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Sundrop: October 2024

I message him out of the blue on a different social media app because he has me blocked on most of them now. I mean, is this stalking? Is this unwanted communication? Is he just flirting with me, being difficult and playing hard to get? This man does like when I chase him, I know his ego loves it. I don’t love that so much to be honest. Pissed me off but I woke up with the strangest urge to reach out to him.

It’s Sunday morning and I had a dream last night, I don’t remember most of it. He had been in the dream, that much I am sure of. I lay in bed for a few moments after waking, feeling weird. I lay there for a while, flat on my back. This felt different. So, I sent the message because I had a strong feeling I should.

It’s been five, or six weeks since we last spoke. Since I told him he was pissing me off, pushing my patience. What’s the worst that can happen? Will he ignore me? Tell me to fuck off… Again? I wish he wanted to talk to me and just did so.

I miss him.

He makes me feel even more crazy because I genuinely believed that he cared about me. That he wanted me, had feelings for me; romantic feelings. Yet his behaviour and attitude tell me none of that was true. I truly know nothing about people, especially men.

Anyway, a few hours later, I am sitting on my sofa playing some music and reading a book. I have my notifications turned off from social media, every so often I’ve been going onto the app and refreshing it to see if he has responded. He has. I had asked if I could ask him a question. He is willing to talk. Gives me the go ahead to ask what I wanted to know.

I don’t know how we get onto the conversation about his dick. It always evolves that way, no matter how hard I try not to. This was not my intention when I reached out to him today. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about him every single night before I fell asleep and when I awoke in the morning. I’d always be checking my phone for that good morning text that just never arrived. He never had my number this time around.

His dick though, it’s always sex with us. Some primal need arises when we talk to one another, always pulling us back together again. It’s strange though, how that’s the natural course we take. It’s both of us too. I can’t blame him this time for leading the conversation that way, I think it was me.

No matter how much time passes between us talking, it’s as if no time has passed at all. Space and life itself stands still, allowing us the freedom to go back and forth as we need.

Me: Sorry, I’m ovulating

Cole: Haha it’s alright, I like it

Me: I missed you

Cole: I’ve missed you too

And right then he had me ensnared. Hope felt like a dead thing, something that wasn’t accessible or possible to me. I was always making the first move, throwing myself off a cliff despite the very real consequences it had on my sanity. I wanted to show him it was safe to be with me, safe to allow himself to love me.

I had sent that message last month about not showing him my tits unless he got down on one knee and gave me an engagement ring. It was not a serious request for a proposal. Neither of us really wants that, I know that. I don’t think I ever want to get married. However, I know he is afraid of commitment, that was my way of chasing him off. Forcing his hand because I’m fed up with men taking me for granted. I hate wasting my time on anyone. I like to get to the point.

The entitlement I feel for him, is like him talking to me, encouraging me is proof and permission to consider him mine again. I always have but I’ve tried to give him his space because I knew he needed it and time. He is mine; I am his and he just needs to realise it.

This whole situation has me wondering if this is what is to become of us.

This right here, may be the best I can hope for with Cole. That a friend with benefits kind of situation is all we’ll ever be. A committed non commitment because the word and act of commitment is terrifying for him. That we would act as if we were in a committed relationship. I can see us agreeing to not fuck other people, because neither of us wants to or likes to. That I know he wouldn’t lie to me about. That we are the very best of friends, we share the most intimate and awful parts of ourselves (well, some secrets are necessary). That he can keep his flat and his own space, I can keep my home and have my own space too.

Can I imagine living with another person now? I want sex, I want cuddles, I want to go out and spend time with him, do things together. But do I really want those extra things? Does that exist only in my imagination? That I already treat myself like a Queen, I get myself whatever flowers and nice things I want and can afford. If I do those things for myself, then I don’t have to expect and therefore get disappointed in a man not doing those things for me?

I know I am in love with him. I’ve pretended I’m not, I’ve wished away the feelings. I’ve tried to get over him and I just can’t, I’m not able to. So, this might have to be the compromise, that to be with Cole, I may have to expect and be happy with whatever he can offer me, even if it’s not necessarily what I wanted.

