Tag: true love

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“Brendan.”
“Please stop. If we try to have a conversation I’m going to cry.”
I swallowed hard. I reach out for his hand after a moment he takes it, and squeezes it so hard it hurts.
“Brendan…” I began.
“What?” He asks, his voice high and tight. “Just let me suffer. I know once you get on the plane it will be easier. I’ll cry later.” Brendan brushed away a few tears and I pretended not to notice.
“Brendan,” I repeated. “I just made a new decision.”
Brendan raises his head a little. His cheeks are red. “What?”
“We decided it was the mature responsible thing to break clean when I went off to Harvard and you went to the Coast Guard. We lasted two years out of high school together, working and saving….planning for our own futures, but at the same time, self destructing.“ Brendan let’s out a sob. People are staring. I pull him into a hug. He clings to me like a magnet. “But I just cannot let you go. I will wait you for you, Brendan. That’s what I decided.”
My boyfriend is crying too hard to respond. I find myself unable to hold back any longer.
“And if you meet some guy and have hot helicopter sex-”
That gets a laugh.
“Then you enjoy it ok? Don’t waste a hot chance on me. Just tell me straight after ok?”
“No no no,” Brendan finally says. “I will wait for you. I will wait, and I will pine, because I love you so fucking much.”
I hiccup and feel silly. “You’re going to pine for me?”
“Everyday.”
“Awww…Brendan. I love how sweet you are. Shit, there is no way I could ever stop loving you.”

I know for a fact people are watching now. The announcement comes over the speaker: Flight 8498 to Boston now boarding at gate 34b…“
“That’s me,” I said softly.
“No,” Brendan whimpers.
I tilt his head and kiss him. “The waiting starts now. I will call when I land.”

I cant actually remember how I found the strength to remove Brendan’s warm body wrapped around with mine, or how I could get on that plane with that face watching me. All I know is, when I landed in Boston, I was still in tears.

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Text is fictional.

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I know you’ve fallen asleep over there, which I’m kind of glad about, because I kind of feel like I’m going to cry. I mean – how dumb would it look to start crying in the middle of a park? Someone would probably go – what an asshole, dude thinks the sky is so pretty he’s crying. Or they’d think I’m on drugs. The truth is, I’m not on drugs anymore. I say the words aloud, just to hear myself say the words and have them be true: “I’m not on drugs. I’m not on drugs anymore. I was on drugs, but I’m not anymore.”

It’s funny – back then when I was a walking poster-child of Florida’s Biggest Problem, I would say the same thing out loud just to cement my denial. I’m not on drugs. I just take them occasionally. Once a day. I mean, I have a job, I’m not living on the streets. I’m not a drug addict. Middle-class white guys are not addicts.
I was so full of shit. I am now somewhat amazed I was able to play the game of mental gymnastics with such Olympic-level skill. The side effects of the drugs were so gradual that I was watching out for them, but I wasn’t prepared for the side effect of lying. Just making shit up all the time is exhausting. Hiding what you’re doing becomes exhausting. The guilt..the lies…the shame. That nagging sense that you’re on the brink of losing control, the paranoia that all your friends know – but they couldn’t know could they?

They had to know about the Vicodin, cause of my car accident and the back pain. But they couldn’t know how many pills. They couldn’t have any idea about the Xanax. Or the Percocets. Or the occasional jag of heroin. They couldn’t know I was going to realtor open-houses to raid the medicine cabinet, or I’d been shopping doctors for prescriptions.

I glance over at Jeffrey. I can’t believe he stuck with me this whole fucking time. I was sure when I got back out of rehab, he would be gone. He was the one who threatened to leave me if I didn’t get some fucking help. I was so blown out at that point that I was negotiating in my head how I was going to get out of this with my little magic pills intact – just go to rehab enough to look clean sober, get myself back down to when I was down to a pill a day – when he didn’t notice – and he would take me back. Looking back on it, I’m disgusted with myself.

Jeffrey does not deserve me. He deserves someone so, so much better. So much more whole. Someone who was not an addict.

