Swinging Tire

6

I am eating, his mother made  spagetti with meat sauce and I  couldn't refuse it, my growling stomach protesting, my starvation mode kicking in.

“You are hungry uh?” He wipes a bit of sauce on the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

“I am.” I smile.

“You are not eating.”

I point towards his plate, untouched sitting on his lap.

“I'm not hungry.”

He's got a dreamy, happy expression on his face.

I take hour plates to the kitchen, smiling at his mom and thanking her for the food. She's a very nice, very kind lady. His grandma, although very sweet, observes me with an intensity that I  find overbearing. It's like she can see through me, but can decide if she likes it or not.

He's coming out of the shower when I get back to his basement  hideaway. I roll a joint and he drops the towel in front of me.

“Oh?”

I lick the paper and fire the blunt, and he trows himself on the bed beside me. I smoke it in sikence for a minute. Talk about a healthy sex drive, this motherfucker has.

“Axl.”

“Yeah?”

“I'm so fucking horny”, he moans, and with the corner of my eye I can see him writhing on the bed, fingering himself up.

“And what's that got to do with me? Uh?”

I tease, but my boots are already gone. I turn to him , and fuck, what a sight. He's got two fingers buried up to his knuckles and his cock is glistening with pre cum. I bat his hand away from it and replace it with my mouth, taking him as deep as I can.

“What do you you want?” I ask him.

He never answers, but looks at me and pulls my body up to his, flush, and when he kisses me, that's when I lose all will power, I let him drape his hands on my hair and flip us over. Reason goes out the window and when I feel his cock pushing on my hole, I spread my legs even further, welcoming him, wanting him, regreting him already.

He slides in slowly, never breaking the kiss, never breaking the hold on my hair.

“I'm sorry.” He whimpers on my ear, and I realize he just came.

“Sush, just, just keep moving a bit..”

He cut's me off with another kiss, those that go straight to my dick, making me push up on him and moan like a whore, riding his already waning erection until I explode, screaming, spent, happy.

Fucking shameless, we are.

He keeps kissing me, and I keep reponding the kisses, lost in that post orgasmic closeness I only ever heard about, never mind felt.

It's feels different than fucking. It's feels like there's something hungry, desperate on his way of claiming me, and I feel like a rolling toy on the hands of a puppy.

I don't know how to call what it feels, I feel it should be forbidden, I don't want to name it.

And life, in its infinite knowledge, is not too shitty  right now, I'm going by, working, playing , fucking just enough to get by.

I came to LA to be in a band, to make it big but also to be free, the shackles that tied me to Laffayette dimming by the days and months and years of living close to the strip.

I see Izzy and the punk they call Duff almost everyday on my way to work, flipping pancakes is not a glamourous job, but go and figure, Izzy delivers newspapers with Rob, and I get most my gossip from him, the punk works in a fancy Beverly Hills bakery rolling little butter cakes for the rich and Slash is working in a newstand.