Page 122 of Bobby Green

“They’re so stupid!” she laughed. “All this fuss over whether they sleep together! Making the two of them get married. Why don’t they just tell the world to fuck off?”

“Well,” Reg said, remembering what Bobby’s mom had told him. “It was a different time back then. Women were… well, their virginity was a big deal. So they had to protect her honor.”

And V had laughed, long and jarringly, about how virgins were boring and how it was all about a book title and how nobody cared if they were doing it.

And Reg stopped talking, let Bobby take over, while he dealt with the fact that it wasn’t just when she wasoffher meds. On the whole, V’s mind, once sharp and quick and on point, with As in high school and junior college, and promotions at work and everything, had deteriorated over the last eleven years.

She didn’t understand the book. She didn’t understand the time period. All the things Reg and Bobby had needed to look up on the internet, she didn’t remember. In particular, she didn’t remember the simple human trick of putting herself in another person’s situation and thinking about how they might feel.

He would look back later—much later—and realize that the mourning started then. But his heart was so sad, so shattered, he couldn’t sort the pieces of it yet. Not then. Not a month later when his world fell apart.

All he could do was try to spread the pieces on the table and bleed.

HE WASemotionally exhausted that night—but he needed. It was like he was internally hemorrhaging, and he needed Bobby inside him to keep him alive.

They got to the dark of their bedroom, and all the quiet talk between them died. They undressed in silence, Reg taking off his underwear and tucking them under his pillow while Bobby opened the window to the side yard, letting a soft breeze and the smell of the neighbor’s cats waft in.

By the time Bobby turned around, Reg was sitting on the bed naked, waiting.

Reg looked into his lover’s eyes and opened his mouth suggestively. He was empty. He needed. Bobby would fill him.

Bobby slid his own boxers off and threw them near the head of the bed—the easier to find them when they were done—and let his cock unfurl.

It was thickening as Reg watched, but it wasn’t huge. Not yet. Reg mouthed it, taking the whole thing in. His gag reflex had been long ago burned away, too many cocks shoved to the back of his throat. But he was glad now, taking the whole thing into his mouth, his lips tight against Bobby’s pubic hair.

Bobby swelled, lengthening, fattening, taking all the room in Reg’s mouth, penetrating his throat, and he swallowed, swallowed again, then pulled back with a tightened tongue and palate, lips over teeth, his suction strong and hard as he exposed the great club of a penis, wet, glistening, blood throbbing under the surface, and prime.

Bobby moaned softly and massaged his scalp under his hair, and Reg thrust his head forward again.

“Such a sweet mouth,” Bobby said softly. “Let me know if you want my mouth onyourcock.”

Reg just shook his head. His own cock was swelling but not urgent. He wasn’t aching for Bobby’s touch—he was aching for Bobby’suse. He needed to be of service tonight. He needed to be ravished.

He kept sucking, again and again and again, pulling off to slap his own cheeks with Bobby’s member, harder and faster, until Bobby grunted and smeared precome on his face.

“Want it hard tonight?” he whispered, making sure. He was always so tender with Reg—making sure Reg wanted to be hard-fucked, that was something he’d do.

Reg nodded and kept slapping, glad, so glad when Bobby shoved him back and turned him over, putting him on his hands and knees.

The cold drizzle of lube shocked him, and his cock finally began to ache. Then Bobby’s fingers, two at first, because Reg could take it, thrusting in and out until Reg gruntedyes.

Three next, long, slow strokes, and Reg just squatted on the bed, grunting like an animal, needing this, needing to be a sex puppet, needing Bobby to mold him to use.

Another finger, almost a fist, stretching him to pain. He shoved his palm in his mouth and howled, screaming, shoving his ass back. He’d take a fist tonight, when he’d never taken one before, anything, anything to fill the sudden void of self-knowledge, the terrible, terrible ache of his wasted youth, the promise he’d never had a chance to understand before he’d pissed it away.

Bobby pulled his fingers out, and Reg howled louder with the emptiness, until Bobby shoved inside him, battering, hard, unapologetic.

Reg needed him so bad, he half sobbed into his own cupped hands.

Bobby fucked him savagely, short, hard thrusts while Reg shuddered, clenching, trying to capture that behemoth inside him.

Don’t leave me. Don’t take it away.

He bore down, using all his muscles to tighten up, to burn, to ache, and Bobby’s pop across his ass amped him up higher.

“Let me in, Reg,” he hissed. “Don’t clench me out.”

Reg whimpered, releasing, and the savagery diminished, replaced with speed and smoothness.