Boots

I spent the day catching up with Toby and Chris. Toby and I had been friends since boarding school, I was looking forward to having them live just three neighborhoods away. A week ago they had arrived from their country town to settle in the state capital. What an adventure! With boxes everywhere, Chris was toiling with getting their new rental set up. Over backyard beers in the afternoon sun Toby reclined and discussed his medium-term plans to establish a brothel, no less! It didn’t surprise me for a second, he never thought small.

I returned home around six. When I walked in to my place Dillon was naked as usual and in the kitchen cooking. I had no idea what he had found in the freezer but decided it smelt good enough not to care.

I pecked him on the cheek and headed for the couch.

“What time’s dinner?”, I asked searching for the remote.

“Half an hour”, he replied as I activated the sports channel.

“Cool, get us a beer. I need a drink”, I declared as I wandered to the bedroom to dump my stuff. When I returned, I found a can set down on the coffee table. I cracked it and settled in to review tonight’s season end award counts.

When I sat for dinner, I discovered we were having meat loaf. I’m more of an eater than a cook, so I was utterly satisfied with the effort.

“Smells good”, I said as I picked up the cutlery, “when did you get back from the gym? You still look pumped.”

“An hour ago”, he replied, “I put this on slow cook before I left”.

“Have you worked out what you want to talk about?”, I asked, “it’s going to be hard for you to talk during the program, too much cock and arse in your mouth for that”.

“I’m going to be pure submissive, aren’t I?”, he started.

“You already are”, I answered bluntly. “I can see how it’s been confusing though. Lately I’ve been more slack than usual. I’ve been second guessing, you know, just checking to see where you’re at. I’ve wanted to be sure we’re on the same page. I’ll correct my looseness”, he nodded.

“Will we be exclusive?”, he asked.

“Do you want to be?”, I returned.

“Am I ever going to be able to do anything with my cock? Except a sly wank here and there, that doesn’t disturb you?”

“If we’re exclusive, I can’t think of anything”.

“Do you want us to be exclusive?”, he asked pushing.

“I’d probably like it better that way”, I replied.

“Is that because you want me alert and fresh? In case you want to fuck me?”, he questioned.

“I suppose”, I answered honestly. “I hadn’t thought of that, if I’m hard, I don’t expect it to matter to me if you’re tired or sore from another fucking. I was more thinking about the risk of you catching something from tricks I don’t know, and passing it to me.”

“As opposed to casual fucks you do know?”, he quizzed, surprising me by picking up my smallest assertion. I nodded affirmatively.  

“Like who?” he asked. “We don’t know anyone in common?”

“I don’t mean it from a people ‘we’ know perspective. I mean anyone I let fuck you.”

“So even if we’re exclusive you will be offering my arse up for a fuck”, he said with astonishment.

“Hey, hey”, I returned, attempting to level the situation, “Not every day, or ever, maybe. But if it makes me hard, what do you expect me to do?”, I paused. “If I get rock solid from whoring your arse out on Grindr, of course I’m going to act on it. You’re being weird,” I said in to the gap my statements of fact had carved. “You make it sound like, you’re the one who’s in control of your hole?” More quiet.

“You said you wanted to talk”, I defended. “Do you want facts or for me to pretend something different?” I questioned.

“Facts”, he repeated. “I just want to understand what being with you will be like. Never been a pure sub, don’t know if I have what it takes”

“Well, if after a while you don’t like it, you can call it quits. Not saying it won’t hurt me like hell, but no way I want you to be in a place where you’re not meant to be”

The table returned to silence. It had been a great conversation so far, I hadn’t cried once.

“You’re already hard for someone to fuck me, aren’t you?”, he asked after pondering it through ten minutes of meat loaf silence.

“Probably”, I confessed, thinking about the text conversations I’d been fielding back and forth.

“Jesus!”, he expressed in blasphemy. “And you weren’t going to discuss it with me?” he questioned, starting to breathe heavily.  

“Hadn’t occurred to me, I wasn’t expecting to, no”, I replied as I positioned myself for the knockout blow.

“Wow, so that’s the life of a sub right there, huh?”, he asked, overly incensed. The moment had arrived.

“Yep, you got it”, I replied, confident and taking my time to set it up “so tell me Mr. Indignant, ‘I’m not a 100% sub”. He locked eyes in what he saw as a battle of wills. I reached across the table and grabbed him by the ear. I gently but firmly raised him to his feet. “If you’re not a sub, how come you’re hard as steel and dripping like a tap”. I looked down and confirmed every word.

I sat and left him standing on full display. He didn’t say anything immediately. He just stared down at his mega firm meat. After a while he almost ‘dropped’ to his seat, he’d been caught out, he was almost in a state of self-realisation. The minutes ticked by, he who spoke first, lost. 

“I was conscious I was firm, but I’m not, I’m granite fucken hard and leaking a river”, he took a deep breath.

“I’m a sub, I really fucken am” he said to himself, more than me. “You knew?” he asked.

“I’ve known from the day I found my ‘never been cleaner’ boots back on my doorstep”, I responded, “You’re destined to cook, clean, fetch and have your arse fucked beyond belief forever, if you want”.

“And be loved along the way?” he asked seeking confirmation for the second half of his epiphany.

“In the last three months, I’ve never said any different”, I confirmed, smiling warmly.” Never felt anything like it or so true in my life”.

“I’m a sub, and I’m loved”, he said again locking his now tear filled eyes, “can I have a hug?” he asked.

I stood with my arms wide, he latched on and in turn, cried his lungs out. I’d never felt so complete.

* * *

As the award ceremony broke for mid time I reached for my beer. As my second favourite sport, ice hockey was easy to keep track of without being a ‘tragic follower’. Luke Harris had just collected ‘Rookie of the year’. He collected a brand-new Mustang as well! Fucken nice car! I was surprised he’d won, I’d watched him through the season. He was good, but not amazing. Thing was, I couldn’t think of any other new guy who was better, shallow talent pool this year I lamented.

Dillon suddenly looked up from between my elevated legs. The thirty minutes of rimming had been excellent, I was looking forward to the other half of the show. With his muzzle covered in spit, his curiosity couldn’t be contained any longer. “Who’s gunna fuck me?“, he asked, clearly over his indignation and embracing the concept.

“You’ll see”, I replied as he rolled his eyes in mock frustration, “back to it”, I nodded downward. This Adonis like muscle boy was in for a serious fucking tonight. A consecration of a perfect pair. I hoped it lasted, for the first time in my life my heart was singing.

The adverts finished and part two of the ceremony kicked off. Suddenly I couldn’t have been less interested.