My boyfriend and I watched reality TV together like it was a tantric ritual. We’d sit in opposing parts of the room, switching between spread-eagled slumps and seating positions, pulled out of the couch Karma Sutra. We’d split a bottle of wine, and only cutlery free friendly meals.
Like every couple that was deeply in love for years, we’d hit a standstill, and reality TV romance was our saviour.
One evening was different – I came to the couch expecting a rose ceremony, and instead found a black box where my boyfriend usually sat.
“Out for the evening – enjoy tonight’s ep.”
He had a way of strolling into a room and demanding a presence, but my boyfriend, sadly, hadn’t a way with words.
“Will you accept this toy?” it continued.
Nestled between the folds of black tissue paper, was a mix of silk and silicone – a black thong to be exact, and a dainty toy, crafted for curiosity. I slipped the thong on immediately, allowing the gentle kiss of the fabric to slide its way up along my thighs. The silky texture reminded me of the way he’d pour a bit of his wine every other week on my leg, and race the running liquid with his tongue, carefully engulfing each drip before it stained the couch.
Holding the toy and television remote in either hand, I turned both of tonight’s entertainment on, setting one of the coffee table and the other between my legs. I felt a pulse at 7:30pm exactly, unsure of where the sensation had really come from.
The ceremony began.
My fixation with the choreographed romance was instant, mesmerised by the gowns, the roses, the feigned promise of eternal love. I could feel my heart racing as they ushered the participants in, and, as if timed specifically, a gentle buzzing began between my legs. A silent sensation crept over my body, unparalleled to the usual excitement I feel for these rose ceremonies. As the music crescendoed, and the slew of rejections crept closer, the vibrating began climbing in pace and rhythm. I could feel a thrust of pulses between my legs, wilful and dominating as they teased every crevice of my body. I grabbed the arm of the couch and drew my knees together.
My boyfriend knew exactly what he was doing.
With each rose offered to each girl, the vibrations got faster. They increased intensity with the music, and pulsed with each step of each participant into the next round of romance. My chest was heaving by the time they were down to the final two, a pool of pleasure forming between my legs, as the TV suddenly shut.
My boyfriend appeared, completely clad in a suit and clutching a rose.
Without a word, he gently removed the toy from between my legs, replacing it with his fingers and tongue at the same vigour. He unbuttoned my top with his free hand, lacing his fingers through my clenched fists and he licked between my thighs, and held me until I stopped quivering.
Nuzzling my neck on the couch, he whispered gently, “sorry for interrupting the show.”
I didn’t even care who was sent home.
WRITTEN BY GLORIA COLLINS
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