In which I maybe (almost definitely) intentionally screw up

He didn’t take it off the next day. He didn’t take it off for three days. Three days of … the best way I can describe it is like having an itch. An itch you can’t scratch.

When I was younger, back before I met Graham when I had to work two jobs just to stay alive in this city, I worked at this club. It was kinda halfway between a dance club and a strip joint, like customers interacted with each other but there was also a stage show and guys dancing up in cages overhead.

I served drinks. I was plenty hot enough to dance, mind you. I just didn’t have the moves.

So there’s guys making out with each other on the dance floor and some twink twerking up on stage or a muscle Daddy in a leather g-string flexing his pecs and the customers, sometimes they’d get grabby and that meant I had to hunt up one of the bouncers to give them a lecture, but mostly they just looked with these heavy eyes that dared me to get close enough so they could bend me over a table and fuck me.

We had to wear these skimpy costumes, not the kind of thing you could afford to pop a boner in, and I’d be telling myself don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard the whole time I was working because sex was in the air. The atmosphere buzzed with it.

Then riding home on the subway, counting off stops until I could get my hands on myself and rub one out. Three stops, two stops, one stop, then race-walking to my apartment and slamming the door behind me and thirty seconds later I’m coming in a pent-up fountain of sweet relief.

I kind of miss that job.

That’s what it was like. For three days. Three days of agonizing arousal, three days of throbbing anticipation waiting for the moment I’d finally get to come, except I had no way to know how many subways stops were left. Three days of that and three nights of Graham fucking me and leaving me unsatisfied, hoping that tomorrow …

Three nights, three days, and then finally, on the fourth night, after he’d filled my ass with come and I’d crawled all over him with my tongue, slurping up every last trace, just trying to get closer, you know? Finally he took it off.

And wow. You have not seen a dick get hard as fast as mine did. Because I’d been hard for days, man. Everywhere except in my cock I’d been hard, and once my cock was free it just—pow!

He jerked me off and nothing has ever felt as good as his hand moving over skin that hadn’t been touched in three days. Nothing. I came hard enough to turn my vision white.

It was almost worth it.

After that, I was back on the honor system. I suppose Graham felt good about being able to trust me and I suppose I felt good about it too, but it wasn’t the same. I missed missing him. I missed how excited I’d be when he got home and how crazy-eager I was to jump him and how good it was to feel every moment of him fucking me.

I missed how well we got along too, just talking and snuggling. Him playing with the cage through my pajama bottoms like I was his favorite toy, him calling me baby and Allie, him telling me he loved me.

Which is why I maybe (almost definitely) intentionally screwed up yesterday. I pulled up some porn, jerked myself off, then did it again. Then I did it a third time, even though I’m not even sure it felt good the third time, but I knew what was coming. I knew it’d be my last chance for a while. I had to make it good.

So now I’m back in the cage. For a week this time, he says. Today’s only day one, less than twenty-four hours since he put it on, and already I can feel it—that gnawing need that can’t be satisfied by anything except him. And it’s exactly what I wanted, but shit. A week?

For a guy who doesn’t always make the best decisions, this may have been the stupidest one yet.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *