So I know I’ve been quiet for a bit, but there’s a good reason behind that. I’m moving. Ugh. I try to see the positive in packing up everything into boxes and taking trips back and forth to the new place, but damn I absolutely hate moving. The new place is like a little dream, but seriously, I still hate moving.
I would like to clarify that by no means does this mean me and Dan are on the outs or anything. Because I knew that question would come up eventually. Nope. We’re just at that point we knew would come where we both have new things to look forward to. He’s got a really good man that is whisking him off to another city and I finally got the condo I’ve been salivating over for almost two years now.
Although I will miss him terribly and he’s made it clear I will be using the guest room for their frequent visitations, it is time for my own place. Trust me, living with two boys who are into each seems hot, but they are still men and it’s like having two brothers nagging on you constantly for food or to find their runaway shoes. And I will not miss gym clothes laundry day. Sorry, D. Love you.
But I will miss James Dean in the bathroom. I lost him in a custody dispute. Pretty sad about that.
Anyway, while we rent out our house to some friends and become landlords again, I will be moving about 45 minutes away to a condo on the lake. Oh yes, I said waterfront property. Okay, it’s not like millionaire glamorous, but it’s cool and in the historic district and I had the ultimate hookup from one of my clients. So I’m feeling blessed right about now because without this person’s help there is no way on this green earth I could have afforded to live there.
It’s a fixer upper because while it might be in a strict historic district, the elderly lady who lived there wasn’t into updating the place and got a bit of leeway due to her health. So I spent the last two weeks removing ducks in heart basket wallpaper and burgundy carpet. And then there was the hunter green tile in the kitchen. And let us not forget the posters in her son’s old bedroom that had been there since about 1994. It was Baywatch bad. No, actually it was worse. I found a fossilized sock in the closet I’m still trying to forget.
To say I’m remodeling is an understatement, so when I get the chance to write it’s a huge stress relief these days. Which brings us to this week’s FFF. I didn’t give out a prompt this week and we might not have any this month because I’m overloaded, but here it is. Thanks for reading. You guys are the best.
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A Nanny Tale: Part 8
It didn’t take long to get rid of my shorts, to be naked on top of him. After an eternity of wanting him and not realizing how much I truly did need this since the moment I laid eyes on him, we were finally together. Some people say their first sexual experience is to be held in the highest honor, as if two fumbling teenagers would understand how to pleasure each other in a way that would outrank any other intimate moment spanning their lifetime.
I recall being sixteen in my friend’s bedroom, but the details are fuzzy and perhaps they’re meant to stay that way. This time with Chris, our first time, this is the experience I’ll treasure forever. Even if the doubt still has a way of creeping into my thoughts. Even if we slip up and fall and it’s not like the movies, my heart still pounds like it never has before. My eyes are still wide and trying to take in every inch of him; every move and every muscle that tightens under my hands because he wants nothing more than for me to keep touching him.
And while to look at me you wouldn’t think I had a possessive bone in my body, I want to crawl inside him, to mark him, to cover him with all of me and claim him as mine. I want to shelter him from the dark shades of the world that have left him cowering and trap the man he so desperately is trying to be underneath me for the rest of our lives.
But he needs to breathe, to stretch his wings, and if I denied him that… he’d suffocate and resent me forever.
I pull back, kneeling between his legs, caressing his thighs to find him squirming before me. His fingers reach for me. I take them in my hand and kiss every single fingertip, his palm and then his wrist. He pauses to watch me do so, like never in a thousand years could he fathom a man performing such a precious task.
There’s a lot Chris doesn’t know or he assumes; ideals embedded deep within his brain that tell him one of us rutting and the other one submitting is the only masculine way two men can have sex. What was left out of his societal teachings was just like any other couple, two men desire love and intimacy with or without sex as much as anyone else. The same could be said for how we love in the privacy of our own home. No two couples are the same. So why should we have to be?
The only thing that matters is the delivery of the message and making sure the recipient knows how much they’re cared for.
I bend down to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose where two little red marks were made from wearing his glasses. I kiss the spot on his jaw where he cut himself shaving this morning because he was nervous from the minute he woke up. I kiss the scar on his shoulder where he told me he’d fallen from a tree when he was a teenager. I kiss every spot that makes him human to remind him he is, in fact, normal and this is okay. This is just us.
