A Modicum of Control Ch. 01

And, yeah, part of it was that he was a guy. As much as I didn't want to admit it- I was a gay-friendly, far-left-of-liberal kind of guy after all- there was something about the mere fact that he was a man that made me a little squeamish. Not during the sex, but afterwards, although it was fading every time we fucked. But it was still there.

So, maybe I wasn't as straight as I'd always thought, but Alex was every inch the emotional train wreck. It turned out I had NO idea how deep that went, or how frustrating it would be do deal with when our friendship started developing into something that looking terrifyingly like a relationship.

It had taken three years of picking up little crumbs he dropped here and there, but the basic story I'd pieced together was that his whole adolescence was pretty fucked up. From what I could figure out, his mom was an alcoholic and completely unstable, his dad left when he was in middle school, and his first, and as far as I could tell only, serious boyfriend had been fairly abusive- emotionally, if not physically. It's not like people don't recover from that, but Alex wouldn't even talk about it, much less deal with it or get over it. And to say he had intimacy issues... well, that would have been an understatement.

Ever since we'd started fucking, it felt like he'd completely stopped communicating with me in any significant way. But for every step he'd take away from me emotionally, we were on a fucking rocket ship with our physical relationship.

We fucked like crazy. We didn't go out, we didn't see our other friends. No matter what we were doing- our homework, eating dinner, watching TV- we ended up fucking. We couldn't keep our hands off each other.

At first, I always had to initiate. Once I made the first move he'd always take over, but I had to start it. It always started the same way- I'd catch him giving me that look, and then I'd make the first move, seduce him into it, and then eventually he'd take control. And then he'd fuck me until we were both seeing stars. The sex was crazy intense- hard and fast, almost violent. During those first few weeks, we barely got dressed.

I knew Alex liked his boys slutty and available. So, I made myself slutty and available. I wore the tightest clothing I had, arched my back and stuck my ass out whenever he was looking, found any reason to bend over in front of him. I even bought myself some of those slutty little bikini briefs and walked around the apartment wearing nothing else.

This had the intended effect of making him look at me like a starving lion and, finally, pushed him to make the first move- at first occasionally, and then always. He started grabbing and smacking my ass, pulling me into his bedroom. I loved the possessive way he put his hands on me, how substantial and powerful his warm palms and sprawling fingers felt on my chest, my neck, my back, my ass. He called me his slut, his whore, said nasty things to me while he fucked me, told me how obscene my tight ass-ring looked stretched around his cock. He fucked me in every position we could arrange our bodies into, on any surface we could find.

This went on for weeks. We stopped seeing most of our other friends. I knew they must have been gossiping behind our backs, but I hadn't told any one, and I was pretty sure Alex hadn't either. I was becoming completely wrapped up in him. I was usually a pretty social person, and all of the sudden I didn't want to see anyone else, wanted to spend all my time with him, catching up on all the fucking and sucking and cuddling and kissing and touching that we'd been avoiding for the first few years of our friendship.

I felt giddy and confused and goofy and energized, even after I should have been accustomed to our new relationship. I wasn't in love, though. It was infatuation, desire- not love. Even if I were in love with him, I wasn't sure it would matter. I wasn't sure I was ready to be his boyfriend- if I'd ever be. He was my best friend, and I wasn't ready to call him something else. Even if we were in love with each other, even if I were ready to be in a relationship with him, I wasn't sure he would be ready for a relationship with me. Alex was a case study in self-deception and defense mechanisms. He'd never had a healthy relationship. Hell, he'd rarely even fucked the same guy more than a few times.

And in the whirlwind of fucking, we'd weren't talking quite as much as we used to. And there were some things we were specifically not talking about. There were still some things we didn't say to each other- some things that needed to remain unspoken, and some things that felt unspeakable. He never told me he loved me, even though we both knew it was true, and even though I could sometimes tell he wanted to, or almost did accidentally.

Whenever it got too tender one or both of us would pull back. And even though we had done everything we knew how to do with each other, I still hadn't fucked him. Or even mentioned that I might want to. I knew he wasn't strictly a top, but it was clear that there was something about bottoming for me that he was unwilling or unable to do- it was so clear that I felt uncomfortable asking him about it. Although we were equal in our friendship, in the bedroom I was the bottom in every sense of the word.

On the one hand, it was fulfilling a fantasy I'd always had- having someone else be completely in control of me sexually. On the other hand, sometimes it seemed like we were always performing roles with each other and in doing so, it almost felt like we were narrowing ourselves into the small slices of our personalities we were allowing ourselves to show to each other. It was clear we were both feeling lost one way or another. And I, for one, had no idea how to fix it.