He lands one last blow against my ass with athwack.
I never thought I’d be sitting on a bench outside a porn booth with shaking hands clasped between my thighs. Never thought I’d be sitting here waiting on test results because some rural health department decided to fund a drive-by anonymous STD clinic in the middle of fucking nowhere. Came here with Noah to have a little fun in one of those seedy backrooms, but instead we’re sitting on a bench perched between a wall of dildos and unsold gay porn DVDs from the 90s.
Noah is cool, calm, and collected. Two of those three are signatures for him, but collected is definitely not one of those signatures. This is all excluding that time he choked me on the side of the road, but we don’t really talk about that. His eyes are closed as herests his head against the wall, seemingly lost in a tranquil state.
“What is the point of this?” I ask.
“Because I’m tired of fucking you with a condom.” His eyes flash open and he looks at me. “I want to feel every inch of you.”
“I feel totally fine.” I give myself a brief pat down. “Got no bumps, lumps, or burning sensation when I piss.”
“I’m not worried about getting something from you.” He rests his head against the wall again and closes his eyes. “I just don’t want to be responsible for giving something to you.”
“There’s a really sweet guy underneath all that masculine bravado bullshit.”
“Punk?” he beckons me from behind closed eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he says with a gentle smile.
“Yes, Daddy.”
His eyes shoot open and his smile evaporates. “You really need to find another nickname because hearing that word makes me want to throw the fuck up.”
I wonder if Kevin used to make him call that. Made him say it when he was inside him. Made him say it when he had to pretend to want it. It’s the simplest explanation for his disdain of such a trivial word. Little does he know, I have severe daddy issues and feel quite the opposite.
“You’re both good to go,” says the tall male nursewho had swabbed our dick holes about thirty minutes prior.
Noah guides me to my feet with a hand bunched at the fabric of my shirt.
“Where are we going?” I question as he continues to guide me away from the nurse, but not to the front door.
We make a quick turn and disappear behind a black curtain that leads down a dark corridor. “You’re about to make my dreams come true.”
There’s something erotic about the squeaking of an old bed. Rusted coils beneath tarnished fabric wail and drown out the melody of cries, moans, and slapping skin. Something undeniably deviant about knowing there’s someone on the other side of the wall forced to listen to it all. Something erotic about the way Noah looks straight at the wall when he’s fucking me as if he’s a man on a mission to fuck away his demons. And I am nothing more than a vessel for him to release an inner rage built upon dark secrets he ain’t keen to tell me about.
And then the way I rethink what I think I know when his gaze makes contact with mine. Something about the way I steal all the attention that the wall had stolen from me. He slides a hand under my head and holds me still as he’s anything but still. Rocking.Thrusting. Gyrating. He batters me with his swollen cock, stealing every inch of me every time he drives himself forward. He’s torn between animalistic rage and a hidden tenderness, while I myself am tender from taking my fourth pounding of the night.
He once called me insatiable, but it is he who can’t ever get his fill.
We don’t talk much. We just fuck like rabbits at the end of every long drive. We drive everywhere and nowhere, with no place to really go. Drive straight and then drive in circles. And then he drives right into me.
Over and over again.
Under a highway underpass, my body pressed up against the concrete.
On the side of the road, in a dry ditch that hasn’t seen rainfall in weeks.
In the pool when nobody else is around, my hands gripping the ledge.
On a bench in a desolate gym, my body straddling his.
But mostly on squeaky motel beds that are worn from decades of depraved behavior from the seediest of travelers.
The air conditioner works in this motel. It’s not as rundown as most, but the cracks in the ceiling show its age and the lamp on the nightstand flickers to the beat of Noah’s thrusts. My legs wrap around him, my feet brushing over his ass cheeks. I can feel every musclespasm, every tense of his ass, as he edges closer to release.
I throw a hand around the back of his head and pull him closer to me. He grunts through ragged breaths, and I can taste the whiskey on his breath.
