I stood at the entrance of the hookah lounge. It was the weekend, a few hours before midnight. I’d been looking forward to coming for quite some time. What started as a once-in-awhile treat, soon became a weekly tradition. I’d get off work, freshen up at home, and spend the evening here.
It would usually get busy around this time. The dim atmosphere, cozy lighting, traditional middle eastern music. It was quite easy to lose myself in the atmosphere. With the hookah pipe in hand, I’d breathe in and exhale slowly. Savoring the flavor and feeling the smoke flow through my mouth. I’d see the smoke dance in front of the soft lights, before disappearing in the dark again. Sometimes, I wish I could disappear with it, lost in the beautiful music forever.
“Sir?” The host asked, again. I snapped back to reality.
“Oh sorry, long day. I’ll take a table and hookah for myself.”
“Of course, sir, no problem”, he said. He led me to the cushions next to the walls, placing down a glass and pitcher of water. I was a regular at this point, so he already knew which flavor hookah I preferred.
I leaned back and sighed. It was a rather large space around me with only a few couples inside. The men were mostly Arab looking, their women dressed immaculately with flawless makeup on. You could tell the men were proud of their partners. I noticed that these men tend to carry this air of authority around them; Their partner is THEIRS, their property. And they will defend them against any person or any lustful eyes.
I checked my phone for any messages before putting it on silent. After a few minutes, the waiter brought out my hookah, and after positioning the coals on the top, he’d breathe in himself to get the smoke ready before handing it off to me. It didn’t take long for my mind to melt away in the nicotine and smoke. The music would seemingly move my free hand around softly to the beat of the music. My eyes almost drooped completely closed in the reverie.
I’d imagine what the middle-east might be like. The different styles of dress. Arabesque music wherever you’d go. Completely different cultural norms. The sheer unapologeticness of their lifestyles. Everyone eating different foods, speaking their languages that I couldn’t understand. It would be so exciting to-
Plop! A loud sound to my left snapped me out of my daydreams. An older, large, bearded man was bending down to pick up the phone he dropped.
“Sory”, he whispered in a thick accent, giving me a cursory glance. He was stunningly handsome. He had a thick well-kept beard. He must have been about 6’4 with a broad barreled chest. You could see thick chest hair poking through his linen shirt. His hands seemingly swallowed that phone as he picked it up.
He stared back at me for a moment before I realized that I was the one staring. I rubbed my eyes quickly to hide how wide they must have been.
“N… no problem!” I sputtered, turning away embarrassingly. He smiled briefly before sitting down two cushions away.
I sat like a statue for what seemed like an eternity, trying not to look at him again. I could see that large frame in the corner of my eye. I remembered to take a hit of the hookah again, thanking god, Allah maybe?, that I had something to do to avoid feeling awkward. My heart was racing, and I was trying to slow it down by feeling the smoke flow out of me. No luck.
After a few moments, the waiter came up to him and began speaking to him in what I assumed was Arabic. I mustered the courage to turn my head to observe him in a little more detail. I could notice the thick hair covering his strong arms as he pointed to different parts of the menu. I could tell he was trying to figure out what he wanted to get. After a little more discourse, the waiter turned directly to me, pointing. The man turned to me with a beautiful smile.
“Bebakhshid!” He said.
I snapped my head back forwards, my face completely flushed now. Oh god, he’s talking to me.
“Beba…” He started before clearing his throat.
“Ex…cuse me.”
I turned my head painfully to him, with an equally awkward smile on my face.
“Uh, yeah?”
He put his hand over his heart.
“I sorry to bother. This kind waiter said you come often?”
“Yes.” I said slowly. “I come every week, just about.”
He nodded slowly, thinking.
“Could you recommend something to drink and smoke? I’m afraid I haven’t been before here.” He asked. I could tell speaking English was a little difficult for him. He spoke so sincerely though, I softened up a little.
“Uh, sure. Yeah. To be honest, all their drinks are great here. And I love the grape mint hookah flavor.”
He laughed loudly.
“You must be true Arab. Grape mint is best. I’ll get that, sir.” The waiter nodded his head in acknowledgement before walking away.
I returned to minding my own business, trying to remember what I was thinking about, before noticing a hand waving at me in my peripheral. Oh god, he wants to talk me. What am I going to say? I think to myself, the anxiety bubbling up even stronger.
I turned back again, shocked at the more serious look on his face, with a hint of a smile in his eyes. He said something to me that I missed in the music.
“Sorry, what?”
He spoke up louder.
“Where are you from?”
