I clumsily try to stroke my straining dick as he sits back on my lap, his cock wet and glistening between us.
“I want you to almost be there,” he says softly. “Then I’ll fuck your throat until you come. Would that work for you?”
“Not gonna last long,” I pant out, as my hand fists my dick, moving up and down in steady movements.
He just sits there, slowly stroking his cock as he watches me. His eyes almost black as my hand speeds up.
“Slow down.” He demands. “I’m going to fuck your pretty face now, you ready for that?”
I moan. I mean, how can I not, as he gets back up on his knees, and demands that I open my mouth.
He slides in more easily this time, making me gag again, then gives me a few careful thrusts as I struggle against the size of him. Then he pulls out, and wipes my face clean with his thumb, and makes me lick his fingers clean. Soothes the palm of his hand over my face, coating me with my spit and snot, smearing it everywhere as he raises his hand and gives me a sharp wet slap across my cheek.
I try to roar, but my mouth gets filled to the brim and my body convulses as I gag and retch.
“You dirty filthy brat. Let this be a lesson. Do things properly, yeah?” He pulls back to let me breathe, then slaps my other cheek as the burn warms and my cock pulsates with need.
“Yes, Sir.” I reply, coughing softly, then swallowing trying to look fearful as he pushes his cock against my lips. “More.” I beg. “Just like that.”
“One more time. Almost there. Now open up for me.”
I open. He shoves in, in one forceful go making my body jerk with the intrusion. I breathe hard. Relax. Breathe again. Stare at him as his face is red with the effort of holding himself back. I wish he would just go for it. I can take it, and I bloody want it.
He grabs my hair and pulls out, then forces himself right back in. Out. In again as I try to take him deeper. My hands around his legs, trying to get him fully down my throat as his groin presses against my face and my senses are once again overwhelmed with a crazy adrenaline kick of fear and arousal. I’m going to come. One more round of this and I will need resuscitation. Not from lack of oxygen, but death by orgasm, because I can feel it building, the slow rise of static, the twitches and jerks of my body, and the intense need as my hand goes back to give my dick exactly what it needs. Pressure. Strokes. Up and down. Little twists, as my mouth once again gets stretched and stuffed full of him.
“Gonna come now.” He rasps out, as he starts to truly fuck me. Both hands tugging at my hair, his cock ridiculously far down my throat, my whole body screaming with every emotion under the sun.
I love it. I hate it. I fear it and it is exactly what I need. There is a panic rising through me as the fear tries to take over, yet he’s shushing and praising me through the moans and thrusts. “Such a good... little slut... fuck… I love it. Fuck you’re so beautiful. Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
He comes and he just can’t control it. His whole body frozen in an orgasm that makes his mouth shout out words I can’t make any sense of. I think some of it might be Italian as he thrusts, almost by instinct, then, pulls back slowly, as I cough, and my hand clumsily wipes snot from my nose. It’s all over my face anyway. Spit and snot, and come in my mouth, as I splutter and cough with loud raspy breaths.
I must look depraved. Raw. Thoroughly fucked, as my hand is still pumping my dick, white wetness dripping from my fingers.
I came somewhere in the madness of what we just did.
I don’t know what the hell that was. I’ve never orgasmed like that before, and I feel both high and exhausted and ecstatic at the same time.
“You okay, my darling?” he questions, stripping the now-damp with sweat t-shirt he was wearing from his body and wiping my face with it, as he kisses my temples. Kisses the wetness from my eyes. Kisses my swollen mouth.
“Fuck you...” I say quietly. “Fuck. Fuck. You...”
“I will let you fuck me, any time.” He says softly. “Just ask. I know you don’t like topping, and I haven’t bottomed in years, but you can do it. You can do anything to me.”
“Fuck you.” I say, louder this time. “How will we ever have normal sex again after you make me do that? That was…” I wave my arms around, come flying onto the sofa from my fingers. I wipe them on his chest. Smear bodily fluids into his perfect chest hair.
