Not Another Bad Boy(2)

I blush just imagining saying the words. He's too gentle, too soft, too  pretty. He's my love cardigan. Me telling him that I need some filthy,  stained, messed up fucking would hurt him as badly as I had hurt his  actual cardigan.

I love him, too much to hurt him any worse than I already have. With a  sigh, I head to him. I need to show I understand how badly I've hurt  him, though. Even accidents deserve apologies.







I join him in the bathroom, wrap my arms around him and whisper, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. I know. You've told me. Just leave me alone so I can try to save this."

Pouty bastard.

The bad thing about living in a small apartment is there is nowhere to  go when I want to give him the silent treatment. I hide under the  blankets in our bed, but he'll find me as soon as he's finished  pre-washing the sweater. He'll be calm and composed, and I'll still be  pissed. He'll want to cuddle, and I'll want to take all my pent up  energy and get fucked.

I bet Mauricio doesn't wait to calm down before going to fuck Frankie. I  bet he grabs Frankie with his big strong hands and pushes him up  against the dresser and....

My dick responds to my daydream. Rough, crude, and carefree Mauricio,  covered with his tattoos and wearing his tank top highlighting his  sculpted shoulders.

I pull down my jeans and underwear enough to free my dick. I turn to my  side with my back to the door. My hand wraps around it, but all I see  with my eyes closed is the back of Mauricio's head as he takes me  completely in his mouth.

I flinch when I hear Tom clear his voice.

"Sorry about yelling at you. The stain came out just fine, but even if  it didn't, it's just a sweater and it was just an accident."

No, I want to scream. That's not the way this should go. You need to  stay pissed. We need to yell some more. We need to say some things that  touch nerves. Then, you need to grab me....

I interrupt my own thoughts. I'm not that man anymore. I can't be that  man anymore. Being angry and aroused isn't the basis for a relationship.  Mediocre sex is definitely not the reason to ruin a perfect  relationship.

"Hey, babe," I say. "Don't worry about it. It's already forgotten. Look how horny fighting with you got me, though."

I roll over and show him my swollen dick.

Caught off guard, he raises his eyebrows.

He's only wearing his coral-colored shorts. My dick twitches at the  sight of his smoothly shaved chest and tight little muscles. He's not  bulky, but regular trips to the gym keep him lean and sexy.

"Come here, babe. Let's have some make-up sex."

He rolls his eyes.

"Seriously, Tom. I need this right now."

I grab his wrist and pull him to me. He doesn't fight. He doesn't take  control. He just lays down next to me with his arms straight against his  side.

With a growl of frustration at my Nervous Nelly, I undo his fly and pull  off his shorts. Tom is out of his comfort zone which leaves his dick  limp. He wants to chat and cuddle and make sure everything is really  alright emotionally before we check how we are doing physically.

I want to have an orgasm to clear my head so we can talk about how we're doing emotionally.

We're polar opposites too often.

I drop down between his legs and take him in my mouth. He touches the  top of my head. I pause for a moment to see if he pushes me away. His  hands don't move. With my tongue, I trace a circle on his dick. He  hardens and fills my mouth. He grabs my hair. His hips thrust his dick  deeper into my throat.

This is what I need; forced to suck his dick, demanded to service his needs, and then pounded until he gets his release.

Tom chooses this moment to further frustrate me. He lets go of my hair and grabs the headboard.

I trace my fingers along the inside of his thigh, his ticklish spot.

"Hey, knock it off," he says with a laugh.

He flips me to my back and hops off the bed. His hands wrap around my  ankles before I can squirm away and like I weigh nothing at all, he  pulls me to the edge of the bed with my ankles resting on his shoulder.

Fuck yeah, I think. Shove it in me.

He wraps his hand around my dick and gives me a couple slow strokes. I  buck my hip against his hand. There's not much I like more than being  fucked in the ass while staring into the eyes of the man jacking me off.  All I need now is his dick to get inside of me. I grab my butt cheeks  to spread myself, hoping he'll take the hint.

Instead, the bastard drops to his knees and licks my sack.

Don't get me wrong, I love having my sack licked. I also love the  Whopper at Burger King, but if I have the choice between Burger King and  a steak at an expensive steak house, I'm going to want the real meat.

