Warning / Author's Note / Spoiler Alert:
This was my first attempt writing something like this. It's four years old and I don't dare attempt to re-write it. If there's something wrong with it, chock it up to the fact that I was a 20-year-old virgin writing about something I didn't fully understand. I'll take positive criticism, but please don't knock me for a lack of knowledge. I tried to do research.
Now, I know there's a lot of guys out there who have an aversion to the whole idea of taking it up the ass. Well, click "back" 'cause that's what this story is about. I shit you not.
No, Sam doesn't take it in the ass. She does the taking. Don't wanna spoil it, but I don't want no hate mail from pissed-off phallic-centric, insecure guys. Just saying.
Also, this is my first attempt using "in-text" html formatting for my italics, so if I screw it up, I sincerely apologize.
Thanks for your time and patience. I love you all!
~DA
* O N E * N I G H T *
Part 9: Jake's Dirty Little Secret
Started: Thursday October 25th, 2007 (I lost track of when I finished it)
* ~ * ~ *
(March )
"Oh, God, please... don't—don't stop..."
"Jake?"
I walked into his apartment, surprising him on an early March afternoon. I thought we could go for a ride in my mom's car since she wasn't doing anything with it and Jake and I both had the day off. It was something of a given that our simultaneous days off were to be spent together. But as I walked inside, dropping my purse on the couch, I heard Jake in his bedroom, whispering, begging, moaning. Now I knew for a fact that he wouldn't cheat on me—he wasn't the type of guy—but it sure as hell sounded suspicious.
"Jake?" I said again, knocking gently on the bedroom door so I didn't scare him.
"Huh?" he moaned back, his voice breaking. "S—Sam?"
"Are you okay?" I asked, opening the door and seeing him lying on his bed, his laptop nearby.
He was wearing only boxers and a t-shirt; his cock was up over the waistband of the shorts and he was whacking off pretty frantically.
"Let me help you with that," I added, grinning.
"No..." he murmured as I moved towards the bed.
There was a long, confused pause on my part. "What?"
"Don't, please..."
His tone was pleading. His big brown eyes were wide and almost frightened. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, making his choppy bangs stick in places.
"And why—why not?" I asked, feeling my heart sink in my chest.
"This is one fantasy you can't know about..." he said, his voice changing from desperate to incredibly sad. His left hand moved to turn his laptop off.
After another long pause, during which I felt myself start to fume, I said, "Like my rape fantasy? How on earth could it be worse than that?"
"It's worse..." he muttered, still stroking himself with his right.
"Why can't I get you off?"
His eyes met mine and I saw the answer in his expression. He didn't even need to say what he said next.
"You're not part of this fantasy."
Now, to be absolutely honest, I had had plenty of incredible fantasies about Jake long before we started fucking. But I also had fantasized about a couple of friends of mine to whom I was also attracted—though not in love with, as I was with Jake—to keep me busy on the nights I was mad at him. But since we started dating, and loving, I hadn't even
thought
about another man. Not like that. And I guess I flattered myself in thinking that I was all he wanted, the same as he was for me.
"Then I guess I better go wait for you to finish," I finally said, sadly turning from the room.
"I'm... I'm sorry..." I heard him whisper as I headed back into the living room.
Now I guess it was selfish to be
that
hurt by the fact that I wasn't the only one he fantasized about, but the fact that he needed to hide it from me rather hurt. I mean, yes, he did have to fight the fact that I liked to be dominated out of me, but I eventually gave in. I guess I would have to fight this one out of him. But then, maybe it wasn't like, he was thinking about his old girl friends or some hot chick he knew. What if it was a cute little fanboy fantasy about someone fictional? He was
such
an
X-Men
nut, maybe he was whacking off to a fantasy about Jean Grey or maybe even Catwoman from
Batman
... Hell, I would dress up in green spandex or black leather and kitty ears to hear him scream, even if it wasn't my name. This thought lightened my mood considerably as I walked back to the mustang.
"Sam!" panted Jake, running down the steps to the car and thrusting his hand against the door as I opened it, slamming it back shut.
"Jake," I softly said, nodding politely like we were mere acquaintances, and not lovers.
"I'm sorry. I know we don't keep secrets, but I would die if you knew this one. It's just not right," he gasped, reaching out a hand for mine.
His eyes were wide and so sad. It was hard to be mad when I looked at him.
"I was thinking, Jake, that it would be okay if it wasn't like, someone you know. Just tell me one thing and you're forgiven."
"What?"
"Is she a real woman, or is she a fictional woman?"
Jake paused, his eyes flicking back and forth between each of mine as if looking for more criteria to subject to. Finally he sighed, "The only way I can answer this is to say no, it's not a real woman."