Page 25 of For Real

He leaves me all gloopy and shivery, and I hear the szvvvt of a condom wrapper tearing. And suddenly I get this really strong sense of how I must look to him, kind of spread out on his bed, sweaty with lust and shiny-wet from his mouth, legs splayed open, and hands clinging to the foot rail.

Talk about a fuck-me pose.

And it’s so good. So fucking raunchy. I’m going to carry this image of me—the Toby that Laurie sees—with me from now on. Forever. My own secret.

The bed shifts under his weight. There’s a click and a squirt and then there’s a finger inside me. And…whoosh…the breath goes out of me because it’s like…hello. I’m expecting it, obviously, but maybe I’m kind of not.

Because what it’s like right now is a finger inside me.

And it doesn’t hurt or anything—there’s a controlled stretch—but that’s kind of it.

I mean, I know this feeling. The slightly alien, Hey, there’s a thing up there feeling. It’s fine.

But I guess I thought it might be different with him. I grit my teeth and wait for it to get better. Which it probably will when he gets round to hitting my prostate.

Okay. Two now.

I stare at the wall, kind of ordinary again. Well, as ordinary as you can be when somebody’s sticking their fingers up your arse.

It’s weird how much I’m up for this considering how little I’m into it when it happens. What’s with that? It’s like my body forgets how banal it is, and I start…craving it. Or, maybe, when I think about it, I imagine other stuff and convince myself it’s there.

My cock has gone from sixty to zero in what seems like less than a second, though it probably wasn’t.

It’ll be okay once he’s in. I’ll get that kind of closeness you get, and the fullness, and that deep, dark inside pleasure that builds and builds but never really goes anywhere. I like that. I do really like that. And later I’ll touch myself and dream of his lips and his fingers on my body. Actually, even if this bit is a bust, it’s still probably the best sex I’ve ever had. And just the idea of it is enough, really: me and him. Laurie fucking me, his body in my body, the sounds he’ll make when he comes.

Yeah.

I guess I’m ready because he’s out again.

I hope I’m ready.

He was pretty diligent back there in his not-very-seductive got a job to do way.

The thought drifts across my mind that this might be how grown-ups have sex. And I can’t tell if it’s worse or better than the fumbling, insecure, faintly desperate way I’m used to.

I try not to get too sad about it. It’s just… It had started off so promising. I should have let him lick me to orgasm.

Next thing I know, he’s hoisting me up by the hips so my knees slide under me and I’m sort of teetering there, top half squashed flat to the bed, bottom half waving like a flag on the breeze.

I’m honestly not sure I’m mad keen on it.

It’s kind of a shock, how helpless it makes me. And I can’t quite forget how absolutely exposed I am. Not least because there’s cold air literally wafting over my arsehole.

It’s probably staring right at him.

Mirroring the slightly oh look I’ve got on my face right now.

So I’m lying there, horrified and slightly physically uncomfortable. And what’s deeply weird is that, totally out of nowhere, some part of me sort of sits up and goes huh. Because there’s something…honestly…a little bit exciting about this moment of absolutely, definitely, undeniably about to get fucked. And if I could get myself into a position to punch myself in the head I totally would, because what’s it going to take to make me learn that getting fucked is not actually that great?

Then he’s pressing into me. And it’s this one long glide, not rough, but relentless almost, opening me up with a press and a twist, like I’m a music box and he knows the mechanism to all my hidden places. I feel him so deep inside me, it makes me breathless.

And, God, the things I like about this are better than they’ve ever been. No longer some distant consolation, but right there in front of me—well, technically, behind me I guess—and suddenly it doesn’t matter how I’m lying because it’s not ridiculous anymore. It’s fucking amazing.

I try to push back, to get closer to the promise of whatever it is he’s offering, because I’m sure…I’m one hundred percent sure…there’s something waiting for me, some revelation just out of reach. But he tightens his hands on my hips (I hope they bruise) and won’t let me move. Makes me wait there like that, with my body wrapped around his, and the possibility of all this pleasure beating the air.

When I can’t bear it a moment longer, he pulls out again, comes in different, and lights me up like a fucking firework.

I think I actually scream.

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