Bent Backwards Ch. 09

I want to go home to my man.

*

I only realise what I've done when I'm on the train, one stop from home.

Holy shit!

"What's wrong?" He says, when he sees the look on my face, as I walk through the door.

"Oh, God, Ollie, I'm sorry." How could I have done this? Full scale panic engulfs me. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me? I should have checked with him first.

"What happened?" There's fear in his voice.

"I, I think I just outed us both."

His face is a picture of shock. I quickly explain what happened. His shock doesn't last long.

"I get it," he says, "you just couldn't lie to her again."

"That's not even it," I say as I reach for him, pulling him close, "It was you, Ollie, all you. I just couldn't deny you. Never again."

His face creases into a smile, that starts deep in his eyes. "I don't care." He says, shaking his head.

"I should have spoken to you first, I'm so sorry."

"Look at me." He says emphatically, placing his hands on my shoulders, straightening me out, "I don't give a shit. I don't give a shit who knows, and I don't give a shit what they think about it."

Laughter bubbles up in me, as his words land. I realise the truth. Even though, this is the very thing I've feared more than anything else in my life. I realise right there and then, if this is the cost of being with him, I don't care who knows. Right there, in his arms, I realise the truth.

I don't care who knows about us, and I don't care what they think about it, either.

I have no shits left to give.

*

That evening, we order take-out and eat and drink wine on the sofa. His legs are stretched over my lap. We don't have sex again that night. We just talk. We talk for hours and hours.

My entire body feels bruised, and not just from the way that he fucked me. I feel like all the rough skin has been rubbed off my body. Some soft skin too. I'm raw. Completely exposed. Entirely vulnerable. I've never let anyone see me like this. I've never felt like this before. I've never even come close.

"I can't believe you're here." I say over and over, stroking his feet, clutching onto his ankles. I can't take my hands off him and not just because of how much I want him. I'm still trying to convince myself that he's real.

He's real, and he's mine.

"You've lost weight." I tell him, as I run my hand up his shin bone.

"I couldn't eat." He says simply.

He's open and honest. At last, we both are. We both are, at the same time. Thinking of him like that, not wanting to eat, makes me flinch. I feel physical pain in my chest, when I think of him being unhappy. When I think that I was the cause.

I'll feed you up, baby, and I'll never, ever hurt you again.

"Do you like Italian?" I ask him.

"Sure."

"I know this great little place, La Casa," I say, "the chef's Roman and I'm telling you, you have to try her carbonara. It's unreal."

He smiles slowly at me.

"Are you free on Friday?" I ask.

"What?" he says, sounding a little surprised, "you mean, like a date?"

"Yes," I say, "exactly like a date."

He smiles shyly. He smiles bigger than he means to. Even in the dim light, I see his cheeks redden in pleasure.

He is so sweet. He's so sweet, it makes me feel dizzy.

"I guess you're right," he says, "we're both going to have to make sure, we don't get so swept up in each other, that we forget to do normal, human things, liking eating." He glances at his watch, "And, sleeping."

It's well after two in the morning, and as he says it, I'm suddenly reminded how exhausted I am.

"I don't sleep," I tell him, "I never do."

"Maybe, tonight, you will." He says, stroking his fingers up and down the back of my neck.

Maybe he's wrong, or maybe, he's right, but tonight, after months of craving sleep with all of my being, I don't want to sleep. I don't mind going to bed though.

I'll just lie perfectly still, I think, so I don't disturb him. I'll lie next to him all night, and I'll watch him sleep.

*

As it turns out, I do sleep. I sleep like the dead. It's almost eleven AM when I wake. The sun is streaming into the room, and when I open my eyes, I look straight into blue. Beautiful blue. The most beautiful blue, I've ever seen. The relief that washes over me, when I see him, is so pure and intense, for a few seconds, I swear, I can't feel my legs.

"Coffee?" I say, when I can.

"Mmh." He smiles, stretching one arm lazily up over his head.

"What are you so deep in thought about?" I ask, once I've made the coffee and have set a mug down on the bedside table beside him.

"Hmm," he says, "I guess I was just thinking about what it's going to be like to shoulder the full weight of the emotional load in this relationship."

I smile at him curiously, "What makes you think it will all be on you?"

He snorts a little at that, "Well, you've got to admit, you haven't shown yourself to be a stellar communicator." He's right about that. I sure as hell haven't, but he's also wrong. I'm really not bad at communicating, if I can get my head out my ass.