I ask for a picture underneath his desk, teasing him because we both know why, we both know we've talked about this before… He never disappoints, when I ask him to do something he always goes above and beyond for me. The picture I get back almost seconds later has the underneath of the desk, exactly what I asked for. However, what is in frame is his magnificent crotch. My mouth waters. What I said to tease him has blown up in my face a little. Just like I’m thinking of how hot it would be if he blew his load all over my face. All over my tits. All over my ass…

His desk has a large space underneath, there is a lot of room under there. He’s wearing grey suit dress trousers, that well pressed line from his knee to ankle doing so much to my cunt which was already wet from just talking to him. I’m soaking now at the implication. How I know he likes to be called Sir and wants me on my knees for him.

I’ve offered too many times. He’s said how much he’s thought about me being exactly there. Under that very desk while he sits in that chair and using my mouth on his cock while he works.

Cock warming, sucking, deep throating… I want it all.

I want him so much.

It’s not even the first time he’s sent a picture underneath his desk. I had talked about getting him to put in a cute little cat bed for me to have me naked, except for a pink collar with a lead attached. I had once told him how much I wanted him to have control over me like that. To pet me and keep me like an animal.

Jesus fuck me Christ

I wonder why men don’t respect me?

I mean, it’s probably a good idea being single. I turn around and take in the mess of my kitchen. It’s a beautiful kitchen too, nothing fancy but there's lots of clean and nice straight lines. White, so much white that is currently splattered with blood. I am a messy but very good cook. There on the counter, is the thigh of my latest kill.

Since I had decided to be a better serial killer, not maybe in a practical way but in the way of wanting to be the most notorious. I had hacked off the leg and taken it with me. That made for a delightful news article to read. The meat was a little tricky to get off the bone, but I managed, and without making too much mess of the meat itself. I’ve cooked large turkeys at Christmas in the past, but this is the biggest project I’ve ever taken on.

The pan is lightly starting to bubble with the butter I’ve added in. Usually when I cook meat I tend to stick to the same seasonings; garlic powder, salt, pepper and chili flakes. Those are the basics, if I'm cooking fish or potatoes, I do like adding in lemon. I love lemon. I remember the lyrics to that song I used to sing about Graham, Foundations, I do like lemon flavouring; cakes, rice, salmon, and I do add it to a lot. I am bitter. The next line in the song makes me giggle because honestly, with Graham, I would much rather have been with any of his friends over him. One friend, this dumb fucking guy who is messaging me, not messaging, pretending I don’t exist…

Cole.

I just kinda missed talking to you.

That one line from September still stings my brain and burns my resolve. I hate it. I hate what he has reduced me to. I told Cole that I am no longer dating, I have given up on men 100% this time. I’ve said that a lot, especially these last few years but I do mean it this time. I’ve been holding out for him, waiting, hanging around for him to pick me and he never has. Not when it counts.

Besides, how am I supposed to have a boyfriend in my home? “Oh Honey, grab yourself a beer from the fridge, I’m making us dinner.” I say out loud to no one, I use my most chipper and upbeat voice. I change to a lower tone to reply to myself. I gently move the large piece of thigh meat around the rose gold frying pan. “But Sweetheart, what’s this here in the fridge?” I shrug my shoulders dramatically to myself, turning around and exclaiming, “Whatever do you mean, darling?” I open my fridge and see the head and cock of the man I’m currently cooking, my latest victim, proudly displayed on a white dinner plate.

I go back to the pan, making sure the meat doesn’t stick. I don’t want it to burn. I’m not sure what possessed me to take his head, it was heavy and hard to cut off. The penis, not so much so, rather small. I am becoming an unintentional expert in penises and their different sizes and shapes. Especially in the removal from the body. Emasculation and castration, I always knew there was a difference but now I’m an expert.

Honestly though, I’m a little worried about contamination. I may have to replace the whole fridge after this. It might be easier than how much I would have to scrub it down to convince myself it's clean enough to use again. I move back to the frying pan and turn the meat in the pan, the sizzling sounds good, but the smell is a little off putting. I add a small amount of chilli flake into the rose pink of the frying pan. There was blood in the mixture, it’s burned up a little, so it looks more like a gravy when mixed with the butter, garlic and pepper. I remember my time being vegan and think, this is why. There is something about any kind of meat that gives me the gag.

