Chapter Two #2
Her pegging me is one hundred percent something I got on board with though, because, while I could go both ways, I very much enjoy bottoming.
This tends to shock the guys I’ve slept with too, though I’m not sure why.
If I had to venture a guess, it’s because no one can picture a man of my stature and build not chomping at the bit to be the top.
Well, guess what? While I don't mind topping, this bear prefers bottoming, and I’m all about taking norms and tossing them right in the trash.
Secretively, of course. Because in reality… I’m a great big scaredy cat.
Lauren’s concerned expression drags me out of my thoughts, and back into the present. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
She looks down at the shirt. “Are you looking at me like that because I’m wearing your shirt? I hate to break it to you, but in case you haven’t noticed, I wear them literally all the time…”
“Lo, you know I love it when you wear my shirts. Makes me feel all possessive and grr.”
She snorts. “You are not a grr-ing grizzly. Sorry, not sorry, if that bursts any bubbles, but you’re a big, soft teddy.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you calling me pudgy and hairy?”
Her lips thin and she rolls her eyes. “No, I was commenting on your personality. You worry about your appearance far too much for a man who is as attractive as you are, you know?”
I scoff.
“Don’t you scoff at me, Marcus. We’ve beaten this topic to a pulp already. You tell me all the time that I have no reason not to be body-positive; it’s high-time you took the same advice.”
“It’s easier for you because you actually are beautiful, Lo! Look at me. Seriously, look at me. This is attractive? I’m built like a retired linebacker, for cripes sake.”
Luckily for her, what I lack in looks, I make up for elsewhere. I share equal responsibility with everything around here. Cooking, cleaning, parenting Brody, and playing Mr. Fix-It as well.
I’m basically the package deal, right?
Kidding, of course. I, in no way, have an ego that immense. I know I’ve got my fair share of flaws, but dang it—Lo even loves those about me. I’m lucky is what I am, and that is no joke.
So, her response to my comment really doesn’t come as a shock to me at all when she pins my chin between her finger and thumb, forcing me to look down at her.
“You listen to me, and you listen to me real good, Marcus Antonucci. Your personality far outshines any of your perceived body flaws—which really aren’t flaws at all—do you understand me? ”
I nod, my chin still in her grip. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good,” she huffs, her hand falling away, sliding down over one of my asscheeks as she grabs her bowl of lasagna with the other.
“God, this skirt is really soft. Ooh! It’s got pockets, too?
! Send me the link, I could stand to update my workwear wardrobe a bit.
We could match.” She winks before walking over to the couch and plopping down onto it.
Over dinner, she fills me in on her day, and I eventually get to tell her about my stepping in poo fiasco.
She cackles over my misfortune, of course, but I don’t mind.
Seeing her smile, knowing that I instigated getting one of those rare gems out of her, does something to me that I can’t explain.
It reaffirms that every decision I’ve made that has led us up to this point has absolutely been the best choice.
I love her. I love our son. I love us.
It’s pretty much as damn near perfect as I’m going to get.
The dishes are all cleaned and drying, and when I step back out into the living room, I see Lo’s getting some man-on-man porn loaded on the TV for me.
She thinks that I need the background stimulus so I can get out of my head and into the mood.
It’s for reasons like this that I love her to pieces, I really do, because she knows damn well my sexual attraction is pretty much geared towards men, and so she tries to make it a better experience for me.
The thing is? I don’t really need the porn on as much as she seems to think I do.
I may say I’m gay, and I’m like ninety-nine point nine percent of the way there, but she’s the one that breaks the mold for me.
Like, if there's an exception to the rule, it’s her.
Doesn’t stop her from trying to play matchmaker though.
She says, and I quote, just because she's "mind-fucked" doesn't mean I have to suffer.
I'm not suffering by any means here, but she insists that she’d be totally fine with me trying to have a full-blown emotional attachment to another man…
And my gosh, yes, I have tried to, but it always ends up the same way.
I can’t make myself fall for the guys she sets me up with.
In fact, that’s exactly what happened when she encouraged me to pursue the guy who owns the gym she goes to, Micah.
Things just sort of dissolved between us when he found out that I have a long-term girlfriend and a son at home, both of whom I was too dedicated to when the topic of my inability to give him my full commitment came up.
