That first night that Curt Wild entered my life, I was but a boy perched on the threshold of manhood. Although my heart had shut down while we were apart, my body still grew and matured, making me into a man. I would sometimes stare at my reflection in the mirror, noting with sadness that while the outside of me had changed so much, inside I was still the vulnerable teenager who needed to be loved so badly that it hurt. My outward appearance fooled people–they saw a lean, well-defined clean-cut man who was a professional. Nobody would have believed that I once traveled with a group of gay musicians who wore glitter and black lace. My co-workers would have scoffed if I told them that some of my fondest memories were of spraying blue paint on my hair, ingesting mushrooms, and wildly jacking off to photos of two men simulating fellatio.
But now I had Curt back, and it was a new start for me. A new life. The night I exposed Tommy Stone, I had decided to stop hiding my sexuality, and just be who I was. The sight of Tommy Stone had helped me make that decision. I did not want to end up like him–going so far to erase my past and true identity that I would change my appearance beyond recognition. The same night I reunited with the man I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. I was on top of the world.
I had spent many lonely nights thinking about how Curt made love to me on the roof all those years ago. Thoughts of Curt overcame me so often and so intensely that I was not always aware that I was even having them. It was like breathing, something I could not stop from happening, was not conscious of, but gave in to anyway.
Now Curt and I were together again. We moved in together almost immediately after that fateful night at the bar. We experienced the joy of really building our relationship, nurturing it, cementing our commitment to each other. God, it was, and still is, so wonderful between us. Rediscovering each other, getting to know each other, and having a real life together, something we never got to have in England.
Curt and I did not make love right away. We, of course, spent many hours talking and crying. Sometimes we would be silent, being content to just hold each other close. We would light some candles, open up a bottle of wine, and paint each other's nails, fingers and toes. Sometimes we would play records and I would do Curt's make-up. He was every bit the gorgeous man without it, but seeing him in his black lipstick and eyeliner brought back special memories for me. I loved kissing him hard 'till my lips were black as well, not only from his lipstick, but from the bruises our kisses left. God, we were like two teenagers in love. Curt loved to wait on me. He would make me a cup of herbal tea, and draw me a hot bubble bath, making sure I was sufficiently pampered. It was sheer ecstasy to soak in the hot water while I watched him slowly undress for me, doing a little striptease. As he climbed into the bathtub with me, he would be looking intently at me with soft blue eyes that said, "fuck me."
"Soon, love, soon", said my deep brown eyes in response.
There was plenty of passion, even though we had not made love yet. There were embraces, hot kisses, hand-holding, and yes, even orgasms. I swear I had one every time I caught Curt's changeable eyes roaming lazily over my body. I would see them turn a silver-gray color as he undressed me with his eyes, imagining me pressing my body up against his–the body that had developed definition and sensuous curves since the last time Curt had run his hands and mouth over it. I would then pull him close to me in an embrace, feeling his hardness.
About two weeks after getting back together, it was the end of the day, and we were making out on the bed. We had spent many hours in those two weeks feverishly, almost angrily, rolling around on the bed, the sofa, the kitchen table, the floor, not wanting to rush things but frantic with the passion that had been delayed for too long. Way too fucking long.
I opened my eyes and pulled my tongue out of Curt's mouth. I pushed him away gently.
"Curt, love."
"Yeah, babe?"
He was breathing heavy.
"I want to make love to you."
His eyes grew a slightly darker color.
"Are you sure you're ready?"
He was looking at me intently.
The expression on my face, and the tone of my voice scared Curt a bit. There was a darkness that he had never seen before. What I was feeling at that moment went beyond desire, lust, love. It was time to take our relationship to the next level.
On the rooftop he had conquered me, opened me up, nurtured my young lust, and brought me to orgasm. He had showed me pleasure that I never imagined the human body could feel.
Now it was my turn.
I was a grown man now, confident with my sexuality. Confident in my ability to bring Curt to one shattering climax after another. My boyish nervousness and hesitation had been replaced by a dark need to possess Curt, make him mine. I remembered all those marks on Curt's body-scars from cigarette burns, needles, and his own fingernails raking his flesh. I needed to leave my own mark on him. I wanted to own him, body and mind. Maybe it was the complex dark stranger that lurked beneath my innocent exterior. Maybe it was the fierceness of my passion for him, made unnaturally potent by brewing inside me for a decade. Maybe it was the insane need I felt to fuck him to tears. Whatever it was, I needed to know that Curt was mine forever. I knew I was not the first to penetrate him, but I would make sure I was definitely the last. Even with all his years of sexual experience, I would take his body to places it had never been before.
My heart swelled with indescribable joy and love, and anticipation. I reached for him.
"I've never been more ready, luv."
The End
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