Again, I am struck by the fact that I’m not against eating human flesh because it’s morally wrong, according to most of society but because I’m grossed out by meat as a product. Doesn’t matter if it’s beef, chicken. Chicken has the most trauma related to being intentionally fed undercooked meat to make me sick when I was a child. I never got over my emetophobia as a result.

None of that today though. Instead, I think of the men I have dated; Graham, Nicholas, Cole, James and wonder if I’m still wifey material like this. How I was ‘too good for them.’ I always hated that phrase. Maybe this is a picture I should have on a dating profile. I don’t have any profiles active now. I have given up on dating.

When I am sure the meat is cooked well enough, I place it on my special gold rimmed dinner plate. It sounds luxurious but it’s more cottagecore than fancy. The meat sits there looking like a steak. It looks fine, it smells nice enough now that it’s been cooked. I place the frying pan carefully back on one of the unused hobs and make sure it’s all switched off. I check the knob three times, making sure it is in fact off. I take the roast potatoes out of the oven, plate them too. Next is the small bag of mixed veg that I have just had in the microwave. Done. A nice healthy, well-balanced meal. Roast potatoes are in fact a speciality of mine.

Still having neglected to get myself some kind of table to eat at, I take my plate and a drink of diluting orange through to the living room and sit cross legged on my purple sofa. I face the TV, switching it on from an ambience scene that was playing in the background to decide what to watch while I eat. An old habit of mine is cutting my food up before I eat rather than cutting while I eat. I do that and place the knife down on the little white side table. I take a drink and then start eating. It only takes me a few bites before I realise that no, cannibalism is not my serial killer niche.

I can’t help but spit the meat out onto the plate in front of me. I can feel my gag reflex spasming in the back of my throat and I can’t eat this. I can’t. It tastes gross. Gamey and stringy, and meaty and just chewy in a way that doesn’t sit properly in my mouth. Even after spitting it all out, I can still feel it taking up all the space.

I get up, take my plate through and throw everything immediately in the bin. I put my plate straight into the basin which I had already filled up with plenty of boiling hot soapy water. The bubbles are disturbed by the plate and cutlery falling through the mountain of suds. I can feel how screwed up my face is. My nose is scrunched up. I don’t like how it makes my mouth feel.

I stare at the refrigerator knowing there is a human penis and head inside. What the fuck am I going to do with those now? I laugh! Going back to the sink and running the cold tap. Filling up a glass and knocking back three full glasses of cold water before I laugh out loud. I am falling into insanity with nothing but a laugh to hold me up.

Deciding, I go through to the living room and pick up my phone where I had left it discarded on the couch. I see a text from Cole,

Cole: I just had doughnuts for dinner

Yeah, that sounds like a million times better of an idea than mine. Thinking back over how we’d tried to get to know one another more intimately these past few years, I remember him telling me how much he loves cake. There was a time I wanted to learn how to make doughnuts for him. How I wanted to cook for him, make sure he was well fed and happy. I am rather domestic when I am in love. I quickly send back a message;

Me: I’m ordering pizza

I tell him and do exactly that. I go onto the app and order myself a pepperoni pizza and some chocolate dough balls. Surely that will get rid of the taste of man from my mouth. I can only hope. It’s only then, as I quickly tidy up before my food arrives that I realise I never even bothered to suggest he join me. I know he won’t. Might as well enjoy my evening by myself.

My routine with Cole in my life is having a bubble bath in the evenings. There are times where I use the bath every day, I’ll suddenly stop and then forget all about it, using the shower instead. Cole always reminds me about how amazing taking a bath feels, I love being in the water. I also never grew out of wanting bubbles and sparkly things in the bath.