I was a little surprised at his interest, taking a moment to respond. He seemed a little impatient to wait.
“Come here.” He then gestured with his hands.
I paused, looking down at my hookah and drink in front of me.
“I…” I started before he interrupted-
“Sit here. You must enjoy my hookah. Don’t be bother. I am curious.”
I hesitated again. But I didn’t feel like I could decline. I got up, and pattered over and sat in front of him, a little self-conscious with a few other patrons glancing at me. He seemed quite satisfied. I got comfortable before looking back up at him expectantly.
He was very intimidating. His large frame looming over me. I was already a pretty tall guy, almost six feet. But I felt like a child in front of this brutish monster of a man. I noticed his belly pushing against the small table in front of us.
With his hands and arms resting openly on the table, he gestured to me to breathe in from his hookah. I grabbed it gingerly and put it to my mouth, breathing in. He smiled a bit before leaning back, crossing his arms.
I was at a loss of what to say.
“I’m… not really Arab, you know.” I cough out.
He laughed heartily. “Oh, I know. But you have good taste. That is clear.”
A compliment!
“Where are you really from?” He asked.
“Hm. Well, my dad is Spanish, and my mom is Swedish.”
“That make sense. You look little med… Medit...” He stuttered.
“Mediterranean?” I finished.
“Yes! Good. You help me. But those blue eyes are, rare, for someone with dark hair like you.”
“Thanks, I think.” I say gratefully.
He pulled the hookah from my hand briskly and breathed in deep, closing his eyes. I took the time to look at him more deeply.
I had noticed that he had light brown eyes earlier. But I now noticed a glimpse of a gold chain lost in his thick black chest hair. He had some sort of black eyeliner on, and his short-ish hair was slicked back. He had some scars on his hand and neck. Part of his eyebrow had a small scar through it, missing hair. I could also smell a strong yet subtle cologne coming from him. It smelled very oriental, according to my basically non-existent experience.
He breathed out before looking back at me. He held a naturally powerful gaze, with the gravity of a black hole.
“So you’re Arab? Which country?” I asked, curious myself.
His eyes flashed briefly in contempt, before softening up again.
“I not Arab. I am Iranian Man.”
“Oh. Right. I’m sorry.” Oops.
He chuckled quietly.
“It alright. Many people don’t know. We are from same region, but we are not Arab and we don’t speak Arabic. Well, except for me. I speak all languages!”-
“I’m awesome like that.” He continued after a brief moment.
“Sure. Haha.” I motioned for the hose, but he merely shook his head.
“I’m serious. Not… how should I say? C…ocky. A man should have pride.”
“That is kind of cool that you speak Arabic too. Iran, huh? Don’t they speak Persian there too?”
He beamed. “I knew you were smart too! You are also awesome like that.”
I grinned back. Probably the first sincere smile since sitting down here.
He continued, taking a few breaks to smoke the hookah in-between.
“Just be sure not to assume all Middle Easterns are Arab. I love my Arab brothers, but Iranian men don’t like be confused with them. We all have our own, what do you say, …unique history and culture. And are very proud.” He rubbed his chest, his thumb brushing through his chest hair. I had to fight from stealing a glance at his body.
“I do find that part of the world very… interesting.”
Eyes widening slightly, he leaned forward, smiling deviously.
“You like? You like us middle-easterns?” His eyes looking for any change in my expression.
Uh oh. Was I too obvious? I panicked. I always heard Arabs are very homophobic? And I assume Persians too. I could tell he noticed my nervousness, and that I might hope he’d lean back. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in more.
“I…. Yeah… I guess you could say I’m a fan.”
“Very good. You are admirer! I like that. The whole world is admirer. Even little jealous.” He guffawed, leaning back again.
He thinks kind of highly of himself. I thought, a little annoyed. But I could see where he was coming from. That part of the world is very ancient and culturally rich. Maybe I would be proud too if I was from there.
The waiter came back to check up on him. He saw me sitting in his area and gave me an odd look.
“He’s sitting with me now. You can take his hookah away. I will pay.”
“Oh you don-” I started.
He raised up his hand, silencing me.
“I’ll pay.” He stated emphatically.
“It’s only fair after all. I brought you here from your own table.”
I shrugged helplessly in agreement. The waiter nodded and headed off.
We sat in silence for a while. We took turns smoking the hookah and even had the coals refreshed at some point. We began to fall into the music around us, with him swaying slowly, eyes closed, much like I had. Certain songs he would sing along with. He wasn’t a very good singer. But he was passionate about it, which made it very endearing.
