by Marie Sexton
It wasn’t much of a kiss, both of us frozen there, but I felt his resolve fail. He moaned, and in that one second, our lips touching and my heart thundering in my ears, he surrendered. He went soft against me and opened his mouth. His tongue teased my lips, asking for entrance, and I granted it. I parted my lips and let him in.
It felt like being claimed. I could have come right then. The sheer joy of it, his tongue invading my mouth, the taste of him and the weight of his strong body as he shifted our positions, bearing down on me. He pushed me back onto the couch, straddling my hips, pinning me beneath him. He kissed me harder, sucking at my upper lip, but when I slid my hand down his stomach, toward the buttons on his jeans, he stopped me. He grabbed my wrist and pinned it to the couch at my side.
“My way,” he said, his voice thick with arousal. “I call the shots here. No questions. No arguing.”
I didn’t know exactly what he meant by that, but looking into his eyes, I saw no room for argument. I had no idea what I was about to agree to—if he’d pull out a leather hood or order me to my knees—but at that moment, I didn’t care. “Anything.”
He smiled, and although he still held my wrist, his grip became a caress. He leaned down to brush his lips across mine. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about doing this.”
I could only whimper as he kissed me again, not with the urgency of before, but with a gentleness that surprised me. He began to explore me, running his hands up and down my body, moaning against my lips as I arched into his touch. It was the most sensuous torture imaginable, the way his hands moved, never undressing me, but teasing over my stomach, my nipples, down my arms, yet rarely touching my bare flesh. Never moving to the parts of me that longed most for his attention.
“Let me touch you,” I begged. He was still straddling me, and I could feel his erection through his jeans. “Please.”
He sat up suddenly, and I worried that I’d angered him—that he was going to stop—but instead, he smiled at me. It was the sexiest, most flirtatious smile I’d ever seen on his face. “I think we can do better than the couch, don’t you?”
I didn’t care where we were. The couch, the floor. Anywhere was fine with me, so I didn’t object when he took my hand and led me to the bedroom. He undressed me quickly, pulling at my clothes until I stood naked and self-conscious before him, my erection sticking out in front of me.
“You’re perfect,” he said, kissing me, running his strong hands up my back. “I could lick you all over.”
I laughed shakily, unbelievably aroused by the idea. He slid his hand down my spine. His fingers caressed between my cheeks. I tensed a bit despite myself, and when he applied pressure to my rim, I gasped.
He moaned into my ear. He turned me around and pushed me gently facedown on the bed. He gripped my cheeks, pulling them apart. I was suddenly tense and terrified. I’d never done this before. Should I tell him? It seemed like I should, but I was too afraid.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” he said. “Try to relax.”
That was good to know, but I was still nervous. “I don’t know if I can.”
He kissed his way down my spine, making me shiver. When he reached the top of my ass crack, he spread my cheeks wide. I felt exposed, and far more vulnerable than I’d anticipated. I instinctively flinched away.
Nick let me go. He moved up, his weight comfortable and warm on my back. “Owen,” he whispered in my ear. “Have you ever bottomed before?”
I shook my head.
He held very still for a moment. I wished I could see his expression. Then he asked the question I was dreading. “Have you ever topped before?”
I shook my head again.
“Oh Jesus,” he moaned in dismay, putting his head down on my shoulder. “I’m such an ass. I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“No! Don’t you dare stop now!”
His laugh was shaky, but he kissed the back of my neck. “We can’t have sex anyway. Not like that.” He put his fingers between my cheeks again, gently massaging my rim. “No wonder you’re so tight.”
“I’ve never really understood how bottoming could feel good.”
“It does, though, believe me. It can be the best feeling in the world. I miss it so much. This was my favorite, to be right where you are now, flat on my stomach.” He sat up, straddling my thighs. He was still wearing his jeans, but he rocked against my ass as if thrusting into me, causing exquisite friction between my cock and the bed. “Just like this,” he said. “I’d trade places with you in an instant if I could.”
I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “I wouldn’t mind.”
He was quiet for a moment, and then he asked in hushed voice, “Do you have any condoms?” He sounded strangely apprehensive about it.
“We just established that I’m a virgin, remember?”
He laughed, and I wondered if it was my imagination that he sounded relieved. “Well, then, looks like neither one of us will be bottoming tonight.” He leaned down again to kiss the back of my neck. “No problem. There are plenty of other ways for me to get you off.” He moved his hand down my side, around the front of my hip, and I shifted to allow his hand to slide under me. He wrapped his hand around my aching cock, and I moaned, pushing into his fist.
His weight on my back eased a bit. “Turn over.”
I did, already breathing hard, anticipating what was to come. His hand was gentle but firm as he stroked me. He kissed my jaw, my neck, my chest. When he reached my nipples, I gasped in surprise, arching into him. I couldn’t believe how good it felt, and I gripped his head, pulling him in for more. My hips began to move of their own accord, bucking up and down, thrusting through his hand.
“Nick,” I gasped, and he let me go.
“Shhh,” he soothed with a smile as he kissed me. “Not yet, baby. Slow down.”
