Image by the fabulous Stuart F Taylor
Here’s a dilemma. A conundrum. A thought experiment, perhaps? If you know you’re going to be shagging someone for the very last time ever, how do you do it? You know your relationship has to end, and will soon be over for good. The pair of you can’t go on like this any longer, it hurts too much… but fate has given you one last shot to do the thing you both love to do. So. The last time you ever fuck them, how do you fuck?
The first part of the answer has to be ‘as much as possible’, right? If you’ve been granted one last night, you don’t start that evening at 7pm, like a chump. You let night bleed backwards into day to stretch things out. Meet at three, two, one in the afternoon so you can fuck once, quickly, before settling in to a much longer sesh. An introductory ‘this is what we’re here for’ fuck – hurried and hungry – against the kitchen counter or over the arm of the sofa or right there in the hallway on the ‘welcome’ mat. Stripped naked the second you walk in the door, huffing the scent of them like it’s possible to imprint it into your brain (alas, it is not).
You’d want to have at least one proper ‘headline’ shag, wouldn’t you? Not an insipid ‘holding-each-other-close’ type of fuck, but a full-on, ‘bells and whistles’ extravaganza. All the sex toys and all the power play and a bunch of different kinks: like a montage of your best bits to mark your exit from the reality TV show that was your whole relationship.
They know it’s the last time too, of course. This isn’t something you’re carrying awkwardly in your heart. It’s shared knowledge, not a cheap and nasty secret. So they’ve prepared for it too, in the same way that you have. Not emotionally, of course, because how do you emotionally prepare for something like this? But practically – pragmatically.
Maybe they’ve neatly lined up all the different kink toys they’d like to use, bought in the snacks they know you enjoy, for breaks in between bouts of fucking. Maybe they’ve made a mental list of every depravity they’d like to tick off, knowing that each is the last time they’ll get to do it with you.
Perhaps the last time they’ll get to do this particular thing full stop.
So they pin you down while you squirm in gleeful agony, and they growl into your ear ‘do you want this?’ and you say ‘yes please’ and then ‘please’ again because they’re denying you briefly, just to eke it out. They know that those few short seconds between ‘begging for it’ and ‘getting it’ can sometimes feel like hours if you build the longing right, and they – like you – want each second of this final fuck to stretch on into forever.
When they finally give you what you want, it opens the floodgates to a frenzy. You moaning into the duvet while they dive deeply into you, each of you soaking up every moan and sigh that escapes the other’s lips, once again trying (and failing, why always failing?) to imprint those sounds on your soul. The ecstatic crescendo of their climb towards orgasm blurred just enough by the kink that you can block out the tragic knowledge that you’ll probably never hear them sigh in the same way ever again.
Remind yourself: you can hear this again. Only tonight, but that counts. This intro was just a starter, it isn’t dessert just yet. So pause, pant, kiss, drink water. Take a short break then round two.
I can’t tell you what you’ll want to do next, but I bet you have a few ideas. If you had to write a list of all the ways you wanted to do it, the very last time that you fucked, I’m sure some of you would be ten items deep on that list by now without even needing to pause and think. Me too, my friends. Me too, oh God.
I’d want them to put their hands on my shoulders and their weight on my body with my legs folded back so I’m bent in half and split open to receive them. Push my head up against the chest of drawers in their bedroom, opposite the mirror, so they can glance to the side and watch my eyes stream and my lips drool as they fuck with great force at my throat. On my side, them straddling one thigh and the other knee drawn up to my chest for ease of entry, so when it slams in it hurts so good against my cervix. Sitting behind me on the sofa, lifting my soft t-shirt to expose my nipples to the cold night air, pinching and twisting as I wriggle to follow the movements, begging with my body and my voice and everything I’m made of for another cunt-stretching, heartwrenching go. In front of the mirror in the living room, bent over and gripping the sofa and the armchair for balance as they tug on the belt in my mouth, dragging me backwards onto the shaft of their cock and telling me ‘stay still and take it’. Grunting ‘good girl’ – emphasis on ‘good’ – as I crush them with my twitching cunt, and then ‘good girl’ – highlighting ‘girl’ – ten seconds after they’ve come. When they pull out to watch the droplets of cum slide neatly down the slit of my cunt, before using the taut head to push those drops back inside.
The last time you ever fuck them won’t be one of these times.
These times represent your attempt to make sure that there is no ‘one last fuck’, but rather several. The way you know that life feels longer and better lived if you cram it with fun and excitement. Did you know that time goes quicker if you’re only doing one thing? Two weeks spent on the sofa watching Netflix will shrink to a dot in your memory, but those same two weeks spent road-tripping through brand new towns and villages will fill a much larger space.
Is it possible to fuck in a way that makes time stand still?
If there is, perhaps you will find it right there on that night. In your face buried in their stomach to hide the telltale tears, or their voice which does not crack when they ask you if there’s anything else you’d like to do before it’s bedtime. In the moments when you stand together in the middle of the living room, holding each other so tight that you can feel the other one’s bones, swaying to music that you’ve listened to together a thousand times before and never enough. Maybe there’s a distant universe where this one night plays over and over as echoes in a time loop, and there’s never a ‘one last fuck’ because all fucks happen to be the first and the last simultaneously.
In this universe, though, there has to be an ending. As all things have to end. As one day – whether knowing or unknowing – you’ll tell a particular story for the very last time. Or hug your best friend, or see your mother, or cry. Watch your favourite film or get up to see the sunrise. Ride the CS2 through Whitechapel or eat homemade tiramisu. Everything you’ve ever done or ever will do, will end. But most endings come without fanfare, outside of our knowledge.
A dilemma. A conundrum. A thought experiment. The last time you ever fuck them: would you want to know?
Would you appreciate the chance to squeeze each frantic drop of joy from the final time you’ll ever get to taste a joy of this particular flavour? Or does the very fact that your thoughts are all on how best to cling to the memories tell you that you shouldn’t really let them go at all?
Until the birds start to sing and you have to go to bed, each fuck of this evening could conceivably be not-quite-the-last. Every little trick you employ to eke out each individual minute reminds you that letting go might not be the best idea. So why not just live here forever? Suspend your disbelief, keep that fourth wall nice and solid. Take me onto the balcony at three in the morning for a joint and a giggle and a flirt and the softness of your lips on mine.
How will we fuck, for the last ever time? I think it will happen in the morning.
And so I don’t want to think about that one, at all.
I read the first draft of this to Patreons last month, come join if you’d like to hear the audio.
