Smoking Hot Ch. 12

"You'd think. A bit. Only these guys were more older, family at home types. So anyone who went with me - just to stay warm, sometimes - was a right mardy-arse over it. Couple guys, all self-loathing, took it out on me."

He does a brittle laugh. "Actually, I will have that whisky you keep offering. I mean, it wasn't like assault or anything. Not on purpose. I'd been wheedling for it, wanting sex. Just - they didn't care about me, didn't care if it hurt, and completely didn't give a shit when it did... too busy with their own guilt..."

It's a thing they told me about in therapy. Just because it wasn't rape doesn't mean you didn't experience trauma. Especially for someone who can't speak the word. I tell him the first point, without using the R word.

"Yeah, right. Army's all about trauma. If you can't hack it, you're weakening the unit. Whole fucking point of the bastards, to be emotionless, affectless robots..."

Affectless? Either he's seen a psych himself, or he's been reading books on the subject. More power to his elbow.

"When did you leave, then?"

"Week I was twenty-two. Had a couple weeks' debrief back in England and there was mutual agreement I'd demob and piss off. They helped me sign up for more college courses and funding, which is better than many get, but then it was just crying in my parents' house until I decided to work it all off with exercise and clubbing. The clubs were either total gym-bunny campness or quite mixed, so I met some women as well as men, had a few nice flings with both, women had the big advantage of not wanting to hurt me arse, and I got together with Louise..."

I don't mention that he'd look perfectly in place with the gym bunnies. I know what he means. I wouldn't want him to start waxing.

"Since that breakup, I've not let anyone."

Since well before, presumably. He looks small, suddenly. I take him in my arms. "You don't have to, love, not ever."

His heart rate settles as I hold him. Once calm, however, he quips, "I thought you were going to get me to the point of begging for it?"

"I could. You might need to beg for that, first. Pleading for my sweet wee finger..."

"You bastard. Right, you're going down..."

He grabs me, tries holding my wrists together in one hand, but I break up and out of that one.

Obviously, he overpowers me and gets to fuck my brains out, because we both love that and I'm not really resisting. I can never get enough of his cock filling my sweet happy hole.

Afterwards, I have to tell him what Laura's hoping for.

He laughs. How was I so worried? "Nowt so queer as folk! I know you'll treat her right. If she's happy, I'm happy."

He gets fed up with me checking thrice-daily what he's actually happy with, which he knows is far more about my worries than his.

I can't believe he's telling me to fuck my best friend.