Page 54 of For Real

Fuck school, fuck my future. Maybe this is my talent: knowing this thing about Laurie like I know it in myself. Knowing how to peel him open and take what he needs me to take. Sex, submission, pain.

Oh, I am so going back.

And I’m going to fuck his goddamn brains out.

So that Friday, when I’m barely over the threshold, I look straight into those wild, cold eyes of his and say, “I want to tie you up again.”

He kind of flinches a bit, but I know it’s not me or the idea he’s flinching from. It’s because he wants it too. And then he nods. “All right.”

“Get me something I can use. Then meet me in your bedroom.”

It’s weird—and also not weird at all—that it’s so easy. The truth is, I like telling him what to do, and he likes doing it, and I like the edge of uncertainty to it as well. Because it feels so wrong, wrong in a good way, to be saying the things I say with this…expectation of obedience. I mean, he could turn round at any point, and just say no, but he doesn’t.

As I go upstairs, I’m kind of mulling over some stuff. Because once I got over my idiot moment, I’ve basically spent my week planning to fuck him.

I know this shouldn’t be a big deal. Laurie’s made it pretty clear that, when it comes to his body, nothing’s a big deal. I can do what I like. And it’s not about power, because I love how he fucks me, I really do. It’s amazing, obviously, but also like I’m in control of him. Like my pleasure is chains on his wrists. A collar round his neck.

So it’s not like I think sticking a bit of my body into a bit of his is going to make a blind bit of difference. But especially now there’s not even latex between us, I want to know what it’s like. To take him a different way.

But there’s a problem. And that’s… Well. I’m not very good at it. I have, a couple of times. And I know this seems a crazy-beans thing to say when I have aspirations to tie people up and hurt them, but fucking someone right is this huge responsibility. And it’s hard to be responsible when the moment you get inside, your cock is all ohyeahmanyeah, and going for it like a beggar at the feast or whatever. Though, to be honest, before Laurie, top or bottom, most of my sexual encounters tended to include a fair bit of apologising and “Oh no, it’s fine,” and while that’s all very polite and important, it’s not…well…sexy, is it? I guess it’s just experience and knowing what you want and how to get it.

The truth is, I’ve just never felt that way about anyone else. Putting aside the smooshy side of it, what we’ve got here is lust. Pure, dirty, possessive, greedy lust. The burning kind. Like a Molotov in my chest.

So basically, I know I’m probably going to explode in a fountain of stupid uncontrollable bliss the moment I stick my cock inside him. And while I know that—for whatever weird reason of his own—Laurie finds me exploding in fountains of stupid uncontrollable bliss kind of hot, it’s not what I want for this. I want to make him feel the way he makes me feel. And I don’t think I know how to do that. At least, not solely with the prowess of my wang.

But I can do it another way. I think.

If I can get him so desperate, so mindless, so pleasure struck, so completely mine that he’s begging me to fuck him—so that just me entering him is enough to break him—then we can break together. And be whole after.

“Take your clothes off,” is what I tell him in the bedroom.

And while he’s doing that, I look at what he’s brought me. Ropes and cuffs and chains. And a roll of what looks like duct tape, which kind of scares me for a moment, until I realise it’s not sticky. I pick up a coil of rope, which is when I remember I know fuck-all about this. The rope has a slightly silky texture that feels nice between my fingers. But I got thrown out of the Scouts for smoking weed behind the community centre, and basically the only thing I tie regularly are my shoes. And even then I toe them on and off when I can.

Laurie is suddenly behind me, his now-naked body embracing mine. I lean back into his arms, into his warmth.

“It’s just rope,” he whispers. “You don’t have to use it.”

“Isn’t it sort of traditional?”

He shrugs. “Some people like it, some people don’t. Some people like to pretend it’s a status symbol because there’s a bit of skill involved.”

“What do you think?”

“If you liked it, I’d like it. If the ritual was something that mattered to you.” I think about it. Maybe someday. But, right now, the need to have him helpless—to make him helpless—is too raw. I don’t have to say anything because he reads the answer, somehow, in my body. “Then I don’t care how you do it. I just want you to”—one of his hesitations, so sweet they drive me fucking crazy—“tie me up. However you want.”

I pull away and start faffing around with the rest of the stuff on the bed. I guess I should really have thought about the kinky side of things a bit better. I glance over my shoulder, to see if I’m fucking everything up, but Laurie’s gone to his knees for me. I hadn’t thought or known to ask just then, but it helps. His patience. His understanding. His acceptance. I’m still holding a wrist cuff, but I like him so much for doing that, I get down next to him and kiss him. I kiss him until it’s like we can’t kiss enough.

Which is when I stop.

My mouth still full of the taste of his moans.

“Get on the bed.”

His eyes are all hazy like a rainy day. “How do you want me?”

“On your back, holding the rail.”

He knows how hot I am for him like this. All stretched out for me. It makes his muscles line up like soldiers. Draws his body into stark relief. Shows how strong he is. To be willing to be powerless.

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