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I want to be the one whose pleasure is the focus, not the other way around. Why can’t I just lay there and take it? I am not at all a giving person. Give it to me, dammit. Give me all of the things. That’s what I want.
Me for real
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Sex is fine. I like coming, but it’s not all that big of a deal. Most of the time, I don’t even know why I have
Also me
His lips quirk, flashing a dimple on one cheek, and I fucking swoon.
I like him. I have a crush on this guy. A big one. I don’t know what this means, how it’s possible to go from straight to wanting everything from some big-tattooed dude, but it’s there. And I want everything. His attention, the words he speaks, the very air he breathes. I want him to like me, to want me as much as I want him.
I want him to like me. I want him to stop looking at me like I punched a puppy or something.
I want to touch him, want him to touch me. There should be more touching in this whole deal.
His tatted hands––black and grey roses on each one, with a bunch of smaller random tattoos on each finger––would look so good on me. Anywhere. My neck. My arms or legs. My dick. Ugh. They’d look so fucking good on my dick. I just know it.
That’s kinda funny
I am a good-looking man. Boy. I don’t exactly feel like an adult, but I am a sort-of-man. And he’s supposedly gay.
That man is gay. Fuck yeah.
Loads of people test their sexualities in college. So why can’t I? I can, I decide. I abso-fucking-lutely can. And if I’m doing that, it may as well be with the guy who started this whole mess. It’s all his fault, so it should be on him to help me figure shit out.
Jesus. He’s got it bad.
I’m a one-and-done kind of guy, and Liam here screams clingy. Fucking screams it.
The way he looks at me tells me he’s absolutely gagging for my dick.
If he keeps looking at me like he wants to choke on my dick, I’m going to have to make it happen before we leave.
He whimpers. This six-foot-something boy with a solid six-pack actually whimpers against my mouth, and the sound goes straight to my dick.
Such a pretty little thing, I think, my lips pressed against his throat. “So soft and sweet,”
“Do you need me to undress you, Liam?” I ask aloud, my voice sounding foreign.
“Please!” His hips jerk, and he reaches a hand behind him to grip his own ass, spreading himself apart for me and whimpering.
“Shh,” I soothe, rubbing my hand in a circular motion on his lower back. “You said easy, Liam. I’m going to take care of this little hole, I promise, but I’m doing this how you need it. So gentle, isn’t that right, beautiful?”
“Yeah, pretty boy,” I chuckle, finding his eagerness oddly endearing. I lean over him just to give him one final kiss. “You get my cock now. And you’re gonna be so good for me, aren’t you?”
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m gonna fuck this little hole so softly, Liam.”
This is so much better than I thought it’d be. I don’t even mind how slow I’m moving. It’s just steady glides in and out, and it’s so fucking good. Jesus. Let this be the hole they bury me in.
He just came. Completely untouched. His dick is still twitching, a little stream of cum trickling down his length by the time I lean back enough to see, with some drops already on his torso.
“Like this ass was made for my dick.”
“Are you gonna come again, sweetheart? You like my cock that much?”
God, I had sex with him. I still don’t even understand how that happened.
His dick in my ass was not something I considered a possibility.
I didn’t leave. I just spread my fucking legs and let him right in. In my asshole.
Then, like a total whore, I came twice.
but the whole letting-a-big-dude-shove-his-big-dick-in-me thing? That’s new.
Asking another man to take it easy on my ass is just too much.
I feel like a slut. But just for him.
Is there a non-homophobic way to hate a gay person? Because, right now, I’m pretty sure I hate Baby.
Best friends tell each other when they go to gay clubs.
I hate people on a good day,
God. I fucking hate people.
He blushes. His chiseled cheeks go pink, and I kind of want to punch him or something. What the fuck is that?
He’s blushing again. Like, the idea of being murdered is a little embarrassing or something, but the idea of Cade thinking I took him to my house because he wanted to go with me, wanted me, that’s cause for distress?
My prostate. It’s like the Great Barrier Reef of my body. The Grand Canyon. The Great Wall of China. Better than any of the however many wonders of the world because these orgasms? Fuck.
I don’t even know what time it is. Cade could be here any minute and end up traumatized as he’s forced to listen to me moaning through the bathroom door as I repeatedly fuck myself on this pink dildo suction cupped to the shower wall.