His arms encircle my neck, fingers feeling about my hair until he builds a slow massage that has me practically purring for him. I glance up to find him staring at me expectantly, waiting for whatever I have planned next. He trusts me to guide tonight. He trusts me enough to allow me whatever I wish.
But it’s not about what I wish; it’s about him tonight, about breaking down the final wall of his fortress.
I trace his nipple with the tip of my tongue. Run my hands up his sides, putting emphasis in the heel of my palms to let him know how much I want this. His answer is a rough moan I didn’t know he had in him, but its fuel to the fire and the room is growing warmer with every passing minute.
His mewls of pleasure become broken and half strangled as I take his hips within my hands and bath his stomach with searing kisses and vigorous licks. His cock is thick and heavy when I take it in my hand and stroke it down, pulling the foreskin away from the slick head. It twitches in my palm, much like his body does upon releasing all the stored up sexual energy he’s entrusted me with.
“Logan,” he hisses.
I say nothing. There’s not a word in the English language that can suffice a reply to my name rolling off his tongue in the throes of passion. It’s simply enough to know I’m doing this right. It’s more than enough to hear his sharp gasp as I take the head of his cock into my mouth and suck the flavor of him down my throat.
I’ve always loved giving head with willing partners in the past, but none of them compare to Chris. To Chris’s engorged dick in my mouth, straining my lips and pressing at the back of my throat. To each salty drop of him that glazes the roof of my mouth before my tongue can swipe it away. To each ridge and vein I want to memorize like a map to buried treasure. More than anything, I love sucking on Chris.
The way he begins thrusting into my mouth is unholy; a fragmented cadence of his hips, that lifts his ass enough for me slither my hands underneath him and squeeze each fleshy mound with my fingers. His unabashed chant for more as he forgets himself and gives into me is wicked. I give him what he wants, what he needs, and take him to the root. My air is gone. My throat relaxes and Chris forges down my throat only to pull away again with each bob of my head.
Each time he retreats from my mouth, I miss him.
He takes matters into his own hands, squeezes the base of his cock because we both know he’s near the edge. And with glossy lips, I withdraw from his cock to peer up at him.
“Logan,” he repeats and it’s all the explanation I need. He pulls me down on top of him, kissing me senseless. He wraps his legs around me once more to be as close as possible.
We roll over one too many times until we’re half off the bed, breathless and sticky from being stuck together for so long. But it will never be close enough. Not yet anyway. I soothe Chris onto his stomach and run my hands over his body until he relaxes enough to listen.
“Comfortable?” I whisper in his ear and he nods against the pillow. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”
He nods again with his eyes screwed shut as if he’s focusing on the sound of my voice and nothing else. With his permission, I put a plush pillow under his stomach and guided him to open his legs wider and draw his knees in. It was a position only a man who trusted me would take, and with that, I vowed to make this as good as possible for him. He might have had a few guys in the past, but it was obvious Chris had never been on the bottom before. The fact he automatically wanted to tonight, made me feel special, and I would spend hours tending to him if he needed it. I would do anything to make him feel my… love.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This is really happening to me. This man and his life had wrapped me up and choked me with affection until I’d been forced to realize the very thing I was missing this entire time: him.
With a towel from the floor placed between Chris’s legs, I’m ready to give him everything he’d been missing too: me. His ass grinds against my hands as I spread him wide open. His back arches as I encircle his entrance with my thumb, testing his sensitivity. And oh, did he like that. He wiggles his ass for me and I smile, placing a kiss on one cheek and then the other.
I pop the top on the lube and hold it above his entrance. With one squeeze, the clear liquid dribbles down his crack, a cold sensation rolling over his backside, and Chris groans. Soon he allows me the honor of stretching him open with a single finger, working it in and out until he whispers, “More.”
A single word had never empowered me like this. His pleasure in my hands, a work of art in the form of his adult yet inexperienced body twisting and pushing against me, it is too incredible to describe. To ignite his nerves with delicate touches and murmur encouragement against his skin is breathtaking. Sheathing my length in latex, taking his hips in my hands, knowing he has given me this right after all the things he has been through—no man will ever make me feel as privileged as Chris.
