Page 70 of Dance of Defiance

I’m not gay.

I’m not attracted to men.

I fucking like women.

I’m straight.

But every single one of them, just like all my strength, power and control, shatter to nothing whenever I’m around that motherfucker.

Whenever I eventhinkof him.

My eyes squeeze shut, and I grit my teeth.

It’s getting harder and harder to look at myself in the mirror and try to tell myself that I’m not into men when lurid, vivid images of what happened the other day keep roaring through my head and turning my world upside down.

Turning my blood to fire.

Turning my cock to steel.

Because the fucked-up reality is that I fuckingloved it.

A lot.

I came harder with Val’s hand around my dick than I haveevercome before, either by myself or with a woman.

It was Val, not me, I tried to tell myself. It was his constant attention on me.

Hisfault I came so fucking hard jerking his dick while he jerked mine.

Hisfault I came a second time with his lips wrapped around my cock, so hard that I almost blacked out.

The other day, after what happened, and after he ignored my messages trying to apologize for accidentally smacking him—and, well, for freaking out a little—I decided I needed to “course correct”.

I ended up calling Tiffany, one of my very,veryfew “repeats”. We’ve hooked up dozens of times in the past: I call her when I’m fucked up, she comes over or tells me where to find her, we fuck, often without even really getting undressed, and then either I leave or she does immediately after. We don’t talk about our lives, or what we’re thinking or feeling. In fact, I’m not sure we’ve ever had what you could call a conversation.

It’s perfect.

Andthat, I reasoned, was exactly what I needed. So I called her—drunk, of course—and invited her over to my place. Except the second she walked in the door, and slipped off her jacket, and winked as she twirled and showed me the lacy, see-through lingerie underneath…I was immediately disinterested.

Completely.

All the womanly aspects of her that I had buried myself in before—the big, full tits, the round hips, the long, silky hair, the pouty lips…

They were a fuckingturnoff. Like legit a total erection killer.

It was like she was toosoft. Too curvy. Too weak. Too…feminine.

Fucking HELL.

I don’t even want to say it in my own head, but I know what was missing, and what wasn’t there thatwouldhave made me hard.

Rough edges. Sharp lines. Muscles and grooves. A stubbled jaw. Hard, glinting eyes. An even harder cock.

Jesus.

I exhale again, grunting as I give the practice bag a cheap shot to its kidneys and then turn to grab some water. I yank off my gloves, tossing them aside as I pick up the bottle.

I’ve considered the possibility of erectile dysfunction. Or low testosterone?