(side commentary: have you ever jerked off, thought about something sexy,then wrote it down, and then had to jerk off again?)

your eyes as i reach and unbuckle my belt for the first time. that’s why i can’t leave you. you, so pretty in your chrome collar and cuffs, t-shirt and blue jeans. we’ve known each other for years and finally we can fuck. just this weekend, while your boyfriend is gone. the boyfriend who would look at you all dressed up and call you a freak, call you gross.

five years, you’ve waited. salivated.

i’ve grown up for you, bought my first flogger, my first harness. a couple of years ago you teased me by saying how you’d always wondered how it felt to be fucked with a strap-on. i knoew, i told you. about my ex. me, the improbable bottom.

honey, i’m a switch. i’ve wondered, too.

i can say, now, definitively, that wearing a silicone dildo under my clothes hurts. it’s hard. literally. my boxer-briefs and baggy jeans help keep it in place and not comically bulging. but you know. as i walk up the porch steps and into your kitchen, you eye my crotch and blush. but we go into the livingroom and you make the pretense of playing some newer Nine Inch Nails while i recline on the couch. i feel the taut pressure changing, hurting, as i sit. your cats mill around in the semi-gloom, antsy. like me.

we sit close to each other, the anticipation a mutual drumming heartbeat between us. the intention of this visit, him gone, you ready to be restrained. as soon as i walked in the door, we knew we were going to fuck. for a second you have the courage to reach over, place a tentative hand on my faux-erection, and stroke. i get up, nervous, and get a glass of ice water. when i come back, i look down at you. then, still holding the glass, i unbuckle my belt. your eyes widen, pupils dilating, face flushing, nostrils flaring, mouth slightly agape. that look of fear and lust, it turns me on.

i pull my belt off, set the glass on the coffee table. then i bend the supple, worn leather in two and use it to caress your cheek. your breath hitches and i whisper “how bad do you want this?”

you nod and lean into my thighs. this is all a script, motions we make ourselves comfortable with.

“you know what to do.”

and you unbutton my jeans, pull out my cock, freeing it from the horrible pressure. i moan in the back of my throat, unable to feel but imagining it anyways, the soft of your tongue as silicone slides past your lips. i save the idea, the dynamic. i really sink into the role, my hips start to push into you, forcing me deeper down your throat. i forget, for a moment, that i can’t feel any of this. i grab the back of your head and shove you down until you gag. that’s when i pull out,

i tilt your chin up so i can look into those big blue eyes. low, calmly, i tell you to kneel over the back of the couch. to pull your jeans down. revealed are a yellow pair of boy-shorts. “those, too” i murmur, staring at the pale extent of your ass. i caress the warm skin, the firm muscle underneath. “spread your legs more,” i order, and let my fingers rove down and slip effortlessly into your soaked pussy. then up to your swollen clit. you gasp, let out a relieved, pent-up moan.

i take a step back. “this is going to hurt,” i state, matter-of-fact, but loving. then i raise my arm, and let the belt swing fast forward and hit you on the ass. the sound reverberates through the empty apartment. i grin.