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“How?”
“Being surrounded by all that erotic art probably helped. Your speech got me thinking as well, but I think it was your drawing. The rope binding.”
My lips curled upward. “I told you art was powerful.” Reluctantly, I climbed off him, knowing that I probably wasn’t helping him share his story. Instead, I sat next to him, lifting the whiskey bottle and drinking straight from it. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
“It got worse,” he admitted. “Charlie punched the hotel manager who had arranged for the girls from some cheap brothel and not the club we’d asked him to contact, and he got arrested. The woman who runs our record label, Addison, got on a plane to come get him out and the plane crashed. She nearly died on some remote island, only getting rescued when she blew up the plane, and the man traveling with her spent months in rehab with a broken back. My desire for some kinky sex led to a whole heap of trouble… people nearly died… because of me.
“Jesus,” I gasped. “That’s a whole lot of guilt, Archer. No wonder you’ve not come since.”
He laughed, his face relaxing, and his eyes shining with unshed tears. Taking the bottle from my hand, he took a long pull before handing it back to me. “I guess when I say it out loud, it does make sense. I just thought I was broken.”
“Hey, I don’t know you very well, but I can see you’re not broken. You’ve been through a lot. I don’t think you’ve ever given yourself permission to learn what you enjoy. That’s not broken.”
He scoffed. “Maybe.”
“Do you trust me, Archer?”
He looked at me, nodding slowly. “I don’t know why. I mean, I barely know you, but I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, in my underwear, spilling my soul about my fucked up sex life and malfunctioning cock.”
“Can I touch you?” The words fell from my lips before I could stop them.
“W-what?”
“Can I touch you?”
His eyes flared with so many unspoken emotions that I thought he might try to run again, but he surprised me by whispering, “I’d like that.”
I put the whiskey bottle on the side table before I placed my hands on his thighs, edging them apart so I could kneel between them. Cupping his now semi hard cock, it went instantly hard in my hand. “This is not broken or malfunctioning.”
He groaned, his eye fixated on where I touched him, his hips lifting slightly, searching for more.
I traced my fingers over the material of his boxers, along his length. “Your sex life is not fucked up.”
“But what I want is…”
I waited for him to fill in the blanks, but instead, his body went rigid, his hands fisting the sheets like he was in pain.
“What? You’re worried because you want more than just vanilla, missionary sex? That’s not fucked up. Sex is meant to be fun and you’re allowed to work out what makes it fun for you.”
“Easy for you to say… you made an octopus sex sculpture.”
I lifted my hand from his body, sitting back on my heels. “I did and if I worried about what people would think, then I wouldn’t make any art. The hang ups we create make us miss out on so much pleasure.”
Archer shuddered. “I spend my whole life thinking about what people will think… about my mum, about my job, my music, what I wear, how I behave. What I might like in the bedroom feels like one too many things… and the only thing I can really control.”
I paused, an idea popping into my head. “What if someone took it out of your control?”
“What?” he spat out, obviously shocked by my suggestion.
“What if I helped you experiment? What if we played together?”
He leaned over and grabbed the bottle from the side, taking another long drink. “You want to have sex with me?”
“Not necessarily, if you don’t want. I want to teach you how to let go, to trust, to enjoy every aspect of sex. I want to help you find out what you enjoy… what makes your toes curls and your balls swell.”
“Fuck, your mouth. Can you teach me that too?”
“Anything, Arch. I mean it. We can have some fun together. No strings, no expectations, no pressure. Come, don’t come… I don’t mind. I just want to show you how good it can be.”
