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February porn, day 11
One more day of angst, and then, I promise, something happier. Today's piece could be read as a companion to yesterday's, if you choose. Or maybe they take place in different universes. I can't decide.
Love In the Shadows.
***
Sex is all about what, Lex used to think, not who. Beauty is window dressing and personality takes a back seat to technique. In the moment, which is all that matters, there are only bodies coupling. Forget the whole; it’s about lips, teeth, tongues. Skin and things done to skin. Cocks, pussies, asses; in and out, pushing and heaving, the heat increasing until somebody comes. It feels good and it means nothing. Lex understood that.
But then he got together with Clark.
Clark, who was pretty as a new revelation, and could hide entire worlds in his smile. Who blushed like an innocent, even with his face pressed against Lex’s cock. Who submitted as though it were the only thing he had to give, and who brought Lex off with worshipful hands that could crush him into paste if they only squeezed.
Clark, who gave blowjobs like he’d just invented them, and Lex thought maybe everybody else got them wrong. Who was too shy to keep his eyes open when they fucked, until the day he did open them, and they glowed with a warmth that fired Lex from inside. Clark’s body felt like no one else’s, hard as marble and hot as summer sun, and Clark could make Lex feel completely filthy and completely clean in the same instant.
Now that Clark’s not in his life anymore, everyone he fucks is interchangeable again. Just impersonal hands and holes; the only thing Lex remembers about his partners, after they’ve gone, is that they were Not Clark. It’s another reason to hate Clark, this taking away of specificity.
Sometimes Lex thinks it all comes down to this: there’s him and there’s Clark, and then there’s a vast, faceless, fuckable mass. Sometimes this is even a comforting thought.
***
Love In the Shadows.
***
Sex is all about what, Lex used to think, not who. Beauty is window dressing and personality takes a back seat to technique. In the moment, which is all that matters, there are only bodies coupling. Forget the whole; it’s about lips, teeth, tongues. Skin and things done to skin. Cocks, pussies, asses; in and out, pushing and heaving, the heat increasing until somebody comes. It feels good and it means nothing. Lex understood that.
But then he got together with Clark.
Clark, who was pretty as a new revelation, and could hide entire worlds in his smile. Who blushed like an innocent, even with his face pressed against Lex’s cock. Who submitted as though it were the only thing he had to give, and who brought Lex off with worshipful hands that could crush him into paste if they only squeezed.
Clark, who gave blowjobs like he’d just invented them, and Lex thought maybe everybody else got them wrong. Who was too shy to keep his eyes open when they fucked, until the day he did open them, and they glowed with a warmth that fired Lex from inside. Clark’s body felt like no one else’s, hard as marble and hot as summer sun, and Clark could make Lex feel completely filthy and completely clean in the same instant.
Now that Clark’s not in his life anymore, everyone he fucks is interchangeable again. Just impersonal hands and holes; the only thing Lex remembers about his partners, after they’ve gone, is that they were Not Clark. It’s another reason to hate Clark, this taking away of specificity.
Sometimes Lex thinks it all comes down to this: there’s him and there’s Clark, and then there’s a vast, faceless, fuckable mass. Sometimes this is even a comforting thought.
***
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But it hurts so good!
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Glad you're enjoying these (for some definition of "enjoying") -- and today's is cheerier!
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Clark, who was pretty as a new revelation, and could hide entire worlds in his smile. Who blushed like an innocent, even with his face pressed against Lex’s cock. Who submitted as though it were the only thing he had to give, and who brought Lex off with worshipful hands that could crush him into paste if they only squeezed.
Clark, who gave blowjobs like he’d just invented them, and Lex thought maybe everybody else got them wrong. Who was too shy to keep his eyes open when they fucked, until the day he did open them, and they glowed with a warmth that fired Lex from inside. Clark’s body felt like no one else’s, hard as marble and hot as summer sun, and Clark could make Lex feel completely filthy and completely clean in the same instant.
God, to lose this--no wonder Lex is so bitter!
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You really know how to flatter a girl. :-)
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