“Was it too much?” He worries. Fuck him. He could have gone much harder on me, and I would have come so hard my head would have snapped off my neck.
“That, was. Fuck you. It was bloody hot. You, like that? All bossy and dominant and ridiculous? Next time I want to be on my knees, so you can really hold my head down. That’s... that was like the best porn-fantasy, wet-dream kind of hot.”
“Hot,” He mutters, and laughs. “You... I seem to... I just want to do all these crazy things with you.”
“They are not crazy things. It’s just sex. Some of it, perhaps a bit hardcore, but it’s what… it’s what I like. I like being handled roughly. I like being told I’m a little slut. I like being made to do things, because it turns me on.”
“It turns me on to make you do them.” He says softly, “I don’t know why, I haven’t figured that bit out yet.”
“We’ll figure it out. One day. But right now? As long as we are both good? It doesn’t fucking matter why, because we both had a good time. You had a good time, right?”
“It was... insane.” He rubs his face like he can’t quite believe he’s still here. Blinking into the light like he’s just woken up.
“Then, we are all good?” I say, and pull him in, so I can kiss him.
“Wanna stay here for a bit? I need to lie down. My knees are fucked, and I just want to hold you for a while. Kind of put us both back together again.”
“And come down from that high?” I make him stand up, his legs wobbling from the effort. I feel a bit faint. My face still tingling from him. My head somewhere in the clouds.
“Let’s go to bed.” This time I get to fold him under the covers. Wrap him up in my arms as I kiss his head. “I think I will make a good boyfriend,” I whisper in his ear.
“You are the best boyfriend.” He whispers back.
I tell him he can stay the night. I tell him that one day I will tell him that I love him. I don’t know if he can hear me, but I say it anyway. I tell him that I hope that we can always play, always laugh, and always talk about all the things that matter. I tell him that I’ve had the best Christmas.
He snores into my pillow.
I’m Captaining this Ship of Fools, but I think he might be right there beside me. We are heading for disaster on a ship neither of us know how to steer. We have no plan, no compass and no map of the world. But do we really need one?
We don’t know what we are doing, and I think I might be fine with that. Because he makes me happy. This makes me happy. I’m strangely happy lying here with my body still tingling from the games we just played.
I whisper to him, that I think I deserve this. I think I deserve everything he gives me. Because I have waited far too long, and made too many mistakes. I deserve to be me, I deserve to feel and have someone love me just the way I am. I’m me, with everything I like and need and crave. I think he likes me. I think he might love me back one day too, at least that’s what I wish for. If I could have one Christmas wish? I would wish for him to stay. I wish for him to smile like he does in his sleep. For him and me and happiness. Good sex and laughter. Friendship. Kisses. Falling asleep in each other’s arms.
I kiss his head. Snuggle into his back, my arms holding him tight.
He snores, and I suppose for now? That’s good enough.
Luca - Six months later
I can hear him skip up the stairs to our front door, his voice ringing through the house as he calls out that he’s home. I know better than to try to get to him, because Mum has already run up to get herself hugged from her favourite son-in-law, and all I can do is stand back and wait my turn as I pull my
fingers through my hair. I need a haircut, but I’ve neglected those little things that tend not to matter anymore. Andreas loves my hair. He loves when I forget to shave. He loves my unkempt body hair and my out-of-control pubes.
Me? I love that he trims and waxes and is obsessed with the tiny chest hairs that sometimes appear around his nipples.
He finally comes through the hallway like an out-of-control whirlwind, full of chatter and a bag getting thrown on the floor as he kicks off his shoes and throws himself into my outstretched arms.
“I’m so happy to be home.” He says into my chest. “Had the most shite day. Bloody horrid customers, and I left a £300 part off an invoice. Laura in Accounts was not amused.”
“Laura in Accounts is never amused.” I say softly, stroking his hair out of his face.
His fringe is too long. The hair on his neck is too short. I don’t know why, but I love it, whatever he does to the mop of curls that grow like weeds on his head. It’s him. All him, and he’s somehow become…
It’s hard to describe what we have created. I suppose to people on the outside we are just a normal couple, living together in a flat, and just making a life together. But to me? We’re so much more than that.
