Page 73 of The Frathole
I kneel between his legs, readying myself, and he repositions his legs, as though trying to find the perfect placement for them.
Once I’ve lubed up, I toss the bottle aside and grip his thighs, adjusting him so that his hole is on full display. It puckers for me, and a rush of saliva fills my mouth.
“You’re making me thirsty for this ass,” I warn as I line myself up with him.
“Just go slow,” he spits out, maybe because he could hear the pure, raw desire in my voice.
And all I want to do is assure him I would never take advantage of this moment he’s offering me.
“I’m gonna go very slow. Until you beg me to go fast.” I push the head against him, testing to see how much give there is, if I’ve opened him up enough for this.
He takes deep breaths as the head starts to push in, but his muscles tighten, creating a wall to prevent me from entering any more.
He cringes. “Ooh, no, no.”
I pull back out, panic whirring in my chest. “You okay?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m too tight. It’s not gonna work.”
“Oh—”
It’s like the guy’s the Flash as he hurries out of the bed, and I’m right on his tail. He searches around for his clothes, then sees them on the bed.
He starts past me again, but I rest my hand on his arm. “Hey, hey. It’s fine, Mart. We don’t have to do anything. There’s nothing wrong with bailing if that didn’t feel right. Are you okay?” Given how quickly he got up and the way he’s biting his lip, I’m worried.
He finally makes eye contact, studying my expression. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
But the way he quickly looks away concerns me. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. That wasn’t it. It just felt tight, and I got nervous…and then I was in my head about it.”
“Come here, man.”
It doesn’t surprise me—not only because he’s Marty and gets into his head, but that happens sometimes, and there’s nothing wrong with it.
“If you don’t want that, we toss that out. Off the table. Cool?”
He nods.
“Come on. Let’s lie down for a minute. Relax.”
I remove the condom, toss it into the trash while Marty crawls back into bed. I settle beside him, rolling toward him and resting my hand on his abs. He’s still shaking.
“I’m so embarrassed,” he says.
“What’s there to be embarrassed about?”
“I spent all that time talking to you about this and getting you worked up. Then freaked the hell out. What’s not to be embarrassed about? I’m always fucking like this. Like all the videos we saw, and it’s clear that this is something people do, and I’m in my head about it, the way I am with everything.”
“You wouldn’t really be Marty if you weren’t that way.”
He glares at me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I think it’s cute when you get all worked up about stuff.”
“You think it’s cute?” he asks skeptically.
“I don’t know that I always knew that’s what I was feeling, but looking back, feels like that’s what it was because it kind of gave me a thrill. I thought I just enjoyed teasing you, but now I’m not sure that’s all it was.”
