting that bodysuit back on. He kissed the top of her head tenderly.

I know you’re angry I don’t have you up against that wall right now.


Can’t you relax with a man without having an orgasm?


The truth often hurts. He might have been right but he was also cruel. He’d promised her a gate back to nirvana and delivered her nothing but regret.

They could never have that moment in the forest again…and now it wasn’t a perfect memory anymore.


She went back to her marriage. He messaged her until she blocked his texts. She could not be trusted. Sometimes when she drove past Toohey Forest her hands gripped the wheel, hard. She would pull up at school and stare at his number in her phone. He lived close by.

I’m sorry it caused trouble for you, but I’m not sorry it happened. He wrote to her once.

Sometimes, if she was away from home, she’d play an old video on her phone of them fucking. Instead of watching it, she’d put her headphones on and just listen. He’d been inside her in the footage, groaning fuck yes. His gravelly voice full of hunger.

Later, she had deleted it. Instantly regretted it.


She felt him fall asleep spooning her, then slid out of his grasp and called an Uber. She kissed him goodbye and he half woke up, kissing her back.

Don’t let this be the last time.

I don’t feel like I can ask.

He seemed more awake for a moment,

You can…..You can.

She knew that despite his request, he’d never pursue her again. It was done.

 Her Uber driver was a spunky gay guy in his late 30’s wearing a spotless white suit.

How’s your night babe?

Fucking weird. The bitterness in her voice shocked her, heard out loud.

Oh, why’s that?

The answer sprung from her forcefully, she felt her face twist into a strained smile.

I waited almost four years for that fuck, and all I got was this fucking t-shirt.

 She was ripped wide open inside. Instead of a bandaid, she’d got a gaping new wound.


— Photography by Emma Salmon – The Blacklight Sydney —