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Here's a short bit of a morning after story that I started writing a while ago. I'm going to set it free now, but I'd love to revisit it and do a little more in the future. NSFW for nudity and recollections of adult adventures. ❤️

Daphne opened her eyes and glanced at the clock. 8:23. It was a Saturday, but because Iggy had awakened quite some time ago, she figured she'd get out of bed, rather than indulge any longer. 

How he could be completely out of it with his habit for stretches but still have the clearest early bird mornings was beyond her. He was definitely putting her to shame now. But he'd encouraged her to stay as long as she wanted, so she wasn't too embarrassed about sleeping later than he had.

She'd read between the lines the night before and knew that he was lonely. Women and men still fawned over him at Rodney's English Disco, but she suspected he ran them off quickly with the reality behind the mythical stage presence. She'd wrestled in her mind about sleeping with Iggy, because he was such a mess, but the truth was, she was lonely, too. She'd moved from Georgia in hopes of becoming one of the few Black models working, and though she was starting to get gigs, she doubted that anyone in that cutthroat life could be a true friend. 

And, mess or not, Iggy was a friend, someone whose presence she already enjoyed in one capacity. It made sense that they had explored something more.

He'd flirted with her the first time they met and lifted her mood while she sat at the bar and nursed the one drink she could afford. Then, whenever he had money - - sometimes from sporadic gigs The Stooges could still conjure up, sometimes from God knows where - - he'd buy rounds for both of them and ask about the ups and downs of her career. He'd periodically find a way to ask about drugs around her, always sure to warn her of the low points of his life. His concern warmed her heart but also made her protective of him.

She also enjoyed his eccentricities, which often gave way to an erudite mind that opened her up to new ideas. That, and his quirky sense of humor had already made him intriguing.

But, of course, as some unnamed person once said, he was also blessed with the body of a water polo player. She couldn't defy that he was tantalizingly sculpted, and everyone knew what he was blessed with in his jeans. She may have been the one person in Los Angeles who hadn't seen his dick at that time, but it was one good bit of reputation that still preceded him. Then, it was just a matter of both of them being in the right place at the right time that led them to his bed, friendship be damned.

She stood and stretched. At least she didn't have to get dressed after they had slept naked. She chuckled to herself. Being with him meant that clothes were practically against the law. Her mother would probably "hmph" in disdain and pray silently for her at church if she knew what Daphne was doing, but the frenetic need to change clothes at modeling gigs had cured her of modesty. 

She went to the bathroom to relieve herself and looked in the mirror. She contemplated the purplish marks under her chin, on her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. It was absolutely right to call them passion marks - - Iggy had been voracious in his lust the night before. She knew The Stooges hadn't performed in a while, so she imagined that he took his pent-up energy out on her in the best way imaginable. 

Soon the marks would fade into her skin, the color of sand, but she'd never forget. For better or worse, she didn't have any modeling work lined up, so at least she wouldn't have to spend time and money mixing several makeup shades together to mask his handiwork. She sighed at the thought of her need for cash, and also at the reality that the beauty companies had zero interest in catering to people who looked like her.

She walked to the living room, which was flooded with sunshine, thanks to all the curtains and blinds being moved from the windows. She heard strains of Mahavishnu Orchestra surging and receding in swirls of funk and jazz, and the scent of marijuana was just barely perceptible in the air.

It was the home of a friend of Iggy's who had gone on vacation. She could tell that he tried to keep the place neat, but he didn't quite make that goal, with newspapers and beer glasses and cans strewn about. She made a mental note to prod him to straighten things up and offer her help.

She snapped out of her thoughts and focused on Iggy. He was naked and sitting cross-legged on a towel. His back was to her, and she watched it ripple and shift while he did cow face stretches. He then pitched forward on his hands and knees into cat/cow stretches, and her eyes lingered on his cute little ass. Thoughts of him powerfully over her in that position last night began to draw her into her sexy memories. Her clit pulsed in response, and she closed her eyes briefly to savor it, knowing she'd get more of the same very soon.

"Hey, Daphne!" Iggy's voice was cheerful, yet a tiny bit labored. When she opened her eyes, she quickly understood why, taking in the sight of him bent over backwards and staring at her upside down. 

He slowly straightened up, and she marveled at the fluid power of his muscles at work. Then he turned to face her. 

"I wanted to stay in bed and watch you sleep a little more, but my fucking body didn't want to do that." In another person's mouth, that pronouncement would've sounded like frustration, but Iggy's laid-back Midwestern drawl, followed by an awkward chuckle, betrayed his good mood.