"Actually," I say matter-of-factly, "I'll have you know, I'm pretty damned good at that stuff."

He really laughs at that. I smile, even though I know, he's laughing at my expense. I don't mind.

"It's just," I explain, "I felt like such a shit for what I was doing to Liza, I guess I convinced myself that that made it better somehow. You know, doing the physical stuff with you, but keeping the emotional stuff for her?"

I look down at him, wondering if he can forgive me, and if he can, how long it's going to take before I can forgive myself, "I know it probably didn't make it the slightest bit better for her, or for you."

I sigh, "God knows I tried to stop it. This thing with you. I just couldn't stay away."

He nods. I can see in his eyes, he understands. He was there. It hasn't been easy for me, and I'm sure, it hasn't been easy for him, either.

"I've never felt anything like this." I say, and my God, I mean it.

"So," he says, smiling, looking awfully pleased with himself, "are you trying to say you're not going to tell me to 'shut up' anymore?"

"Nah," I say, though I'm only teasing, "I'm going to tell you to 'shut the fuck up'."

I raise my hand to his face, tracing the outline of his jaw with my fingertips, gently sweeping his hair off his face. As I do it, I realise, I've wanted to touch him like this, since the very beginning. Since the first time we met.

"It's just that now, right after I do, I'm going to hold you and tell you that you can talk to me about anything. Anytime."

He murmurs something softly. He's trying not to smile. He's pushing his mouth down at the corners, to stop himself, but I can tell that he wants to.

"But," he says emphatically, "you bloody well aren't going to call me a pussy, or a little bitch again, are you?"

"Well?" I drawl, drawing the word out dramatically. I can't resist teasing him.

"Don't you fucking dare, Ethan! I mean it."

"Okay, okay," I laugh, but then I add, "but Ollie, what about this?"

"What if I have you?" As I say the words, a small seed is planted. I see a tiny flash in his eye. A seed is planted in him, too.

"What if you're naked and on your knees?" I feel the blood begin to drain from my head. "What if I've spread your legs and my tongue's been inside you?"

I lean forward, breathing him in deeply, "What if you're moaning and I'm holding you down?"

He swallows hard, as I leap to my feet, holding my hands out, putting on an exaggerated sex-face, as I thrust forward, pretending to hump. I'm trying not to laugh, but I love the way he's looking at me right now. I can tell he's enjoying the show.

"What if my dick's deep inside you and I'm breeding your ass?"

"Hmm," he says, stiffening, and trying even harder not to smile, "been watching gay porn, huh, Ethan?"

As a matter of fact, I have been. I've watched almost nothing else, since the first time I was with him. I've been telling myself it's because I'm so into anal, but now, given everything that's happened, part of me is starting to wonder if that's all it is.

"That," I say, pointing a finger at him emphatically, "is entirely beside the point."

He stifles a giggle. I love that sound, so I continue, "What if I'm fucking you so hard, you're screaming?"

I look down at him, feeling myself burn, knowing, he's burning too, "What about then? Huh?"

His eyes are dancing, and not just in amusement.

"What about if I have you like that?" I growl, "And then, I call you my little bitch?"

"Well, Ethan," he says, with a polite little cough, "that is some very powerful imagery."

The mood in the room has shifted considerably. His eyes are travelling down my body. "I mean," he starts, "I guess..."

"You guess?!" I exclaim, "Oliver, really! Isn't this one of those pivotal moments that really require certainty?"

He rolls his eyes so hard, they almost go all the way to the back of his head.

"I..." he tries again, but he seems to be losing his train of thought.

"I'm serious, Ollie. I need to know," I say quietly, "I got this really wrong in the past and it made you walk out of my life, and I'm telling you, it damned nearly killed me."

"Okay..." he says, his voice sounding vague.

"Tell you what," I say seriously, "why don't we try it, and then you can tell me for sure."

He looks up at me. He seems to be having trouble dragging his eyes up, off my dick. I feel the familiar little quiver, that tremor. That reckless mix of fear and excitement.

"N...Now?" he squeaks.

I don't answer, I just take hold of the sheet and pull it slowly off his body, inching it down, exposing him. Taking every part of him in, for a second, before I pounce, as quick as I can. Grabbing him and pulling him out of bed, turning him round and bending roughly him over the edge of the bed. He gasps. I can see his chest heaving. Mine's heaving, too.