I give him a few minutes, keep pressure on his entrance with the head of my cock and massage his lower back until he nods into the pillow. He reaches out and covers my hand with his, clutching for strength as he bears down and I push inside his body for the first time. Control doesn’t come easy in this position. It’s instinct when wrapped inside a heat like his to thrust in and bury myself deep. Excruciating to be patient because this moment isn’t about me, it’s about the person beneath me who is taking the brunt of the experience.
I gage his reaction, his profile crisp against his pillow. Eyes tightly shut and mouth open as he pants for air. His hand is cutting off my circulation but I think that’s mostly due to shock, not pain. And I’m positive of this when he signals for me to continue. He doesn’t hide his face like he would if he chose to continue only because stopping would upset me.
He knows he has the power to stop this. He knows I would never be angry with him if he wasn’t ready.
Inch by inch I fill him from behind, slipping inside this heat where no one else has been. I fill him with love and respect, with passion and lust, with everything I am that supports him. I bottom out and ease away, watching his face for any sign he can’t handle this. What I see is a mix of emotions, the first and foremost is surprise, trailed by an open mouthed smile.
His breath catches with every thrust. A single sound over and over to punctuate the thought he’s trying to convey. And soon he brings his hips up to meet me and he’s rolling his ass, tightening around me, dancing against my cock in a way that almost makes me lose it right then and there. I need this to last. I need him to lose his mind as I come inside my latex prison. I want him to pull his hair and tilt his head back, my name a shout from his lips. But we have to be quiet. We have to take satisfaction in what we are given: a chance to be together no matter the circumstances.
But he’s become wild and unforgiving in his time of need. He likes this. He really likes this. I know because he squirms until he’s able to carefully roll over onto his back. With his knees pulled up, he lets enter him again. It’s better this way; face to face so I can see his eyes and every flicker of fire within them.
Buried all the way inside of him, I cover his body with mine as he hooks his legs over my shoulders and slants his mouth over mine. The kisses are slow like the push of my hips. His nose is sweaty as it brushes against mine and his breaths taste of candy flavored with minty mouthwash. He’s so very real to me. Not to say he wasn’t real to me before, but hell I’d be locked up if this was all in my head.
Now as he looks into my eyes from inches away and holds me in a cocoon of arms and legs, he is so very real. And I’ll be damned if he doesn’t see me back. I take his cock in my hand between us, using what strength I have left to prop myself up against the wall with one hand and stroke him off.
He gets this look on his face, so sweet and lost. His eyes are focused on me but it’s like he’s looking at the face of heaven—a cocktail of fear and awe—and I know he’s about to spill over. His neck and shoulders are splotchy over his summer tan, heating up to a deep scarlet hue when the blood rushes to his cock. His body seizes up. He tightens around me—fingers and toes curling into my skin. His back arches and his mouth opens wide.
He exhales in sharp breaths. Once, twice, and then he moans so loud I hope it’s only our close proximity that makes the sound rattle my eardrums. I realize it’s my name on his tongue, seared into my mind like the vision of his eyes snapping open. His blues sparkle as he climaxes in my hand and on his chest.
Maybe the noise I’m hearing is actually me. Because before I can make sense of the tidal wave crashing over me, my throat is vibrating with nonsense and I’m gripping his shoulder tight enough to leave a bruise. I ache everywhere, in a good way, and for a few seconds I experience one of the most powerful climaxes of my life. And yet my hips are still moving as my dick softens inside him.
I’m still in heat, still with this drive to make him feel me; let him know this is real. I’m real.
I can’t move. Can’t think. Can only let my elbow lock as I hold myself up on the wall and hang my head to see his face, his eyes staring up at me like a well fucked man.
After minutes of learning to breath, to make sure my heart isn’t going to implode, I pull out and hold onto his knees for support. Why is it so quiet in here? A second ago I thought the world was coming down around us. Where did the noise go? Why am I freaking out? Why isn’t he saying anything? Did I hurt him?
No. This has never happened to me before. I’m panicking after sex. What does this mean? Did he break me?
“I had no idea how much I needed that.” He puts a hand over his eyes and grins. Chris blushes across his cheeks and nose as he bites his bottom lip and sighs. And then he’s laughing softly and I feel my hope die. This is funny to him? I just made love to him and it’s a joke? Whatever erection I had left flopped and fizzled.
