Cornflower Blue

The young man grunts as I shove inside him. His hole, slick both from my spit and from the half-hour I’ve spent eating it open, resists only for a split second. Then it yields. I glide in, inch by inexorable inch, until my nuts nestle on his ass, one on each cheek.

He sighs. Against my chest, the backs of his thighs had resisted as I’d slid home. Now that I’ve reached a location deep inside that he hoped I’d probe, now that I’m rubbing against that secret spot he’s opened for me, he relaxes. His lips part. His eyes close. His shoulder-length blond hair is splayed out over the pillow in a natural fan; it spills over the top of the mattress and onto the wooden boxes hiding on the shelves behind.

He feels so good. It’s been a while since my dick has been inside anything this warm and pliant. And this pretty boy is warm. His body is smooth all over, his skin the palest shade of pink. I’ve nearly forgotten how good a butt like his feels, wrapped around my shaft. How right. “Your ass is amazing,” I tell him.

His eyes open. Even though he’s resting on the base of his spine, and even though he’s got his legs in the air and an engorged cock stretching his hole painfully wide, his expression seems relaxed. Lazy, even—like he’s waking up from a long nap to find me on top of him. When lifts his neck to press his lips against mine, his hair rises like the long, elegant train of a skirt. “You,” he breathes. His head falls back on the pillow, but he keeps his fingers linked around the back of my neck. “You’re the one who’s amazing. Just fuck me. Please fuck me.”

I have no problem with that. I grin a little at the intensity of his response as I drive in deep, grind, and then pull out just far enough so that I can dig in one more. I’m not fucking to pound one out. Not yet. I’m fucking to make his hole feel good. That’s what matters to me now.

“Am I all right?” he asks. He’s got these blue eyes. Cornflower blue, I think to myself. I’ve never seen a cornflower, but I’m sure of the shade. Cornflower blue.

“Are you all right?” I repeat, pretending to think about it. Withdraw, thrust, grind. Withdraw, thrust, grind. I wait until the third long thrust to reply. “Yeah,” I say, staring into those eyes of cornflower blue. “You’re very all right.”

“I’m not too feminine?” He smirks a little, like he’s joking, but I recognize that little hesitation in his voice. I know that slight look askance. He’s afraid to scrutinize me, because he knows he might read on my face an answer to his question he didn’t want. While I’m thinking these things, he continues talking. “I guess some guys think I’m too feminine—effeminate, feminine, whichever—to be with.” My silence makes him finally look me in the eyes—but only for a split second. He closes them again. “I’m not, am I?”

Withdraw. Thrust. Grind. My dick is rock hard as it retraces its steps over and over again. “Look at me,” I tell him.

His lids open. He’s got big, long lashes. The kid has long, lush blond hair, a smooth body, and the features of a cinematic siren of the nineteen-forties. He came to the door wearing a pair of polka-dotted sweatpants and a multi-colored pleather jacket with the type of enormous shoulders I haven’t seen since a mid-eighties Cameo video. “Would that really worry you?” I ask him. “I mean, really.”

“Well, no—“ The conversation isn’t drawing him out of the fuck. He’s mindful of every plunge of my cock deep into his guts; his hips rise to meet mine, and his lungs let out small huffs with every wet collision. “I don’t know. Maybe you like that.”

Myself, I’m turned on by the talk’s intimacy. I’m an intimacy junkie. I love when a man shows me his insecurities in the heat of the moment. It means he’s not just opening his hole. Any proctologist with a tub of Vaseline and a speculum can get a man to do that. It takes a real lover to get a man to open that Pandora’s Box of fears and vulnerabilities hidden deep away, at the same time he’s giving up his pussy.

“Do you think I’m just being nice to you?” I ask him. “That this fuck,“ and I thrust home on the emphasized words, just to make him whimper and drive the point, “is some kind of consolation prize? You think I save better lovemaking for some dude who’s spent months getting the brim of his fucking baseball cap to a regulation curl?”

“No,” he says. He’s looking me square in the face, now. He knows he’s got nothing to fear from me.
I pull my dick all the way out. His hole gasps and gapes, working itself open and closed like a fish out of its tank. “You think I’m holding back on you? Because I can hold back on you.”

