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— How about your hands?
— Fuck yeah!
If someone suggests tying you up, you'd assume they have a bit of experience with bondage. So you can imagine my surprise when this guy, butt naked in his cold North Dunedin flat, gets up, stares blankly around his room for a few seconds, then... unplugs the space heater? He proudly holds up an extension cord, like one of those men on Tinder with a dying fish.
— Will this do?
— Uh, yeah, sure.
He straddles me, and we get back to making out. I'm pretty stoked to be honest—having sex this good with a random guy I met at a party is not something I'm used to. Finding a guy who's into kink and practices good consent? That's great too, even if he doesn't really know what he's doing. I take off his jersey and run my fingers along the soft skin under his pecs. He takes off my shirt and unlatches my bra with confidence—a confidence that's lost the moment he starts trying to tie my wrists together with an extension cord, but at least the way he sticks his tongue out in focus is pretty cute. The knot is terrible, but I don't care. The feeling of having my arms up, with something around my wrists, is hot whether or not it's actually restraining me. His hands press hard on my hips as he goes down on me, one three-prong plug rolling around on the floor, the other tangled in my hair. It feels good, and I'm glad the sensation grabs my attention, because all I could think about since he unplugged the heater was the Winter Energy Payment. Why the fuck can't students get it?
He doesn't have rope, but at least he has condoms—two of those slimy lube sachets down and we're going at it. Our bodies get sweatier and sweatier the longer we fuck.
— Harder!
An increase I actually asked for, unlike my flat's last power bill. The extension cord slowly loosens around my wrists as I squirm around, until it suddenly undoes itself at the exact moment he whispers that he's going to cum. He does, and we roll over in bed.
— Want me to finish you off?
— Yeah, thanks.
I start to feel sweat evaporating from my skin as he goes down on me, cooling my body down to uninsulated, south-facing room temperature. I think to myself: maybe we don't need warm flats, if only we can have good sex?