The Way of Love

I loved it; that addicting lightning-hot feel of his skin on mine. The beautiful sandpaper-sounds of our bodies brushing together. The perfect way he claimed and controlled my lips when we kissed.

Ethan knew what I wanted; what I needed. The way he'd slam me up against the wall and tear at my clothes as foreplay. The way he left long nail-marks down my back and claiming bruises along my body. Those same marks I told the guys in the locker-room came from my neighbor's daughter. The one who was 'home-schooled'; the one who didn't exist.

I yearned for nights like tonight when my parents were gone and he'd sneak in -it was always my house, never his- and we'd make love. No! We had sex. Just sex. That's all this was; no matter what I wanted, this was just sex.

It was too perfect to be anything else. Besides, it was a small town; what would everyone think if they found out the football team's star quarterback was gay? It was better this way. At least that's what I told myself every night after he left, when I curled up in a ball to keep myself together. At least he cared enough to give me what I needed. So what if he didn't feel the same way as I did? He still chose me.

His intentions were good, I'm sure. We really were each others perfect opposite. The yin to my yang. He took everything he needed and I gave everything I had. No one had ever been able to use me like him; to strip me down and take everything I was willing to give. He knew when I needed a gentle, caring partner and -more often than not- when I needed to be used, abused; his outlet for every frustration. All without me ever saying a thing.

I never said how much I'd fallen in love with him, but I'm sure he knew it nonetheless. He had that way of simply sensing what I was thinking and feeling.

Or maybe it was the time a few weeks after we'd began our secret copulations, that we had fallen asleep together. Much to my horror, I'd awoken snuggled up as close as physically possible to him. And of course, because Karma hates me, he woke up then, sprang from the bed, yanked on his pants, and with shirt in hand said, "Aw jeez Aaron, please don't be such a faggot."

Needless to say the dark hole in my chest he had opened refused to close, and I ignored him to the best of my ability for weeks. How had I let him have such a big part of me in so little time? Such abstinence lasted only until Ethan, obviously desperate, dragged me into the bathroom during lunch to get off. Who could say no to that?

Even now as I lay panting on the bed, gasping through the pleasure, I don't know if I'd have it any other way. The way he whispers the naughtiest shit in my ear; the way he holds me down against the sheets because he knows I like it that way; the way he's memorized every inch of my body and hits that fabulous pleasure-spot with every thrust.

And as I come so strongly that I see stars and am unsure whether I'll ever recover, I still force his name to stop behind my teeth. Because until my name trickles off those gorgeous lips as he, too, is overcome with ecstasy, I won't spoil the moment. Until he feels the same intense passion for me, I won't ruin the small bit of happiness I have left in my pathetic little world.