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Some people feel close to God at church or in nature. For me, it’s an enclosed space with boards, bright spotlights, and water you can walk on.
“Talk to him, but be nice ’cause he’s the babiest babygirl in the whole wide world, so make sure he gets special babygirl treatment.”
As if it’s nothing. As if it’s perfectly legal to have an ass like that. As if it’s not in the least bit problematic to be standing in the middle of a room, cavalier as you fucking please, with a jock strap cutting fine lines into your flesh.
“I’d like an apology,” I say when I’m able. Decker blinks twice and his lips quiver with the effort it costs him not to laugh. “I’m sorry I made your dick hard, Princess.”
The movement causes his T-shirt to stretch tightly over his pecs, and sweet Jesus, it’s hot in here. What’s up with the air in this place?
His beard is thick and soft. Softer than I thought it would be. I mean, softer than I’d have thought it would be if I was the type of guy who thought about things like how a man’s beard might feel.
“I’m going to kiss you, and”—he takes my head in both hands and holds me firmly in place as he closes the space between us—“I want it to hurt you as much as it’s going to hurt me.”
“Careful, Princess. Keep this up, and you’ll end up on your knees with my dick in your mouth.”
“Aw,” he says sweetly, “look at you, Babygirl.”
“Look at you.” It’s softer this time. Raspy and raw. “So pretty with my dick in your mouth.”
“A dick in your mouth and not a thought in your head.”
It’s relief. It’s a long exhale of a breath I’ve been holding for years. I did it. I touched a man. I finally, finally did it, and holy shit, I loved it.
“I bet you…”
“…a thousand dollars that you’ll stuff your cock in my mouth again the first chance you get.”
“I bet you ten thousand dollars I won’t.”
Long story short, I owe Robbie McGuire ten thousand dollars.
Not to sock shame anyone, but if you insist on walking around hotel rooms in nothing but boxer briefs and the sluttiest socks known to man, this is the kind of shit that happens.
If he needs to sit on something that badly, he can sit on my fucking face.
“I thought cuddling was supposed to be a quiet activity,” he says eventually. “Definitely not. Cuddling is when people tell each other their secrets.”
McGuire and Decker - Poetry On Ice.
He cuts me off with a kiss. A long, paralyzing kiss. The kind of kiss that packs a punch and sinks to the back of your head and makes you thank God you’re already lying down. The kind of kiss that makes you think this is what all kisses should be like. The kind of kiss that feels like what you thought kissing would be like before you ever kissed anyone. An only kiss. The only kiss I’ve ever wanted this much.
His lips are soft and gentle on mine. Sweet and honeyed, a taste I can’t get enough of.
The world is still a dumpster fire, of course, and there are a lot of assholes around if you look for them, but overall, things have been better
I want his hand in mine.
I want it because as much as the world still is what it is, I’m different now.
