M

I decided to go by the name M.

I have been thinking about it a lot. My given name had never seemed to quite fit me. Writing it on papers as a child, others calling me by it, never seemed to register, to resonate within me, thinking 'yes, that's me.' I browsed books for baby names, those silly publications new mothers and fathers with no creativity or ambition used to determine their unborn fetus' fate. Each name seemed wrong, foreign. I went to the old bookstores to find used versions of these, thinking perhaps a name from the past might speak to me, with no luck.

M. materialized last night and has not left my head since. I am positive it is it. Laying in bed, her skin slick with sweat and the cigarette held in her lips, she stared at the ceiling. I don't remember her name, and as I sit here writing this she is most likely in another bed.

I am luckier than most, able to fulfill my lust at will, without cost or repercussions. Simply walking into an area of ill-repute, they gather about me like flies. It could be the nonchalance hiding the intense passion in my heart, or perhaps a hope of relief from the heavy, hairy, selfish men usually seen there. They can tell that I'd know how to please them and not stop until they are writhing in agony, moaning so loud the adjoining room grows jealous of our revelries. Maybe it is the fact that I love them all, the young and the old, the bold and the shy, and I don't judge anyone, for who am I to judge when I am the one craving their services. All the women hold something desirable for me, in this imperfect world, what is here, the imperfections, are perfection.

Last night will never happen again. I can't allow myself that kind of experience again without mortal injury. I will take the name acquisition as a token, a small memento to be with me for the rest of my life. She bestowed it upon me, daring me to take this chance, take some connection in a situation I would usually be quick to forget afterwards. I'll never forget her leading me back to the run-down apartment she shared with a few others with the broken windowpanes and paper-thin walls, but vibrant yellow wallpaper. Tiny blossoms adorned each wall, dancing along, encouraging us, staining into my eyes. I'm not sure how much time passed in that small room, it seemed to stand still. We only finished when we had exhausted our bodies, though we knew both our minds were still thinking of what we wanted to do next, to each other or to have done to us.

She started in her best lingerie, teasing me with a lap dance, her panties rubbing against my lap until I felt deliciously warm and increasingly ached for her. She then danced on the bed, inviting me in with her eyes as she stripped, exposing her little brown nipples, her pink wet pussy.

"M.." she moaned when I touched her.

She either chose not to bring words into the moment, or I think now that maybe that was the only way she knew to communicate. She did appear foreign, an import by a lecherous or greedy man, who saw potential in that tight brown and pink body. Whatever he saw, he surely underestimated what she could be.

Either way, I prefer communicating physically. At first she was timid, I started softly, kissing, her sweet tongue wanting to be with mine.

I spread her legs and softly grinded in her until I wanted her so bad I couldn't help myself, so I turned her over, pressing her shoulders to the bed, and running my fingers down her back, so she would bless me with another precious moan. When she did then I entered her, harder than before. I fucked her little body so the whole bed shook. She was soft and sweet, but tougher than she looked, able to handle the force of me inside her. When she orgasmed for the first time, her whole body shook, the juices covered me and I kept going. It was so momentous, it felt like time was defeated and life at this moment had a purpose. I had to give her as much pleasure as possible. Of course she satisfied me as well, so well. It was close to the best I had ever had. I don't know why we ever stopped. As I'm sitting here now I am wet just remembering it. M. That's what they will call me.