Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 3

Heavy balls hung low, covered in hair, no tidy trims for this man. Thighs like trees, with the power to ram me hard into a wall, hold me still, and fuck me to China.
    When my gaze finally skittered to meet his, I saw he was laughing at me. It was a good laugh, I thought. Pleased with my reaction. He straddled me again. Licked his hand, lined up our dicks and began to pump. After a minute, he rolled us onto our sides, hooking one of those fantastic legs around me. I twisted away—grabbed the lube and a condom from my bedside drawer and dropped them between us. Ever hopeful.
    Fuck me.
    He tossed the condom behind him, but took the lube. I squinted at that. I don't care how fucking dom-y a guy is, he uses the glove. Hell, I don't even blow without one, not any more. I took statistics—got a fucking A. And that was before I sucked off the TA.
    Right. Point is, I know that as much of a cock-slut as I am, I either glove or take the bullet someday.
    Tomás must've felt me tense, because he shushed me and said, "Don't worry. I didn't lose it."
    So okay, yeah. I'd see where this went. But damn, did I want to get fucked. Your asshole ever flutter in anticipation? Okay, well yeah. Mine neither. But it tried.
    "I want to smell you ," he said. He dug his nose into my hair. Dude. The hair on my scalp. And he sniffed. It took me a second to remember what that comment followed from. "Nobody else, just Erik. That's what I came for."
    What the hell?
    "Should I shower?" I figured, okay, maybe the guy was jealous, but he was pretty cool about it if so, and damned if that didn't turn me on. So controlled. Not angry or frantic, just a matter-of-fact 'you belong to me' sort of possessiveness.
    I know—that's fucked up, right? Viv would tell me to get my head out of my ass. I ain't done it yet, must like it dark.
    But he said, "No. This is good. Just a little...stained."
    Okay. I'm telling you—if I hadn't been so side-swiped and horny, I'd have laughed at that. As it was, I remember thinking: Oh yeah. This guy has candles in his house. Not just candles, but candles. Of special colors and flavors, and quartz crystals hanging from windows. And the flowerpot at the north end of the room—or was that supposed to be South? His shelves would be artfully arranged books on modern Buddhism and he'd have one of those pretty-ass gongs on the mantle, and his kitchen full of teas made out of flower petals.
    But he got me thinking. Because you know, Tomás had this aroma about him—all Tomás, and on some level, I'd already realized it. Was coming to recognize it. Smelled it last night, and when he greeted me this morning. And now, nose at his ear, up close. Male, yes, sweat all his own, his warm breath. Sunshine on warm sand, salt air and ocean. All of this. I don't mean that he was like, a walking perfumery. Just—I'd never really taken the time to notice crap like that before. I noticed it with him. Thought I could drown in that smell.
    Okay. So to put you back in that space. All that thinking took an instant, and what was going on was, there I was, all pumped and ready for action, rubbing my dick against him like a frantic dog, and Tomás...
    Tomás slowed down.
    Just sort of took me in hand (as it were) and made me wait. Made me jitter inside my skin, more like, the way his lips traced over my throat, tongued the pulse at my jugular. The way one hand, slick now with lube, held our dicks tight and close and stroked, like a bass drum, while the other hand danced over my skin, fingertips along my collarbone, making my nipples sing. And Jesus, when he kissed me this time, it was easy—licking along my lower lip, breathing slow, nipping, tracing my teeth with his tongue.
    I came like that. And you wouldn't think it, but it was one of the best of my life—stealing my breath, racking my whole body. He came, too, right after me. Following me over that breaker, mouth to mouth, breathing each other's air.
    Scared the crap out of me. Because, you know. I have to keep shit in mind. Remember who I am, not get ideas.
    I don't recall much after that. A cool, damp towel as I drifted off. Felt good, being cleaned up like that.
    When I woke up... Yeah. You've heard this story before. Noon. Sun burning hot through my window. Sheets damp with sweat.
    He was gone.
    But that was okay. Because I got it, you know. And it was better this way. Not letting my hopes get up.
    He'd done me a favor.
    ****
    Sunday was my day off. I washed the sheets. Other laundry.