“Yeah.” I get off the bed and pull the condom off. I tie it up and dispose of it in the bathroom. I’m not sure how long I stand there, clutching the sides of the sink and looking at myself in the mirror, but it feels like forever.
His footsteps are light. His presence is huge, looming and stressful as he leans in the doorway. “Logan, you okay?”
Maybe it’s because I was hoping we’d have one of those moments just like at the end of a romance movie and secretly set myself up for failure that I’m freaking out. Or maybe it was my greatest fear to be rejected by the man I fell in love with that I had never done this before, fallen this hard. But his laughter hurt me. It reminded me of the laughs cast my way my entire life. It was like a punch in the face I’d felt a million times but thought I’d never feel again.
“You know, I’ve never been told I’m bad in bed, but I’ve never had anyone laugh at me after the fact either. That was supposed to mean something, what I just did, what we did. And you just—”
He takes my lips before I can say anything else to out me as a softie. My mom always said I wore my heart on my sleeve and the littlest thing could make me or break me, but she never told me how to protect myself from this. She never told me what being a grown up in love felt like.
It’s like being a wreck, because I am right now and I don’t know how to fix it. I thought I did something good. I thought we had something good. I’ve never cared about someone else’s needs like this. I’ve never… been kissed like this.
“Logan, look at me.” He tips my chin up. I have a hard time meeting his eyes. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing because it felt good to get it out. You made me feel good.”
Oh. Oh shit. See? I’m a fucking mess, dammit! “You can just tell if me I sucked. It’s not a big deal.” I brush it off and reach for some tissues because I’m uncomfortable and I have no idea how to tell him how I really feel.
“You sucked like a champ,” he teases me near my ear. His tongue traces my earlobe. Soon his arms are around me and his warm cock is pushing against my ass. “And now you have me saying cheesy shit. Must have done something right because I could care less about it too.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“Not saying I won’t be sore tomorrow, but that’s supposed to be a sign of a good night, right? Logan, please look at me.” He urges me to turn around. “I had no idea you’d be this nervous after. I mean, you sure knew what you were doing in there. I’ve never had anyone… It was never like that before.”
“Well, I’ve fucked, but I’ve never made love to anyone before. So it’s a night of firsts for both of us.”
I only get to see his eyes for a mere second before he’s claiming my lips again. This time my brain shuts down and I stop thinking about my petty insecurities. This time he doesn’t laugh. His mouth burns against mine. His tongue traces my taste buds. His hands tighten in my hair and I know, I just know, he gets what a big deal it was me for to say that. Somehow I’ve managed to fuck the nervous out of him and take it all inside me because he knows exactly how to soothe my worries.
His kisses take him down my jaw and up to my ear where he whispers, “I love you too.”
I harden all over again. He takes my hand and cuts me a heavy lidded look. He leads me back into the bedroom, cuts off the lights and invites me under the covers. Our covers. In our bed. Words are futile as his hot mouth searches out mine in the dark. His hand glides over my cock and he pulls me against him. We taste and explore until we’re sated and drowsy. Until I get that he wants to protect me within the safety of his arms and silently vows to cherish me back.
He gets that my heart is just as mortal as his and sometimes I don’t do and say the right things. He gets that I’m human, reminds me it is okay. He understands me because he’s lived in my shoes, just a different style off the shelf.
I love him.
How could I not have seen that coming?
Joey is glaring at us from across the table. He holds a crayon in one hand. The stick of red wax hovers over his paper kid’s menu with malice. “Tomorrow?” He stabs the puzzle he’d been working so hard to elaborate on for the sake of corporate, because their idea of a maze was too childish and according to him, not challenging enough for their five to ten demographic.
“Not a big deal, buddy. Mrs. Vargas just wants to talk about stuff with you and show you around the school. It’ll probably take an hour tops.” Chris looks at me over glasses and pinches my leg under the table.
I rub the burn away and plaster on a smile. “Joey, you should see this place. Your dad and I were cruising around there a few days ago and these kids were chillin’ on the grass, reading to each other and having snacks. It was great.”
