And then, essentially, I'm mauled.
These two super soft, rose-red protrusions known as lips seemed to have swollen in size and developed supernatural powers as he goes about making an absolute ruin of me. If it wasn't so bloody exciting, I might be mildly freaked to have my face swallowed in it's entirety, teeth marks carved into flesh, nipples sucked so hard they're lifted straight up off my body … all as he pins my hands overhead and hisses out a running narrative of threats, compliments, and sexual predictions ...
"You're SO fucking hot, SO fucking beautiful, you have no IDEA what you do to me. I'm gonna put you through a shredder, grind you into little bits and make you like it. EAT YOU ALIVE til your balls swell up like tight, juicy lemons. By the time I'm through with you, you'll wish you were never fucking born …" etc., etc.
In other words, you're lying there, in what is the most tense, uncomfortable and angst ridden state you can (barely) withstand ... and it's absolute fucking bliss.
He stops.
"Close your eyes."
"Wha ?" I ask, drooling, slowly batting them open – did he not notice that I haven't been able to do otherwise ?
"Keep them closed, I mean," he grins. "Just for a minute."
Why ? Is what Old Tony wants to ask, the bloke who, as a child, actually snuck downstairs undetected very late one Christmas eve, and with exquisite care and precision, managed to, one by one, pry open his own gifts.
New Tony ? He shuts his lids so fast it alters the wind currents.
"Okay," he laughs, whispering and leaning in to kiss me quick. "Now be a good boy and keep 'em shut. I'll tell you when."
Goddamn. Goddamn. Once again, why does the issuing of direct orders in bed have to be so bloody hot ?
Here I lay, visuals denied me, when something soft brushes my hands …
"What's'at ?"
"Shush," he says. "I never said you could talk."
Immediately following this second Maxxie-in-charge statement, the thing that's brushed against me, is, I realize, circling my wrists.
What the ... ?
My eyes fly open – it can't be helped – chin tilts up … and he's pretending not to notice as I'm watching him make a looping figure eight ... securing me to the rungs of the bloody headboard via a pair of, yes, women's panty hose – the answer to what he'd snuck off into the gift shop for.
And so, what to do ? Say ? Feel ? There he is, going about it quietly and carefully as if we've done this a hundred times, testing the strength, testing the knots he's making, tying and retying, the whole while never looking me in the eye or acknowledging I'm here, never stopping to maybe consider that while yes, in the gay shop, with handcuffs in hand, Tony could definitely see the erotic potential, only thing being, in his mind, he wasn't the one bloody wearing them.
"What're you doing ?" I blurt, in what is maybe the single dumbest question I've ever asked.
He grins slow. He doesn't look.
"Owning you."
When he's done, when I'm as good as super-glued in place, without asking he pulls my shirt up over my head so that it rests against my helpless, upturned forearms; sucks, soft and slow, on each fingertip; kisses me to the near-suffocation point; in between checking with me under his breath to see if I'm alright, that nothing's too tight, that I'm not in any way uncomfortable, and informing me how I look and exactly what it's doing to him ... and, with no direct contact, I'm hard ... we're talking solid molten steel ... the cumulative impact of the most extraordinary mind fuck that it is to be ordered and arranged to another's liking – rendered passive - prey – while at the same time, denied any ability to respond – to take matters into one's own hands … arms repeatedly forgetting, jerking up and snapping back down as I move to grab him, his face, his hips, with intent to throw him down and fuck the life from him.
And so I simply must endure it – this slow building, purposeful frustration; this maddeningly intense erotic tease - the tantalizing taste of voice, of breath; the scent of him, in my mouth, on my lids and lips; the sliver of warm air between us that he keeps eliminating; the face buried shameless, deep into my open armpit where it nuzzles and bites and growls ...
Gah! All of it, too much, brain and body swimming, drowning ...
struggle, gasp, curse
twist, kick, writhe …
and somewhere in the midst of it all, forced from me, forced from my stunned mouth and mind …
… is The Answer.
"Fuck me."
Yes. Perfection. Two small words representing giant things; fate, destiny, the completion of the circle that this most extraordinary of weekends has presented, the ultimate dividing line/litmus test before I can move forward with my new life, my new sexuality. Before I can move forward with Maxxie.
A concept that, yes, heretofore had been highly frightening and unappealing, but, I realize, if there's one thing I've learned the last year, it's that one must say yes to the world more than one says no.
Old Tony was very much Old World; a single dimension, single shade lad, you see: Top, Doer, Fucker (the latter in more ways than one).
New Tony by contrast has cobbled himself together, bit by bit, from far less conventional things, a kaleidoscope, it seems - it feels, of inspirations, colourful, abstract and free – 3D, shall we say. And on his arm he is lucky enough to have something magical; a beautiful, multidimensional being who, as friend, guide, teacher, and yes, lover, has opened up and introduced to him nothing short of the world; many worlds, in fact, and so it is only right that this be one of them.
