Page 26 of Roleplay at Randy's
I need to get laid, but the last thing I want is to go hook up with some random guy. Not just because they’re always weird about the trans thing—which they are—but because my heart isn’t in it, and that’s the whole damn problem.
Yeah, I want to have sex, but I don’t just want to be fucked. I want unbridled, enthusiastic participation from someone who loves meandmy body, no damn questions asked.
This is why I miss Riley. Because I had that once. We weren’t enough for each other. We hurt each other, but Riley never saw me as anyone other than me. It didn’t matter that I was pre-op when we met, that I’d barely been on hormones for six months.
We became friends. As our mutual respect and care for each other grew, we became more.
I never felt the need to hide who I was. Not that I was gay. Not that I was trans. Eventually, Riley’s fear of loving me out loud was too much for me to take. I know that it was his hangups about his own sexuality, but a part of me will always wonder if some of it didn’t have to do with how my identity could complicate things.
Especially since he recently soft launched his relationship with his fellow Chattanooga Hornets teammate to the public.
I’m happy for him. I told him as much. Told him to get his head out of his ass and love that man properly, because for years while we were together, that was all I wanted.
It still is. Not with Riley, but with someone.
Someone who doesn’t bat an eye at letting me use his bed to fuck myself into oblivion.
Elias is at therapy with Calum—which he does twice a week—and since I’ve kept the visual media to a minimum lately, I figured it might be time to put something out there.
Maybe also because I’m a little pent up. I saw a video from Elias’ job of him on stage, and it both got me itching for dance and extra hot beneath my waistband.
I started almost immediately after they left so I’d have time to get done and clean up any mess I make. My phone and tripod are set up beside the bed, little blinking recording light going as I move the six-inch, ridged and ribbed blue dildo in and out of my front hole.
At first, I take it slow, because it’s been a long ass time since I took cock—real or otherwise—and working it into my hole meets some resistance.
It feels good now, though. Better than good. I forgot how much I like being fucked.
I moan as I chase the edge of an orgasm I know I’ll never reach. Getting off from penetration alone isn’t entirely unheard of for me, but the handful of times it’s happened definitely weren’t when I was doing it on my own. I can’t multitask for shit, so using my vibrator is out of the question.
Oh, how much easier this would be with an extra set of hands.
Elias’ hands. Holding me still as he fucks the toy into me like I’m a goddamn fleshlight.
Oh fuck.
It’s so close. So close. I might fucking cry.
“Please, please, please,” I mutter under my breath, bracing my legs to push and make the dildo hit harder, deeper. “Elias, please.”
I’m so fucking horny. I want him to touch me. I want him to fuck me. I want him to make me come right this fucking minute.
God-fucking-dammit!
I can’t reach it, and I feel the tears spill down my cheeks a moment before a sob breaks free from my throat.
It’s more than just being horny and wanting release. It’s working through these goddamnfeelingsI’m starting to have. Feelings that we’ve both agreed not to act on.
I throw an arm over my eyes and drop the toy like it’s the reason I’m so frustrated. It’s still half inside me, and I don’t give a shit.
The tears come on quickly, demanding my breathing shake and I gasp through them. A few minutes, I can give myself that, and then I’ll clean up and call it good.
My subscribers won’t care that I didn’t orgasm; they’ll just be happy to see me use the toy. It’s been … a while.
Pretty soon, my gasps are dry, and my chest aches from the weight of them, but I think I’m starting to feel better.
Maybe I need an emotional outlet; I just have no idea what that would look like.
“Matty?” There’s a knock on the door that makes me jolt and jostle the dildo, drawing a moan from my throat. Shit. “Are you okay?”
