I'm Not Gay
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,032
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,032
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
I'm Not Gay
’I’m not gay’, I think as I eye the man across the room in this bar stenching of piss, filled with women with little attire and men with wives waiting for them back home. Yet here I am, trying to send Mr. Mysterious subtle hints about a nice fuck in they alley or whatever. This is a bar in the worst part of the already decayed city. The dark-eyed, dark-haired man looks at me with no interest and leaves his stool and his beer and heads for the door.
As I fall on the bed, it makes a whiney noise, which becomes even louder when the same man from the bar falls on top of me, groping me and kissing me in hurry. ‘Calm down’, I think. His knee parts my legs and he falls in between them. He is horny as hell and is rubbing against me as he fumbles with my clothes, annoyed. I look at the ceiling and think about what would happen if it crumbled and fell down on us.
Two gay men crushed under ceiling is what the newspapers would say. I laugh at this idea, and I get an undeserved yank at my black hair and I make a mental note to cut it, I’ve always hated ridiculously long hair. Man strangled by his hair in sleep my brain tells me and I stifle laughter as I correct it: Gay man strangled by his hair in sleep. And I laugh because I really don’t have a hard-on, and that’s because I’m not gay, but my brain informs me again, you like it painful.
Mr. Mysterious stands up and I wonder if it already happened and I missed it but he grabs me suddenly by my petite waist and I’m suddenly on my stomach and I say, “Isn’t this nice” and he yanks my pants down. And then he’s in me and it’s in and out, in and out and ironically the moon is smiling at me from the large window in front of me and I think ‘Fuck off’ because I feel like the moon is watching which is ridiculous and I wonder how many shots did I take, anyway.
And Mr. Mysterious knows I’m here but my mind isn’t so he does a funny thing with tongue, on my neck, and I can’t think anymore because it’s in and out, in and out, harder and faster and I think, in between the moans that I can’t stop, that this isn’t how I imagined my first time to be. At least he’s good-looking. A hand snakes around my stomach and his hand is on my abandoned cock and he’s touching it like he doesn’t care, and I’m sure he doesn’t, but he's touching and thrusting and it’s harder and harder and he’s grunting, I’m moaning like they do in cheap porn movies and there’s an explosion in the pit of my stomach ending at my toes and I’m shivering as something else warm is exploding in me.
Mr. Mysterious gets up and I hear the rustling of clothes and I think ‘Don’t go’ and I think ‘Let’s cuddle’ and I say, “Don’t forget your jacket”. I hear a shuffle of paper and he’s writing something down and my brain hopes it’s his number when he looks at me with his dark eyes, his dark hair a contrast to his pale skin, which looks blue because the moon is watching. He looks dishevelled and people on the street will remark “Ah, you’ve had sex with a gay man, haven’t you?”
The door shuts and I wonder when he left but I curl up on my side on the whiney bed and I feel something wet under me and I’m so fucking sore and this is far from what I imagined my first time to be.
When I wake up I throw the paper with the number in the bin.
When I have showered I leave the hotel, only to be stopped by a manager of the hotel or some other and it is then that I fish the number out of rubbish cans behind the sleazy hotel because I’ve been left with the bill of Room 300 Sensual, including vibrating bed, which we didn’t use.
When I am listening to the agonizing beeps I think ‘I’m not gay’ and when he answers with a drawling, male voice and when I say, “Let’s have sex”, I unconvincingly think ‘I’m not gay’.
As I fall on the bed, it makes a whiney noise, which becomes even louder when the same man from the bar falls on top of me, groping me and kissing me in hurry. ‘Calm down’, I think. His knee parts my legs and he falls in between them. He is horny as hell and is rubbing against me as he fumbles with my clothes, annoyed. I look at the ceiling and think about what would happen if it crumbled and fell down on us.
Two gay men crushed under ceiling is what the newspapers would say. I laugh at this idea, and I get an undeserved yank at my black hair and I make a mental note to cut it, I’ve always hated ridiculously long hair. Man strangled by his hair in sleep my brain tells me and I stifle laughter as I correct it: Gay man strangled by his hair in sleep. And I laugh because I really don’t have a hard-on, and that’s because I’m not gay, but my brain informs me again, you like it painful.
Mr. Mysterious stands up and I wonder if it already happened and I missed it but he grabs me suddenly by my petite waist and I’m suddenly on my stomach and I say, “Isn’t this nice” and he yanks my pants down. And then he’s in me and it’s in and out, in and out and ironically the moon is smiling at me from the large window in front of me and I think ‘Fuck off’ because I feel like the moon is watching which is ridiculous and I wonder how many shots did I take, anyway.
And Mr. Mysterious knows I’m here but my mind isn’t so he does a funny thing with tongue, on my neck, and I can’t think anymore because it’s in and out, in and out, harder and faster and I think, in between the moans that I can’t stop, that this isn’t how I imagined my first time to be. At least he’s good-looking. A hand snakes around my stomach and his hand is on my abandoned cock and he’s touching it like he doesn’t care, and I’m sure he doesn’t, but he's touching and thrusting and it’s harder and harder and he’s grunting, I’m moaning like they do in cheap porn movies and there’s an explosion in the pit of my stomach ending at my toes and I’m shivering as something else warm is exploding in me.
Mr. Mysterious gets up and I hear the rustling of clothes and I think ‘Don’t go’ and I think ‘Let’s cuddle’ and I say, “Don’t forget your jacket”. I hear a shuffle of paper and he’s writing something down and my brain hopes it’s his number when he looks at me with his dark eyes, his dark hair a contrast to his pale skin, which looks blue because the moon is watching. He looks dishevelled and people on the street will remark “Ah, you’ve had sex with a gay man, haven’t you?”
The door shuts and I wonder when he left but I curl up on my side on the whiney bed and I feel something wet under me and I’m so fucking sore and this is far from what I imagined my first time to be.
When I wake up I throw the paper with the number in the bin.
When I have showered I leave the hotel, only to be stopped by a manager of the hotel or some other and it is then that I fish the number out of rubbish cans behind the sleazy hotel because I’ve been left with the bill of Room 300 Sensual, including vibrating bed, which we didn’t use.
When I am listening to the agonizing beeps I think ‘I’m not gay’ and when he answers with a drawling, male voice and when I say, “Let’s have sex”, I unconvincingly think ‘I’m not gay’.