Face down. That’s where he wants me. My chest pressed into the sheets below as his hands knead my upper back and shoulders. I try to yield to him. This is not a massage–this is him taking possession of what he wants. Me.
He straddles my ass, a knee squeezing on each side. I’m pinned down as he slowly rocks back and forth, pressing my engorged cock into the mattress. He’s got a rhythm going now–slow movements–he’s in no hurry. He’s in total control of how this goes.
His dick gets heavier and harder as it slides along the small of my back, gliding on the slick of our sweat and his pre-cum. His balls roll around at the top of my crack, full of what I’m craving but can’t have yet. This time is his. To do things his way.
I feel his tongue land between my shoulder blades, sucking at the sweat. Then it moves down my spine slowly–very slowly–sending waves of electricity to every part of my body. The heat ratchets higher.
His weight shifts upwards as he leans down to kiss the back of my neck, the spot where my hair ends and the nerves link to places farther down. The place he knows—the place where my passion turns into incomprehensible gibberish. He camps there with his magic tongue, swirling and sucking, sending me nearly to the edge. I’m writhing under him, moaning with no words, sliding my cock around in its own juices, aching for release. Just as I’m about to go over the edge, his tongue moves down my back again.
Suddenly he rears back, pulling me up with him, arching and twisting to meet his kiss. His tongue pierces my lips, unmistakably insisting on its right to be there. I open up to it, sucking it in as a welcome invader, breathing in his air, his heat, his need. Sharing mine with him as only a kiss like this can. Tongues explore mouths like virgin territory to be mapped. I’m no longer aware of time. Only of our want, our need for each other. I’m panting now, needing it to be over, wishing it could last forever.
He releases me and I fall back on my face, instantly mourning the breakup, my tongue searching for its companion. But he has other plans. He slides backwards now, sitting on my thighs, his hands squeezing and massaging my ass cheeks, spreading them far apart and stretching the tender skin around my hole. Starting at the top, his tongue now invades my crack, bathing it in slick saliva. He flicks it over my hole, teasing, flirting, not yet serious, not fully committed. He goes further down, licking my balls, swollen with seed. He takes one and then the other into his mouth and sucks. It is exquisite pain.
He slides his tongue faster through the split in my ass, top to bottom, bottom to top. He’s deliberately hitting my hole now, making sure I feel it, as he moves past. Finally he returns to it and stays, his tongue circling, probing, demanding I open up to it. I feel him penetrate, barely parting my flesh and my dick pulses beneath me. I can’t hold out much longer.
Suddenly he pushes himself up again and slides his cock up and down my love groove. When he’s as hard as he’ll ever be, he reaches with one hand to push his cock down so it presses urgently at the entrance as he moves, up and down, up and down in an unrelenting torture. Each pass shoots electricity straight to my dick, dripping in anticipation of the onslaught to come. He continues until I am beyond control, demanding—no, begging to be fucked. I need him in me. Now.
He lifts his ass up as he aligns his throbbing cock with my hole, the only thing of him touching me now. I try to push up with my ass to hurry the invasion but he slaps it hard and pushes me down again. He is in control. I agreed to this. I struggle to submit.
He slowly relaxes his weight, a millimeter at a time and his cock begins pressing on my hole, wanting in. I try to will it to open faster, to swallow him up but he’s holding back. I’m in agony. My hands squeeze the sheets, open and shut as sweat pours off me—my body searching for its release. Shaking now, tremors rise from my feet all the way through to my chest. I can feel my own orgasm racing along the path that leads to my freedom. My ass ring begins to yield to his advance, burning with the heat of his white hot dick. Just as I feel the head slip through, I cum...
I woke up, face down on my bed, panting for breath. My hands gripped the sheets, which were soaked in sweat. Beneath me they felt slimy and wet. I knew the smell. I could still faintly remember the scene and the sensations, but it was fading quickly. I never even saw his face. I collapsed and waited to catch my breath.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised at the mess. I hadn’t jerked off for two days, so I guess I was due. Plus I had spent more time flirting with guys in those same two days than I had in the two years prior, so yeah. I was a little revved up.
I hopped up and went to the bathroom, gave my bladder the relief it demanded, then came back and looked at the bed. Good thing Saturday was laundry day. There was no way I could sleep on those sheets tonight. I peeled them off the bed and threw the whole mess into my laundry basket. I spied the duffel I had thrown on the floor and I got everything out of there too. The suit went into a pile all its own for a trip to the dry cleaners. The rest of the clothes joined the messy sheets. I was ready to do laundry.
But first, I needed food. And a shower—I stank. When you can smell yourself, you know you’re in trouble. So I grabbed my toiletries from the duffel and headed to my bathroom to clean up. The smell of Bvlgari shower gel brought back pleasant memories of my trip.
