I hadn't heard from Tom since the night he made me his bitch. I felt used, like a high school girl who gave it up to her prom date and doesn't hear from him again. I didn't expect flowers, but at least he could call.
This affair with Tom was only beginning. He wasn't my first, but he definitely was the best so far. I had been laid a few times with a guy I met online. Neither his cock nor his personality measured up to Tom's, plus he had no sense of humor, just couldn't appreciate the hilarious aspects of sex. I had to talk him into having intercourse; all he wanted was blowjobs.
There were other dalliances I won't go into. I don't recall thinking about any of them afterward, but I found myself constantly thinking about Tom and his super cock.
I wanted that bottle rocket in my bottom pocket.
I got ditzy thinking about the first time we did it. I didn't recall the details, only the incredible sensations I experienced. It might have been the best sex I ever had. I was thinking about it Thursday night when FINALLY! he called.
"How's my bitch?" he said when I picked up.
"Who is this?" I said.
"Cute." He chuckled. "You busy?"
"Yeah. I'm trying to find a cucumber as big as your dick."
He laughed. "Even cuter. Grease it up good and don't stretch that tight ass."
"Where you been?" I said.
"Busier than shit. I've been painting my mom's dining room every night after work. I have to go over tonight to move the furniture back."
"Oh," I said. "That's too bad. I've been thinking about you."
"Yeah? What were you thinking?"
"You know. Like when we'd get together."
"That sounds horny, buddy."
"Uh-huh. Really."
"Yeah." He was quiet a moment. I could hear him breathing. "How about tomorrow night?" he said.
My heart bumped my ribs. "Really?"
"Yeah. What do you think?"
"I think you should come."
He paused a moment before saying quietly, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear, "I wanna come."
There was nothing to consider. "What time?"
"Between seven and eight."
"I'll be lubed and loose," I said.
Tom laughed. "You just make that up?"
"As far as I know."
"You gonna kiss my cock?" he whispered.
"I'll do more than that."
"You're making me hard."
"I'm your bitch," I said. "That's my job."
"I love it when you talk dirty. If you weren't gay, I'd marry you."
"Fuck you."
"No. Fuck you. Tomorrow night." He hung up.
I guess I wondered if he had been painting for his mother all week. I knew he had a girlfriend (who he never talked about), but I guess she didn't give him what he needed. I did, so why worry about her?
Friday I couldn't concentrate at work. I had to read a memo three times before realizing it had nothing to do with me. I'd scope the women wiggling their asses back and forth in the office and wondered what it was like for them to get fucked.
On the way home I stopped at the drugstore and bought two tubes of AstroGlide. The little bitch cashier looked at me like I was a slutty buttfucker. She had no idea.
At home I rinsed, showered, and lubed. I imagined that I was acting like a girl, waiting for her boyfriend, thinking about sex, getting excited. For easy access I put on an old college T-shirt that didn't quite cover my ass. I liked walking around with my sex parts liberated. It felt raunchy.
Tom was late. At eight o'clock I had a bourbon and water. By eight-thirty I feared he wouldn't show. I was impatiently anxious, turned on and guilty; various thoughts ran through my head, all trying to get my attention.
I was having second thoughts about what I was doing. I asked myself, If it's wrong why does it feel so right? Some old idea in my head replied, it's perverted! Homophobia thrives in our culture and some of it has seeped into my head. I put negative thoughts out of my mind and tried to focus on Tom coming to fuck me. I could always feel guilty tomorrow when my ass would be raw.
I was so worked up that when the doorbell rang I ran to the door, and almost spilled my drink.