“I can’t.” I’d already waited twenty-eight years. Wasn’t that enough?
He chuckled and moved back to my nipples, but this time without stroking my cock. He teased me until each one was wet and red and aching.
Then he moved down.
I gasped again as he pushed my legs apart and my knees up. He put his tongue between my legs, below my scrotum. He began to suck and lick my tender flesh, sometimes moving up to lap at my testes, sometimes moving back down to my perineum. I lay panting and writhing, tugging at his hair until he let me lead him up, up, up, his tongue leaving a hot, wet trail along my length. When he finally touched my frenulum, I nearly came. Only the fact that he pulled away for a second saved me.
“Oh Jesus,” I panted.
And in the very next second, he teased his tongue over that spot again, and when my hips instinctively rose, he parted his lips and let me slide deep into his hot, wet mouth.
It was amazing. Scintillating. Utterly exquisite. He moaned, and I felt the vibrations in my cock. He swallowed me all the way to my root, until I could feel his nose against my pubic bone. He let me hold him there while I marveled at the ecstasy of it. While I reminded myself to breathe. Then I let him go, and he started to move. Up and down while I lay helpless beneath him, overwhelmed by the pleasure of it. It was better than I’d ever imagined. So much better than masturbation. It wasn’t as simple as the pure sexual pleasure of my cock in his mouth. It was a joy that went beyond the physical. A warmth that filled me from the inside out. It was believing I was normal and knowing I was desired. It was the newfound hope that my life really could be more. But more than anything, it was about Nick—his hands on my hips, his weight on my body, his hair tangled in my hands. It was about trusting him. About feeling safe and cherished and utterly at peace with the man who had so readily become my hero.
He released my cock and moved up to kiss me, deep and passionate, and I wrapped my arms around him, the ruined one and the good one both, and I let him ravage my mouth. I loved the taste of him. The urgency of his kiss and the gentleness of his touch. I sighed as he fingered my nipples. When he reached for my cock, I moaned, pushing toward his hand.
My climax was close, an ache deep in my abdomen, a glorious pressure in my balls.
“Nick,” I whispered, not wanting it to end but also not wanting to lose it at an inopportune moment.
“I know, hon. I’ve got you.” He moved quickly down to roll his tongue around the head of my cock, and when I gripped his head, he took me in, swallowing me deep once again.
My hips bucked. A hoarse cry built in my throat. I thrust into the heat of his mouth. Once. Twice. And then I was climaxing, pumping into him, feeling as if he was pulling it out of me. I spasmed again and again, emptying myself, and still he held me, sucking me, moaning as he swallowed my seed.
I’m no longer a virgin.
Others might have quibbled over the correctness of that statement since it had only been oral sex, but I wouldn’t have listened. I laughed with the joy of it. I wasn’t a virgin. Not like I had been. And most importantly, Nick had been my first.
He suddenly loomed above me, smiling. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Oh my God, Nick.” I pulled him down and kissed him again. “That was….” I floundered for a word that could actually capture how amazing I felt.
“Fun?”
I laughed. “That’s a bit of understatement, but yeah.”
He smiled and kissed the tip of my nose, then flopped down on the bed next to me, staring up at the ceiling, his hand resting on my hip. He sighed happily.
“What about you?”
His laugh was sheepish. “I’m good,” he said with obvious embarrassment, “although I made a hell of a mess in my pants.”
I feared my smile would split my face in two. I’d been worried that he hadn’t enjoyed it as much as I had, that he was doing it as some kind of favor, but now I knew the truth. The idea of him coming while he sucked me made me giddy.
“There are clean boxers in the top drawer.” I felt silly as soon as I said it. It wasn’t like he had far to go to get his own pants. “Unless you’d rather go home.”
“I think I will go downstairs to change, but I’ll come back. If that’s okay with you.”
My smiled managed to grow even bigger. “I’d like that.”
“Can I bring the dogs?”
“Of course.”
I climbed under the covers. The alcohol made me sleepy. Slaked lust made me feel heavy and boneless. I quickly fell asleep, rousing only a bit when Nick came back in with the dogs. I heard them sniffing around the room. Nick climbed under the covers with me.
I moved over, seeking the warmth of his body. He put his arm around me, but he was stiffer than I expected.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“Tomorrow,” I mumbled, and plummeted back into the abyss.
I WOKE feeling like I’d been zipped into a mummy-style sleeping bag designed for a ten-year-old. It took me a second to figure out why I couldn’t move. Bert lay on top of the blankets on one side of my legs, and Bonny on the other, pinning me in. On the other side of the bed, Betty lay stretched across the pillow. I didn’t see Nick.
“They’re not supposed to sleep on the bed,” Nick said from behind me. “But they do it anyway.”
I turned to find him sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. Normally it was the catchall for my laundry, but he’d pushed the stack of clothing to the floor. It was dark enough in the room to hide his expression from me, but not to obscure the fact that he was fully dressed.
“Sneaking away in the night?” I meant it as a joke, but he didn’t laugh.
“Owen, we need to talk.”
The weight of his words and the solemn timbre of his voice scared me. My chest felt heavy with dread. “No.”