After my shower, I smelled a lot better. I brushed my towel-dried hair–which really needed a haircut–and put on my last pair of clean jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. My Saturday outfit. The bathroom towels joined the other dirty clothes in the basket.
I grabbed a quick bowl of cereal and decided to get the laundry over with. It was eight in the morning on a Saturday. Hopefully I could use both washers downstairs and get it done in half the time. I grabbed my big bottle of detergent and a couple of dryer sheets and headed to the basement.
My building had six apartments, two on each of three floors. The basement housed storage lockers on one side for each of the tenants. Mine was empty. On the other side of the basement was the utility room, with furnaces, hot water heaters and the electrical service. I only knew because I was downstairs once when someone was doing repairs and I peeked in. Usually that door was locked.
Tucked into a corner was the laundry room, with two sets of washers and dryers. Washers were $1.50, dryers free. There was a counter along the opposite wall from the machines for sorting and folding. That’s where I threw my basket.
I was in luck—both washers were empty. I sorted my clothes into two piles, cold and hot, and started the machines. I added the soap, tossed in the clothes and dropped the lids down.
For the next thirty minutes while my clothes agitated and spun, I thought about the day ahead. First up was a haircut–I couldn’t take it anymore. And I needed to buy some new underwear and jeans. The pair I had on were almost two years old and they looked it. I now had money, and while it wasn’t exactly burning a hole in my pocket, I was starting to allow myself to think about a few things.
When my clothes had spun down, I tossed them into the two dryers and set the timers for one hour. That should be enough time for me to clean my apartment–another Saturday morning ritual.
Back in my bathroom, I squirted toilet bowl cleaner where it was supposed to go, sprayed scrubbing bubbles over everything else–sink, tub, tile walls—and started wiping it all down. Once I had the toilet scrubbed, I got a bucket from my front closet and poured some Lysol in there and filled it with the hottest water I could stand. I hand washed the bathroom floor with that. Bathroom, done.
Kitchen was easy–just wipe everything down. I didn’t cook much, so the stove was usually never dirty. I threw the dishes in the dishwasher and started it. Then I got some more hot water and Lysol and hand washed the kitchen floor. Kitchen, done.
I had an ancient vacuum cleaner, but it still worked, so I pushed that around the rest of the apartment after I dusted the very few pieces of furniture I owned. Apartment, done.
I grabbed a pile of hangars and ran back down to get my clothes which had a couple of minutes left in the cycle. I checked and they were already dry, so I pulled them out and folded them there on the counter. I didn’t own an iron so I tried to keep wrinkles out from the start to avoid looking like I slept in my clothes, even when they were clean. Laundry folded, I headed back upstairs.
I put the clean sheets on the bed, threw the comforter over the top, hung the clothes on hangers in the closet and put the rest in the drawers where they belonged. Weekend chores finished.
When I had emptied the duffel bag, the envelope of cash was still in there. I needed to hide it somehow, or maybe just put it in the bank. I couldn’t imagine carrying around $900 just for kicks. Besides, I had the two cards Todd gave me. They were easier–and safer. So for now, I put the money in an old pair of tennis shoes on my closet floor. That would have to do. I still had more than $80 cash in my wallet.
I usually shopped at Walmart for nearly everything, even food. It’s what I could afford. I bought my jeans at Old Navy when they were on sale for twenty bucks. I liked how they fit. And the price. Well, mostly I liked the price. The only time I ever went to the big shopping mall was if I needed to buy someone a gift. Then I might splurge a little. Sometime between breakfast and putting my clothes away, I decided today was going to be a splurge-on-me day. Todd said I could, right? So I headed for Woodfield Mall.
I enjoyed shopping–well, my version of it, anyway. Since I seldom had money, I would window shop. I would pretend I could get whatever I wanted and wander up and down the mall peering into every window and deciding if that outfit would look good on me, would I cook more if I had that kitchen gizmo, did I need that new electronic gadget or would the food in that restaurant taste really good? I could kill a lot of hours window shopping. Mostly I just looked at the guys walking by. If I saw one I thought looked really hot, I might follow him for a while. Not stalkerish, just casual like. A tight ass in a pair of jeans got me hot so fast. I couldn’t help it. Didn’t matter if he was walking hand in hand with a girl. I would still fantasize about what I would do if he were mine.
After my conversations with Billy, my desires were moving from fantasy, which was fun, to possible reality, which still scared the crap out of me. But the way I fantasized was just my way of hiding. It was frustrating. Like, I could have the cake, I just couldn’t eat it.
Plus, after talking with Seth last night, I knew I wanted the whole package–the full on, love-me-forever, till-death-do-us-part kind of relationship. What I had been doing up to now was selfish–it was all about me and what I wanted. But that wasn’t love. That was lust. And that wasn’t enough. I wanted what Billy and Jerome, and even Seth and Tim, had. Real, forever love.
And I was pretty sure they didn’t sell that at the mall.