“I don’t do performances,” I say as we break away because we both know what’s going to happen next.
“Back to yours?”
* * *
We don’t touch again until we enter the grim room with its white sheets and single bed and it then becomes a fight for dominance between us. I rip his T-shirt and my jeans are undone before I even notice because my eyes and hands are too full with the bareness of his chest.
I’m not a whore. Not anymore.
The days of fucking anyone and anything have gone and I wouldn’t return to them, but I understood from being seventeen that gender was a preference that you didn’t have to have. Women, men – you could find pleasure when you needed it and beauty and sex and what was erotic could be found in the moment.
Isaac’s down on his knees and I’m backing myself onto the bed, my jeans and underwear lost somewhere on the floor. He takes my cock in his mouth and starts to blow me off, a little rough, a lot hard. His hand grabs my balls, pulling and gripping, prolonging any orgasm that might build.
I feed my hands through his hair and move his head in a rhythm I like, tugging and pulling, telling him al the dirty things I could do to him and then what I’d done to Blair.
He looks up, his mouth leaving my cock. “Who’s going first?”
Then I’m pulling him down so his mouth’s on mine, my hands then slipping down to his jeans which are already undone. I push them away, his underwear with them and wrap my hand around his cock that’s engorged, pre-cum at the tip. Three stokes has him groaning and I realise that I’m going to have to move to find what we need.
“Condoms. And lube.”
He looks at me with eyes heavy with need and dirt, because there’s nothing sweet about this.
“Pass.”
I rummage in my wallet, find a condom and a sachet of lube. He takes them and his mouth battles with mine until I decide that I don’t want to win this fight, letting him push me to the bed.
It’s been a year or two since I’ve been fucked. Before Blair there had been women, several, and few threesomes, but not this.
Isaac sheaths himself, pumps his cock and I lie pliant, watching. He drizzles the lube on himself and then on the crack of my ass as I shift my legs to open myself up.
“You thinking of me or Blair right now?” His voice is low and deep, crackling.
“Both of you. What she’d look like if she was watching.”
He pushes in, not giving me time, not needing to and I feel what it’s like to have him in me, touching points that are never spoken of.
I don’t come or touch myself, watching him instead, telling him things that are obscene and make him groan even more. As soon as he’s come I switch, my own cock throbbing and hard, needy and I feel raw as I push him to flip over, wanting him on his stomach.
I spend more time prepping him, biting his neck as I push into his ass with a finger, then two and three, the lube unopened because I want him to feel the burn.
He’s as broad as me, his muscle leaner and I don’t know who’d win in a fight. He’s hard again before my cock is covered with a condom. When I push past the ring of muscle he flinches, but I don’t stop, telling him that this is revenge because he didn’t give me time so he can see how it feels.
He comes on the mattress, the single bed in a tatty, anonymous room without even a picture on the wall. I grip his hips and rut into him, pushing and moving until I catch my release and explode into the latex with a groan I feel in my chest.
We both breathe. Hands move slowly.
We touch. Kiss. This time it’s slower.
This time it isn’t just about thinking of a woman we both want and a body that’s there to be had.
This time it’s something more.
Part Two
October
October was always the least dependable of months ... full of ghosts and shadows. –Joy Fielding
