DREAMS, FUCKS AND TWISTED AFFECTION

Have you ever had that sinking feeling, like all hope is being flushed down the drain? An utter feeling of helplessness, of knowing that shit will never be okay again? Like things are shitty, and you know it, but it's unfixable? I have. And quite a lot lately.

Fuck! - those dreams. Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all! And that's what I do liter... What's that word again? Literary? Yeah, that's it. I fuck 'em literary! Well, him, anyway. I fuck him. And it is so goddamn wrong, but so goddamn right.

Alone, great music, shirtless, and then the blow-back before... I'll spare you the details of Nessa's call. It is a spell-breaking call after all. Family business. Yeah - whatever - so was this.

Another drag and then smoke in my mouth. "Blow-back?"

He nodded, eyes closing. Shit, he had long lashes. Smoke between us. It was quiet at first, except for the music of course. Then, suddenly I could not stop myselff. My teeth found his lower lip and bit down. Sweet taste. Smoke, alcohol, cigarettes and something else that I couldn't quite place. I liked it, wanted to taste more. My tongue found its way down his throat, like I wanted to eat his insides or something - it was pretty weird.

I had no idea what I was doing. The music was fucking A. It pumped me up, cheered me on, made me want more. My fingers found that nipple ring and twisted. Hard. And he, Cal, moaned. He fucking moaned! Did that mean he liked it? Yeah! Because we ended up fucking every night. Every night in my dreams we fucked. Jeez, it was quite tiresome at times, always waking up with a boner.

But we fuck, and we fuck good. And it is twisted and wrong, really wrong. But once I wake up, it's all gone. The music, that sweet taste, and the smell of sweat and cigarettes. Shame. Empty inside. Definately stepped over that invisible line. Yeah, my dreams were not anything I would ever share with anyone, that was for sure. And somewhere deep down I know that they will always be just that - dreams. But they are good dreams, they really are. They keep me going.

That car-great music-blowback-nipple ring-good fuck-dream actually became reality. You know, giving me a chance to really do it, to fuck him literary - in real life. Fuck! He was hot. Dark skin, those lashes, that nipple ring, his eyes closed. Keep it in your pants, I warned myself, this is not a dream. I'm not a freakin' fag. Do not ruin everything by waving your dick around, Jonno! But I didn't want a blow-back this time - I wanted a blowjob. And let's be real - I wanted to fuck him also!

But instead I offered the blow-back, I listened to that annoying music and just stole a quick glance at that hot body. Then the phone call, the family business and the NOT fucking; the not-ever-going-to-be-okay-again-EVER-feeling. The hopelessness, the anger, the shame.

Someday, maybe someday, I would get the chance to fuck him, to - Spoiler! Cliché! - actually love him. Of course, I didn't know I would. And I didn't know it would be with tender, twisted affection.

I blew it big time.