I'm diggin' all the superhero flicks that are out these days because it feels kinda subversive the way nerdy things have suddenly become mainstream but it also bothers me a bit. Mostly because it's indicative of this need we have to stand behind pure ideals. Hero vs villain, good vs bad. And it's worked itself all over our culture. Staunch democrats and republicans, religious fundamentalism, total tops and power bottoms, subs and doms. Not that those dichotomies never existed before, we just seem to have a larger respect for the extremes now.
And that's where I falter.
So I'm sitting here, talking to this guy on his couch when the conversation has pretty much dried up and the tent in my
shorts leads me down a path that I'm a little resistant to. It's a momentary hesitation stretched out by the silence that violently sliced through the laughter and banter just moments ago. But, simultaneously, it's an imperceptible pause as the rational tries to reason with physical instincts. And the silence and the stillness plays with time like a yo-yo and that pause stretches to an alternate eternity before snapping back to the present.
It feels like it took forever to make my move 'cause I really, really wanna fuck my load into this guy.
Logic stalled me though. And as much as people have called me aggressive or cocky or "intense", I still feel those labels fit awkwardly on me. Like clown shoes. And I hesitated.
I really don't think it's because he's some big c-level, ivy league hotshot. He actually has very humble roots and those things never really impress me. A job is a job. It was more of the fact that I was here, in his living room, after a hookup just an hour or so before where the bottom shot off and called it quits way before I was anywhere near close. I take awhile sometimes. Even more so when I'm playing wrapped. So after that little tryst, I fired up Grindr while grabbing a bite to eat and this guy hits me up. In three messages, we set up a meet for an hour later (after I finished my grub) and he's given me his address. As direct as we were in our intentions to meet, we were completely indirect about what are intentions were after we're supposed to get together. Top? Bottom? Hell, I wasn't sure if he wanted to fuck at all. So we started off chatting. In person. My mind processing how fucking hot he was. The way he was completely at ease and open during the conversation making him even hotter. When he asked why I was in the area, I blurted out the truth. I was out there for a trick but I was still fucking horned up since I didn't get off. No judgments. None of that coy evasiveness trying to get into his pants. Just the truth.
And a short moment later, the conversation stopped. After that brief hesitation, I leaned in for a kiss. Gentle. Soft. Slightly wet. Enough to make me want more and I pulled his head by the back of his neck for deeper kiss. The other hand, I fumbled his waist to find a belt loop and tugged him hard enough for him to get the hint. His one knee going over to straddle me while I sat and sank deeper into his couch. I'm sure he felt my throbbing meat under my shorts pressing against him, but I grabbed his waist and pulled him down and closer. There would be no mistaking what it was now.
He pulled off the kiss, which I only used as permission to start licking and chewing at his neck like a blood thirsty vampire. Breathlessly, he asked, "Wanna go upstairs?" An earnest plead to go further that made me his. Or maybe it made him mine. Either way, I finally got a guy after the two previous attempts that I really clicked with. And after we got upstairs, I feasted on his ass and he milked a load out of me as I fucked him before he shot off himself. The way it should be.
As I was leaving, I saw a bottle of lube and some condoms on the nightstand. He had this all planned out apparently. Top/bottom. Aggressive/passive. Just labels. In the end, we both wanted it and it was just a matter of letting the conversation flow as easily off our bodies and actions as it did verbally on the couch. Maybe I innocently fell into his trap, letting myself be manipulated. Or maybe I was leading the charge. Afterall, the supplies were left untouched from our rough spit fuck. It didn't matter. What mattered was that he was happily wobbly from the fuck and I was so fucking drained and at peace I think I dozed off for a sec on his bed. All those labels didn't matter. Not when things just connect.