When All of Your Wishes Are Granted, Many of Your Dreams Will Be Destroyed

What do you want?

As I lie awake in bed, mustering the motivation to get up, I can hear him moving around downstairs. It sounds like he’s making something in the kitchen, probably an inedible mess knowing Jeordie. I’m feeling a lot better today and my curiosity drags me out of bed. My skin and hair feel gross but I don’t have the energy for a shower just yet. I inspect myself in the mirror briefly and find that I also look gross; I think I’ve lost weight and my eyes are red. I hide the worst of it with a hoodie and make my way downstairs.

I head for the kitchen and stop at the doorway. I stand quietly as I watch Jeordie frying bacon. He has stuffed his feet into heavy boot which remain unlaced, making his bare legs look very slim. One of my jumpers hangs off of his small frame and covers most of his tight black boxer shorts. He is listening to his Walkman through bulky headphones, probably in an attempt not to wake me, while he sings along under his breathe to the parts that he knows and mumbles over the parts he doesn’t. There is something mesmerising about this scene, the way his body moves rhythmically to the beat and his breathy, whispered words. When the bacon is cooked he turns to retrieve his plate of buttered bread and visibly jumps when he sees my figure leaning again the doorway. “How long have you been stood there?” he asks, pulling his head phones down to hang around his neck.

“Just came down now” I lie.

“Want some bacon?”

He knows better than to ask how I’m feeling this morning or try to make me breakfast and I appreciate this because I know it’s against his caring nature, but I’m not good at letting people care for me. I shake my head, so he goes about assembling his sandwich and sticks the frying pan in the sink. I’m always amazed at just how well Jeordie functions the morning after consuming so much shit. I vaguely remember his cute little body in my bed last night, all twitchy and aroused. He’s so hot when he’s fucked. I try to refocus on putting some cereal in a bowl. Jeordie sits up on the work surface to eat, dangling his legs. I wonder how his evening with Pogo went but resist asking. “I feel like writing” I announce.

“Who’s pissed you off?” he smirks through his curtain of tangled dreads.

“No one, I’m feeling fucking creative today” I tell him. His question is a fair one. I do tend to write lyrics best when I’ve got something to be angry about. Perhaps I am angry today, although I’m not sure why.

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I’ve spent the afternoon sitting with Jeordie in our large living room trying to write. Bottles of absinthe and whisky have joined us and are surrounded by a plethora of junk food. Jeordie has a guitar and is trying out different stuff which is sounding pretty good at the moment. I tell him this and he picks up a pen to jot down the cords. When he has finished I watch as he puts the pen to his mouth, the way he parts his pretty lips and gentle gnaws on it. For the second time today I’m transfixed by this man. My concentration is shot and I can think of nothing but his fucking mouth and how I want to put things in it. He leaves the pen between his teeth as his hands return to the guitar and he starts to strum away at it again, absent-mindedly shifting the pens position with his tongue. My body literally aches to be closer to him. I resent how much I need Jeordie sometimes and how oblivious he is to the power he has over me. I snatch the pen out of his mouth and he stops playing abruptly and looks at me quizzically. Without a word I take his wrist firmly and pull him towards me. Jeordie expression of confusion changes when he sees where he is being pulled and he swings his leg over to straddle my lap. “What do you want?” he teases with his lips almost brushing mine, making my stomach flip and my cock twitch. I stay quiet and try to pull his mouth closer, placing my hand around his neck but he resists. “What?” he repeats, shifting slightly on my lap, the movement causing a little friction between us and making inhale sharply.

“To fuck you” I hear myself saying. Only then does Jeordie surrender, lowering his lips to mine and letting me explore his mouth which is hot and sweet. I wonder for a moment why he always tastes so damn sweet, maybe it’s his personality that I can taste. His hair is irresistible to me and my fingers are already becoming lost in his disordered dreads. I am only vaguely aware of Jeordie murmuring something unintelligible against my lips between breathes and kisses before he tears himself aware from me. I look up at him a little dazed, my fingers still entwined in his hair.

“I’ve ordered us a hooker” he informs me, more clearly this time. My mind is starting to race but I keep my face poker-straight. “I just remembered…I sorted it out last night” His eyes meet mine and his lips curl in a nervous smile. He watches me closely, trying to gauge my response but my silence forces him to continue “Pogo was on about threesomes last night and I haven’t had one in ages and Pogo had the number of some hookers…so I arranged it.” He started to twiddle a small section of my hair between his fingers before adding hopefully “I thought you might be up for it.” My first thoughts are that he doesn’t want me. That I don’t satisfy him and he wants a woman. Anger quickly masks hurt as I think what a fucking whore he is, willing to fuck anyone and everyone. I can express none of this though when I look into his dark eyes,
“If she’s skanky you’re sending her home” I tell him and feel a stab of guilt as I watch his little shoulders relax when he realises that I’m not going to lose my temper with him. I let go of his dreads that I’m still holding and manoeuvre him off of my lap.

“Where are you going?” he almost whines, reluctant to let me go.

“Shower” I tell him

“Can I come?”

“No. Save it for your hooker” I shoot back. Jeordie collapses back on the sofa with a sigh, clearly frustrated. I want him but I’m angry with him. I’m scared that if I fuck him now I’ll hurt him so I leave him there, sprawled on the sofa looking dejected.