Yet he stuck with me through this whole damn time. He kept visiting me, bringing me food and things I needed. Books. Better sheets. Chapstick. And as the drugs began to leave my system, the guilt moved in. I was able to see this man I’d been dating with clear eyes again, and the love came back. And once I let the love do the thinking for me, it began to fight the addiction in full force. I didn’t want to be in love Jeffrey under the influence. I could not do that to him, and should never have done it in the first place. I fully expected to get out of rehab and he would be gone, and I could never tell him just how much his love saved me.

But Jeffery was there in his red sedan, waiting to pick me up from rehab, to take me back to our new apartment in a new neighborhood where we were going to start over. We didn’t go back to normal though. He was scared of me for a week, unsure if the old Brian was actually back. 

I learned that getting clean isn’t just one act. It comes in waves, and most of those waves involves becoming aware of all the damage you’ve caused. Jeffery didn’t trust me. He would check our friends’ medicine cabinets before we went over there. He checked my pockets. Initially, Jeffery declined intimacy, of close contact, and preferred being friends in the same apartment. I was annoyed at him at first for pushing me away, but then I realized it was because Jeffrery was scared I was going to backslide and he was going to be betrayed and have his heart hurt again. They don’t prepare you for that in rehab.

We went to couples therapy. It got better. We celebrated five years together. I lost my job cause of the addiction, but I got a new one. I squeeze Jeffrey’s hand. It’s still getting better, every day.

Love conquers all. Shit, I’m crying in a public park. What a white guy thing to do.

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Text is fictional.

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I hear someone’s footsteps behind me. I can sense it’s Shea without him even saying anything. I ignore him though and focus on my task. My eyes remain closed. Then, after a moment I feel Shea’s breath on the back of my neck and his nose bumps my ear. I can’t ignore him nuzzling me, especially when he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Shea, I’m meditating,” I gently say.
“You’ve been meditating for an hour. I want you.”
“You want me how?”
“I dunno…I just want to be with you. This country air is making me feel romantic.”
“Really?”
“Mm hm.” Shea kisses the shell of my ear. “This is how i meditate.”
I chuff and open my eyes as I glance over my shoulder. “You’re distracting.”
He smiles, not at all feeling guilty. “Sorry.”
“I like it.”
Shea puts his second hand on my shoulder and rubs them. “Can we make out for a bit?”
“Make out?” I tease. “Like we’re in high school?”
“Yeah,” Shea replies. “I want to kiss you.”
“Is that so?” I ask, interested. “You don’t want my dick?”
“Dicks are good. I like dicks. Maybe we can get to that later. I dunno, right now…just want to kiss you.”
“Come ere, sit in my lap,” I offer.
“I’m bigger than you are,” he reminds me.
“Then you sit here, and I’ll sit on you.”
“Mm that’s a good kissing position.”

We trade spots. I sit down on his firm thighs and Shea wraps his arms around my waist. I slide my palms up his stomach as our kisses begin. Maybe he’s right about this country thing. The air is so clean and sweet here that everything else smells amplified. Shea’s own natural scent is present, warm and inviting, with a bit vanilla, a bit of sandalwood, with a bit of pheromones mixed in. I run my fingers through his hair and kiss him again and again. I don’t even notice my cock -or his – is painfully hard and leaking until half an hour later.

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Text is fictional. Source:

curatedeyeful:

Travis Stevens and Tyler Hill, in a scene for Helix Studios. (Link nsfw.)

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I hear the door close, then silence. “Honey is that you?” I ask, sticking my head out from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” he grunts. “I’m home. Jesus, what a day. This just won’t end. It just won’t end.”
I furrow my brow and come out to greet him. The kiss is cold from the spring chill and his eyes are not seeing me. I cup his cheek. “Are you really alright? You’re in shock.”
Laurent runs his fingers through his shoulder-length auburn hair. “I can’t feel anything. I’m totally numb. Last week I found out I’m likely losing my job in the merger. Found out today my dad has cancer, and someone’s been using my credit card without my permission… just one thing after another. ” I help Laurent off with his coat. “I can’t even remember leaving the office and getting here…”

“My poor Laurent.” I put an arm around his shoulders. Despite his strong build, he feels fragile and unsteady. “Come to the kitchen, you need to sit down.”  My boyfriend just grunts and lets me lead him.