Of course, we rarely had bubbles in the bath when I was a child. In fact, I remember my grandfather being annoyed if there was because he was convinced there would be a mess of soap scum around the edge of the bath where the bubbles sat. He would immediately clean after I had gotten out of the bath. I think I have him to thank for my obsessiveness around cleaning. So, between my mum not being able to afford those things for me, and my grandfather making such a big deal about it, not having a bubbly bath was just easier. Neither of those households had showers either. Baths only. Maybe that’s why when I got older the novelty of having a shower was why I started showering so much.

Now, because it’s my bathroom and I’m responsible for keeping it clean and for buying nice things for the bath, I can have whatever I want. So, if I want purple glitter then that is what Princess Luna will fucking have.

Running the bath, I put in the purple bath bomb that is covered in glitter which goes everywhere even when opening the package. I laugh at the mess. I really don’t care if it goes everywhere, I hope it does.

I organise myself with a drink of herbal tea; turmeric and orange in my big cosy mug, and my book. I strip myself off and get into the bath. While I’m in the bath, I add some cold water and then fill the rest of the bath up with hot water. Once I’m satisfied, I lay back and pick up my phone which I had left on the floor next to the bath with a little face cloth to keep it dry. I am trying to look after this phone and not break it.

The bath bomb barely created any bubbles, mainly just an explosion of purple that has stained the water a beautiful shade. There is glitter everywhere though. I pick up my phone and take a picture of the water. It takes a couple of tries with the lighting, but I get a great shot and just send it straight to Cole

Me: Look at the water!

Cole: Nice!

I like that he messages back so quickly but then I’m in the bath and maybe he thought he'd be getting some naked pictures. That makes me a little sad. His communicating has been sketchy, but he’s gotten a little worse over the weeks. I feel like my novelty has worn off with him. Or maybe I’ve disappointed him somehow. He won’t talk to me so what am I supposed to do? There isn’t anything I can do if he’s not willing to speak to me.

It’s only then I go back and have a look at the picture I sent him. The water looks spectacular in the pic, it’s really caught the purple and the shimmer of the glitter. In the shot though is also my bare thigh, and it’s only by some miracle that I didn’t get a full shot of my pussy too! That was an absolute accident.

That’s how comfortable I am with him, I sent a picture including some thigh and never even noticed. I sent a message, apologising for the picture.

Me: Sorry, I didn’t check that picture before I sent it. I did honestly only intend to send the water so you could see how cool the bath looked. I didn’t realise my bare thigh was in view.

Cole: I don’t mind, and I’m used to seeing your legs

Me: I know, I should have asked first though. That’s how comfortable I am with you, I just take a pic and send it, don’t examine it first!

He doesn’t reply for the rest of the night.

It’s a few days before Halloween and he has been quiet. I still message him; he tells me he’s struggling with feeling depressed and severe lack of sleep. I don’t know how he hasn’t had a serious mental health break with the consistent lack of sleep he has. I know I can’t cope with that little, the bouts of insomnia I’ve had have left me particularly rage filled. I learned to prioritise my sleep.

Still, I’ve told him I’ve bought myself some new things for Halloween because my plan as always is to hand out sweets to all the kids in the street. There is a primary school not far from here, it is a busy area for kids and families. It’s a mostly safe street I live in. I like handing out sweets on Halloween. I always buy enough to fill three large cauldrons and pumpkin bowls I have.

As much as I don’t like children, it’s because I know I’m not mentally sound enough to look after a child the way they deserve to be looked after. I do believe in the power of a safe community, in play and empowerment. Children need to be respected and safe to be at their best potential. It does take a village to raise a child. Unfortunately, the village is filled with narcissists or paedophiles. I do my best to reduce that as much as possible.

I’ve bought myself a new witches cape, a purple velvet one with a matching hat. I found my fishnet tights I had were a little ripped, so I bought some new ones and some temporary face tattoos. They look like fake freckles that are gold that I thought would look cool. I have the perfect little black dress already hanging up in the closet.

Me: You want to see when it arrives?

Cole: Obviously

Me: What would you do if I sent you a picture of me only wearing the fishnets?

Cole: Probably come on the spot so please don't send it while I'm at work!