I noticed the slow and shifting lights move over his head and body, swathes of light caressing his body over and over. The light would crawl over his large ears, slowly moving over his cheeks, the edges of his beard and nose, touching over every hair and pore on his body. I just noticed my fingers were twitching. Wa… Was I was jealous of the light? Unlike me, it could feel where his beard began and ended, and every single hair in-between; I wanted to rip that necklace right off and have my hands be the ones lost in his furry body. I wanted to be the shirt, covering him from the top. I could not see between his legs, but they were sprawled out, his leg hairs lightly grazing my own. And my own legs twitched, for they wanted to run down the lengths of his as well.
With his eyes still closed, he rested his arms on the table, one of his hands fingers each barely overlapping one of mine. They were very warm.
I held my breath in anticipation. For him to move them. For him to pull back, apologetic or annoyed.
He did not.
He sat there, as lost in the music, as I was, in him.
A part of me wanted to grab the hookah hose but I didn’t dare. This may be the closest I would ever get to him. And I dare not risk jeopardizing that for the world.
I sat there, feeling the rest of the world spin away. Just him and me.
After some time of shamelessly staring, I noticed that his eyes were actually slightly open.
He was looking at me.
My hands jerked slightly before I could stop myself. His eyes opened fully, his pupils not moving an inch from his gaze towards me. I sat as still as possible. I felt like his eyes were hands, holding my head tightly in their grasp. I felt could not move even if I had wanted to. After a moment, he had broke it, looking down, running a finger over my hand briefly.
“Why do you look this way to me?” He asked, cautiously.
I sputtered incoherent responses for a moment, before pulling my hands back. He simply stuck the hookah in my mouth, sparing me the further embarrassment. We took a few more turns before he turned away from me.
He waved to the waiter, who brought the check shortly after. Saying nothing, barely even acknowledging my existence as he thanked the waiter in Arabic. Or Persian? He put his card away, and then got up and left without so much as a word or glance.
I sat in silence for some time. I kicked myself for looking so brazenly at him. And for misunderstanding everything. I am already aware these men are very affectionate towards one another. And I just had to misread the whole situation and be a creep.
I stood up and left as well, aware that I would not be sleeping well tonight.
I avoided the hookah place like the plague for the next few weeks. Every time I visited another lounge, I’d be reminded of the embarrassment of that night before. So I eventually ended up buying a hookah for myself.
Every personal moment, every time I touched myself, every night, my thoughts would be consumed by the thought of him. It soon became hard to focus at work, to even function in everyday life.
A part of me screamed at me to return. You didn’t misread the situation! He really WAS interested in you.
Or- You dolt! It was obvious he just wanted to chat. He wasn’t gay. Guys like that don’t give a shit about guys like you.
It came a point where I felt I just needed some closure. I slowly began returning to that same lounge. But night after night, He was nowhere to be found. Perhaps, he too didn’t want to return to avoid seeing me.
Or so I had thought, right before seeing him sitting there in the same area, in the same table, in the same cushion. I couldn’t see his face, he was looking away. But that body was unmistakably his.
I breathed in desperately. Clenched my fists. Mustered up all the courage I could find. With every heavy step, I walked over to the very same cushion I had sat in over a few months ago.
Before sitting down, I passed through his field of view, but he didn’t flinch. He kept staring at the small wall-mounted TV to my right.
I sat in my own silence for some time, waiting for him to at least notice me before I could say anything. But he simply sat there, barely taking his eyes off the TV long enough to eat, drink, or smoke.
Eventually I had enough. I held my phone tightly in my left hand and dropped it. I looked directly at him and said “Sorry!” loud enough to catch his attention. He looked down slowly to the phone, and then slowly up to me. His gaze was so intense, I actually flinched. Fuck, I pissed him off. I picked up my phone quickly, composing myself again.
He looked back down at his table without so much as a word. I sat back, defeated. Staring at the ceiling for a bit before closing my eyes, I already began to regret coming here. I literally lost my mind over a man that doesn’t give a shit about me. What was I-
“Well?” A thick Iranian voice asked.
He stood right in front of me, at the other end of my table. Looming. I quickly cleared the other side of my table, a nervous invitation for him to sit down.
He did.
His whole attention was focused on me. He studied me for a second before opening his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” I blurted out. His eyebrows furrowed.
“Sorry… for avoiding me.” He stated.
“Uh… I guess? I think I gave you the wrong impression last time.”