I sit him down in a kitchen chair and put a glass of strawberry milk in front of him. “Here,” I say.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“Your drink, to wash this down.” I fetch the plate off the counter and hold it in front of him.

Laurent stares at it, blankly. “How did you…”
“Your mother told me,” I answer. “I called her today, because I was worried about you. She said when you were little and having a bad time at things, she would make you Happy Cake so you’d feel better. She told you the sprinkles were made of real, dried rainbows and they were medicine that only works on children. So…how did I do?”
Lauren takes the plate and cups it in his hands, as if shielding it from his shitty week. “It’s beautiful, Alain. I forgot how pretty the colors were. You know, I used to ask my mother what flavor the cake was and she said ‘sun flavored’. I thought vanilla was ‘sun flavored’ for years,” he chuckles. “Jesus, it’s just perfect.” Laurent lowers the plate to the table and picks up his fork, but he hesitates to molest it.

I put my hand over his other hand, loosely curled on the table. “Laurent.” Our eyes meet. “Everything is to be ok. We’ll know more on Monday about your father’s cancer, but the doctor was optimistic wasn’t he? And the credit card company froze your card right? The assets are protected. About your job, well, maybe you’ll find another job you’ll love even more. You still have me too, no matter what happens.”

Laurent swallows, hard, and he tries to make some words come out but his throat is too tight. I pat his arm and nod understandably. I get up to get my own piece of cake, and we sit there in calm silence and eat.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as Laurent methodically carves up his dessert and eats every bite in his usual fastidious manner. When every crumb has been collected and every sip of milk is gone, Laurent sets his fork on his empty plate and dabs his mouth with a napkin.

“Alain?” Laurent asks. He has a slight accent from his childhood in the south of France and I love how he says my name.
“Yes?” I reply.
“Would you like to go upstairs and make love?”
The tone in his voice makes the hairs go up on the back of my neck. He didn’t say ‘fuck’ or ‘have sex’, he said make love. “You’re up for that?” I reply, cautious.
Laurent nods. “I…I need it. I need you. I feel like my emotions, my feelings, are all backed up and I can’t hit unpause. You are so kind to me, so loving, that when we’re together I just dissolve and drift into pieces like foam on the sea. I need that. I need you to unravel me or I’m going to break.”
I can see the pain on Laurent’s face, clear as day. He needs to cry, but he can’t. I finish my last bite of cake and drain my milk. “I would love that. I’ll put on the heater, make it warm. You go get ready, I’ll make us some tea.”
“Tea. Yes. Good idea.” Laurent pushes away from the table and shuffles to the bedroom like a zombie.

Later, when the sheets are stained and I am blessedly tingling all over, I rock Laurent as he sobs into my arms. Change scares him. Losing his father, his best friend, before we have children, scares him. Financial instability scares him. In one week, everything he could count on to be stable has crumbled. Eventually he collapses into exhausted sleep around me, and I tuck him into bed.

The next morning, when I wake up, Laurent is already sitting up and gazing out the window. It’s kind of hard to see his face as the sun pours over the bed.
“Laurent…?” I say softly.
To my cautious delight, he smiles. “Look. It rained last night, and it’s just beautiful today. Come here, to this side of the bed – watch the mess now – look! Can you see it? There’s a rainbow over those hills.”
“Yeah – yeah I see it. Wow, Laurent. It’s a beauty.” I slide my fingers into his, interlocking them, and we share it together.

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Text is fictional. This is not the first time I’ve made a post with just a picture of cake, lol. Pic is watermarked for ownership.

