. . Gay sex too . I won’t . . . .” Can’t talk, can’t speak, can’t think. Flashes of lightning through the shadows, our fornication throwing sparks, and I wonder how we look in the mirrors, an infinity of . you’re not, not . . . . . . Or maybe you don’t want me to stop?” He fingers grasp my dick through my jock, the warmth of his hand bleeding through the stained cotton. “You’re hard, Leo.” Sneering at me, but not in derision. In furious satisfaction. “You like this, you’re hard and leaking.”“I . . . .”Or maybe he does hear me. Just before turning the corner he looks back, and the expression on his face isn’t scowling, isn’t grinning either, but it’s mine, an expression only for me. Then he’s gone.Slowly, dreamily, I put one foot in front of the other, making my own way home, enjoying the pleasant aches in my exhausted body. Down the sidewalk, up the oak tree, in the window. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to being angry. Tomorrow, his knowing smirk will spike tendrils of hatred through every nerve in body. Tomorrow, I’ll call him Littlefeather again.But tonight? Just for tonight I’ll call him Jackie.Ssh.*****Dedicated to Mark, more meta for ya *wink*©2023 by Rusty Slocum