I lay here bursting with light from my latest epiphany – manifesto – and the bloody boy's ignoring me; too busy driving his tongue into my navel.
"Max."
He pulls his lips free and tilts his face up, just.
"Ya ?"
"Did you hear me ?"
"Huh ? No."
I smile. I'm beaming – the warm rays of light filling and colouring the room.
He stares a long minute before responding.
"Bollocks."
"No," I tell him. "I do. I want you to fuck me."
He stares on.
"Theoretically, you mean. Like at some point."
"No, not theoretically, you twat. I mean right now."
He gulps. He fidgets.
"You're serious ?"
"Christ," I laugh. "Yes, I'm serious."
"Tony, I think it's … honestly, I think it's too early."
"What," I tease, "it's only 10 o'clock."
"Don't be a shit. You've been terrified of me going anywhere near your arse, and now suddenly you want me to fuck it ?"
I laugh.
"Yes. I am so totally ready."
"But … how are you so ready, all of a sudden ? What'd I miss ?"
I burst out laughing.
"Maxxie, you twat – look at me !" I shout, raising my wrists the little the bindings will allow. "Tied to the bed; totally conquered – dominated ! You think that doesn't fuck with your head just a tiny bit ? Give you a taste for new things ? "
"But ... is it actually what you want, though, I mean, or …" he says, looking suddenly concerned, "you know, you might not be getting enough oxygen, the way you're positioned, it can-"
"-Fuck !" I bellow. "It's not oxygen deprivation, you shit, it's an over-concentration of blood in one area ! Do you have any idea how hard I am right now ?" I laugh. "Yes, it's what I want ! You want me to beg ? Cuz I will."
Still, he hesitates. He's gone from a growling, purring sexual dynamo, straight back to my nurse, again.
I whisper.
"Baby, listen to me, it's perfect. The perfect wrap on this weekend. It's like, I've figured it all out. It's the key, the final gateway to my new life, to giving Old Tony the bloody heave-ho and telling him to fuck off; starting my life completely over, y'know ? With you."
His stares a long while before his face softens into a sweet, gentle smile and he reaches out a hand.
"I guess I sorta can't believe we're even having this conversation."
I smile with him.
"So let's quit conversing and get to it. 'Fore I lose my bloody nerve."
He laughs.
"Yes, sir."
He leans in and kisses me.
"Plus," I tell him, "that way you get closeup access to my tan lines."
He's bolt upright, straddling me and grinning ear to ear, peaking from behind the hand that covers his eyes while the other pulls down on the edge of my waistband.
"Oh !" He shrieks over the sight. "Beautiful !"
"Perv."
"A love of tan lines is not a perversion, Tony," he says, making quick work of my zipper and belt. "It's more a fetish."
I squint.
"The difference being ?"
"Tan lines are natural and beautiful; nature's turn-on. Organic."
"Organic," I snort, "right."
"Think of them as a demarcation line, a visual reminder that you're in secret, private territory, seeing something no one's supposed to see, which is so damned delicious," he says as I watch, helpless, as my shorts and unders go flying.
He looks. It's slightly mortifying, this perverted flagpole screaming "I am SO bloody EASY !"
"Wow," he laughs, wide eyed. "You weren't kidding."
Quickly, we've got the logistics down – knees bent, pillow under my bum, Maxxie condomed and generously lubed.
For the record, my stomach does engage in a quite strenuous session of calisthenics as he approaches, despite my resolve that we're bloody doing this, that it's something I need to experience – an existential, as well as physical penetration.
He leans in, hands under my thighs, resting his warm, naked form against mine, and kisses me, slow and reassuring.
"Sure you're okay with this ?"
I nod.
"Want me to untie you ?"
"No," I say, shaking my head. "I want the complete perverted package."
"But, I mean, if it doesn't go well, you might equate it in your mind with something negative."
I grin.
"Come on, baby. Take a look at my dick. You think Tony isn't totally digging this bottom shit ?"
He laughs a gorgeous, full bellied laugh. I can see the tension rise off him.
I lean in and bite his lip, whispering in my best, graveliest voice.
"So, fuck me, already."
A/N: I gather nobody bothers to read these these author's notes, but just in case, I wanted to say Happy New Year to everybody. Also, congratulations. If, by chance, you have been reading along with this tale, chapter by chapter from the beginning, you have now been reading it for a little over a year. I was stunned to notice this the other day- that the first chapter went up on Dec 26, 2010. Living with these boys all this time has been damn hard work, but ultimately, a quite fab and rewarding experience, however, alas, the wonderful world of make believe that is Tony From Scratch will be coming to an end soon, due to time constraints brought on by my having enrolled in a night class.
So, please stay tuned for the time being to see how it all ends, and in the meantime, I hope you have found that the story has been worthy of your time.