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mytintinposts:

Mytintinposts

Maybe too queer, but still hot

“Jordy, it’s not too queer.”
“It is. I mean…we have both our hands over my penis.”
“…Jordy that was your idea.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking! I guess I just, like, let all my gayness cloud my judgement.”
“Jordy, honey have you eaten?”
“What?” he blinks.
“You’re getting manic, have you eaten honey?”
“…I ate a protein bar. And a latte.”
“Decaf?”
“…No.”
“Jordy, you need to eat real food.”
“How can I eat at a time like this!” he huffs, throwing his arms dramatically. “Why did I allow naked photos to be taken of us? They’re so…cheesy.”
I pick up the prints the photographer mailed us. “I think they’re sweet.”
“…Sweet?” Jordy repeats.
“Yes. I mean, look at us. It’s so clear. You are shy, scared to put yourself out there as you are – naked in both body and soul – for another man, but you clearly want to because you have puppy eyes for that man. Well, me, in this analogy. And the other man – me – is reaching out to say that being together doesn’t mean surrendering yourself entirely, it means learning to share yourself with someone because that can be wonderful and amazing and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I love it. It conveys our relationship perfectly.”
“Oh my god.” Jordy replies softly, his voice still tinged with that dramatic, twinky tone of us. “You see that in this picture?”
“Yes, baby, I do. You are also damn fine, if I can say so.”
“Oh you can, you can,” Jordy cooes, reaching for me. I embrace him in a hug.
“Oh there there. It’s ok. I know it’s a little embarrassing putting yourself out there on film. I thank you for indulging me with pictures for anniversary. You don’t have to look at them again if you don’t want to.”
“….I don’t?” Jordy replies, pulling away and looking at me.
“Not if they make you that uncomfortable?”
“Well…I mean… when you put it that way…” Jordy shuffles through the photos on the coffee table. “Woah, this one has your penis in it! Ok, this one’s hot.”
I laugh. “Jordy. You can have my penis any time you want.”
“And I really appreciate that.
“But you don’t want to look at the ones of us together?”
“….Now you make me seem like an ungrateful diva bitch.”
“Well, if the shoe fits…”
“Uuughh I am such a virgo.”
“Jordy.”
Jordy crosses his arms and looks away. “I like them. I really do. It’s just weird to see a physical embodiment of the way you feel for someone.”
Suddenly he’s left me speechless. “Jordy…” I begin.
“But you’ll never get me to admit that again!” He grabs the naked photo of me and marches into the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
I watch him magnet it to the fridge and smirk. “To make dinner.”
“That photo of me is not staying on the fridge.”
“I’m making you lasagna. It will stay there for now, and then I’m taking it to work and putting it in my locker.”
“…Jordy I’m not sure the other firefighters will like that.”
“Rick has a naked photo of a porn star in his locker! You can see her lips. I want to play too.”

I give him a look. He still won’t say ‘vagina’. Sometimes, Jordy’s just impossible, so I decide I’m done bickering with him and let him make me dinner. We went out for dessert, then came back, made love, and went to sleep.
When I came home from work the next day, the intimate photo of us that caused Jordy to freak out was displayed on our bedroom dresser in a beautiful silver frame.

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Text is fictional.

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“Hey.”
I glance up at Mark. “Oh hey handsome, what’s up?” I put my book down and we share a kiss.
“Bookmark your place, we gotta go.”
I slip a receipt into the spot where I stopped and furrow my brow. “Go where…?”
Mark’s grinning so hard that all his teeth are on display. “The courthouse.”
I blink. “….Babe, I don’t understand – why?”
He takes my hand and places something cool in it. When I open it, I see it’s a ring. I gasp.
“Travis County is allowing gay couples to get married today. And…and I know you told me before, how important it was to you to get married, but you never liked the showy ways people propose to each-other. So I’m asking you.. Ramos T. Vargas-” Mark comes around to the front of the sofa and gets on one knee -”if you’ll come to the courthouse and marry me today, on this landmark day. I can’t imagine – no, because there isn’t anyone else in this whole world I want to be married to more than you. You are my everything.”
“Oh my god baby. Oh my god.” I stare at the ring which is quickly going blurry. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. By dinner tonight, we could Mr. and Mr. Hernandez.”
I feel a ragged shudder leave my lungs. “Oh my god baby. Look at this band… it’s so beautiful…” I squeak and dissolve into tears. “Yes yes yes yes yes. I’ll marry you. Let’s go do it! Let’s go get married.”

