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Copyright © 2017 by Guy New York
Published by QNY
Cover image © The Dirty Gentleman
Cover design by Guy New York
Interior design by Pronoun
Distribution by Pronoun
About The Author
“I wish my train came into Grand Central. Penn Station is awful.”
“Why don’t you take a cab there and I’ll pick you up? We can pretend you just arrived and I’ll meet you at the Campbell Apartment. Or we could sneak down to the basement and eat oysters surrounded by wood paneling. Whichever you want.”
“How much time will that add to the distance between me arriving and you fucking me?”
Three text messages were the full extent of our planning. Maggie was coming for a weekend visit, and we hadn’t seen each other in six months. We talked and emailed on occasion, but the months were long enough to leave us wanting. In fact, the months were so long that our current schedule included: arrive, get off the train, go to my place, fuck, and... That was it. That was as far as we got.
We met years ago when I was still bartending and she was still lying down in front of bulldozers. Maggie planned on changing the world one issue at a time, and I planned on ruining my liver before I turned thirty. She stumbled into my bar after finally getting released from a holding pen full of part-time protesters, and she ordered a Maker’s Mark and a glass of water. She was exhausted, sweaty, and gorgeous. She smiled through her anger and frustration and by the end of the night we had breakfast plans.
Our sex was good. That very first time it was even wonderful, but the earth didn’t move and our hearts didn’t burst out of our chests. We scratched and nibbled as our bodies moved, but our orgasms stuttered rather than exploded, and we ended up having a perfectly nice time.
The following afternoon was a different story.
We got back to my apartment after brunch, and a combination of the afternoon sun and two or three bloody marys left us open and honest. When I held her wrists above her head she moaned harder, and when I told her to roll over she called me Sir. The first time I slapped her I thought she might come, and by the end of the afternoon we were bruised, battered, and madly in love.
“I liked when you called me a whore. It made me feel dirty and wanted at the same time.”
“I liked when you whispered “no” into my ear and how you struggled when I made you kneel.”
Every one of our little kinks overlapped and somewhere along the line, we stopped hiding. We talked for hours about what we wanted, and we both said things we had never shared before. She wanted to feel small, used, and loved, and I wanted to move between anger, desire, and jealousy. She wanted to cry without me stopping, and I wanted her to struggle. Sometimes.
After hours of playing, fucking, and talking I lay next to her on my bed unable to move.
“What would make you hard right now?” She touched me with light fingers, and I shook my head. All my normal excuses slipped away so I told her the truth.
“I’m completely exhausted, and I haven’t had sex like this in years. But I hardly know you. The thing that feels most taboo right now is love. The thing that shouldn’t be here at all after twelve hours of sex and no sleep.”
“Show me,” she whispered.
I rolled over and softly brushed the hair from her eyes. I looked at her, and I felt every single emotion running through my body. I touched her lips and her chin before caressing her breasts and stomach. I ran the backs of my fingers over her thighs, and I kissed her cheek as my breathing got faster.
“What is it?” Her voice was a whisper.
“I love you,” I said.
The second the words left my mouth she was kissing me again, and I was between her legs. This time I was sliding slowly inside her as she wrapped her arms around me.
“I love you, Maggie,” I said once more, and we moved together like one body. There was no biting, no scratching, and for a while, we simply breathed the same air. I pulled a leg up around me and thrust deep inside her; she touched my cheek. Her eyes stayed open.
I came gently. Long slow shivers ran through my body and my toes went numb. She held me and kissed me as my orgasm slipped into her like a warm spring breeze. I was quiet and awake when I came, and I never lost sight of her deep blue eyes.
“I think I like that kink too,” she said. I pulled her to me and kissed her forehead. She tightened the blanket around us both and nuzzled her face into my shoulder. I held her as she held me and after there was nothing left to say we both fell wonderfully and soundly asleep.
Five years later and I still tell her I love her at exactly the right moment. She still calls me Sir and I knew exactly how hard to slap her ass to make her ready. But she lives in Boston, I live in New York, and the months between visits have gotten longer with each year. Our lives are busy and it takes more time to catch up, but it doesn’t matter. No matter how far away she is and how many months have slipped past without us talking, we find ourselves in bed within the first hour of seeing each other. Okay, sometimes we’re against a wall, in the back of her car, or on my couch. But it’s always the same. Within that first hour, my cock is inside her and every ounce of tension and stress has vanished as our bodies feel the familiar touch of skin.