Emotional fucks: the rebound fuck

Image by the awesome Stuart F Taylor

Can’t believe I missed ‘rebound fuck’ off the emotional fucks series. If you’re new to this, I’ve been doing some short erotic fiction pieces exploring different types of fuck – spite fuck, revenge fuck, grief fuck and more. Here’s some about the much-maligned rebound fuck.

Rebound fuck

You. Come here. Yep, you, with your unfamiliar body and your baggage-free conversation and your strange clothes and your different scent and your brand new cock to discover. Come here. Come fuck me.

You who are always so underappreciated, whose value is so often ignored. You whose name will be spat bitterly, in time, by the man who shouldn’t care because he says he no longer loves me.

Come here, you rebound fuck.

Come sit with me while I’m vulnerable, and listen to me cry. Swallow all my tears and then ask me to swallow your cock.

Don’t be gentle, just be horny and uncomplicated. Be a solid, breathing person who wants me. It sounds like so little but it really is so much, and I’ll be grateful. So so grateful.

It’s too much to expect you to carry the cure for heartbreak, but there’s value in pain relief too. So relieve me like only you can – with kisses that taste different, and hands that run in new patterns over my shuddering body. Give me your teeth on the back of my neck and your hands digging harshly into the flesh at the back of my thighs.

You get a bad rep, don’t you? The rebound fuck. But you don’t deserve it. What have you done wrong other than being there at the moment when I needed you the most? And giving me the thing I felt I needed? The soft words and hard dick of someone who doesn’t care.

Doesn’t matter.

They say ‘rebound fuck’ like it’s a bad thing, but you are a wonderful thing. A life-giving thing. Just when I thought I was at my most worthless, when my veins ran with self-hatred and my stomach churned with fear at the knowledge that I am no longer loved, you were here to show me that I can at least get fucked.

So fuck me.

Please please fuck me.

You are good and pure because you’re nothing to me, and you don’t need me to be anything to you. You just need me to undo the clasp on my bra, so you can wrap your lips around one of my nipples. You’re unfamiliar with the angles of my body and the clothes I wear and the way I’ll murmur ‘yes, that’s it’ when your hands wander to the places I need you to touch.

We’ll wrestle here, in this room where I’ve only fucked him, fumbling at each other’s clothes. And the eager way you moan ‘oh God you’re wet’ will be almost enough to take my mind off the fact that the rest of the room is still his. His pictures, his stereo, his week-old sock lost under the very couch on which we’re fucking.

You are everything now, you’ll be nothing tomorrow. When people talk of you, in future, the fact that you don’t matter will be all they really notice. But that is so unfair because right now you are everything. The fact that you don’t matter is your greatest fucking asset and I would not change it for the world.

So come here and fuck away my feelings. I will give you the best of me if you’ll bring me oblivion.

Your fingers, burrowing deep inside me – curling and twitching in unique patterns that can only be yours and no one else’s, not his… Your busy, clumsy fingers remind me of the past, when this stuff came so easily.

Your face – staring down at me with semi-closed eyes while I choke down the new length and girth and flavour of your cock… Your face will snap me to the present, in which I am doing this, really doing this. And if I’m doing this that means the thing that hurt me is over. The thing I treasured and loved and lived for is finally beginning to end. Good riddance.

Good God.

Holy fuck can it really hurt this much?

It can, and it would, and it will if not for you. You rebound fuck. Come here, hold me tighter: plunge your cock deeper inside me and see if you can make me scream. Let’s pant and moan and grunt together – a symphony of shagging to drown out the sobbing in my head.

Let’s work our way through your bucket list. Fuck my face, yank my hair, rifle through this drawer of sex toys and see how many you can shove inside me alongside your pulsing cock. Slap my arse and my face and my tits and do all the things you like to watch in porn. Let’s see how many times we can do it on this carpet, right here, five feet from where he told me he was leaving.

Come fuck me.

I don’t know what the future holds, but maybe it’s more of this heartbreak. More of that aching hum in my ears which will not go away until I find someone else to drown it out. More feeling worthless and waiting for him to text. More wondering how abject and pathetic I need to be if I stand a chance of getting him back.

In the future, they will call you a rebound fuck. But in the present, right now, you are everything. My only. My past and my present and my hope of a future. And I love you for your simplicity far more than I could ever love him.

Numb all the pain and drown out the noise and fuck away every single tear.

Fuck me so hard I forget he was ever inside me, then whisper in my ear, pretend I’m wanted.

As you sluice out my cunt with your come.

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