Seeing him like this, I'm instantly filled with terrible lust. Lust, part of me used to fear, but not anymore. Now, I know that it's right. I take my time, working him over, licking him, stroking and stretching him, getting him ready. My hands are shaking, and I'm making a strange sound, that seems to be coming from the back of my throat.

He turns to look back at me. "Go easy," he says, "it's been a while."

"Easy?" I snarl. I feel alive. I feel wild. Wild like an animal. Wild in a way, only he can make me. "Easy like you went on me yesterday?"

He gulps and looks forward quickly, but I feel him arch back, when I touch him.

He wants what I want.

It doesn't take long, before I have my dick aimed straight at his hole. He struggles a little, arcing his back off the bed. I hold him down and as I do, the most intense desire imaginable floods me. I hear that sound again, the one from the back of my throat.

I want him so much.

I want him more than I've ever wanted anything. As I see him there, waiting like that. I'm struck by the dim realization that I was wrong, all those months ago, when I thought my life would be easier, if he didn't look the way that he looks.

Yes, I'm insanely attracted to his body, but that's not nearly the end of the story. That's hardly even the beginning. The way that I want him, has to do with so much more. It has to do with the look in his eyes. The sound of his laughter. The way he smells. It's in the way that his beautiful, filthy mind works. It has to do with something deep inside him, something I don't know the name of. Whatever its is name is, it's the thing that makes him, him. Oliver Kerry.

My Oliver Kerry.

I can't wait any longer, so I enter him quickly, watching for that moment, that second, he feels it. His back tenses, his neck arches back. I feel it too. The rawness, the feeling of skin on skin, with nothing between us. It's unlike anything else. I'm moaning now. Moaning with him. I honestly couldn't tell you, who's moaning more. I take my time, relishing every second I'm inside him.

He's getting louder and louder, until his voice is high-pitched. I pull him back by his hair, so his face is up close, right next to mine. I look down, right in his eyes. I love, love, love the way he's looking at me, as I say, "You're my little bitch."

Mine

My words seem to go through him. They go through me too. I come as soon as I feel his ass clenching. I shoot my load as deep in his ass as I possibly can, pulling out and watching in inexplicable gratification, as I see my seed trickle slowly out of his body.

We throw ourselves back in the bed. Lying next to each other. Lying close. His head is on my chest and my arms are around him. I pull him closer, closer and closer until we can't get any closer.

"Ollie," I say, after a while, "do you like it when I fuck you like that?"

He looks at me quizzically, "Do you mean, struggle-fucking, like that?"

I nod, and say quietly, "I wish I'd asked you if you liked it, a long time ago."

"I'm glad that you didn't. My honest answer would always have been, "Fuck, yes", but it took me admit it to myself." He looks at me for a long time. "I know I got there a little faster than you did, but it was still a process for me to understand and accept what this thing between us is."

He's still looking at me. His eyes are so caring and open, I don't mind making a fool of myself, so I ask him something that's bothered me since the beginning.

"Is it okay, that I like it so much? You know, that I like 'forcing' you."

He sits up a little, a broad grin on his face, his eyes dancing in amusement.

"Ethan," he says, "you're talking to someone who gets sexual gratification from restraining people and inflicting pain on them. Believe me, what you like is fine. What you like, turns me on more than anything else in the world. More than anything I've ever experienced."

He gets that look in his eyes, the one that can only be described as pure evil, as he adds, "Except for maybe, when I tie you up and beat your ass."

A long, long laugh, that feels like it's been bottled up inside me for eons, is released. It fizzes out of me until my eyes water.

It feels so nice to be talking about this. We've always been able to take what we want from each other in the heat of the moment, instinctively knowing what the other one wants, but talking like this, when we're both calm, feels so good. It makes me finally start to feel like this is real. This is us. This is good. It's so good, it makes me feel afraid.

I pull him back down, so his head is on my shoulder. I wrap my leg around him. Our limbs are fully entwined.

"Baby," I say, when I find my voice, "can I tell you what scares me?"

"'Course." He says, looking up at me quickly. The way that he says it, lets me know that I can. I can tell him anything.

"When it comes to you," I sigh, "I already know, forever won't be enough."

