This story is for adults only. It contains descriptions of graphic sex. I found the photo online; if anyone objects to me using it, let me know and I’ll take it down. No copyright infringement is intended.
Balancing Act, Copyright by Theo Fenraven, July 2012
Apparently, that’s all the encouragement he needed because he started pulling at my clothes, trying to get them off me enough to reach me. Dance clothes are tight. They cling. I was sweaty. As he pulled and twisted, we both started laughing.
Grabbing my hand, still chuckling, he pulled me after him as he headed for the exit. “Changing room. More private.”
I grinned, stumbling after him. “You don’t want to watch us in the mirrors?”
“Not this time,” he said, pulling me through the doorway, down the hall, and into a small dressing room. “Mine,” he explained. There was the obligatory mirror, a clutter of makeup and shit across a table, one straight-backed chair, and against the long wall, a decrepit brown couch that had seen better days. Pieces of clothing were scattered across it.
Kevin swept it up in one arm and pitched it to the floor, then turned and wrapped his arms around me, dragging me back down on the couch, turning as we fell so I was half under him.
He shifted so his hips aligned with mine and I felt his hard-on slotting in next to mine. When we moved, a delicious friction occurred, sending tremors through me. Again his hands were on me, trying to remove the tights. I assisted, wanting to be rid of them as quickly as possible. In the end, we removed our own clothes, peeling them off as quickly as possible.
Back on the couch, this time naked, we explored each other’s bodies with our eyes, hands, mouths, tongues. I was impossibly hard, riding the edge of orgasm for longer than I thought possible. He seemed to know exactly where I was on the ride and always pulled back before I could complete it.
Shaking with my need to come, I tried to roll him but he resisted. Our eyes met.
“Turn over on your stomach,” he said, with obvious intent.
I stubbornly shook my head. “I won’t do that. You turn over.”
He smiled a little. “I never bottom.”
“Neither do I.”
We stared at each other for a long moment, both breathing so hard the air rasped in our throats.
“Frot?” he suggested.
We fitted our bodies together, hips and erections angled for maximum effect and, mouths locked together, proceeded to rut against each other.
At this point, I only wanted to comecomecomecome because I couldn’t see straight. We grunted and groaned and strained and finally, our hands got in the act, pulling and stroking at ourselves and each other without discrimination until finally—finally!—I crested into a climax so hard, so intense, I thought I’d pass out. Semen flew everywhere, hot and sticky, as he came seconds behind me.
Gasping for breath, hanging off each other, our bodies coated with a fine sheen of sweat, we waited for our hearts to stop pounding. Collapsing against him, my head against the back of the couch, I noticed it smelled funny and rolled my head onto his shoulder to avoid the scent. Christ knows what that couch had seen over the years.
“That’s sort of a deal breaker, huh?” he asked when our breathing had slowed.
I knew what he meant. “Unless you want to bottom, I guess it is.”
We were silent for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms while the sweat cooled on our skin. I’d bottomed for someone once and hated it, and I swore then I’d never, ever do it again. Not even for the promise of incredible sex would I offer my ass to anyone.
“Bad experience?” he asked.
We smiled at each other in understanding. Neither of us was giving in on this point and realizing it made us relax. Limits had been explored, boundaries set. We knew how far we could go with each other now, and there were plenty of other ways to get each other off.
The ceiling tiles had those stupid holes in them, and one had a water stain on it that looked like a dying buffalo. “Yoga, huh?”
He curled closer, nuzzling my hair. “You’ll be amazed how flexible it makes you.”
“I’ll look into it.” Feeling more satisfied than I had in days, maybe weeks, I allowed my eyes to drift shut. I should get dressed and go home but I was too comfortable. He felt good beside me. I liked it, liked it a lot.
Just as I drifted off to sleep, I heard him say, “Tomorrow?”
Smiling, I murmured something positive, pressed myself more tightly around him, and drifted into soft darkness.