Page 19 of View From the Bottom

“Come here,” he commanded with a curl of his index finger, a beckoning wish.

My knees carried me to him, between his legs, where I gazed up into his eyes, those deep brown irises that danced in hazel flames.

“Look at me,” he directed with a sly smile as he pulled his arms back and locked his fingers behind his head, seductively exposing his body to me, begging my attention to his defined biceps, to the dark hair that dusted his arms and coated his pits. “Tell me what you like. Tell me how much I turn you on.”

My boyfriend’s body was perfect to me. His frame was lean, his chest almost flat but defined, small brown nipples that always seemed to be hard, just waiting for my tongue to lick over them, for my teeth to lightly nip at them. Dark hair grew thick on his legs and under his arms, and sprouted from his crotch like a flourishing crop in a fertile field during a warm, wet summer. His chest, however, was nearly smooth, only a thin trail of fur burrowing through the crevice between his pecs and wisping circles around his nipples. His abdomen was smooth too, faint lines of definition visible under his tanned flesh. The only hint of hair there grew denser as it sprouted under his navel and traveled to the treasure normally buried beneath layers of superfluous clothing.

Frankie felt no need to conceal any part of himself from me. He was sweet but direct, and as natural as he wanted to be. As natural as I always wanted him to be.

I could hardly put my response to his request into words. There was too much about him that I found attractive, that I found undeniably appealing. So much so that I drop to my knees to worship him when he arrives home after long work trips.

“Everything. Your strong hands, your body hair, your masculine scent, your virility. The way you move, the way yousit, the way you speak. The way you take advantage of my weakness for you. How much you fucking love me.”

“I do, Marco. Don’t ever fucking forget that. But right now, tell me what about me has your dick so hard it’s pointing to the ceiling. Tell me what has it dripping like a leaky faucet and forming a fucking lake on our bedroom floor. Tell me what you’ve been dreaming about for the last few weeks.”

So. Fucking. Much.

“Your cock.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“How firm it is. The way it fills out your briefs. How the hair grows thick around the base, thinning out as it travels up your length.”

“And?”

“The weight of it. How it seems to be so heavy and full sometimes. So full that you don’t even get all the way hard. Almost like you haven’t come for days and the weight of it is just too much.”

“Maybe I haven’t. Maybe I’ve been building up a big load for you, Marco. I know how much you like it when I do that.”

“Fuck. I want it.”

“Where?”

“In my mouth.”

“Soon, babe. What else?” He flexed his biceps at me, knowing I couldn’t resist his charm. Frankie wasn’t overly built, but he was in shape, and so fucking defined that every muscle on his body had a clear contour that had been imprinted on my memory.

“Your balls. How they’re so full and covered with that thick, dark hair. I love the way they smell after a day of hard work. I could fucking pick you out of a crowd by that smell alone. The way they tighten when you’re about to come. The way they hanglower on a hot day or after you’ve been at the gym. The way they taste when I kiss them.”

“Good.”

“Can I kiss them? I really want to taste you.”

“Not yet. What else?”

“Your pits.”

“Yeah. I know you like these,” he huffed, flexing again.

“They’re perfect. The way the hair travels through them—thicker in the middle. The way they smell when you rub my face in them.”

“When do you like them best?”

“After work, when you’ve gone to the gym but you haven’t put on deodorant. When you’re natural. When you smell like you.”

Frankie turned his head to the left and inhaled the scent from under his arm. “I haven’t been to the gym today. But my deodorant’s worn off. You want a taste?”

“Yes. Please.”

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