Close-Up

Ethan arrived on time, all questions.

“Later. Afterward,” I said, hustling him up to the larger of the two bedrooms, both under the eaves of a half second story. The massive bed took up nearly the whole room. I bent him over the foot of the bed and fucked him. I put him on his back on the bed and fucked him. I fucked him with him slouched in a chair, his legs hanging over the arms, his butt on the front edge of the cushion, and me hovered over him. I fucked him on the bureau against the wall, with his legs stretched out in either direction on the top of the bureau and me holding him from behind and fucking him. I fucked him on the carpeted floor, with him taking his weight on his shoulders, his head tucked in, and his tail waving in the air. His legs were in the splits and I stood over him, holding his hips between my hands, and jackhammering down into his passage.

He denied me nothing. He did it all. He gave me whatever I wanted. I wanted it all. I wanted to enslave him. He told me whatever I wanted I could have.

“I want you full time. My dedicated lover. Not anyone’s rent-boy,” I said later—after the close-up photos were taken of his debauched, ravished body. “I know I told you to avoid that, but now I’m begging you to do otherwise. I’ve moved here, to Charleston, three blocks from your college. I want you to live here with me—to go to college from here. But to come home to me. Here.”

“Your boy toy?” he asked.

“No, my partner,” I said. “My lover . . . my love.”

“I would have agreed even if you had said as your boy toy,” he answered.

I watched him leave, to return to his dorm room at the college, to pack up his things and return the next day.

As I watched him turn the corner on Montague and was about to turn, I looked up—to see Mr. Wonderful, Nathan Sheldon, approaching.

“Mr. Sheldon,” I said. “If this is about Ethan.”

“It’s not about Ethan. He’s enjoying you. This is about you and me.” He was holding the photos I’d taken of him at the swimming pool in his hand. I didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t wait for me to say anything. “Perhaps I should come inside.”

He fucked me on the tussled bed in the master bedroom, completely mastering me. I was totally submissive to him, letting him fuck me in a doggie fuck on the bed, me on all fours and him crouched over my hips, giving me more than eight inches. Giving me more than I gave his son. Giving it to me hard and longer. And I melted to it, wanting it, taking it, begging for it, and begging for more after we’d both come.

Then he gave it to me the same way I’d given it to Ethan that night he’d come to me in Beaufort—me stretched on top of him, trapped in a full nelson, my legs spread around his bent legs, him thrusting up into me, moaning and groaning.

Afterward, totally exhausted, I lay on my belly on the bed, an arm draped over the side, knuckles dragging on the floor, eyes glazed over, and a silly grin on my face. My buttocks was slightly raised by the pillow under my belly from the last position he’d taken me in, stretched out on top of me close, holding my arms over my head with hands grasping my wrists, swabbing my ear cavity with his tongue, and slowly, deeply, thickly, mining my ass, nearly the only movement discernible having been the rise and fall of his pelvis. I was drooling into the sheets, but I didn’t care. His cum was slathered on the small of my back; mine was puddled on the sheets under me. I hadn’t let men fuck me for years. Nathan fucked me without asking for permission, and he dominated me.

If he had wanted to fuck me again, I would have turned on my back and opened my legs to him. I felt the loss that he had stopped fucking me.

He sat across from the bed, in the chair I’d fucked his son in, magnificently naked, one foot casually raised to the cushion, snapping off photos of me in my debauched, ravished state with my own camera.

“Ethan gave me the photos,” he said. “I remember when you took them—and then when you followed me into the shower to see me naked. I would have fucked you then, if you’d asked me to. Then, after I asked around and found out who you were and discovered your books—not the young adult ones, the becoming actively gay ones—I knew we would fuck one day.”

I said nothing; just lay there, panting. I hadn’t had a man inside me for years and even then few were as big as he was.

Nathan continued. “Neither of us minds sharing you—as long as it’s you fucking him and me fucking you. He knows I’m here. He’s the one who forwarded your e-mail to me to let me know you were here. I have his class schedule. I’ll e-mail you when it’s convenient for me to drive into Charleston and when I know he’s in class. I know someone at your publisher’s, by the way. When I said I’d read some of your books, it wasn’t the Christian teen book drivel. It was your coming-of-age gay books. Quite some energetic scenes in those. We’ll have to try some of those positions out. You described being a submissive so well that I assumed that you let men fuck you. Was I correct?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“And that you would continue to let a man dominate you even when you were dominating others yourself.”

“Yes.” It was a bit late to ask for confirmation of that. The man had just fucked me every way from Sunday and I’d opened my legs for him.

The commanding voice of a dominator. He took it for granted that I’d let him fuck me again. He was right. With him I had been and would be the total submissive.

I couldn’t process this now, though. I was too totally fucked. Tomorrow. I’d think about this tomorrow.