Fuck me in the ass, I scream in my head.

"Come back up here and give it to me, big boy," I whisper to Tom.

Why can't he just understand what I need?

I don't dare tell him the perversions that I crave. Tom is too squeaky  clean. He would run in a heartbeat if he knew what kind of things I  really wanted him to do. After nearly a year together, he can't even  just fuck me silly after a fight. What would he think if he knew I  wanted to be tied up and spanked once in a while or told to crawl across  the room just to lick his toes? What would he do if he knew I would  climb under the table in a restaurant and suck his dick and swallow  every drop that he shot into my mouth?







Tom could never be a part of any of that stuff.

Tom is a play with the balls, lick the dick, suck the dick until I come,  and then gently fuck my ass until he comes while almost apologizing for  inconveniencing me kind of guy.

"Are you sure you're ready? You haven't had your orgasm yet."

Always me first. Then a quick clean up before he busts his nut. It helps make sure the mess doesn't get on the sheets.

I show him my right hand. "Tom, I gave myself my first orgasm with this  very hand. I can do it again. Let's go crazy. This is make-up sex."

"Right." He smiles.

Instead of plunging into my butt, though, he leans to the bedside stand  and grabs the lube from the drawer. He returns with a healthy dollop on  his hand. I sigh, but relax as he prepares for his gentle entry. Boring  sex is still better than no sex at all, I try to convince myself.

One finger. Two fingers. Now he's finally ready to use his cock.

Finally, Tom pushes himself into me. I close my eyes and ride the gentle waves.

My own fingers that know my cock so well, and my own imagination that knows my desires so well, take over from there.

Instead of a cardigan, Tom is wearing a leather vest...and slamming into  me...and demanding that I call him master...and flipping me to my  belly...and pulling my hair so I see his reflection in the mirror...and  slapping my ass.

My imagination does one fucked up thing in the heat of the moment.  Instead of Tom, it's Mauricio grabbing my hips and calling me a dirty  whore. It's Mauricio reaching around and grabbing my cock without losing  the rhythm. It's Mauricio that squeezes the base of my dick to prevent  me from coming until he does.

When I finally come, I pray that it's Tom's name that I scream, but the orgasm is so hard I'm not sure.





Chapter 4





Days pass with me talking less and less each day. Work colleagues  notice. Friends notice. Tom seems to miss it completely, or just not  care.

Fantasies of hooking up in bathrooms at bars flood my dreams. While  walking through crowds, my head is on a swivel, hoping to catch someone  checking me out.

Something has to change, I tell myself each morning, or I will have to  call the whole thing off and move on. It will be better for the both of  us.

Then at home, Tom will do something amazingly small but touching. The  other day on my night to cook, I fell asleep on the couch. Instead of  waking me to have me get started, and instead of ordering takeout from  somewhere, he made lasagna and served it with red wine. We ate out on  the back porch with the dogs while he told me stories of fishing trips  he used to take with his grandpa.

I need someone who can take the time to tell me those stories.

I need someone who can shove me against a wall, pull down my pants, and fuck me in a dirty bathroom.

I need someone who can send me texts saying he loves me just because he watched a pretty sunset and thought of me.

I need someone who can tell me to shut the fuck up and suck his dick.

I need Tom.

And I think I need someone else, too.

"Weren't you going to play basketball and have dinner with Mauricio tonight?"

Crap. I promised to meet Mauricio at the rec center. I used to play  constantly growing up, but had let it slide as an adult. Mauricio has  been bugging me to join him at open gym for weeks. Because I felt I  needed more time away from Tom, I finally caved today when Mauricio  called to ask once again.

Tom follows me as I scramble around the house. He tosses me shoes and  keys. He finds my wallet in the crack of the couch. He kisses me as I  rush out the door.

"Love you, Parker," he says as I dive into the car.

"Later," I reply.

The gym is fairly empty. There are seven men on the far end of the main court. Mauricio waves me over and introduces me.

"Parker played ball in college," he tells his friends.

"Division 3. I was a backup guard."

"That's better than any of our sorry asses," one of the men replies. "I was cut from my varsity team junior year."