“Dinner is ready. Bea, can you lay the table, honey?” Mum calls out, as Bea groans where she is sitting on the sofa with her six-month-old clinging to her nipple.
“Boob alert!” She shouts, with a disgruntled sigh. “I can’t feed the baby and lay the table. And anyway, since when do we lay tables around here? You grab a plate, get the food and sit down. Easy.”
“I thought we would try to be a nice, civilised family for once.” Mum grunts, placing a stack of plates on the dining table.
“Nice, civilised families eat at the kitchen table.” I say to Mum, who just sighs.
“I’m not moving my stuff off the kitchen table. We’re going to sit down and eat at the dinner table tonight. Dad’s made lasagne. It’s Andreas’ favourite.”
“Yum.” Andreas says against my chest. “And you know you are my favourite too, Mama.”
I can hear my Mum giggle. She loves Andreas.
“Mum, sometimes I think you love Andreas more than you love your own children.” Bea teases.
“Calm down, baby mama.” My boyfriend snaps back, and goes over to fuss over the baby in Bea’s arms in his best baby language.
“I should have put your name on the birth certificate.” Bea sighs. “At least then I would have had maintenance payments from my baby daddy.”
“Whatever you need I will give you.” my boyfriend coos. “You know that.”
“Yeah, but you know. A nice car. Luxury flat. A bit of peace and quiet. Those are all things a good baby daddy should provide.”
“I’m your very own fake baby daddy, not your sugar daddy, sweetie.” he says in his silliest voice, as I grab his arm and pull him back into my embrace.
It’s a tiny bit of jealousy. A massive chunk of need. Because I need him, I need to smell him and hug him and get my fix after spending the whole day without him. It’s a bit crazy I know, but I can’t help it. He’s my drug of choice, and I’m an addict. I love him, truly, madly and incredibly deeply.
He’s the captain of our ship, the force majeure in our lives. He pulls and he pushes, books us trips to Manchester, and holidays to far-flung places I never thought I wanted to visit. We’re going on holiday to Thailand next month, and I’m half having full-blown panics about it, and half hoping we can just go right now. Pack the bags that he’s ordered online, and just disappear out of this town and go lie on those beaches he’s shown me on his iPad.
He’s also a part of our family, like a missing piece we didn’t know had been lost. He’s just slotted into our lives like he’s always been there, turning up for dinner in the evenings, throwing his jacket on the floor in the hallway, and letting Dad scold him for his scruffy shoes and the trail of muddy patches he leaves behind on the carpet.
My parents love him. Bea adores him. Anna rings him to discuss the financial market and get advice on her masters’ paper. He apparently has a degree in Mathematics, and how he ended up selling cars is still beyond me.
He says he always liked cars, and believe me, he knows what he’s talking about. Dad let him loose under the bonnet of one of his racers, and I held my breath as he swiftly grabbed a spanner and spotted the loose connection on the starter engine.
Dad was impressed. I told him I loved him. Andreas just laughed.
Dad calls him his Boy Wonder, and I haven’t dared tell him how fitting that name is.
He’s a wonder, a wonder indeed.
It hasn’t been an easy ride, because we… are us. We both have this complicated idea of sex—something I never really understood until now. I like what I like. And Andreas likes what he likes. Together? We have done things we perhaps shouldn’t have, and it’s just the way it is. Andreas has tried to push me too far. I’ve tried to please him when I shouldn’t have. We are both learning as we go, and the mistakes we have made? We made them. There is nothing we can do to change the fact that I once made Andreas cry. I once hurt him, completely by accident. Another time pushed me so far over the edge, that I lost it and l burst into tears. I have a scar from his attempt at tying my hand to the bedpost. Andreas still laughs about that little mishap, and we have never attempted bondage again. I know we will make more mistakes, but it doesn’t terrify me as it used to.
