Page 59 of These Secret Years

I swallow hard and let go of him at the same time he lets go of me.

A feature of this staged room is a very large mirror over the head of the bed. I imagine the theory behind it is to reflect light, make the room seem bigger and enable potential buyers to picture themselves here.

The thing is, I can see how wrecked I already am with swollen lips and a damp, flushed face. When I pull off my shirt, I see the flush extends halfway down my bare chest. I avert my gaze, not relishing the sight of myself like this. It’s not dark out yet, and so the room is bathed in mild, pre-dusk light. The simple cream quilt on the bed looks soft and unspoiled, and now I’m wracked with a wave of guilt for what I’m about to allow to happen on it. For what I want to happen on it.

As I stare down at it, my hands shove my joggers over my big thighs and ass. A bottle of lube and a condom packet land on the bed. I swallow another mouthful of saliva, my cock jerking upward as though it could possibly get any harder. “I should put down a towel,” I say.

He chuckles softly, and I glance at the mirror to see him taking his own shirt off. More scattered tattoos appear along with two studs in his nipples. My mouth isn’t dry anymore. It’s watering. He’s all lean definition and long limbs—lithe and graceful, his chest as hairless as mine, but I keep mine that way on purpose. Sullivan’s looks naturally smooth, the same way his face is always so smooth. As though his body decided that the hair on his head was lush and perfect enough that it shouldn’t have any competition. But as he lowers his own pants, I notice he does have some hair. That very specifically male hair from his hollow of a navel leading down to his thick, jutting cock.

He’s otherwise hairless, though. Even his legs are satin smooth. I take a shaky breath as more of the mysteries of his body slowly reveal themselves. Another random utterance escapes my mouth. “Do you wax?”

“Not by choice. You want to wait until my leg hair grows back?”

“No, I… it’s just…”

“What?”

Gay, I want to say. It’s not that I need him to go into a specific sexuality box right this second, and I understand that straight or bi men sometimes remove their body hair, but why does he? Why would he? His size and body art notwithstanding, he looks so much younger like this.

He moves around me, pushing the quilt back from the foot of the bed to reveal the sheets. He grabs the lube and the condom to keep them within reach. “Not by choice?” I ask, my sluggish mind snagging on the more important part of what he just said.

“You think I like looking like a twelve year old?”

“Then why?”

“It’s a long story, and I don’t feel like telling it when you’re leaking all over the place. But if you want to stop to talk, say so now.”

“It’s nothing to do with that. You’re gorgeous, I just⁠—”

He cuts me off. “You’re nervous, and you’re looking for excuses. If you don’t think I’m man enough to fuck you, just say so.”

He’s clearly more than man enough to fuck me. When he follows the bold words up with an even bolder stroke of his own hard cock, he’s like a fucking fantasy coming to life.

I guess I’ve never felt all that masculine, although I do realize the way I look and have learned to carry myself don’t betray a lot of who I am inside this body that I’ve trained to take heavy hits, run fast, and throw far. Tonight, I feel dwarfed by Sullivan’s presence, hairless legs or not. His words, his cock, his hands, have nearly all my focus. Ninety-nine percent. One percent, however, seems bent on voicing every random thought that pops into my head. “Do you like the room?”

“I like the mirror, and I think you should get on your hands and knees if I’m staying.”

Precum drips and stains the sheets as I crawl over them.

In the mirror, Sullivan’s reflection takes in the sight of me displaying myself for him. I drop my head, unable to stand seeing myself like this.

If I could change, I would have changed. If I could be anything but this, I would take whatever pill, undergo whatever procedure, endure a fucking exorcism. In this moment, I hate myself, my hormones, my brain chemistry, my dick for wanting the way they do. For making wanting hurt the way it does.

I feel Sullivan’s hand on my inner thigh first like a warning just before it slips between my legs to take hold of my cock. He draws it down and back, making me grunt and my elbows shake. His thumb runs up the sensitive crease in my scrotum as the rest of his hand moves over my shaft, his fist creating a rocking motion unlike anything I would or ever could do to myself. Shame on me. Shame on me so much for loving it.

“Oh, God,” I sigh.

He’s quiet, so I fold my arms and rest my head on them, completing my submission to him by presenting all my parts like a stretching kitten.

In the silence, he keeps my dick hard and leaking and hurting for and from his continued attention. Soon enough, he uses his other hand to massage and part my ass cheeks. The rush of room temperature air hitting my hole gives me another deep shudder that feels a lot like anticipation. He strokes it gently with a dry fingertip. It clenches. It opens.

He spits on it, the sharp sound from his lips shocking me almost more than the sensation of the firm circles he uses to rub his saliva into my rim. Whatever finger he’s using slides inside, and my muscles lock up tight, the urge to bear down and push him out nearly irresistible. Heavy pressure downward stretches the rim in a way that feels almost too extreme, and I pant heavily, loving it. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. A warm burn accompanies the stretch, and I welcome it.

“Push,” he says, his voice lower and rougher.

I do as I’m told, and his finger sinks inside, deeper than I expected. The thought I have, which I manage to keep quiet, is that’s what those long fingers are for.

It’s immensely pleasurable in a way I feel both on the crown of my head as zaps and tingles to my curling toes. My thighs tense, too, but I force my glutes to stay relaxed, and because I do, I get more downward pressure from his finger and a gentle mapping of my insides that sends more shockwaves through my groin and down my legs.