“What do you think?” I ask as he takes the first sip.
He makes a face. “Tastes like ass.”
My reaction is immediate. My dick thickens. My filter slips.
“Well,” I say, “In that case, it must be delicious.”
I see myself to the bathroom soon after that. I look at my reflection in the mirror and give myself a stern talking-to. I know the words backward by now:
Elliot is Jeff’s son. He’s much younger than I am. I’m still coming to grips with a breakup, and I’m not in the right place for anything more.
Jeff’s son. Very young. Bad breakup.
Jeff’s young. Very son. Breaking Bad.
Huh?
No! That’s a goddamn TV show, isn’t it?
13
Elliot
I’vebeentryingtotoe the line, but it’s been a bit of a shit week, to be honest. I’ve been behaving my tits off. Stuart is rapt. Little does he know I’m doing it because I’m starting to suspect I'll die if I feel his hands on me and notonme. Or in me.
That’s what’s happened. That’s where I am. I crave him so much I can’t bear the thought of him touching me in a way that’s not sexual anymore. It’s a fucking nightmare because the thing with this whole spanking business is that, for whatever reason, I need it.Needit. Now that I’ve had it, now that I know it exists, I don’t know how to be without it. Every day for the last week, I’ve been tormented by a million ways I could get it. Things I could do. Little things littered here and there, low-hanging fruit, seemingly put in my way just to tempt me.
By nighttime, I’m almost sick with desire. Stuart comes into my room each night to say goodnight. Ruffling my hair and scrambling my brain as he does it.
“You’ve had a good day today,” he says, eyes creasing softly. “Good boy. I’m proud of you.”
My bones turn to mush. Liquid that’s hot. Lava that’s ready to gush. The first time he said it, my dick leaked so profoundly that for a second, I thought I was coming.
I live for his praise. Fully live for it. It makes my head swim. Seriously, I feel dizzy from it. It makes me feel like I’m walking on air. Like nothing can hurt me. It twists me too, kinking my insides and making me ache. I want it, but it’s not all I want.
I want his soft words and his harsh discipline.
I want him to call me a good boy. And I want him to treat me like I’m bad.
I want them both. I want them all. I want him to touch me. Oh God. More than anything, I want him to touch me in any way he wants. I just don’t know if I could take it without blowing my load.
I go round and round, unable to claw my way out of the endless predicament I’ve carved for myself until I’m sure I’m on the brink of insanity.
Last night, I crept down to the study to look at the photograph of Damien again. I don’t know why I did it. I was shitting myself the entire time, convinced that Stuart was going to wake up and come see what I was doing. You try explaining it because I sure as hell can’t think of a way to do it that doesn’t make me seem crazy. I told myself that maybe seeing it again would make me feel better. It didn’t. It made me feel worse.
I’m fucking exhausted today. My eyes are burning, and it feels like there’s a vise around my temples.
On top of that, it’s Stuart’s dad’s birthday tomorrow, and his whole family is going away for four days. He’s leaving after breakfast and not coming back until Saturday afternoon. Given how I’ve been feeling, I’ve been looking forward to it. I thought having the place to myself might be nice. Luke and Jessie are coming over for dinner tomorrow, and I’ve made plans to meet up with Trouble and his dude-bros, as he calls Mat and Will, on Friday.
I’m amped about it.
Can’t wait.
It’s just that as Stuart finishes the last of his oats and explains yet again how to set the alarm, I start feeling like I’m being choked. His hair is still damp from his shower and he’s wearing a white linen shirt instead of his usual blue work shirt. He looks like he belongs in a Ralph Lauren catalog, not on a road trip. His eyes are sea blue and soft. So is his smile.
I feel like I can’t breathe.
I’m going to be here, and he’s going to be hours away. I know what I said about how much I’ve been hating being around him, and the touching and not touching, and the spanking and not spanking, and all that, but now that he’s about to go, I’m starting to realize how un-okay I am about being without him. I need him. I don’t just need him. I want him. Not even in a pervy way. I want him to ask how my day was, and I want him to dish up my food for me, and I want him to make me a smoothie that tastes like ass.