“Sounds like daycare.” Joey’s eyes become slits and he drops his crayon to cross his arms. “I’m not a baby.”
“Tsk. Who says you’re a baby? We’re talking fourth grade here. Guess what fourth grade has? A reading club and they write stories too. I thought of you the minute Mrs. Vargas let that slip. You’d dig it.” I relax against the booth and rest my arm along the back cushion. “Did we mention we’re going to buy you sneakers today?”
“That’s bribery.” Joey lifts a blond brow.
“How do you know these words?” Chris lifts his palms and blinks. “Demographic. Now bribery? I can’t handle this.” Chris exhales and puts his hands on the table.
Joey shrugs. “I read a lot.”
“Yeah? So did I at your age and I never picked up that kind of vocabulary. What the heck every happened to the Hardy Boys?”
Joey rolls his eyes.
Joey blinks. “Who?”
“Never mind.” Chris sighs over his coffee.
Our waitress brings over a tray with our breakfast and puts Joey’s pancake special in front of him. She’s older, smiles a lot and reminds me of the grandmotherly type. She never saw Joey’s attitude coming; probably was the last thing she ever expected. He took one look at the chocolate chips, whipped cream, and cherry that made up a smiley face on his pancakes and slowly looked up at her.
“I’m not a baby.”
“No you most certainly are not. You’re a big boy.” She smiles again and sets down the rest of our food.
“A big boy is a stupid label grownups call boys who are still in daycare. I am not going to daycare.” Joey pushes his plate away.
“Joseph Wyzak, you apologize right now.” Chris cocks his head and waits.
“For what? I don’t want a smiley face on my pancake because I’m not very happy right now.”
“What you are is a rude and you will apologize to her immediately or we are going home and you can eat cold cereal. Not the marshmallow kind either.” Chris raises his hand and starts to count down his fingers.
Joey huffs and looks up at the waitress. “I’m sorry my dad and his boyfriend tried to bribe me with pancakes and sneakers because they want me to go to daycare.”
“Oh no.” I cover my eyes with my hand.
“Evelyn is it? I am terribly sorry for my son’s rudeness. Normally he has manners but I guess he left them at home today, which is where he’ll be spending the rest of the day with no books and no television and no marshmallows.”
“You can’t do that. I didn’t do anything wrong.” Joey leans over the table. “That’s unfair.”
“You’ll have a bit of time to yourself to reflect on what you did, I assure you.” Chris pulls two twenties out of his wallet and hands them to Evelyn. “Again, I apologize for the outburst. I am so embarrassed. Please keep the change and can we get this to go?”
She nods. “Stay strong. You’re doing it right.” She pats Chris on the shoulder and wanders off to the register. Chris is either comfortable with me being called his boyfriend now, or he’s too wrapped up in Joey’s tirade to care. I’m just an innocent bystander until Chris rings the bell and lets me into the ring.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Tears gather in Joey’s eyes. “You’re just trying to get rid of me like you always do. You want to put me in another stupid school so you can go to work and I never see you again. I wish Logan was my dad.” Joey slides out of the booth and runs for the front door.
Chris’s breath catches in his throat. He closes his eyes behind his glasses. The bell has tolled. My turn now.
“Out.” I push Chris up. “You stay here and I’ll go after him.”
“No, I should…”
“Chris, I got this. He thinks I’ll give him hearts and flowers for being a brat and he’s wrong. If he sees we both agree he was being a little shit then I think he’ll get the point.”
“I’m not a bad father. I can do this.”
“But that’s the beauty of being in a relationship with your nanny. I got your back on this and I know what I’m doing on occasion.” He gestures for me to go with defeat in his eyes. “And you’re anything but a bad father. If I knew you wouldn’t have a stroke, I’d kiss you on the spot to make everything better. I’ll bank it for later though. Count on it.”
Chris sags back into the booth and stares at the table. His kid told him he wished he had another dad. Even though Joey didn’t really mean it, Chris thinks he did. The guy looks like he had his heart ripped out of his chest.
I find Joey trying to yank the Rover’s door open despite the blaring alarm. He has tears streaming down his cheeks. The moment he sees me, he tries with all his might to get into the car. I turn the alarm off and gently grab him by the shoulders as I crouch in front of him.
