Page 53 of For Real

He makes this lovely incoherent sound and braces himself on his elbows. His face is pressed against my neck as he starts to move again. I know this is for me as well, how careful he is with his own pleasure when I’m spent. I wrap my noodly arms around him and hold him as tight as I can. I’d do my legs too—he likes that—but I’m too shagged out to be able to move them.

When he comes—though it’s telegraphed in the usual sort of ways, and I’m not sure what I can really feel in my arse because it’s all well fucked and lube-slick—I’m overwhelmed all over again by the realisation that Laurie is in me.

Is coming in me.

I think, for all his casual-casual nonsense earlier, he gets it too. Because he’s almost sobbing. And for a while we just cling to each other like that.

It stings a bit when he pulls out. I’m definitely kind of…warm and wet. Very aware of still having some part of Laurie up there. Though I guess it’s going to…come out again at some point.

I don’t really know why I do what I do next.

It’s not something I’d ever have planned. But when I’m with Laurie and Laurie’s like this—when I’m over his line—I have this courage I don’t have any other time.

He makes me believe I can do anything.

So while he’s kneeling there between my splayed legs, I roll onto my stomach. Push myself onto my knees and my elbows.

I don’t need to tell him what I want. His mouth is on me, his tongue in me. Filling me with these soft shocks of renewed pleasure. Not enough to get me hard again. Although this is going to be wank bait forever: Laurie lapping his own come from my freshly—and indeed thoroughly—fucked arse. Just like he’d drunk mine from my skin.9

But, God, we’re definitely going to have to arrange something with light and mirrors. I need to be able to see this stuff sometimes.

Otherwise I could just be dreaming.

When he’s done and I’m half-unconscious with…just…feeling everything…he tucks me up and kisses me gently. His lips are closed, but I shove them open with my tongue and get right into his mouth. He tastes of delicious, filthy things. Him and me and pure, unadulterated sex.

“Oh, Toby,” he says. “Toby.”

I grin at him. Touch his lips. “And we two…mingled be.”10

And I guess I must be asleep after that.

* * *

I don’t know what I’m expecting to happen the next morning. Something different. But he kisses me, just like usual, neatly on the forehead. And leaves me on his doorstep in the pinkening dawn.

Getting on with his life. Abandoning me to mine.

I drift through the next few days in a haze of confusion.

Like…what the shit just happened? How can he do that? Is it normal? Or am I the one being weird here? Maybe I’ve made up the line, and this is just what Laurie is like. What grown-ups are like. The problem is, I don’t have anything to compare it to or anybody to ask, and I can’t really figure out exactly what it is I want anymore. I mean, I’m getting mind-blowing, kinky sex on a regular basis with a man who is perfectly nice to me the rest of the time. And I’m…apparently…still not satisfied?

Which is when I figure it out. I want to be good enough for more than sex. I love being his fuck buddy, I love everything that we do, but I wish he could see something else in me.

But how can he? I’m nineteen. I have no talents, no future, no prospects, no clue. And he’s this powerful, educated, gorgeous man. With a prestigious job and a fairy tale house and most likely real relationships against which I’m always going to fall short.

Because I’m not his equal.

I’m just…not.

It’s the wet-fish slap of reality I need as I’m standing there, up to the elbows in greasy soapsuds washing up after the lunchtime rush. It’s pretty fucking depressing, but…better to see things clearly, right? I promise myself, then and there, that I’m not going back. Laurie can easily find somebody else to fuck, and I’m sick of playing Russian roulette with my heart.

Except for the bit where I’m a complete fucking idiot.

Without Laurie, my life is just Greasy Joe’s forever. And now that I’ve found what I’ve been looking for my whole life—now that I know what it’s actually like to have a man on his knees for me—how the fuck am I supposed to go back to fumbling about with kids my own age?

Who the hell am I to get all pointlessly principle-having? To get all pissy over the hottest sex I’m ever likely to have? Granddad would say I was cutting my nose off to spite my face, and he’d be right.

Of course I’m going back. And if sex is what we have—if sex is all I’m good for—I’m going to make sure I am good.

---