*

We know right from the start, that we need to get onto telling people about us, or risk them hearing it from someone else. He calls his mom first. He's absolutely sure she'll be cool about it. She is very much a, "Love is Love," kind of person. Still, it's bloody uncomfortable to have to call your mother, to tell her who you want to have sex with, especially when it's such a big one-eighty, so I don't envy him.

I don't hear the whole conversation, but I do hear him saying, "You're going to love him, Mum. He's amazing."

When I hear that, my heart nearly bursts with a level of pride and joy, that are almost absurd. Pride and joy, I didn't know existed for me, just a few short days before.

I tell my parents on Sunday afternoon, during our weekly zoom call. They don't seem especially surprised to hear that Liza and I have broken up, and bizarrely, they also don't seem very surprised to hear that I'm with a man.

"Thank you for telling us, sweetheart." Says my mom.

"Does this Oliver like fishing?" Asks my dad.

I crack a smile, "He tries."

"Well," says my mom, never one to miss an opportunity to try to get me to visit home, "you'll have to come for a visit and bring Oliver too, we'd all like to meet him."

*

I go with him, the following week-end, to tell Kip and Ben. He spent most nights of the week at my place and by Saturday, he'd run out of clean clothes and was wearing his jeans and one of my sweaters. I happen to know, right now, he's going commando.

"You ready?" I ask, placing my hand on the small of his back, rubbing my thumb gently along his spine, as he opens the door.

"I hope so." He says.

"Well, well, well," says Kip, looking at Oliver and then looking at me, with the mildest hint of confusion, "look what the cat dragged in. Where the hell have you been? We've hardly seen you all week."

"Uh, Kip, where's Ben? We need to talk. Can you sit down?"

"Ben!" Kip calls down the hall, "Get over here. Oliver's finally surfaced and it looks like he's fixing to break up with us."

Ollie and I smile a little uncomfortably. Both of us are nervous. I'm nervous for him.

Please God, I think, let these guys be okay with this. Please. They mean so much to him.

"This seems very formal." Says Ben, looking a little suspicious, as he sits down with us at the dining table.

Oliver speaks quickly, not mincing words, telling them about things between us.

"So," says Kip, once the dust has settled, "you're trying to say that you like guys now?"

Oliver laughs, "Just to be clear, Ethan's the only guy I've ever been into. Your doughy asses have got nothing to worry about."

"What?!" Exclaims Kip, faking deep offence, "What's wrong with my ass? My ass is fine!"

That breaks the tension. We all laugh, but the laughter stops abruptly, when we notice that Ben isn't laughing. He's not even smiling.

"Ollie," he says, "how long have we been friends?"

"Uh, almost ten years." Says Oliver quietly. I can hear the nerves in his voice. My heart clenches in fear. I put my hand on his knee, under the table, squeezing, steadying him.

Not this, I think, not Ben.

"And in all that time, have I ever said or done anything, that made you think you couldn't tell me something like this?"

"No, Ben, you haven't." Oliver says quietly.

"So, why didn't you tell me?" Ben says, "Do you have any idea how worried I've been about you? We've both been."

"I'm sorry," Ollie says, "it was a very, well, it was a very complicated situation, all round."

"We were this close to asking your mom to fly down here." Says Ben, indicating about a millimeter with his fingers. I breathe a sigh of relief. Oliver still seems a bit tense, but I'm pretty sure, Ben's going to be fine.

"You know what," Ben says, after a long pause. "I need a beer." He looks like he could use one, "Anyone else want one?"

All of us do. When Ben gets up and heads for the kitchen, I follow him there.

"Ben," I say, "it's not Oliver's fault, it's mine. He was keeping a secret for me. He trusts you. I'm sure he wanted to tell you."

He looks at me thoughtfully and nods slowly. There's an edge in his eyes. I can see, he's not sure if he likes me and he's not sure if he can trust me with Oliver. I can't say I blame him. I know what he's about to say, so I beat him to it.

"I love Oliver, Ben." I say, and I truly mean it, "I won't hurt him again. I swear it."

He cracks a wry smile, nodding and shaking his head at the same time, "You better not." He says, as he hands me a couple of beers to take the others.

*

We've done most of our coming out, or whatever you want to call it. In fairness, most people, have taken it exceedingly well. The obvious and understandable exception was Jess. She came around to the apartment to pick up Liza's things. She tore a strip off Oliver and she tore one off me, too.