My whole body jolts forward, the top of my head touching the headboard, but I steady myself quickly, coming back up on my hands. I push back immediately and arch my back.
“More,” I egg him on.
It still hurts, but it’s the good kind of pain. A discomfort that is big enough to eclipse any other kind of niggling displeasure or annoyance – like my many, many intrusive thoughts or my worries about what exactly is happening with Marcello. I’m not thinking about cleaning or counting. I’m only feeling. The sting, yes, but also the pressure and the slide of Marcello’s thrusts teasing over my prostate and that undeniably grounding feeling of being completely full. And he really does fill me up. Every time his groin presses up against me, his hips banging into my backside and his balls hitting my perineum, I feel so very, very full and I can’t help but close my eyes and cherish it, try to commit it to memory.
“Jesus, so tight.” He grunts from behind me. “I’d forgotten how good this feels.”
That comment brings back my worries like a rolling wave crashing on the beach. Because of course he’s not experiencing what I am. Yes, this is a first for Marcello – penetrating a man – but he’s done anal before. He’s fucked before. Other people have been just as hot and tight as he told me I was. I am not special. I am not the guy in his swimming club.
“Tell me it feels good to you too.” Marcello leans lower, close enough that his stomach presses against my lower back, warm and soft and hairy. I close my eyes against how intimate it feels.
“It feels good,” I tell him because to say anything else would be an outrageous lie.
In this position, his thrusts become shorter and shallower, but he’s inside me so deep and this angle has him pushing up a little more, meaning he’s rubbing against my prostate with every slide in and out.
Turning my head over my shoulder, I look up at Marcello. More of his hair has fallen out of place and it stripes his face which is pulled tight in a half-frown, half-look of transfixation, like he’s been taken over by someone or something. He looks up, his chin on my back and our eyes meet.
And it’s devastating.
He smiles proudly at me, like he can’t believe he’s doing what he’s doing, and I wish I hadn’t turned around. I wish I’d buried my face in the pillow and just enjoyed the physical sensations on their own. I wish I’d just buried whatever other connection I was desperate to feel. But now his eyes are holding mine and I’m smiling back at him and…
Oh, fuck. His hand reaches around to touch my dick.
He grips it, hard. He doesn’t stroke it but with his measured shallow thrusts, there’s still movement, the top of my foreskin skirting over my sensitive head that I just know is red and dripping on my sheets.
Sheets I’ll wash three fucking times after this, because if I don’t, it will never happen again.
And I want this to happen again. God, I want this to happen again and again and again.
“Fuck, baby, I don’t know if I can hold back,” Marcello says and he’s so much closer, his body pressed against mine, that his deep voice rumbles through my ribs.
“Don’t hold back,” I tell him.
“But I want you to come,” he says but then straightens up. “Wait. Is that even possible? Can you come like this?”
“Sometimes,” I reply, although a more accurate answer would be, “Not often.”
“Well, then I want to see.”
“What?”
“I want to watch you come. I liked that, last week. Watching you come all over yourself and my hand. I thought about that a lot this week.”
“So you want me on my back?”
“Yeah, I guess. Like missionary. Is that doable?”
“It’s doable,” I say as neutrally as I can without adding, “and likely going to destroy me.”
When Marcello pulls out of me, I feel empty. But then I’m rolling over underneath him, and he’s sitting back on his heels, knees bent and stroking his slick latex-covered dick. He reaches for more lube.
“I don’t think you need my lessons anymore,” I say nodding at him squeezing more lube out of the tube. “You know exactly what to do.”
Marcello smiles down at his hand as it pumps his cock. Then he flashes me the kind of smile that physically hurts me and he looks straight into my eyes. “But what if I want more lessons? With you?”
I open my mouth to reply but in a single movement, Marcello has pushed my knees back, tilted my ass up and is sliding himself back inside me.
We grunt together in perfect unison.
