Mr. Muscles, as I like to call my boyfriend, Christian Bolster, is out of town on business—like he always is—and I miss him. His chain of specialty ‘body’ stores has locations all over the country. But he now has branches in Europe, and that means he has even less time for us, though he tries.
We do our best to keep in contact via Skype, email, and Facebook, but it isn’t the same as having him in front of me where I can touch, taste, and feel him all around me. After being together for over a year—if you call seeing each other once a month on the weekend “together”—I want to declare myself and give him my heart, once and for all. I know he cares for me, but I need to hear the words and tell him the same.
How can I do that, though, if he’s rarely home? And can I handle only seeing him twelve times a year? The sex is hot, but I find myself wanting a heck of a lot more lately. Maybe it’s the Christmas season, the cold weather, or my lonely bed.
I turn my head on my pillow and stare at the photograph of Chris and I together that sits on the nightstand on my side of the bed. We are grinning at the camera, the sun bright, and our arms around each other in the selfie. It had been a spectacular weekend.
* * * *
Five Months After We Met
Chris and I are at the Pride festival in Piedmont Park. We are surrounded by groups of like-minded people here to celebrate our joy in being ourselves. The parade has just ended, and we enthuse over the drag floats.
“I’ve done drag before,” Chris proclaims as we walk along Tenth Street, navigating the crowd in search of food.
My mouth drops open. “Really? When? Was this in London?” I pester him with questions until we are finally seated at a table in Fresh To Order after placing our orders with the cashier. We’re both starving and thirsty. It is a hot day for October.
“It was in college. A friend dared me, and I did it. I had a blast and ended up with a weekly gig. I was Chrissy English.”
I laugh. “I would have killed to see this. You should do it again.”
Chris shrugs. “Maybe.”
As we make small talk, I look around the restaurant, half-listening to Chris as my mind conjures up what he would look like as a drag queen. He’s already gorgeous as a man—I mean, those dimples, smooth skin and hazel eyes—but put some eyeliner and makeup on him, and maybe a dark green dress with a split up the side…I’m getting hard.
“You’re not listening to me, are you?” Chris says.
I look at him guiltily. “Sorry. I was seeing you in drag. I bet you look hot.”
“I was told that a lot.” He raises an eyebrow. “Are you hard right now?”
Blushing, I slowly nod.
Chris’s face takes on a mischievous tone. “I’ve found a kink, haven’t I? Good to know.”
Since we’re sitting at a small table, our knees touch. Chris leans over casually and runs his hand up my bare leg, heading for my crotch.
I stop him immediately. “Quit it, you!”
He grins. “We’re revisiting this later.”
The meal isn’t bad, and, though the place is overflowing with people, we have a good time. I remain semi-aroused throughout the meal, right up until we finish our drinks and head back out on the street.
“I think I need to take you somewhere I can pump you dry,” is all Chris says as he drags me behind him.
I want to say “no, not in public,” but all my mind can see is his body shrouded in green velvet, his lips red, eyes kohl-lined, blush subtle enough to enhance his light brown skin. I trip, and Chris steadies me. Shit.
Somehow, he finds an empty, dark alley. It’s smelly but I’m so hard, I’m about to burst. I lean against the brick wall next to the dumpster and pull Chris to me, dragging his mouth to mine as I reach into his shorts, and he into mine.
“Fuck, you get me so hot, baby,” I say as we neck like teenagers and pump each other senseless.
“You want me to buy a dress, huh?” he teases before spitting into his hand and jacking my dick.
“Shit, yeah. God, it would be hotter than fire.” I squeeze the tip of his cock with my fingers, and his hips jerk.
“Yesss, just like that,” he says, and we lose all words, focusing on the finish.
As people pass the alley, the possibility of being caught, the thoughts of Chris in makeup and high heels, all this makes me lose it, my sharp cry cut off by his luscious mouth as I pump out jizz.
