Bent Bacwards

Ch 3 A New Normal

We're off the beaten track, hiking just outside the city. It feels good to be outdoors, under the leafy green canopy. It's swelteringly hot, and I mean that in more ways than one.

Jess is leading the way, followed by Liza, Oliver and then me. He's wearing shorts and a sleeveless tee with hiking boots that come up to his ankles. Gym clothes, maybe.

My God,

I think,

if that's what he wears to the gym, then it's a modern-day miracle that I was the first to get to him.

Liza is chatting to Oliver and Jess, and doesn't seem to notice my silence. I'm having a hard time censoring my thoughts, while simultaneously putting one foot in front of the other.

His ass is right in front of me. Cheeks moving up and down hypnotically. Left and then right. Inches away. If I were to reach out, I could touch it. Grab it and squeeze it. If the girls weren't here, I know there's no way I could contain it. I'd be grasping his flesh and his meat right now. Right here, in the open. I don't think I'd care if somebody heard. I don't even think I'd care if somebody saw.

We find a clearing and lay out the picnic. Liza and I sit together on a blanket and he sits to my right, on a blanket with Jess. She's lying back, with her head in his lap, looking up at the clouds dreamily. She looks like she's in heaven.

Maybe, she's right.

He runs his hands through his hair effortlessly. There's really something about the way he moves. Totally unselfconscious. Seemingly unaware of the terrible effect it has on me.

As we head back to the car, we arrive at a spot where the terrain is uneven and rocky. He moves ahead, bounding over the rocks with impressive agility. Helping Jess down, and then Liza. Turning and waiting for me. The girls are a few steps ahead, so I can't resist reaching out and resting my hand on his shoulder, as I climb down the rocks. He raises his hand, and for the briefest of moments, he clutches my wrist. That familiar current rips through me. He looks up at me quickly, digging his teeth into his lip.

"Oh, fuck." He mouths, almost silently.

He feels it too.

*

"So," says Liza, when we get home, "what do you think of Oliver?"

Well

, I think,

I haven't slept through the night since I met him. And not just the nights, he tortures my days, too

.

"Mm," I say vaguely, "he seems like a good guy."

"Jess is absolutely crazy about him." She says, sounding a little surprised. Jess is a wildcard. Free. She doesn't usually stick with one guy for long, and she's usually the one doing the leaving.

"Did you know that they met on a kink site?" Her eyes twinkle conspiratively. It's not that she's a gossip. It's just that we tell each other everything. Or at least, we used to.

"Apparently the first time they met face-to-face was at a sex party." She raises her eyebrows, looking a little scandalized and more than a little amused.

"She says he's kinky as fuck." My ears prick up.

"She says that he's the best she's ever had. Can you believe it? That's coming from Jess."

Yes

, I think solemnly,

funnily enough, I find that very, very easy to believe.

Liza giggles a little, "She says, and I quote, 'he's got a radical case of big dick energy'".

I raise my eyebrows, unsure what to do with my face.

I happen to know, he comes by it honestly.

"Has Oliver said anything about Jess to you?" She asks.

"No," I say hastily, for once, I'm speaking the truth.

"I think Jess is feeling a worried about things between them. She can't put her finger on it, but she's feeling a little insecure. Can you try to find out?"

"No!" I say quickly, "That's not what guys do."

"Ethan, come on. We're talking about Jess."

Good God.

Jess!

I've been so preoccupied with the mayhem I'm making of my life and the havoc I'm wreaking on things with Liza, I haven't even thought about Jess. Holy shit. She's been my friend for years and I'm wrecking her life too.

Jesus. What's wrong with me?

"Okay," I lie, "I'll see what I can find out."

Common Sense shakes its head and raises its hands in defeat.

You're certainly making one hell of a mess.

*

All thoughts of that conversation are forgotten, the second I see him. He's come in hot. We've barely made it into the living room, when he's on me. Grabbing my shirt and pushing me back, not stopping until I'm backed up against the wall.

He leans in, threateningly close. His lips inches from mine. I breathe in deeply and turn my head quickly.

It's better this way.

He grabs my throat roughly. So roughly, my eyes fly open in surprise. I struggle a little, as he turns me to face him.

"Tough Guy, huh?" He snarls, "Happy to fuck me but too scared to kiss me."

My breath sticks in my throat.

Don't do this, Baby,

I think, desperately trying to send him a message with thoughts, since I can't seem to manage the words,

things are complicated enough as they are.

When he doesn't seem to understand, I push him away.

"Fuck off." I say, trying to smile lightly.

This only seems to inflame him. He grabs both my wrists roughly, and pins them against the wall. Hard. I'm caught in a vice, completely immobile.

