Page 74 of A Boy Called Lovesong

A tear streaked down my cheek.

Thunder growled at the door.

And suddenly Lovesong stepped up to me, took my face in his hands, and kissed me.

He kissed me with a hunger, a yearning, that took me by surprise.

Yet I didn’t stop him.

Any sexual urges within me had been shut off for so long, I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to kiss someone. But suddenly my suppressed yearning, the desire to be with someone, was back, stronger than ever.

I kissed him ravenously, and before I knew it, he was pulling off my wet shirt and letting it slap to the ground.

He jerked his own shirt off, losing a button, never once letting his lips leave mine as his tongue delved deep into my mouth.

My chest heaved, my body wanting him so badly that I could barely control myself.

I yanked at his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, making my intentions—my urgent need—more than clear as I shoved my hand inside.

My fingers seized his hot, swollen package and pulled his manhood free of his jeans, his dick instantly standing tall and proud, thick and stiff, the sheath of his foreskin sliding quickly down to reveal the large blooming head of his cock.

I wanted to drop to my knees, to take it in my mouth, but Lovesong stopped me, quickly unfastening my pants, unzipping me to reveal my own stiff dick.

My cock practically pounced free, our erections brushing against each other and forcing a moan of desire from my lungs.

We heeled off our boots. We slid our pants hurriedly down our legs and stepped out of our clothes. But just when I was ready for him to take me…

He suddenly slowed things down.

He pushed me backward, my feet stumbling blindly until my back pressed against the wall of the shed.

Then slowly, tenderly, he touched his fingers to my chest.

His hand traced my skin so delicately that I realized he was not just touching me, he wasseeingme.

He was drawing a picture of me in his mind, his soft touch gliding over every contour, pausing over moles and scars, scanning each and every goosebump.

He was mapping a blueprint.

He was forging the metalwork of me, stacking the building blocks that made me.

He was creatingmeout of a vision only he could see.

I hoped he was creating a better version of me than the real one.

Isn’t that what we all wanted… to be someone better?

Or was I simply looking for someone tomakeme better?

I wanted him more than ever as his fingers trailed down my quivering abs, then raked their way through my pubic hair, coming to rest around the base of my hardened cock.

Gently he began to stroke it, squeezing it at the base and sliding all the way up to the bulging head. The up and down motion continued, gaining speed and pressure, and within seconds he was jerking me off.

I couldn’t hold my breath any longer and let out a groan and a rush of air. They were followed by short gasps as his other hand took hold of his own thick, hard cock.

He began to stroke himself, at the same time increasing the intensity of his strokes on my dick, rubbing my cock even harder.

He was strong, his grip forceful. If he kept going, I was going to blow all too soon. I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted this moment to last as long as possible.

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