You feel like liberation. After months – or years, to be honest – of secretly watching you, wanting you, I finally gave in and you’re finally here and you’re mine
, even if it’s just for this one night. It’s nothing like what I had imagined - it’s not soft and it’s not love like in the scenarios I used to make up in my head when I was 16; it’s not even hot and passionate like the images that have been running through my head in the past months. No. It’s grudge, anger, disappointment, mixed with alcohol and tinged with pain. And it’s better than anything I’ve ever experienced before.
With each thrust, each yank at my hair, you make me feel alive, real, genuine. It’s almost as if a part of you – your liveliness, your genuineness, your freedom
– got infused into me, giving me a taste of something I have never allowed myself to know. When it’s over, I will go back to being the good boy, the straight boyfriend, the association’s hope. I will go back to pretending to be someone I’m not. I wonder if it will ever satisfy me again, now that I know what it’s like to be with you, to be you, to be free.
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