The Dance of Lies

The best lies are the ones we tell to ourselves. They need to be if we want to make ourselves believe them.

We need to close our eyes and pretend as hard as we can that we don't know the truth. It's easy, when one has the right kind of practice.

He sends me a message in the morning. He says he wants to come to my house later and have a drink. We both know what he means when he says that, but we both refuse to know. If we knew it wouldn't happen.

I say yes.

It's been a while since I got some and even if I did, it's not the kind of some I can get with him, but I can't tell that to him... or myself. And even if he gets some in the regular, it's also not the kind of some he can get with me and we both know it. So he just asks if he can come over and have a drink, and I just say yes.

I had a long day, so I take a shower and change clothes before he arrives. There's nothing special there, it's just a shower. Nothing special. Everybody takes showers, right? 

He said he wanted to arrive later, and it's barely late enough to count as later when he's here, knocking on my door with one hand while holding a drink on the other. 

I bring the house and he brings the drinks. That's how we do it. 

We hang out. That's the plan for today, just two bros hanging out and having a couple drinks. We sit in the sofa, and if every now and then his leg brushes mine, it doesn't mean anything. It doesn't have to. We're just two bros sitting on a couch, having some drinks.

We drink carefully. We have to get drunk enough to do what we came to do but not enough that we're unable to do it. Unleash the beast but don't drown it. It's a delicate balance we have to keep and we keep it without mentioning it, saying everything without words.

There's no need of words, sometimes a leg brushing on a leg says all that needs to be said.

When I'm drunk enough to put my hand on his leg, he finishes his glass and turns to look at me and something in his eyes scares me. He wants what I want. He puts his hand on mine and we look at each other in silence for a minute. He's breathing harder and harder, so hard that it's all I can hear.

This is what we came here for.

My hand seems to have a will of its own, moving while I'm just an spectator and watch it travel up his leg, further up, until it grabs his cock. It's like my hand is doing it, not me. 

He's hard. 

When I feel he's hard and he knows that I feel it, the dam bursts. He pulls me towards him and we kiss with the hunger we have been repressing for weeks, with the lust that only sparks when we're together and alone. 

Our hands keep moving. He's taking off my shirt and touching my chest, and his touch feels different from any other touch I've ever felt in my life, because behind it there is a want different from any other want I've ever felt.

He pushes me back and kisses down my chest, breathing deeply under my arms. Somehow that turns him on even more, and the cock in my hand is getting harder and harder. His teeth on my skin are making me lose control.

We stand and walk together to the bedroom with his hands fumbling on my belt. When he takes it off, it cracks like a whip. 

He throws my belt on the bed and pulls my pants down, and when he pulls I mean he PULLS. It's not gentle, it's not romantic, it's just pure animal need and lust. He's not wasting time in preliminaries, he just pulls my pants and then my underwear down to release my cock so he can grab it. I'm even harder than he is.

Then his belt joins mine on the bed. We're gonna need them later. But for now, he takes off his pants and we stand face to face, body to body... cock to cock.

There's this thing he likes to do when he grabs our cocks in a single hand and rubs them together that drives him crazy. He strokes us but at the same time moves his hips, like he's trying to fuck his hand, or like he's trying to fuck my cock with his. 

He's been the one who makes things happen so far, but I'm not gonna let him be the only one, no. It's my turn. 

My first thrust in his hand makes him stop like he got turned into stone. He looks at me and his eyes brighten up. His hand gives a soft, almost tentative pull on my cock, almost like an invitation. Almost like a question. Will you...?

Yes. Yes, I will. 

I fuck his hand and walk closer to him and he walks back, and I push him until he runs out of room to walk back, he's just standing against the bed, and I keep on pushing him until he falls on his back on the bed and I'm on top of him. 

There is that look in his eyes, the look I recognize when I'm about to do something to him. It's not fear but it looks like it. It's a look of helpless exhilaration, of surrender, the look of a man about to be used. And it's a look that sets my blood on fire.

I move between his legs, pushing him down as hard as I can, and I kiss him by force, taking his mouth by assault as if it's my property. Which right now, it is. That look in his eyes tells me that he knows I'm going to use him and he's not ready.

He's never ready.

The entire point, the reason why this happens, is because he's not ready and never will be. Every time he comes here and I take him it's just like the first.

I move him and put him exactly the way I want him to be, lying on his back with his head at the edge of the bed and with his mouth open, and I just fuck his mouth.

We're both straight. We've always liked women and only women. That's what we like to tell ourselves, but right now there is another truth. The truth is my cock fucking his throat. The truth is him, gagging and panting with his eyes watering while I fuck his throat. The truth is between us, and when we're together like this we can't lie anymore.

I've gotten great blowjobs in my life, but nothing can compare to this because of how it happens, how I take him and he surrenders to me and gives me something he wouldn't give to anyone else, just because I want him to give it to me.

This is what we give to each other: the complete loss of control. When we're together we can be something we can't be anywhere else. I can own and he can be owned. 

When I pull my cock out of his throat and he tries to recover his breath, it's not because it's over, it's because it's getting started. There's a reason why there are two belts on the bed.

The first one goes around his wrists. He's not gonna need his hands for what comes next. Let him pray I don't have to use the second. Tied hands on the bed, knees on the bed, ass up, that's how I want to see him. 

He has an amazing ass. The kind of ass that makes women and other men turn their heads. If only they knew... 

If they knew how tight it feels right now around my cock, while I slowly drill it. I know no one else has ever fucked him, just me. My cock is the only one that has ever made him feel this and it shows. He's grunting, trying as hard as he can not to let the pain win and failing. It hurts, but he needs that hurt and in this moment, he belongs to that hurt and nothing else matters.

The second thrust gets a loud moan out of him. He was trying with all his will not to moan, but that pain and that pleasure are too powerful for him to resist. 

The third thrust blends into the fourth and the fifth, and then I'm no longer counting them, I'm just fucking his ass for my enjoyment and all he can do is moan and whimper and take it, because he belongs to me and I can use him however I want. 

I don't like his moans. I like that I'm making him moan, but I don't like that he's making any noise at all. He's a hole and holes are not supposed to do that. 

There's a second belt on the bed, and that one goes around his head and into his mouth. 

Much better.

I push him down until he's lying on the bed with his ass up, grab his head and bite on his shoulder, and then the real fucking begins. The beast is unleashed and I don't hold back at all. If it hurts, if he can't handle it, I don't care and he can't care, all we care is me getting off. 

He cums before I do, I know because he whimpers through the belt and his ass clamps around my cock. He's not even touching himself and he's cumming because of all I'm making him feel, but we're not done until I'm done. I don't slow down, his orgasm doesn't really matter. I just keep fucking him and I feel my own orgasm building up, a slow burning tide in my cock that rises and rises and finally explodes inside his ass, filling him with my cum and marking him as mine. 

I fall on top of him, an exhausted mass of pants and moans, both of us completely spent.

And we sleep.

We wake up a couple hours later and get dressed, just our boxers and our t-shirts, and fall asleep again. In the morning we will wake up and pretend that this didn't happen, that we were just hanging out and had a drink too many and fell asleep like this. 

Because that's where this whole thing rests on, that single lie of nothing happening. We would never be able to face the truth wedged between us. If we want this to keep on happening, the first and most important thing to do is keep the pretense and maintain the lie.

And we're really good at lying... specially to ourselves.