He thought for a moment. “No. Nothing wrong was there. Not why you should be sorry.”
“I mean, I was just looking at you, and then you got mad and left.”
“Mad? That is what you think? I mad now that we make friends and you avoid me. Silly boy.”
I scoffed at the insult. You can do better than that.
“I know you like me,” He started. “It is obvious. You think you so good at hiding, but you might as well bare your ass in front of me right now.”
My face immediately flushed red hot with anger and embarrassment.
“I didn’t want to avoid you.”, I said, trying to avoid what he just said. “You were mad at me… I think. You left without a word, and I felt like a creep.”
He rested his left hand on my right.
“I…sorry.” He said painfully through his smile. I chuckled nervously.
“Was that hard for you?” I poked. He laughed a little too, now.
“A little. I sorry. You just remind me of someone I knew.”-
“Look”, he said, leaning forward slightly. “Never feel like creep. You like what you like. That is what makes you beautiful.”
I…
“Beautiful? Me? Why did you just leave then without saying a word? If… if you… you know. Like me?”
He thought for a moment.
“You are a little grown. But in my world, you are child. You still cannot see. I chose you. I own you.”
He continued, “I did not leave you. You did not follow.”
My guts twisted, mouth open.
“How should I know? You said nothing!” I said flustered. “And you don’t own me”, I laughed.
He frowned.
“You laugh? You saying no?”
I stopped.
“See? Child. Still don’t see. You ask for big strong man. Yet you don’t know when one choose you. No wonder you are virgin.”
I rubbed my eyes. What was he trying to say?
“What? I’m not a virgin hahah-”
“Sure, you take penis in mouth. Or in butt. That is not real sex. You do stupid things thinking of stupid men. No passion. You are virgin.”-
“Have you heard of becoming same with -nother man? Sex so strong, you forget where you are, who you are? Where you end and other person begin?”
“… No. I guess not.” My face redder than before.
He grunted. I looked around nervously, realizing how loud we’d been talking. A few other customers leered at us.
“Ignore them.” He said, dismissing them with his hand. “They are stupid too.”
I instinctively took another hit of the hookah, unsure of how to react. I felt insulted but also a little…
“I’m guessing you’re not a virgin then?” I asked. I saw a glimpse of something in his eyes.
“Na…” He whispered.
“You will learn, sooner than later.” He stated softly. Is he saying that he’ll…?
We sat in silence for a moment.
I had noticed something was a little different about him than before.
“Your beard… I like it. You cleaned it up a bit.”
“Mamnoon.” He responded, with a smile, winking. “I realize we never say our names.”
“I am Bato.” He stated, clasping his hand with mine, tightly.
“I am Matias.”
“Matias.” He pronounced slowly, feeling the word in his mouth. “Matt for short? Like Matty?”
I laughed.
“Yeah, like Matty.”
“Nice to meet you, Mattyjoon.”
We spent some time with our hands clasped. His grip was extremely tight, almost painful. But I loved it. He rubbed his other hand over mine, pinching and feeling my skin. He had a beautiful smile too. Teeth were a bit crooked, but he smiled brightly. I couldn’t mind in the slightest.
The waiter came up and brought the check to us. I hadn’t realized it already but the place was closing for the night, the other patrons already gone.
“What are you doing now?” He asked.
I shrugged.
“Where will you go?”
“I guess to bed.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Come walk with me. I don’t walk far from here.”
He got up from the table and walked away. He turned back to me.
“COME.” He said briskly. “I won’t ask again.”
My body got up before I could even think.
“Coming.”
We walked out into the brisk night. It was drizzling slightly but he was seemingly unaware. Parts of the midnight sky were still visible, with a slight breeze. It was welcome as the lounge was getting a bit hot.
“I been here for few years. Live nearby.” He said.
“Same. I hope you enjoyed tonight.”
“Oh, easily. It was… very nice.”
“I’m glad.” I responded, glowing inside.
We walked for a few minutes. I noticed the scars on his hand again. I wanted to trace them with my finger. And kiss them.
“Those scars on your hand and neck. What are they from?”
He stopped and looked at me sadly. We continued walking.
His eyes stared deeply into the dark streets ahead, as if he could see something I could not.
“I am construction worker. These scars from this.” He paused, showing me. “But I am also refugee. I escape Iran many years ago.” He pointed to some of the scars on his hand, the one on his neck, and another one hidden underneath his shirt.
“These are from when I escape. Maybe one day I tell you how I got them.”
I said nothing, understanding.
