Mikey and the Chickadee

Chapter 18 - Part 2

I wriggled myself out of his grasp and turned to face him. "If it's what I think it is..."

"It is," he said, nodding eagerly.

"Mikey, that's not quite the same. Don't do it just because you think it's fair."

He shook his head. "That's not why I brought it up. I want to know what it is...having you do that to me. I want to feel it. I'm ready."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," he said. "That's my decision, as long as you're willing to...you know."

"Jesus, I'm more than willing. I'm getting hard already just thinking about it."

"And I think I'm—you know—ready down there, too. Just in case you were wondering."

"I'm sure it will be fine," I said.

Calmly, slowly, we began to remove our clothes, first throwing our jackets over onto the couch, then peeling away our shirts. I stepped slightly away from him, just as the dark skin and hair below his navel emerged from under white cotton; I sought a more complete view of his body before we were brought together. Next his pants came down, as did mine, and we faced each other in our black briefs, already swollen in silent but frenzied anticipation of the new, reciprocal exchange in which we were about to engage.

Mikey stayed still so I stepped up to him, took his hand in mine, pressed my other against his chest and then let it trail slowly down his abdomen. "Are you okay?" I asked him.

"Yes," he said, in a hollow, timid voice I hadn't heard since the first night we had walked down the trail to the beach. "Do you mind leading the way? I don't know what I'm doing."

We removed our underwear and I brought him over to the bed. He lay down on his back on top of the covers. The room was very warm. He laughed a little. "It's going to hurt, isn't it?"

I retrieved the small, slick bottle from his nightstand drawer. "It will at first," I said to him. "We'll take it very slowly, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay."

Mikey spread his legs apart. He granted me complete access; it required an encounter with immense, new vulnerability on his part, a truly sacrificial act which I did not take for granted. He looked me straight in the eyes, then moved his gaze down to the attentive, rigid presence between my legs. "You," he said. "I want that part of you. I need to know how it feels."

"Do you want me to use my finger to relax you a little first?"

"No," he told me. "I'm ready for it now. Just take it slow."

I told him not to worry as I arrived between his legs. I placed my hands behind his knees and opened him further to me. "You're sure you don't want to be on top of me?"

"No, I want it like this," he said.

I pressed myself against him, noticing the minute change in his face once he accepted that it was only seconds from happening. Finally I felt a small extent of me open him up. His eyes squeezed shut. I asked if I should stop, but he said no, that he wanted more, so I stayed within him and pressed on. I could tell he had not yet relaxed and the warm space he had offered up remained snug and restricted. This stubbornness was not him; it was his body, which had never before known such an encroachment.

"Remember when you didn't want to hurt me?" I asked. "You made me get on top so that I could be in control."

He clenched his teeth and nodded stiffly. "I'm sorry. Now I understand. You wanted me, even though it hurt. Well, now I want you. I want you to stay on top. I want you to fuck me."