Life is so fucking complicated, but this isn’t. It’s simple. I understand it. He understands it. Can’t we focus on that? I know that’s irresponsible, yet Jesse makes me want to be totallyselfish.
What does it matter if I do that just for a little while, which is all we haveanyway?
We shower, and this time, I don’t try to push him under another showerhead. In fact, I find I have a hard time keeping my hands offhim.
“Look at that,” he says, tapping my dicklightly.
I’m fully aroused again, as if I’m ready to go again, and he’s starting to get a chubby aswell.
“Do you want to head back into the bedroom?” heasks.
“Why? Do youneedto head back into thebedroom?”
I wrap my arms around him, cupping his ass in my hands, grippingtightly.
He does the same, sliding his fingers between my cheeks. I push away quickly, instinctively, in a way I can tell surprises him. Up until that point, it’s all been playful and fun—hot, mad, rabid desire—but in an instant he reminded me of my own vulnerabilities and stirred a darkness that can take something so fun and light and bring out the pain withinme.
“Um,” he says, “do you not dothat?”
“I’m just not comfortable bottoming,” I explain, keeping my distance from him—something that I can tell is throwinghim.
He eyes me peculiarly. “Oh, is that like a thing?” he asks. “Like, that uncomfortable that when I touch it, you stepback?”
“It’s not something Ienjoy.”
“Okay,” he says, but I can tell by the way he says it that he doesn’t really understand and he’s going back and questioning everything. What had been fun, frisky, and seemingly without many obstacles between us has suddenly become somethingelse.
Like I thought before, those things that feel so good turn on you, and as it seems so appropriate for Jesse, his talent for getting to me, hitting all my buttons, has finally found the trigger that has the power to warp everything we’d experiencedtogether.
I hate myself as I watch his expression shift to something so different than before. He’s confused, uncertain, realizes the limits I have, the walls I put up, so he begins, “It was fine for me to do that for you, but you aren’t even willing to do it the otherway?”
When he puts it like that, it makes me feel like a real bastard. “I just don’t do that. I’m a total top, as they say. What you experienced, what you enjoyed, it doesn’t do that forme.”
“Oh.” I can hear the disappointment in histone.
I hate myself. All I’ve wanted was to make him feel good, to make him happy, and now I’ve made things weird between us. Such is life, because nothing can feel too good, nothing can be too amazing. There always has to be something to come and fuck it allup.
I want to ease the tension. I want to try and make him feel better, but I find I am up against my own mental barriers. He stirred this anxiety within me without even realizingit.
While I’m trying to throw up my defenses, I’m also battling another war inside my mind, a series of images playing out over and over again, throwing me back to a different time, a different life, a different me. It’s a part of my world that makes me feel guilty and ashamed, and as much as I want to wrap him in my arms and tell him he didn’t do anything wrong, right now there’s a part of me that blames him for forcing me through this painful series of emotions, that has me wanting to do nothing more than curl up into a ball in the corner of the shower, make him leave me alone so I canrecover.
Instead, I ball my hands into fists to stifle the trembling I can feel coming overme.
“I think I need to get dried off,” I force out of mymouth.
The atmosphere between us has completely shifted, transformed, and it’s all my fault, because I’m so fuckedup.
25
Jesse
We were having somuch fun, and what felt so playful and frisky has become tense andfrustrating.
When I reached around to play with his ass, I thought he would find that erotic, but instead he totally shut down. The light in his eyes dulled, and he got short withme.
As we dry off, he won’t look at me. He’s lost in a daze, thinking aboutsomething.
What did that do tohim?
