Page 77 of Every Version of You

I got it after scoring my first try freshman year. Most teams make their rookies run a naked zulu lap after scoring their first try on a team, but not Penn Valley University Men's Rugby Team. Oh no. They make you get a tattoo of the veterans’ choosing, inked right there at the social immediately following the game. I could have opted out and run a naked lap, but I thought this sounded more interesting.

It was my first tattoo and I remember Angie dying with laughter when I showed her. Soon after that, the tattoos came more frequently. The team crest on my thigh, Prison Mike from The Office on my inner bicep—that was quickly surrounded by the Japanese waves cascading down my upper arm when I studied abroad there for a semester sophomore year.

But none of my tattoos mean as much as the letter J inked over my heart. The same one Angie has slightly below her left collar bone in a more delicate font. It was our gift to each other when we graduated from undergrad—a testament to our friendship both for the past and the future.

Johanssen and Jimenez. We were always meant to stay together.

Were we always meant to become this? A couple of friends playing with Dom/sub dynamics and wild fantasies? Having children together? Being so intertwined into each other’s lives that removal would be unfathomable?

Did I ever think my pretty best friend would see me as this? No. I was perfectly happy being a bachelor. But here I am, laying naked in front of her, wishing for her to spank me, praise me, degrade me, put me in a hog-tie and attach a vibrator to my balls, not because of the arrangement we struck, but because I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else—with anyone else.

The thought of going back to what I was before getting Angie pregnant has lost all its appeal. Maybe that’s because I can’t see myself leaving for a hookup while being a new father. Maybe it’s because the feeling I get from those hookups is no more exciting than dragging a lit sparkler through dusk. When I’m with Angie, it's like a grand finale of fireworks.

Out of nowhere, my father’s voice rings like it always has. Women will only ruin your life, mijo. Never get close.

And for the first time since he told me that when I was fourteen, I question it. It’s the smallest of irritations, like a tiny pebble stuck in my shoe, just bothersome enough that I could easily ignore it for another time, perhaps when Angie isn’t about to push a purple dildo inside me.

“Are you ready, baby?” she asks in a sultry tone as the kiss of a slick phallus grazes against my back entrance.

Yeah, now’s not the time for this mental unpacking.

Angie

“Yes,” he sighs. For a moment there I was concerned he wanted to stop. He seemed like he was lost in thought.

“I’ll go slow,” I coo. I’ve already applied the lube directly to him and my strap, but I take the time to insert one then two fingers, scissoring his tight hole until it gives way for a third. Rafael doesn’t need any instruction from me to relax—he definitely knows what to do. I’ve never experienced this side of things, but watching him breathe deep and moan as I gently massage him open is beyond my wildest fantasies. I’m in awe. “You’re doing so good, Raf.”

“I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please,” he whines and spreads his long, toned legs even further apart to line up with me.

Grabbing my fake shaft, I can only see the end of it past my stomach, but I press the tip against his hole again, this time pushing in ever so slightly. “Oh shit,” he whispers, and his right hand fists the pillow. “Yes. Don’t stop.” I’m not, but I’m still taking my time entering him at a glacial pace. When I’m mostly in, his entire body relaxes. I’m having a hard time playing Domme right now because I’m mesmerized by what’s happening before me.

I intend to use the little remote to turn on a vibration setting, but I didn’t expect to actually feel something while wearing this. It’s not stimulating my clit, but there’s this phantom feeling when I drag out and push in. Maybe it’s all in my head; but it’s the way the hip straps bite at my flesh when I’m pulling out of him and the way his hot skin kisses my thighs when they meet—it’s so damn beautiful and real.

“Oh my god,” I whisper. “I feel so…fucking powerful like this.” I start to thrust in earnest, and Rafael's moans are his only reply. “Talk to me, baby. Where are you?”

“I’m so…so good,” he says, followed by a string of mumbled expletives.

“You like taking my cock, you little slut?” I bite out.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“That’s right,” I say, running my hands on the side of his ass to his narrow hips and holding tight, using his body as leverage to pump harder and faster.

A round of applause to tops, though, because this is a lot harder than it looks. I get winded so easily these days. This is taking a lot of strength.

Grabbing the little black remote next to my knee, I press the button and quickly find the right vibration setting.

Why sex toy manufacturers give us more than two options is beyond me. Low and high. That’s it. I don’t need Morse code to get me off.

I’m pleasantly surprised at the amount of sensation against the outside of my pussy—and Raf is too. He gasps, “Sí sí sí. Unghh.”

“Touch yourself. Stroke that pathetic little cock you have.” He obeys and shoves a hand between his legs. A tendril of perverse thrill rushes through me after degrading him like that.

“You’re so good to me, Ma’am. Thank you.”

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