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“Not exactly. I can’t really explain it. It just didn’t feel right to be fucking a Fleshlight, or even my hand.” He nods, and I continue, “And it helped…a little. With everything being so chaotic at the time, it helped to have this nightly wind-down routine to help my mind settle so I could sleep. You know, clean the kitchen, tidy up after the kids, get ready for bed…and then I just threw in ‘fuck myself with a bright pink, six-inch dildo.’”
Deacon lets out a strange noise that sounds halfway between a laugh and a groan. “It was really pink?”
I smirk at him. “Yep. And very…girthy. I can show it to you if you’d like?”
He gives a sharp shake of his head. “Nope. No, I’m good. I think I need to hear the part of this story that I’m apparently not going to like.”
I arch a curious brow at him, but then my eyes catch sight of his crotch, where his hard dick looks ready to tear through his zipper. Fuck, I want to ride it. “Right. Yeah…” I tear my gaze away and give a shake of my head, forcing my mind back on track. “Well, as pleasurable as stuffing myself full of a six-inch dildo is—”
“Fucking hell,”Deacon mutters, thrusting a hand through his hair.
“It was getting to the point where it was really enough. A solo session is fine for settling down for the night, but it’s not going to help me unwind in the way a proper fuck is. And it seemed like the more stable and together I started to feel, the more I was craving it. So one night, after a pretty nightmarish day where a ton of shit hit the fan, I went to a bar and looked for a woman to hook up with. All I could think about was getting laid—I knew it wasn’t going to magically fix all the shit going on at work, but for the first time in ages I’d be able to just relax and let go and lose myself in someone and not have to think. But there was a problem…”
“You didn’t want a woman?” he guesses.
I shake my head. “I wasn’t ready. I flirted with at least ten beautiful women that night and not one of them sparked any interest. At that point I genuinely thought I might never have sex again,” I admit. “But then I went home and went through the usual routine. And just after I came, it occurred to me that maybe I didn’t need to find a woman to fuck, maybe I just needed to find someone to fuck me.” I glance at Deacon, but I can’t read his expression. He doesn’t look pissed off, but he doesn’t look pleased either. He’s a complete closed book. “You were right when you said I saw men as walking dildos,” I admit. “That’s all it was. I figured if I could get off from having a fake cock in me I could probably get off from a real one. And at least with a real one I wouldn’t have to do the work. I knew there was a good chance I wouldn’t be able to get it up for a guy, but that didn’t really matter—once I had a cock in me I’d be fine.”
“Are you expecting me to be mad about this?” he asks, brows drawn together.
“You seemed pretty mad earlier,” I point out.
“I was frustrated,” he clarifies. “Because I didn’t understand. And I don’t like being used. But I do understand now, and you telling me all of this—trusting me with your story—that makes me feel anything but used.”
I blink at him, a little startled. To be honest, I hadn’t really intended to divulge so much when I started talking, it all just sort of…came out.
“Can I ask…what does your therapist say about this particular coping strategy?” he asks, a mix of curiosity and concern in his tone.
I sigh and lean back in my seat. “She’s not thrilled,” I admit. “But as long as I’m safe and responsible she’d prefer this to something else—like alcohol or drugs.”
He nods. “Fair point. What does she mean ‘responsible’?”
“I don’t ever bring guys to the house. I always make sure someone’s at home with Izzy. I’m never out the whole night. I don’t drink alcohol on nights when I’m hooking up. I don’t give out personal details,” I list off. “I don’t hook up with the same guy twice…usually.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Why the hell am I the exception?”
I shrug. “I’ve already told you. I have no idea. You’ve imprinted on me like a baby duck.”
He lets out a burst of laughter that lights up his entire face. “Maybe my dick is magical.”
“I’m pretty sure it is. You might want to have it studied for science.”
He offers me a wry smile. “And I guess you’d be the first one to volunteer your services as a test subject?”
“Well, if it’s for the good of science I just don’t think I’d have much of a choice.”
He smiles indulgently before tugging his phone from his pocket and groaning when he sees the time. “Fuck, it’s nearly twelve. I really need to get going.”
I really don’t want him to leave, but I did promise to have him home by midnight.
We get up from the sofa and I walk him to the door. I’m about to open it for him, but after how considerate he was while I shared my story—and after glimpsing that boner he sprung while I talked about dildos—I just can’t resist taking one more shot. “I know I sound like a broken record, but is there any wriggle room that doesn’t involve an actual relationship?”
Deacon eyes me thoughtfully for a moment. “I guess that depends on you.”
“Me?”
He steps forward and brushes a kiss to my cheek, taking me completely by surprise. “If you want my cock, you get my lips as well,” he murmurs in my ear. “They’re kind of a package deal.”
He steps back and I stare at the lips in question as they form into a wry smirk.