“Jesus christo, thank you Ramos. Thank you” Mark is biting his lip hard to keep his emotions in check as he slides the ring onto my trembling fingers. We share a deep kiss flavored with the tears running down my face.
“Oh my god,” Mark sniffles. “I’m so happy you said yes.” He picks up the tissue box and we share it.
I chuckle and kiss him again. “This is exactly how I wanted you to ask me too. Love makes you do crazy, spur of the moment things.”
we kiss again. ”Cause I know you, like no one else does. Come on, let’s go pick out something nice to wear, real quick. The line’s gonna be long at the courthouse. I want to make sure we get in.”
“Should we call our parents?” I ask, lovingly inspecting the band.
Mark thinks. “Let’s wait until we get the certificate. Then we ask Janie to take some nice photos in the park. We can send them those.”
“Sounds great.” I can’t stop grinning now either. Today went from bland to bliss in less than five minutes. It was a good day to be gay in Texas. “Race you upstairs!”

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Text is fictional. YAY gay marriage being legal in the US now!!

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leprinceofsins:

Magic Wood barebacks Draven Torres at RawStrokes.com (xox)

Later, after we were snuggling in post-coital bliss, he said: “I’m jealous.”
I tilt my head up and met his dark eyes. “Of what?”
“Other men…the men you had before me. The one night stands in college, the bar hook-ups, the party sex orgies, your boyfriends…so jealous that they got you before I did.”
I smile, crinkling the corners of my eyes. “You love being in me that much?”
“Fuck, you’re perfect. Tight, warm, like velvet, “ Marcus groans and handles his soft cock, as if checking to make sure he can’t squeeze another orgasm out of it. No luck – his balls are empty. “Shit, I can’t even put it into words. The way you smell, the noises you make, the way your beard brushing my face, the texture of your lips…Jesus,” Marcus sighs. “It’s like dying and going to heaven every time. I can’t get enough of you.”
I blush hard and put an arm around him. “Well you don’t have to be jealous.”
“How could I not be, baby?”
I smirk. “You think they all got sex like that?”
He lifts his head up. “What do you mean, baby?”
“You forgot, that before we met I was a slut. A raging, bottom slut. I didn’t care about the fuck as long as someone was on top of me, and made me cum. No one got to make love to me. No one. Especially no one that I wasn’t gonna see again. I thought it was trite. And yeah, I’ve had a few boyfriends. Boytoys, really, but they never turned into lovers, because I wasn’t ready to settle.”
“That means…” Marcus begins.
“I’m an old slut, love. There’s a 3 in front of my age, love. What’s fun becomes exhausting, the hangovers start to last a lot longer, the morning partings become more painful. The loneliness starts to sink in… as does the depression. And then I met you. And it was like I was starting over, and being in love for the first time.”

He blinks at me. “Honey I never knew this about you, how you felt about me.”
I pat his cheek. “You’re getting this old slut to let down his guard. Good for you.”
“You’re not old, and you’re not a slut. Well, you’re slutty, but not a slut. You’re mine,“ Marcus insists. “I like hearing that you want to settle with me, though. I like you. A lot.”
“Me too.”
We kiss.
“So…” Marcus begins. “With me, we’re making love?”
“Every damn time.”
He grins. “How did you know you were ready to share that with me? Cause when we first met, it wasn’t like this.”
“You were right. When we met, we just fucked. But then…then you started putting your hand over my cock when we had sex.”
“….I do?” He blinks.
I giggle. “Yeah you do it every time. You get me spread wide and open, make me impale myself on you, and before I can get anywhere near my needy little erection, you put your hand over it and my balls. Mine, you say. You don’t want me to touch. You don’t want me to focus on any other pleasure except the kind you’re giving me. And at first, it pissed me off, but then we had that night when we got back from the ballet remember?”
“Uh huh,” he replies, mesmerized by the words coming out of my mouth.
“And it was just…so wonderful. So intense. So slow, so passionate. And you did that, and it just felt right. I felt like I belonged to you, I wanted to give myself to you. So, I thought, why not? Why not see where this goes?” I kiss his chin. “It’s been a very rewarding experience. The sex is on another level.”