We stopped in front of an older apartment complex. He opened the complex front door with his key before turning around.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Tea?” I guess.
“Sure, I’d love some.”
His eyes betrayed an emotion I could not recognize.
He put his large hand on my shoulder and lead me in front of him through the doorway.
“Go then.”
I went.
He opened the door to his apartment. I took my shoes off when he did. The apartment was dark, but dimly light with the moonlight spilling in through the windows.
It was a humble place, lightly furnished; it was fairly clean aside from a few things lying around.
I followed him to the living room where he stopped and faced me, the moonlight basking his face in its pale light.
I couldn’t tell if his expression was one of concern or interest, but he reached out and softly grazed my face with his finger. He traced my forehead to my ears, nose, and down to my lips. His finger slipped into my mouth before he hooked me behind my teeth, pulling me in close, hard. I fell into him. My heart exploded into excitement as my face was buried into some of his chest hair.
“Taste.” He whispered.
And I did. His chest hair was thick and curly, quickly getting caught in my teeth. But I licked them and savored them like candy. They tasted a bit of sweat and cologne. Extraordinary.
I was no longer thinking. Mindless. My hand shot up onto his chest, feeling his belly, his chest. Fingers desperately clawing through the buttons to feel his chest.
“Slowly.” He told me, knowing full well I couldn’t listen.
My mouth still full of hair, fingers still full of shirt, he simply stood there staring at me, almost pitifully. Like a man watching another man ravenously drink water after almost dying of thirst. I almost would have cared.
I finally unbuttoned his shirt and gasped as it fell away. The soft light revealed his chest, covered in so much hair, I could barely see any skin. I started to take my own shirt off, before he pulled it off me so forcefully, I heard a rip. I embraced him with my whole body, completely covered by him and all that was his.
His own hands grabbed my back and neck, pinching, massaging, feeling- then spinning me around, pinning me against the wall.
SLAP! I saw stars for a moment. I stared at him in shock. And fear. His hand fell down to my throat, squeezing tightly. His face leaned into mine, eyes locked.
“I am in control. Always.” He waited.
“No?”
I saw a dangerous glint in his eyes. I tried to answer, but couldn’t. I felt something large snake down through his pants.
“Yes?”
His grip relaxed just light enough for me to gulp some air down.
“… Yes.” I croaked.
A large smile broke out on his face, his hands tightening so much I thought I’d pass out, before letting go.
“Good.” He said, letting me catch my breath.
“Now you are mine.”
I stood there, hands at my side. Unsure of what to do. Scared. Excited.
He stood just inches from me, feeling himself inside his pants. I started to look, curious.
“No.” He said, raising his hand again. “You don’t look.”
I don’t know what hurt more. My face? Or the fact that I couldn’t see him rubbing his hands over his dick. He could tell, smiling even more at my misery.
With his free hand, he felt my dick. Then he covered my eyes with the same hand.
“Down. Knees. Now.”
With his hands still over my eyes, I slid down the wall carefully onto my knees.
“Open your mouth.”
Open.
I heard him opening his pants, them falling to the floor. My body quivered in anticipation, my breathing erratic. I felt him inch forward, every tiny step shooting shocks of excitement through my body. I could feel something large and hot right in front of my face. But I dare not move.
All of a sudden, I felt large fingers shoot into my mouth. Deep. Even two of his fingers were large enough to fill my throat. I instantly began to gag.
“Don’t. You can do it.” He said, pushing his fingers in so deep, nothing came out right when I was about to throw up.
“Hold.”
I sat as still as possible, trying to relax myself as much as possible. His finger stayed still in my throat until my reflex calmed down. He pulled them out.
I coughed a bit, dripping a bit from my mouth. Suddenly, his rough fingers shot into my mouth again, feeling every inch of my throat intensely. He moaned as I did while he played carelessly with his fingers. He slid another finger in, and almost got a fourth in before I slapped his wrists with my hands. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly pulled his fingers out.
He inched forward a bit again, that warmth covering my whole face again. Then I felt something large and warm press against my face, covering it.
“You keep your eyes closed?” He asked rhetorically.
I nodded sloppily.
“Y… Yes.”
“Good.”
He pulled his hand off my eyes.
Seeing nothing but black, I felt his fat dick track over my face. He slapped my cheeks with it, before sliding the tip barely into my mouth.
“Slowly. Enjoy.”
I flicked my tongue out, tasting the foreskin. Precum dribbled into my mouth. I tried to taste more of his cock but could only lick the tip of it. I could feel the hole of his cock, the skin around it. The sweat and salt of it. The heat of it. It’s bounce matching his heartbeat. And mine.