“Yes.”
I sat up, suddenly unable to bear being pinned in by the dogs. I pulled my legs free of the covers and stood up. I felt vulnerable being naked in front of him when he was dressed, so I pulled a pair of boxers out of my drawer and donned them before turning to face him across the dark room. “I don’t want to talk because I know what you’re going to say.”
“And what is that?”
“That it shouldn’t have happened. That it can’t happen again.”
He didn’t answer, but his silence was more damning than any words.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“It was a mistake.”
“No! Goddammit, it was not a mistake!”
He sighed. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re right, I don’t. One minute you’re pulling me close, and the next you’re pushing me away. You tell me you want me, but as soon as I respond, you say I can’t have you. What am I supposed to think?”
“You have every right to be mad, Owen. And confused. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let things get out of hand.”
“Well, I’m not!” I was embarrassingly close to tears and I fought them back. “I’m not sorry!”
“Owen—”
“Is it me?”
“What?”
“Is it me? Am I the problem?”
“No.” No hesitation. He said the word with a quiet emphasis that made it difficult to doubt him, and yet I had no other explanation.
“You say you’re attracted to me, but the truth is, you can’t stand the idea of being with a cripple.”
“That’s not it.”
“You want to touch me, but you hate it when I touch you.”
His laugh was harsh and bitter. “Is that really what you think?”
“What other explanation is there?”
He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “It’s not that I don’t want you to touch me, Owen. It’s that if I let you touch me, I’ll lose control, even more than I did tonight.”
“Good!”
“It’s not good—”
“I want you to lose control like that more often.”
“You have no idea what’s going on here. You have no idea how dangerous this is.”
“Dangerous?”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From me.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked, my anguish suddenly giving way to rage. “Jesus Christ, stop speaking in riddles and talk to me!”
“Owen—”
“You’re not making any sense at all!”
“Listen to me—”
“You’re making excuses!”
“I’m HIV-positive.”
It was the last thing I’d expected to hear. All the air seemed to be sucked from my lungs. It was like being punched in the stomach.
I backed up until I hit the wall, overwhelmed and horrified. The room seemed to shrink, becoming too small to hold us both. I wished I was somewhere else. Anywhere else. I wanted put miles between us. To be far, far away rather than face the possibility of this disease. My legs could no longer hold me. I fell heavily to the ground. All I could think of was my cock in his mouth. The virus possibly moving through my body already, attacking my cells, destroying my ability to fight infections. My stomach roiled, the alcohol turning sour. My hands shook.
Was Nick going to die?
Was I?
My head began to spin. My breathing took on a life of its own. I wondered wildly if this was what it felt like to hyperventilate. I leaned forward, bracing myself on the floor, trying not to be sick in front of him. “But tonight, we…. Oh God.”
“Nothing we did puts you at risk,” he said quietly. “I would never do that to you.”
“But we had sex!”
“Owen, I was careful about exactly what activities we engaged in. Saliva is a very poor carrier of the virus. You don’t have any open wounds. And my viral load is low right now. I was mindful of the possibilities. I promise you, what we did tonight is as close to zero-risk as it gets. Me going down on you is about as safe as kissing.”
Was that true? I had no idea. I only knew the most publicized facts: it couldn’t be passed through casual contact. Even sharing a toothbrush would be safe. But beyond that, I was woefully uneducated. I had
to trust that he was telling me the truth.
I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, trying to assess the last few moments. Could this really be happening? His late-night confession in the dark seemed surreal after our magical evening in the colorful lights of downtown, but no matter how much I wanted it to be a nightmare, it wasn’t. This was reality.
“How long have you known?”
“Five years.”
Five years. The horror began to recede. In its place, I found anger.
“You should have told me.”
“I know.”
“You should have told me before I let you—” I gestured helplessly toward the bed. “Before we did that!”
“You’re right. I should have.” He put his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. “In some states, you could press charges against me. I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I wouldn’t even fight them.”
Press charges? Jesus, was that really the way I wanted this to go?
I took a deep breath. And another. My thoughts became less scattered. The real world began to return to its proper place around me. I was crouched on the floor, shivering in my boxers.
He could have kept lying. He could have taken advantage of me in far worse ways. Still, I felt betrayed. I couldn’t even think. Not with him there, watching me, waiting for me to react.
I sat back against the wall, hugging my knees. “I’d like you to leave.”
Even in the low light, I saw the way he slumped at my words. “Owen—”
“Please.”
For a moment he didn’t move, and I thought he might argue, but then he sighed instead. He slowly pushed himself up out of the chair, as if it took every ounce of his strength. The dogs all sat up, watching him, suddenly alert.
“Come on,” he said to them.
Only after he was gone did I give in. Only then did I put my head down and cry.
Chapter Eight
THE NEXT day was one of the most miserable of my life. As if what had happened with Nick wasn’t bad enough, I was also hungover. My head throbbed. I looked down at the pile of clothes next to bed—jeans and a Superman shirt lying where Nick had dropped them as he’d undressed me—and had to run for the bathroom.