He says we are fools, and I wholeheartedly agree as I place cutlery around the table, and smile as my sister brings out a jug of water, balancing a stack of glasses under her chin.
“You okay?” she asks, as I wipe a tear from my eye.
Yeah, I’m a still a Germano alright. “Just happy.” I say back, as she rolls her eyes at me. “Where’s my boyfriend?”
“Changing Bob’s nappy. He’s like a bloody Mary Poppins around here, and I think you are mean not letting me keep him here overnight. I mean, he could sleep in my bed, and I could have a night off.”
“Fuck off.” I snort at her. “He’s mine, go get your own.”
She laughs and sticks her tongue out at me.
I stick my tongue out right back at her.
I’m happy, and it’s no longer a strange emotion to feel.
I have spent hours and hours dissecting what happened with Connor, and Andreas has patiently let me cry it all out.
“You were young, he was a dick and things were shit.” Was my boyfriend’s summary of the relationship that crushed my youth. In a way it made me laugh, because of course he is totally right. I let it consume me, and I suppose it made me who I am. “And then you met me, and things were not shit anymore.”
My boyfriend is a lost cause in the world of car sales, because clearly, he should have become a world-renowned psychiatrist. He’s made me feel better about myself in a few months than I felt after years of therapy. I suppose that is finding love. Being yourself. And having a family that will support you, no matter what.
It still doesn’t explain why I turn into a monster in bed, but my boyfriend just laughs at me and tells me my monster alter ego turns him on and makes him come, so why am I complaining?
I suppose what I am trying to say is that Andreas makes my life simple. He takes the things that used to overwhelm me and turn them into little truths. That’s his superpower, I tell him. He says mine is my monster dick.
We’re not adults. We’re fools.
But we are happy fools, I think, as we all take our seats around the table, Andreas strapping Baby Bob into his highchair as our favourite little Germano screams and throws his dummy into the salad bowl.
“You know you can bring a drink if you want one, we don’t mind.” My mum says, pouring Andreas a glass of water.
“I don’t need alcohol, Mama.” he replies with a smile. “You don’t drink, so I don’t drink.”
“It’s just…” Mum starts, as Andreas cuts her off.
“We are Germanos.” He says. “Pass the dressing, please, will you?”<
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I’ve never felt the need to explain it all. Andreas just takes life in its stride. Mum? She loves us all whatever the weather, and Dad scoops up big sloppy spoonful’s of steaming hot lasagne onto our plates, as Bea moans about the lack of ketchup on the table, and I sneak in a quick kiss on my boyfriend's cheek.
“No public displays of affection at the dinner table.” Bea snorts. “There is a poor innocent infant in the room.”
“You’re just jealous, Baby Mama.” My boyfriend laughs.
“You couldn't handle me, if you tried.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Children, can we just eat? Look Bob is getting upset, Bea, where is his dummy?”
“Where’s the dressing?”
“Dad, pass the salt.”
We’re home.
I remember what my Nonna used to say, that as long as you have your family, you can overcome anything. I suppose that’s true.
Andreas has his family too, and we are going to visit them in December. Not for Christmas, because I couldn’t imagine spending Christmas anywhere but here. Andreas says we are going to have a weekend break and go to the beach, and have a civilised lunch with his parents, and he will show me all around the island. Then we’ll come back here for Christmas Eve, and we are apparently going to re-enact our first date, and he’s already got a scenario all laid out in his head. I have no idea what he’s planning, but I’m sure I will like it.
I always do. Because, he knows what I like. I know what he likes too.
He likes me, and that’s what makes me wake up with a smile on my face, every morning. And I like him back, despite usually finding him stuck to my overheated body like a small sweaty limpet. He likes that I wear too many clothes at home, because I feel the cold. I like that he’s almost always naked. He likes that I bought some bedside tables. I like that he bought us a ridiculously overpriced coffee table and that he moved all my kitchen stuff around, so I can’t find a thing in my own home. I even liked the day he came over with everything he owned neatly packed into his car. He didn’t even ask, just moved in.
Ship of Fools Page 12
