When the Storm Invited Itself Into My Bed

The doorbell rings. I know it’s you. Another carnal transaction. We agreed that I was going to top you and that we were going to take it slow because we were both tired.

You are the third man to come into my home today. In the afternoon, I gave blowjobs to two other men, the names and ages of whom I did not know.

I already don’t remember their faces. But yours, I will never forget.

Restless, I let you cross the threshold of my apartment. It’s dark; I can barely make out your silhouette. You are imposing. I try to make out your features by going over your photos in my mind. Your stature intimidates me. I flip on a switch, and the entrance fills with dim light. Your face lights up; you smile at me. Nervous, I manage to say:

— “God, you’re tall!”

— “Haha, you too!”

— “You’re cute with that red tuque.”

You remove your boots and your snow-covered coat.

— “You can follow me. This is my home.”

We go down the hall. The hardwood floor creaks under our feet. You check out the jungle growing in my kitchen and living room: from the monsteras and pothos that cascade all the way down to the floor to the Adanson’s monstera that everyone falls in love with.

— “You have a lovely apartment. Your plant collection is impressive.”

I blush. I never knew how to react to compliments. I rush to answer.

— “Thanks, I just moved in about two months ago,” I say, leading you to my bedroom.

— “Wow, you really have a lot of books! Did you read all of them?”

I hope that, as you glance over the contents of each shelf, you don’t notice my shyness. Or maybe you’re purposefully looking away until my face regains its normal colour. I reply with a laugh:

— “Honestly? At least half. Queer books are pretty much my go-to. As you can see, I don’t have a bed frame yet,” I say in an attempt to change the subject.

You set down your glasses on my bedside table. As you slowly come closer, you hug me and look me in the eye.

— “May I kiss you?”

At that moment, I realize that you won’t be like the strangers from earlier. My knees feel weak all of a sudden. You take me by surprise. Did I end up with a romantic?

— “I’m rarely asked that. With a beard and a smile like yours, it sure is tempting.”

I grant you this first kiss, which is quickly followed by others. Our saliva mixes together and our tongues become one.

— “By the way, you’re a good kisser,” you say.

— “It takes two to tango.”

— “Mmm, right… May I take off your sweater?”

— “Only if I can take yours off too!”

You make my clothes slide over my skin. You bang your head against the ceiling lamp and we laugh. We each admire the body standing in front of us. Two naked torsos, one facing the other. Here we are, grazing each other’s hairy chests. You whisper to me:

— “You’re handsome. It’s pretty—your piercing. How long have you had it?”

Your fingers brush my pierced nipple. Again, I feel a wave of discomfort from receiving a compliment. I don’t know how to react to a man I find to my liking. My interest seems requited. I smirk and nod:

— “I had it done over a year ago. That said, it’s been a do-not-touch zone ever since I slept with someone who almost ripped it out in a frenzy.”

— “Oh, that sucks. As for me, I broke my toe, so please be careful.”

You get down on your knees. Your face is at the level of my pubic bone.

— “Can I pull your jogging pants down?”

— “Of course!”

Taking your time, you pull them down. My briefs follow. I let you kiss my lower abdomen and then my thighs. You gently brush your hands against my penis to make it grow. I see it swell; then you have a taste. Unlike me sucking off the men this morning to get them to come ASAP, you savour every lick as if each were your last.

— “Kiss me before I explode in your mouth.”

— “Sorry, it’s just that you taste so good.”

— “Haha, thanks… I guess? Now, can I take your pants off?”

— “Yes, just be careful…”

​​— “Your toe, I know. I’m going to let you take off your socks to avoid making your condition any worse.”

We lie on my bed, and then I move my head down to your crotch. I lay small affectionate kisses on your hips, sliding my tongue along your pelvis. Your foreskin is starting to stick out of your underwear by your thigh.

— “Oh, hello, there! May I?”

You smile and nod.

I lick the head of your penis and pull down on your boxers to get a better view. I suck you like a popsicle in the middle of a heatwave and then lift your legs in the air. I plunge my tongue into your orifice.

If I had to describe the taste of this rimming session , I’d say it was firecracker flavoured .

I catch my breath. It’s getting very hot in my bedroom.

What I would like to do longer lasts only a moment because we stop to kiss, then cuddle face to face, legs intertwined. You check out my body, and before I can avert your gaze, you ask:

— “How many piercings do you have?”

— “So far, I have three. I get a new piercing once every three years, whenever I have a significant breakup. It’s my running gag. The one in my earlobe, it’s because my ex thought I looked like a pirate. My most recent is in my nipple. It made me more confident about baring my chest more often.”

— “It looks good on you. I like it. Right next to it, what happened there? Was it an accident?”

— “Beside my nipple? It’s a scar from when I had liposuction done.”

— “How come?”

— “I had a hormonal imbalance and went to see an endocrinologist. Long story short, I was self-conscious about my chest for a long time, but since then, I finally feel comfortable being topless.”

— “I never would have guessed. But it’s nice that you feel better about yourself now.”

— “It was a long process. Let’s just say that, over the past year, I’ve really learned to appreciate my body more and give it the love it needs.”

— “Can I touch?”

You run your fingers over my scar. You massage my biceps, then my shoulder, wandering from muscle to muscle. We become attached to each other for a brief moment. I lie back down and you start blowing me again. I admire and clutch your body harder and harder. I’m on the verge of coming, but I’m holding back. I moan softly, letting my body shiver with pleasure. You ask me if I want to come. I nod. You continue to pump my member to get me to climax, but it’s in vain —I can’t seem to get there.

I am distracted by thoughts about the one who once accused me of piracy. I find myself completely disconnected from our torrid encounter. The truth is, he hurt me time and time again, and every single time, I went back to him.

Over time, I forgot what it was like to be appreciated without owing something in return.

Failing to realize the extent of the hold he had on me during the last years of our relationship, my ex was my beacon during every storm. I snap out of my reverie, letting my ex’s ghost lose itself in the storm. I am ready to become my own beacon. I resume:

— “I don’t understand why I deserve all this attention.”

— “Come here, handsome,” you say, taking me in your arms.

My mood has shifted, and I melt into your body. Lying in your arms, I look into your eyes and feel like you understand the pain I’ve gone through. You hold me very tight. The squall settles in my head.

I find myself in the middle of this violent, emotional disturbance.

Eyes closed, head nestled in the crook of your collarbone, I realize this is what I needed. This moment of tenderness. To stop and let myself be cherished. To feel valued. To live in the present and know that I deserve to receive this love without fear or the threat of it disappearing. I end up shedding a tear, which contrasts with your body’s warmth.

​​— “I’m sorry, I’m usually much more ‘giving’, but right now, I’m shaken up by your attentiveness.”

— “I really appreciate the exchange we’re having. We’re lucky, don’t you think?”

— “It’s very rare indeed. It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced something intimate like this.”

— “I find you very present. It’s all in your eyes. Hey, you have no reason to apologize. It’s a beautiful, shared moment.”

I wipe away my tears. I guess we both realize that we will never share that moment again. We look into each other’s eyes while letting our fingers wander across our bodies’ landscapes. After a few minutes, I understand that I have to let you go.

— “Thank you for that beautiful moment,” you say, before crossing the threshold of my front door.

“No, thank you.”