I heard his hands rest against the wall above me, his cock moving slightly more forward. His hips slightly pumping; I could almost hear his smile as he watched me desperately try to taste more of his cock, before he’d pull it away. Back and forth. Teasing me. Over and over. Again.
And again.
I got a little frustrated. Minute after minute. With barely anything to enjoy. Whatever.
I leaned forward, filling my mouth with his cock. Bigger than I-
Slam! Before I could fully appreciate it, he thrust hard forward, his cock completely filling my mouth and jammed down my throat.
“Cunt. I’m in control. You don’t want to wait? Fine.” He grabbed my head and forced it down as much of his shaft as he could and back. My jaw locked open, as my whole body was pushed back and forth. Puke came out every time he pulled out before he’d push it back in with his dick.
What felt like an hour passed before he grabbed me by my neck and slid me back up against the wall. I opened my eyes slowly, expecting to see him slap me. But he wasn’t mad. He smiled lovingly, admiring my messy face and body with his eyes. With his hands, he softly cleaned up my face as much as he could.
Then he leaned in, his thick beard and soft lips pressing against mine. I squirmed with anxiety of how my mouth would taste, but he pressed in even further, his large tongue filling my mouth.
I gave in. His tongue probed every inch of my mouth. It tasted my tongue, the roof of my mouth. It felt every groove of my teeth and gums.
His thick arms wrapped around me. He effortlessly lifted me into the air as if I weighed nothing. Like a rag doll, I hung in his arms as he stood there, us kissing passionately. He continued to do so as he walked very slowly into his bedroom.
He laid me down on my back, our lips still locked. I squeezed my legs around his body as tight as I could, desperate to never separate from him again.
With one hand, he positioned the tip of his cock against my hole.
“Still wet. Good.” He said, pushing into me.
“Wait. I didn’t prepare for this. I don’t think-” I said frantically.
He put a finger to my lips.
“Silly virgin. Sex isn’t something you plan for. It’s something you do.”
He rested his head next to mine, his heavy hairy body crushing me.
And he pushed forward. Hard. I shouted in pain before trying to pull away.
He looked back at me one more time. His eyes said it all.
Give yourself to me. What you give for me, I give back to you.
He breathed slow and deep. Slow and deep. He nodded his head.
I opened my mouth and shared his every breath. Slow and deep. Slow and deep.
I stared into his kind eyes for seemingly an eternity.
Immediately, he shoved his extremely thick cock completely into my ass.
I screamed.
He grabbed my face with his hands and looked me back at him.
I moaned painfully into his kind eyes, holding his arms as tight as I could with my hands.
He kept pumping in and out hard like a machine, unabating.
Breath in slow. Breath in deep.
I am his, I thought to myself.
Breath in slow. Breath in deep.
I am of Bato.
Breath in slow. Breath in deep.
I give him my all.
His expression changed. Into something of wonder, of amazement.
He cradled my writhing body into his arms, fucking harder and harder.
I held his arms, desperately, like my life depended on it.
The pain grew greater, and greater.
Until.
Don’t know what changed. Unsure if there was no more pain. Or if none could just be sensed anymore. This body was dwarfed under the other. Eyes staring back. Sometimes rolling into the back of the head. Sometimes not.
Rocking back and forth. Faster and faster. Joy vibrated up from inside, spreading through every limb. Like the gentle strings of a violin; the bow being pulled back and forth. The cock being pulled back and forth, over and over.
The shouting was sweet, passionate and full of life. The moaning deep, strong and dirty.
Who was touching who’s face?
Who was doing the fucking?
Who fucking cares?
Hair. Spit. Licking. Biting. Clawing. Choking. Slapping. Touching. Kissing.
Air hot and heavy. Moon moving through window, until gone.
Dark.
Music? Were there organs? An orchestra? Or just humming? And whimpering?
No. Just beauty.
All beauty.
Light. Rays of light beamed on me. On Batos face. We lay there, together.
I can’t remember if I just woke up. Or if we just laid down.
The morning sun warmed up an already warm room. But I was already drenched in sweat.
I don’t know if it was of me, or from him. But I pulled deeper into his arms regardless.
I felt weightless, sore, and happy. A little bruising on my body. His arms were bruised too, from where I was holding on. All good.
I turned around from inside his arms, feeling his hair against my back.
A brand-new day.
And here I am.
Here.
I felt his cock throb from behind me.
Bato will wake soon.
I can’t wait.
