One reason I so enjoy coming inside a lover is the knowledge that my comestaysinside them. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes hours, sometimes days.
Even after I pull out, some living part of me – a little surge of warm, active cells – remains buried in their body.
Most of it drips out. Or is washed out, if that’s part of their postcoital ritual. But I like the thought of it thinning inside them, then oozing out over the course of a couple of hours, staining their underwear.
Maybe I’ve left them by the time it drips out of their body. Maybe they’re out shopping, or at the pub, or at work when they feel a heavy droplet of something move in their cunt.
Maybe they’re getting dressed. Maybe they’re touching themselves. Maybe they find their body slippery with a wetness that didn’t come from them.
Sperm can live for up to five days in the warm, wet environment of a cunt. Even after most of my come has been expelled, some microscopic quantity remains. Impossible to perceive, but it is there – inside them as they go to work, sleep, prepare their meals, read before bed.
They are just cells. And they are doomed, of course. But they are a part of me. And it is innately pleasurable to think of them still there, still swimming gamely inside my lover even days after we’ve parted company.
