Page 23 of Darling
I’m not expecting it, not at all. I blink, surprised, and shake my head.
“No… it’s not.”
“Have you fucked a guy before? I mean, like, would this be your first time? I guess I never really asked, and I assumed with how you come off, that you have. But maybe… and like maybeyouwanna get fucked. We never really discussed that either. I’m not the greatest top on the planet, but I’ll give it a go if that’s what you prefer. We can do whatever’s comfortable for you. I’m just, like, really into you, and I’ve never had guys be this reluctant to fuck me before.”
I eye him, stunned. He’s very like Felix in some ways, confident and bold and startlingly direct, but is softer with it. His confidence is a little more understated, the self-assuredness quieter and less prominent, but no less admirable.
“First of all, you don’t ever have to question your own attractiveness. You’re one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever set eyes on, that many people have ever set eyes on, I’m certain of it.”
He shrugs. “Beauty is subjective.”
“No one questions how beautiful a summer sunset is, Asher, or a clear, blue ocean. Some things are indisputable.”
He smiles shyly at this.
“Second of all, yes, I have been with men. A small and select number. You would not be the first.”
“How many?”
“Does it matter?”
“Just curious. Would it matter to you how many men I’d been with?” He swallows slightly.
“Not at all.” I skim a hand down his cheek, gently lifting his chin. “I think it would be a crime if you weren’t fucked well and often, frankly.”
He laughs, but I don’t miss the relief that seeps into his eyes.
“Is there a third of all?”
I drop my hand down and around, squeezing his perfect ass cheek, then the other, before tugging the fabric of his briefs aside and skimming a finger over his hole. Smooth and hot.
“Yes. Thirdly, there’s no reluctance. I want to be inside there more than you know. Christ, it’s all I could think about most of the day after your message.”
“I mean, I waited with my ass up for like a half hour. But you were late.” It’s delivered through a small pout.
I lean in to kiss him again. Then I bring my fingers to his mouth and push two inside to caress his tongue, watching as his eyes go heavy-lidded and he begins to suck. When I slip them from his mouth and guide them back to his hole, his breathing shifts. He lets out a small gasp as I push one inside. It’s tight, his ass gripping my fingers before he relaxes around it.
“So perfect…” I kiss his neck. He likes being kissed here, I’ve noticed, turns practically liquid when I do. “What a perfect little hole.”
“It’s yours…” he says huskily. “Fucking use it.”
Something snaps, the last thin thread of restraint, of sense, too, and I step back and begin to strip out of my clothes. “On the bed,” I command. “Ass up.”
Second Motion
The Body Politic
Eight
Asher
The first porn scene I ever saw was on a kid’s phone when I was fourteen. We weren’t allowed phones ourselves, obviously, but in the summer, some kids from the surrounding areas would come to the compound for a few weeks for Jeremiah’s summer Bible camp.His Brethren,it was called. And well, these kids weren’t allowed phones either, but this one kid had somehow kept his. And he showed me porn. Gay porn. It blew my tiny, religious, sheltered mind and lit a fire in me that still fuels me to this day.
After getting off together, we kissed. The next day, he put his mouth around my cock, and I saw stars. Two days after that, my fifteenth birthday, I put his in mine and I saw heaven. The taste of what felt then like the most forbidden of fruits changed my brain chemistry. I’d all but known I was gay before that. Convinced myself I was a literal demon for wanting to touch men the way I did, because the teachings of Jeremiah said that was true.
And then I saw that porn scene.
It wasn’t anything wild. The guy was older (a bit of a legend in the circuit, I came to understand), but he was in good shape, lots of body hair, huge dick, and pounding into a guy younger andsmaller than him, who was whining and writhing and squealing with pleasure. I know now the whining was likely fake, but still, it consumed me. After the summer ended and the kid went home, I would go out into the woods, think about that scene, and get myself off. That was when I began to think of leaving. I knew I had to get out. How could I live, survive, in a place where that kind of pleasure was considered a sin? All I could think about was being fucked like that. All day, every day.