He had no interest in feeling like a side-piece to someone with a family, nor did he like the nature of our secretive trysts.
There are no hard feelings on my end about that either, because I totally get it, and he shouldn’t feel like he’s being stuffed back into the closet.
He and I at least ended things amicably—more amicably than other experiences I’ve had, that’s for sure.
There was one guy I saw for a couple of summers, years ago, who made me feel like absolute shit for breaking things off with him rather than just coming out.
It got real nasty between us before he finally went back to wherever the fuck his year-round home was one final time, and I never had to see him again.
Still hurts my heart a bit, the way he made me feel, because, cripes… he was hot AF. Oh well, we had to split up. He wanted more than I could give him, and that was that.
Back to my reality.
When Lauren lifts up her—nee, my—shirt and pats her thighs, I notice she’s already got Eggplant Earl seated in place.
This has got to be one of her favorite toys, though she does have quite an extensive collection.
She holds the bulbous end in place within her by doing some kegels, and the exterior part rubs against her clit—which, as a gay man, I’m proud to say I can find with a fair amount of ease—while she thrusts the dildo end up into my ass.
I suppose I owe ol’ Earl more than a few thanks for his ability to give my prostate a decent enough thrashing to get me off.
He does the job in a pinch, so to speak.
She crinkles her nose, taking in the sight of me. “Are you heart-eyeing Earl?” she asks, waggling her hips, causing the toy to jostle. Then, she lowers her voice a few octaves. “I’mma stuff you so full, baby,” she growls, giggling right after.
“You faking being a man isn't even remotely a turn on, Lo,” I reply drolly.
“I am trying here, you know,” she scoffs. “Lord knows the ladies aren’t gonna cut it for you.” She palms her generously-sized breasts through the thin fabric of the t-shirt.
I chuckle, snatching the bottle of lube off the coffee table.
“Jeezus,” I huff, shaking my head. I uncap the bottle, drizzling some on my fingers.
“I have no intention of picturing you as as anyone other than yourself, Lo.
Believe it or not, because I've told you a thousand different times already, you are perfect for me. Yes, even though you're a woman.”
“Ah,” she notes, a bemused smirk on her plush lips—I notice today she wore some lipstick on them.
Odd for her, since she doesn’t usually bother wearing any makeup at all, but a good look for her nonetheless.
“So I don’t have to try to manhandle you like Brawny Big-Dick there? ” she asks, nodding towards the screen.
I shake my head. “I’d prefer you to just be exactly who you are, thanks.”
“Do you want me to do that for you?” she offers, accepting the bottle back from me before I start prepping myself.
I blink at her, watching as she coats the toy—slickening it with her dainty fingers. “Um, no thanks. I’ll prep myself. You’ve got… talons.”
She gives her manicure a once over before shrugging. “Good point.”
Least unsexy foreplay ever. I’m not entirely sure if this is an “old married couple” kind of thing, having little to no lead-in prior to the act, or if it's a mixed orientation sexual encounter type of scenario. Either way, I had better focus now if I stand a chance at getting hard before midnight. Unlike her, I have to work tomorrow—boo, hiss—so we can’t be up all night waiting for me to get in the mood all spontaneously like this.
In fact, that was my only hang up over getting it on tonight.
I’m dog tired, but not from all the walking and delivering.
I just fuckin’ hate that stupid job. It’s draining me mentally.
Once I’ve worked myself open enough to take Eggplant Earl, I shuffle over to her and stand awkwardly in front of her. I mean, it has to be awkward, right? Gay husband, straight wife. I’m in a skirt; she’s wearing a dick.
Totally our dynamic, of course, but a little awkward nonetheless.
“Let the lap dancing commence,” she hums, lifting my skirt. “Hey! Is this my thong?”
I peer over my shoulder at her. “I didn’t think I’d look as cute with panty-lines.”
She scowls at me. “Yours now, I guess.”
“I will wash it before I give it back!”
She blinks at me, her face devoid of any other emotion besides clearly unimpressed. “I—no. We’ve been through this. I share so much stuff with you, but I draw the line at three things: socks, underwear, and toothbrushes.”
I roll my eyes. “Fiiine. I’ll get my own thongs too, you stingy asshole.”
“Thank you. Now, take those off and sit like a good boy.”