“No.” His hands have been around my neck this entire time. He pulls down on it as if my hips my follow. “Please fuck me. Don’t hold back.”

My dick doesn’t need to prod for the opening. The dick knows where it lies by now. I can find that massive gape while blind. I slam back inside, glad to be in the warmth and the wet once more. He lets out a whimper that’s half-laugh, half-sob. “Let me tell you something,” I whisper to him, beginning the grind once more. “And I want you to promise not to forget it.”

“What?”

“Promise first.”

I could make him promise me anything at this moment, I realize. Eternal love. Eternal fidelity. I could sell this fucker a complete set of Tupperware, just because he’s so eager to keep taking my cock. I’m not going that far, though. They’ll change their minds later in the cool light of day, but damn, do they mean it in that hot moment. “I promise,” he says. Just as I expect.

I nod. Wise boy. “Listen up, then,” I tell him. I shift positions, drawing his ass higher in the air and his knees closer to his face. He’s almost doubled in half, just to accommodate the girth and length of my fuckmeat. However much he’s contorted, he’s never been more open. “I’m not looking into those pretty blue eyes of yours, I’m not looking at that beautiful long hair, not running my hands over your smooth skin, while secretly rating your masculinity.”

My face is mere inches above his own. His legs frame his sharp cheekbones. “I believe you,” he whispers.

“My dick,” I snarl, accompanying the emphasis with another wicked thrust. “My dick isn’t determining where you lie on some arbitrary spectrum.” I pull apart his ankles so that his legs spread more widely. “My dick wants what it wants. And you know what it wants?”

“My hole?” he asks, sounding more like a little boy than the adult he is.

“Your hole.” My dick’s plunging in at a different angle that’s making him gasp and huff for air. “It wants you, because it thinks you’re a hot piece of ass. It wants your tight . . . little . . . hot . . . wet . . . fuckhole.”

He nods and uses his hands to pull his cheeks wider apart. “My pussy.”

“It’s a beautiful pussy,” I agree.

“It’s your pussy now.”

I smirk a little. Of course it is. “So do me a favor,” I growl as I continue to pound my new possession, “and think of me as a man who likes what he likes, because he likes and wants it. You’re better than some fucked-up spectrum. Got it?”

“I get it,” he says softly. He’s relaxed again, totally open. His cock points drooling, untouched, at his nipples.

“My dick is hard for you,” I tell him, picking up the pace. “Anyone who doesn’t get hard for you? Fuck those shits. More hole for me.”

I’m grunting now. Really shoving it in. His spine is more and more vertical by the thrust as I try to ram down to the heart of him. “More hole for you,” he agrees as he grapples it open with clawing fingertips. “Jesus fuck.”

I’m dimly aware of him grabbing his dick with one hand. The cum instantly flies out of it and cascades down his chest. He grimaces as it splats onto his head. Several pearls drip onto his hair and the pillow below. His ass clenches during the climax, but it’s nothing like how it clamps down afterward. Instantly I can tell he’s one of those bottoms who, once he’s done, is done.

No matter. I’m there, myself. I push through muscles actively trying to repel me and down into the deepest part of him. My load burns when it jets out. He can feel it. He’s staring at me with his brows furrowed, those eyes boring into mine almost angrily as he convulses in time with every jet I blast into him. I wait until the last gush. Then I withdraw. Slowly. Deliberately. Inch by inch. At last my meat slops down his crack, and my seed spills over from his hole and dribbles down to kiss the crown.

A minor geyser of my sperm still oozes from his hole when I finally speak. It’s been a while since I shot, I remember. “So. What’s it make you when a cock like mine dumps a payload like that in you? Masculine? Feminine?”

He stretches like a cat, his thin arms curling above his head. He’s still reveling in the moment, I can tell. “Both. Neither.” For a moment he relaxes. Then he smiles, as if the thought’s just occurred to him. Our eyes lock for a final time. Cornflower blue, I think to myself. “I guess it just makes me well-bred.”

It’s a good, good answer.