Marcus works his jaw. I wonder if he knows his eyes look a little wet. “Baby,” he manages. “I had no idea. I am so, so…flattered that you picked me, and let me pleasure you. When I met you, and started dating you, I thought – this guy is really special, but I don’t think he’s going to stick around long enough for me to show him how special he is. So every day to me, it’s like waking up in a dream.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I sigh, content. “Being in love is amazing. Getting fucked by you is amazing. Coming hands-free is amazing. Spending time with you is amazing. But it’s the sum of the parts that make me get up in the morning.”

Marcus wraps his arms around me and nuzzles my neck. “I love you so much, baby.”
“I love you too, Marcus. …Hey, what’s that poking me in my thigh?”
“Huh?” he glances down. “Well, shit, look at that. I don’t think there’s anything left in the arsenal though.”
I wrap my fingers around it. “Why don’t we find out?”

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Text is fictional. Source is below. Black gay porn actors have the best aliases. Magic Wood and Draven Torres are with Lucas Entertainment.

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Every morning while I make breakfast, Toby pads into the kitchen and wraps his arms around me. I can faintly smell the toothpaste on his breath. Sometimes if I stand in one place long enough, he’ll doze off on me. If I move, he’ll just follow me. It’s pretty adorable.

And to think, I almost made him leave once. I found him on the side of the highway, cold and hungry and scared. He’d gotten into a specialized veterinary-focused community college 300 miles from home, and had no way to get there. His parents found out he was gay and disowned him soon, then kicked him out, leaving him entirely stranded. So, he started walking.

I think the world works in ways I don’t quite understand, because I live five miles from that college. I was on my way back from visiting my parents. Him staying with me was supposed to be temporary until Toby figured things out, but my roommate decided to move in with his girlfriend, leaving me with a vacancy…

I stir the contents of the pot and put the lid on. I’m making him jambalaya with kielbasa for lunch. I check on the bacon draining in papertowel. It’s cool now.

“Hunter?” he murmurs.
“Yeah?” I ask, rubbing his arm affectionately.
“Thank you.”
“For what? Bacon?”
He chuffs in my ear. “No…for stability. For quiet. It’s s’nice here. I love you Hunter.”
I swallow, hard. I squeeze his hand and press a kiss to his fingers. ‘I love you too Toby. You’ll never be stray again.”
Toby nuzzles me between my shoulder blades. “Good. Cause even if you put me out, I’ll still come beg at your door.”
I smile. “Good. Cause my bed isn’t the same without you in it.”

Toby sighs gently and then I hear his breathing slow. He’s fallen asleep again. Poor thing. He’s just not a morning person. I stand there, patiently, nibbling on my bacon and eggs and checking Reddit on my phone. After fifteen minutes, Toby wakes up just long enough for me to make him eat his breakfast before I have to put him down for a nap.

When I get back from classes at University, I am astonished to find the apartment looking spotless. 

I find a note on the counter: “Thanks for lunch and for the nap <3 I needed the rest, I was up so late studying for today’s lab test. I feel like I’m gonna do great. Don’t wait for me for dinner, I’m going to be out in Amerville for farm study, and I have my 8pm make-up lab today. By the way – my teacher is trying to rehome baby bunnies someone left in a box here. Do you want a bunny?”

I run my fingers through my hair and chuckle. Strays taking home strays. I have a feeling by the time Toby becomes Dr. Toby Mallory our home is going to be a zoo. Maybe that won’t be such a bad thing.

I send Toby a text: “Pick the runt.”
An hour later he sends me a photo of him cuddling a tiny black fuzzball. My heart melts, and I set it as my new phone wallpaper.

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Text is fictional.

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There is praise I can never give you, for there are not words, or emotions, or smiles to convey how much I am grateful for you. You somehow, always, telepathically know when I’m at my worst. It’s usually after therapy, but sometimes just for no reason. Those are the days when the medication isn’t working, and I just can’t get out of bed. I don’t know why you want to be with a guy suffering from clinical depression. I mean, I love you, but it’s hard for me to show it. I don’t feel like I deserve to love you, or if I’m even loving you right at all, because I don’t feel many emotions. I mostly feel just negative ones. I always feel unworthy of you.

