 I wasn’t his first. I remind myself of that whenever I feel guilty about fucking Lucas. I wasn’t the first man to slide, dripping with need, into his body. I wasn’t the first to make him come. I wasn’t the first ride him hard and leave him bruised and sore. So that makes it all right. Ben Krieg, you are a liar. It’s not all right. It’s all wrong. That doesn’t stop me though. We’ve done many things together, but he likes this best: lying on his stomach, a pillow under his hips and his legs spread wide as I cover him and rock into him and whisper his name against the soft skin behind his ear. I try not to look at him when we do it this way. I know what I’ll see: the left side of the face of a beautiful sixteen year-old boy with half-lidded eyes, flushed cheeks and a full lower lip caught between white teeth. He moans and I thrust harder. He squeezes my cock and I groan. He looks even younger when he comes. I feel guilty, but I’m not finished yet. It starts again. He’s limp under me as I move inside him, his tight young body relaxed and sex-sated. His eyes are closed and his mouth is curved up in a small but happy smile. I stop for a moment and kiss his face. He’s so beautiful, and I feel like a hero for putting that smile there. Until I remember that fucking little boys is a bad thing to do. I might have been the first to find his prostate gland. I’m not sure: we never talk about what we do here. He seemed surprised at the time. Now, of course, he arranges himself in my bed, so my cock or my fingers or whatever else he wants goes right where he wants it. I can feel the lassitude draining from his body; he’s getting aroused again. That’s good: I like to make him come. Fucking him when he’s lying like a limp rag feels too much like child-abuse, even if he is lying on his own come. He pushes up a little, encouraging me. That’s good too, that reminds me he wants it, he likes it. I’m a little breathless but speed up anyway. The world narrows to the slide of my cock inside his ass. Tight, hot, slippery and glorious. His soft cries and my harsh ones mingle until he clenches again and I let go, ramming forward and jerking my head back as my climax is ripped from me. A little later he wriggles out from under me and starts to pull on his clothes. I know he has to go. Every moment he stays naked in my bed we run the risk of discovery. It’s sensible that he goes as soon after as possible. It still hurts though. The soft, sweet little angel who spreads his legs for me is gone now, and the cocky, snarky smart-ass is back. I sit up and get an awkward hug and a lopsided grin, then he’s out of the door and I’m left alone with my guilt and sticky sheets. I lie back and smell him on my pillow. I’ll just stay here for a while and remind myself that I wasn’t his first, so fucking him doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, and the tears aren’t mine. Ben Krieg, you are a liar. The End
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