This is how it is between us; we talk nonstop through the day to the point where he tells me occasionally, he can’t reply to me because he’s been spending his workdays talking to me and has fallen way behind on work. We talk all evening, he tells me what he’s watching, I tell him what I’m watching or reading. We talk about what we have for dinner. We laugh at each other for nothing. We talk about absolute shit and nonsense. Tattoos are a discussion now. We encourage each other to make bad financial decisions, he’s not one to tell me not to buy something, he enables me to do the opposite as I do with him. You only live once.

He tells me about his mental health, I tell him about mine, or most of it.

I go for weeks without researching or thinking about killing because I’m happily distracted by him.

Then he goes quiet and won’t speak to me as much during the day. It’s hard not to take that personally.

It’s Halloween though. My personal favourite time of the year! I tell him very specifically about my plans to hand out sweets, which he isn’t into but that’s fine. I am going to order pizza and watch horror movies all night. I want him to invite himself round, tell me that he wants to join me.

He’s a fucking idiot because he doesn’t.

I’ve given up asking, it feels like begging now. There was a time I invited him around every other night, just eager and happy to see him and spend time with him. Now, I just let myself be content with talking. That’s all I know I’m going to get.

I did what I said I wouldn’t do, throwing caution to the wind and sent him a picture of my tits last night. He loved it, he’s always loved my tits. He’s so complimentary. He’s unabashed at telling me how much he wants to touch them, bite them, put his dick in between them. How hot I am, how much he thinks I’m beautiful.

Honestly, I’m not used to an overabundance of compliments. I like it, I like it when he does it, otherwise I’m usually suspicious of it. He sends me a message in the afternoon.

Cole: I have a picture, if you’d want to see it?

Cole: I took it this morning, was going to just send it to you but didn’t know how you’d feel about waking up to a dick pic?!

That takes me back, I stare at the message and the implication. He was thinking of me this morning while he touched himself and then took a picture with the purpose of sending it to me. That he held back because he wanted to check with me first? It’s been so long since he sent me anything intimate of his body. Has it been two years since I last saw his dick?

Be still my deadened heart, is that a flutter of a beat? Is my heart waking up after an eternity of slumber?

I fucking love this man.

Me: Of course I want to see!! And take this as consent to send me ANY picture, ANY time!

Me: I always want to see!

And I fucking mean it.

Me: Were you thinking of me when you were touching yourself?

I send it as the picture comes through… And yes, there is his gorgeous fucking cock, come covering it and his hand and it’s everywhere. There are the same bedsheets in the background that I always loved. His pubic hair is as blonde as ever and my reaction is the same as it was two years ago, a year ago… I want to push my face against his hair, his cock and smell him. Using my tongue, I want to lick him clean of every drop of come.

Me: Fucking hell I want your cock

Me: I want to lick you clean

Cole: Of course I was thinking of you

Cole: And I’d make you clean up every drop

Me: Fuck you, who do you think you are? Make me?!

Cole: Fuck you, you know you want me to make you. Grab a fist full of your hair and force you to lick it all up

Me: Fuck!

Cole: Push my hard cock down your throat and fuck that pretty little mouth of yours

Cole: Would you like that?

Me: Yes!

Cole: Are you wet right now?

Me: Very!

Cole: That’s my good girl

This man is going to be the death of me. My pussy is empty and all I want is for him to fill me up, repeatedly. Use every hole for his pleasure. And then give me lots of cuddles. Is that too much to ask for?

He tells me he’ll be quiet this afternoon because he has a tattoo appointment. I tell him I want to see it when he'd finished. Of course, he immediately sends me a picture to show me. It’s a quote from a tv show he likes.

Me: I have no idea what that means but it’s cool!

Then he goes on at length about what it is and what it’s from. I could listen to him talk all day. I sent him a picture of the unicorn I got last May, the one he’s not seen.

Cole: That’s ridiculous, fucking cool but ridiculous!

Me: I love it! Cole: It suits you

He’s chatting away a bit more today than normal. I like it, it gets my hopes up though. Maybe he has genuinely been depressed, this is maybe him getting back to himself. Talking to me because he wants to. Or perhaps he doesn’t have anyone to talk to about these things and is just using me. I don’t know anymore.