Damn, he's strong.

Even though I want to, I can't tear my eyes off him. I can't believe there was a time when I found it hard to hold eye contact with him. Now, when his eyes meet mine, I find I can't look away.

Lean in

, says a quiet voice inside me. I know that voice. A small, vaguely familiar part of myself. The part that used to dream, the part that governed my childhood and teen years, before I steadfastly ignored it, until, at last, it grew silent. A part I thought that I'd lost. A casualty of growing not only older, but up.

Now, here it is. Back.

Lean in

, whispers The Dreamer,

what's life for, if not for living?

"I said," he hisses at me, "Are you afraid, Tough Guy?"

I'm imprisoned, and not just by his hands. His eyes have caged me, locked me up even more tightly. I can't look away and for some inexplicable reason, I can't seem to lie. That feels strange to me now. These days, I lie easily, almost every word that falls from my lips is deceiptful, or only half-true. Maybe that's why I can't lie. Right now, he's the only person I know, who I'm not lying to routinely. Or, maybe it's those eyes, so open and honest, as he looks up at me. Or maybe, it's the sudden return of The Dreamer?

Those are all good, plausible options, but right now, my money's on his lips. His lips and his mouth. His strong jaw clenches, bulging out slightly at the side of his face. His lips have curled up now, a little more on one side. I can see the square whiteness of his teeth peeking out beneath them, the soft wetness inside, a slight hint of his tongue. It's pulling me down. Pulling me toward him. The force is nothing short of magnetic.

Even so, I'm a little surprised when I hear myself admit, "Yeah, I'm afraid."

Our lips meet and a flame ignites like gas to a match. The force that rips through me when our tongues touch, so strong, that my hips thrust forward involuntarily. I instantly groan deep in his mouth.

When we come up for air, both of us are wild. We tear at each other, pulling and tugging the other one's clothes. I don't have a logical thought in my mind, but I know that I need him naked. Bare.

"What about you, huh?" I ask through the fog, "Are you afraid of what I'm going to do to you now."

His face is perfection. Open. Intensely defenseless, as he nods quickly and then looks down.

I want him.

We stumble to the sofa and when he tries to kneel and bend over, a malevolent thought takes hold. I like him defenseless. I want him that way.

I push him down on his back, he seems to know why I want it. He struggles, fighting a little. He doesn't want me to see him like this. I'm in the position of power now, so I bend him to my will.

"You can't run away from it, boy." I sneer.

The fight seems to leave him. He lies back, relaxing a little, letting me make him feel good. My fingers are inside him. He's trying to keep his face neutral. I try not to smile, as despite his best efforts, I can see that he feels it.

He covers his face with his arm as I prepare to enter him.

Oh, no, you don't

. I move it away quickly, pinning him down by the wrists. He presses his teeth shut tightly, clamping his lips together and closing his eyes as I breach him. His pitiful whimpers tell me everything I need to know.

"Hmm," I smile, "You're feeling that, aren't you?"

"Fuck you." He says weakly, making a feeble attempt to push me away.

"Fuck me?" I laugh. That's a good one. "Nah," I say, thrusting, stabbing. "Fuck you."

I feel crazed as I take him, completely unhinged. I'm in a frenzy, my body dancing to its own tune. Thrusting mercilessly, as I stroke his chest gently. Running my fingers up and down the hard ridges and dents, which form as his belly and chest relax and contract.

When my frenzy calms, I slow. Just a little, but it's enough to give me a moment to feel the way he's looking at me. Rapt. I can't stand the tension, so quick as a cat, I strike. Wrapping my hand tightly around his throat. His eyes widen in surprise, but not alarm.

He likes it like this.

He's jerking his dick frantically, his face reddening deeper with every thrust.

"I'm going to cum!" He yells hoarsely.

His eyes roll back slightly, as his body starts to spasm. I release his neck and watch in amazement as he arches and shudders. His pleasure seems unending and I can't wait to find my own. I tear off the condom and fling myself into the abyss after him.

I splash on his belly. His seed and mine, forming a slick, sumptuous pool on his skin.

*

Our efforts have defiled him to the extent that a shower is required. Water is running off his back, forming rivulets that course down his spine. I'm trying not to look, as I clean up in the sink, but the mirror's right in front of me and I can't seem to tear my eyes off his steamy reflection.

He looks at me strangely. He seems a little uncomfortable. Something must be bothering him.

"Uh," he says, at last, "do we need to talk about this?"

Fuck no,

I think.

Where would we start?

I wrap my towel in my hand, drawing it back and flicking his ass with a loud 'thwack', making him jump.

"Oh, shut the fuck up." I chuckle.

*