“What you just said to your father was awful. If it weren’t for that man in there you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have been born, or have a roof over your head, or books to read. You wouldn’t be loved to death. You wouldn’t have food on your table. You could have been born during the French Revolution you love to read about so much and died of rat disease or whatever it’s called, or had your head chopped off for stealing bread because you were too poor to feed your eight brothers and sisters.” I tipped his chin up. “And I love you so much, Joey, but I will never be that man in there. I will protect you and guide you and be the best role model I can be for you, but I am not Christopher Wyzak. I am not the man who raised you to be a good person with kind words. I am not the man whose heart you just broke when you said such rude things.”
I take his hands in mine. He cries harder. “He has done nothing but try to make your life better. He wants the best for you, not to throw you away or put you in daycare. He found a school that fits you, that will make you feel as special as you are to him. Do you know how much your dad loves you, Joey? Do you know what he’d do to make you happy?”
Joey sniffs and nods. I wipe his tears away. “Then tell me why you would say a thing like that to your dad? Tell me the reason you were mean to Evelyn back there when she didn’t deserve that.”
He hiccups and rubs his eyes. “I don’t want to go to a new school.”
“Would you rather go back to the old one? Because I’m telling you, Joey, it ain’t happenin’. Between you and me, and don’t you ever say I told you this because I’ll deny it to the very end, Sister Grace is an evil witch.” Joey smiles through his tears. He wipes snot from his nose and looks at the offending splotch on his arm like he’s contracted a flesh eating virus. I pull a tissue out of my pocket, because kids, and hand it to him. “This school, buddy, it’s amazing. It’s everything you ever wanted and it’s far from daycare. Trust me. It’s only for kids with the right stuff—you know what I’m sayin’.”
“No.” He shakes his head.
“It’s for kids who want more than normal schools have to offer. It’s for boys and girls like you who need good friends and great teachers and opportunities I can’t normally give you.” Chris puts the food on the Rover’s hood and joins me at Joey’s eye level. “But I can’t send you there to see Mrs. Vargas with that kind of behavior, and it’s not because I don’t love you, but because you are a reflection of me. Whether you like it or not, you are my baby and I did not raise you to be cruel. Not to me. Not to anyone. So if you can’t act like a young man then I’ll have to find you a public school to go to. Because I have to work to pay for our house, for our food, and because I love where I work. And I don’t send you to school or tell Logan to watch you because I don’t want to be with you. In a perfect world, Joey, I would spend every second I had with you, but this is real life. And I love you. And that’s never going to change—no matter how much you hate me right now.”
“I don’t hate you,” Joey sobs.
“Then why did you say that back there?” Chris takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose.
Joey wraps his arms around his skinny chest. “I’m scared they won’t like me. No one ever likes me.”
“It’s my fault for keeping you at that school for so long, Joey. I’m sorry I did wrong by you, but I’m trying to make up for it. The minute we took you out of there things have been good. You made friends at Sabine’s. You smile more. You talk to me more. So do you think I’d send you to another school like that? Not gonna happen, buddy. Never again. I promise you that.” Chris puts his glasses back on. He opens his arms and Joey stumbles forward. He clings to his dad.
“I’m sorry, dad.” Joey mumbles into Chris’s neck. “Please don’t be mad at me. I’ll eat the smiley face.”
Chris surprises me with a smile over Joey’s shoulder. Joey sure does know how to get to his dad. Has him wrapped right around his little finger.
“So we good? No more losing our manners, even when we’re upset?” I tap Joey on the nose.
“Okay.” Joey nods. “I’m sorry.”
I take Joey’s hand. “You need to go back in there and tell Evelyn you’re sorry too.”
“Okay.” Joey hangs his head.
“Then maybe we’ll see about those sneakers,” Chris adds because his kid is still freaked out and Chris is still a dad who wants to make everything better. “But after that, you’re grounded to your room until dinner.”
Joey bites back his smile. “Okay,” he murmurs.
I walk Joey back to the restaurant door. “I don’t know how you do it, kid, but you better thank the stars you have a good dad.”
Joey struggles with the door. Once he achieves victory, using his entire body to prop the heavy glass open, he looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Duh.”
Kids—what the fuck sometimes, am I right?
To be continued…