Boyfriend and I were by the refrigerator. I’d just put away the mayonnaise. I liked the sound of it clinking against the pickles on the second shelf just inside the door. Next, Boyfriend was unexpectedly on his knees. He unzipped my pants, pulled out my dick, and started sucking it. His own hard-on was in his hand, and he stroked it in sync with that sucking wet hole in his face that could have been a sea anemone; lips and tongue pulsing as I vanished into dark water. In his mouth was where I wanted to be, yet I teetered out of my body.
Even as I long for attention, I must work hard to accept it, but it doesn’t always get in. Because to receive is tender, and the better it feels, the more dangerous it becomes. I couldn’t help it. I braced against his mouth; my body, a balled-up fist. His eyes were generous, pleading: Let go. But the levy for his adoration, I couldn’t pay. A blue ribbon cock, a clobbering muscle fuck, a voice crashing like waves: I am none of these.
I am just me.
So I stood as tall as I could. Thought, big big big. At my sides, both arms dangled, searching for purpose. In its absence, I muttered some clunky fuck-yeahs. Then I placed my hands above his ears, digging in my fingers because that’s what you do: grip a head like it belongs to you. Push too hard. Make sure his tenderness doesn’t claw you where you still nurse proud flesh that is decades old. Then, when saliva leaks from the corners of his mouth, you’re doing your job. Being a man. Right. Well, love unearths the rotting bones. And as they surface, there is no escape from their measureless layers of history.
He kept going, and so did I. Big, big, big. This mantra among men, I clung to it like it’d make a difference to my body which has been engineered to make the opposite invisible: I am scared. There, I said it. I know it’s not sexy. Only a few lines in, and already, I’ve almost lied. Yet this flinch of nerves and muscles…is…me. Hiding for as long as I can remember. Shooting unworthiness down the backs of throats.
Bang!
Suddenly, his eyes were open-blown circuits; pupils, wide and twitching. There was no smoke, but he backed away from the hazard of my cock now hovering over the kitchen floor. It took me a few seconds to realize why Boyfriend now looked decisively like a baby dinosaur about to chomp: his jaw had locked wide open. And on display were every one of his bottom molars and miming tongue. Behind his tonsils gurgled sounds meant to be words.
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