Page 21 of Ship of Fools

“Don’t tempt me with fantasies that will never happen. My little heart couldn’t take the heartbreak of when you get bored with me and dump me like a scrunched-up tissue.”

“What kind of metaphor is that? Have you seen yourself? I’d struggle to turn you into a scrunched-up tissue, the size of you, all these muscles, you are more like a giant, cuddly bear.”

“I’m not a bear.”

“You are totally a bear, and I’m like your little cub.”

He’s so ridiculous that I can't help myself. I take his cup and drop it carelessly on the floor, then flip him onto his back in one fell swoop. He weighs practically nothing, his legs and arms flapping around as I tickle my way underneath the dressing gown, kissing any part of his skin that I can reach.

I’m naked. Covered in sweat and dried cum from last night. Him? He smells of soap and happiness, as I rip the dressing gown from his shoulders, and push my ridiculously hard cock against his arse as the board and the now empty plate hits the floor with an alarming crash.

“You can just slide back in there if you want. I don’t mind.” he says, a little wide-eyed with shock.

“I’m not doing that.” I mutter, in between little throaty moans escaping against my will. “That will hurt.”

“I’m okay with a little hurt.” His hips are bucking underneath me as his legs wrap around my back. “Just do it.”

“Any idea where the lube went?”

“I can feel you better without the lube. You used enough of it, last night. I’m still lubricated like a good old engine on the inside.”

“OMG.” I sigh. “Your jokes are worse than my dad’s.”

“I want to meet your dad. He’s like, famous in the car industry.”

“Are we fucking or discussing my father’s credentials?”

“I’m more thinking we should act out more of that kinky fantasy we had going on last night.”

He’s truly... off his head. High on coffee. Ridiculous. Lovely, in the loveliest way as I lick the tip of his nose, and place a million kisses on his ridiculous mouth, as my cock has somehow nudged itself inside him. Just a little, but I push, and he wriggles and moans as I break through the muscles resisting my entry. It’s tight as hell, and I realise too late I’m bare and condom-less and stupid as fuck. I don’t know where he’s been. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m in too deep here and I half panic, trying to push away, as he holds me even tighter. Legs and arms and his mouth against mine.

“It’s okay,” he whispers.

“It’s not.” I whisper back. I’m close to panic here,What the hell am I doing?

“I’ve never been with anyone like you. You, are... amazing, kind, patient and you let me be... me. You don’t laugh at me or belittle me or think I’m some stupid, airhead twink. I feel safe with you, and I feel... like I can just be me. I can relax, be all stupid and silly, and you will still like me tomorrow morning. Hell, you might even like me next week. I’m not used to that. So that’s why it’s okay, because I want it to be. I want this to be a thing we can do, like have sex, and laugh about it and play out our silly fantasies, and make things… real? Do you think this is real?”

I’m struggling to follow him, my cock pulsating inside of him, and the urge to fuck his brains out overwhelming me, as I do a pathetic little jerk and try my best to breathe through the fog clouding my brain. I start to speak and stutter and then I try to pull back and somehow it all just comes out of my mouth, like I have some need to tell him, tell anyone, and explain why this is just such a bad... bad. Bad...

“I met someone when I was twenty-one,” I hiccup out. “His name’s Connor, and he was the most beautiful boy ever. We were boyfriends for a stupid, insane rollercoaster of a tiny fucking couple of months, yet it felt like a lifetime... and then he dumped me for someone he met on a night out and I... it wasn’t a good time. I think I lost it for a while. It messed with my head, and most of the time I just thought of either kicking things, or hurling myself in front of the express train to Manchester. I wasn’t right, and I knew it, but there was nothing I could do to stop myself. I was just broken and hurt, and everything was so bloody fucked up.”

“I understand that,” he says softly, shushing in my ear, as I realise, I am crying. Big ugly crocodile tears falling from my face, as my whole body is convulsing with sobs, and my cock? Limp as a bad hot dog, sliding out of him as he shushes and soothes me with kisses and skin.

“I drank myself into a stupor, spent all my savings on alcohol. Smoked a shedload of weed. Then I was in therapy for a year. It didn’t help. I still wanted to kill him. And his new boyfriend. And I wanted to burn down the rest of the world while I was at it.”

“That’s understandable.”

“My mum’s mum was an alcoholic, and my mum almost had a nervous breakdown with me drinking, thinking I was turning into one as well. My parents never drink, because it freaks my mum out. She has triggers, and I mean…” I sob. He shushes, and strokes my hair. “That’s what would happen if… if I lost it again. I don’t think I could... pick myself up again.”

“I’m not Connor.” He says softly.

“I know.” I sob.

“You are years older and wiser.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“You are terrified of me, and what I might do to you.”

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