Yes, I know that release of endorphins and hormones from sex is healing and therapeutic. You know that making me have release can help wash my brain of the crap inside so that the drugs can move in and start working. I just struggle to initiate it. I mean, I struggle to lift my spoon. And yet you somehow, magically, see every time when I need it the most. You swap out my underwear for jockstraps while I’m showering and so of course, I put them on. I feel sexier that way, which enforces a positive body image. Still, I just can’t make myself go after you but you always, always come to me.

You climb into bed with me and pry me off of the pillow. You scoop me into your arms and kiss me, like I’m Sleeping Beauty. You make me feel treasured, and curiously flattered when your hand squeezes my ass. You rub against me and make me forget everything – how depressed I am, how deep in debt I am, how bleak my future is. You remind me that my future has you in it too, and just maybe, I can climb out of this hole.

Your embrace becomes this warm envelope of hope and humanity. You turn my sorrow into silk. For that, and all the ways you’ve supported me, I will always love you. And because of that, I have stopped thinking about suicide; because if the afterlife is absent of you, I do not want to go.

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Text is fictional. “You turn my sorrow into silk” is a lyric from giselle’s Silk. The Favored Nation’s remix is pretty good too. By the way, if any of you have suicidal thoughts, please call 1-800-273-8255 or your nation’s helpline.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Joseph came home from his job as a broker to find discipline needing to be issued. Blake had greeted him kneeling at the door, offering up the broken pieces of a nice Pyrex ceramic baking dish. Joseph hated to see the shame on his face. He gave Blake a kiss hello, then instructed him to remove his pants and bend over his knee as he sat down on the sofa. Blake was older than Joseph, but he absolutely worshiped Joseph as the more alpha male of the household. He did exactly as he told, eager to prove he was strong enough to handle it. Blake had been working on hard on being a stoic boy during spankings. He was usually so embarrassed by how silly he sounded whining and squeaking with every swat, kicking his legs like a kid learning how to swim.

Blake put one hand behind his back as a symbol of submission, but Joseph interpreted it another way. He grasped his boy’s hand. Blake was surprised to feel his Master’s touch, but seized it up with a big squeeze back. Even though Blake couldn’t see it, Joseph smiled.

“Twenty,” Joseph said gently. He felt his boy sigh under him.
“I’ll take them.”
“I know.” Joseph raised an open hand and delivered twenty, evenly spaced and relentless swats to his boy’s soft rump. What a nice way to unwind from work.

By 10, Blake was gripping Joseph’s hand hard; by 12 he was tensing and quivering with every swat, punctuated by tiny yelps. By 17, he was sucking air through his teeth and he was kicking a little. By 20, he was staring at the floor through teary eyes and trying so hard to fight the urge to squirm away.

“There we go,” Joseph said, “All done. You took your punishment well, boy.” He pulled Blake up. “Your bottom is a nice shade of red. Looks fitting on you.”
Blake sniffled and raised his arms, Joseph pulled his boy towards him, let him wrap those arms around his neck. It turned Joseph on immensely feeling that hot skin pressed upon his thighs through the thin fabric of his slacks. Now wasn’t the time for sex though. Joseph embraced his boy and rocked him, nuzzling him, until most of the discomfort had ebbed away.

“I’m sorry I broke your baking dish,” Blake said, his eyelashes still damp.
Joseph kissed him on the lips. “It’s alright. It was an accident, and it’s replaceable.”
Blake look relieved. “I’ll be more careful in the future. I was rushing to put the dishes away when they were still a bit wet.”
“Haste makes waste.” Joseph said.
Blake thought about it, then nodded, impressed by Joseph’s wisdom. “That’s a good lesson Sir. If…if I’m forgiven, may I take off your shoes, kiss your feet perhaps?”
Joseph raised an eyebrow. “How about you bring me my cotton pants and a loose T-shirt, and you can undress all of me and kiss my feet?”

Blake’s face lit up. “I’d love to Sir. Permission to fetch those items?”
“Permission given.”
Joseph watched him bounce off, admiring his glowing ass. He was really such a good boy. He wondered how he got so lucky as to find him. Joseph might be an underling at the office, but at home he lived like a King. He imagined some real Kings would probably be jealous.

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Text is fictional.