The Dock

The air was finally cooling, but the wide planks of the dock still felt warm beneath my feet when we emerged from the lake. We both flopped down on our towels, not bothering to dry off right away. The air was still and soft, but the mosquitoes were blissfully few. We lay staring at the stars, savouring the peace of having the dock to ourselves.

"Do we submit to the dock inertia and lie here for hours, or are we hungry enough to go to the pub?" asked Daniel, idly.

"This is a very comfortable dock," I replied. "And I'm so sorry you didn't have the foresight to eat a large dinner. There's a chocolate bar in my handbag."

"Right." Daniel groped towards my handbag. "I thought you were abstaining from chocolate?"

"No that was last month, and it wasn't just chocolate, it was all stimulants."

"And how did that go?"

"You read my blog. You know how it went." A few months ago I'd started a Blog of Denial - every month I picked some aspect of life to go without. So far I'd done sugar, alcohol, and stimulants. I was trying to figure out how to structure "sleep" and "food", but I had another target for my abstinence this month.

He looked at me. "And you put everything in the blog? Even the things you deem boring or unrelated?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I obviously wasn't hooked on stimulants nearly enough to make going off them exciting. I barely even got a caffeine headache, and then my sleep didn't even get significantly better. It was just a bit harder to make myself get up and do workouts in the mornings. That was all in there."

"But no other effects? You never talked about your mood."

"Did you notice I was grumpy or something?"

"I barely saw you last month. I thought you might have been avoiding me because you were cross or something."

I smiled at him. "Usually doing things with you helps me be less grumpy. I was busy."

"Ah. So what is this month's denial?"

I was grateful that the moonlight wouldn't show the flush on my face. "Sexual pleasure."

Even in the dark I could see his eyebrows shoot up. "Are you dating someone? That seems unfortunate for him." I laughed. "No, I'm not seeing anyone. But I don't mean just abstaining from sex. My lifestyle at the moment does that for me, that's not even hard. I mean abstaining from all sexual pleasure. The self-inflicted kind, too."

"Oh I see," he said. "And how is that going?"

"Uneventfully, so far," I said ruefully. "I stopped reading anything close to erotica, I haven't been riding my bike, I go for a run almost every evening, and it hasn't been hard at all. This blog entry will probably be about as exciting as the no-stimulants one."

"Well, you're not approaching it with the same zeal as you did the no-alcohol and no-sugar months," Daniel pointed out.

"Are you saying I'm doing extreme chastity wrong?" I laughed. "You are SUCH a critic!"

"Look, when you were off alcohol, you still came with me to the pub," Daniel started. "And when you were off sugar, you baked things for your office party, and made jam. I saw how hard that was for you. I remember you looking at my beer, with such longing in your eyes. It was delightful. That was real deprivation."

"Oh yes, I remember the relish with which you drank those beers. You enjoyed that."

He grinned. "I was helping you with your experiment, contributing to the performance art of your blog, or however you like to see it. The point is, you don't experience deprivation unless you're being deprived of something you actually want. You can't deprive a vegetarian of bacon. It's easy to abstain from alcohol if you clear out your liquor cabinet and stay out of the pub. It's much less easy when you have to watch someone swig a delicious IPA and then describe it to you, whilst you sip club soda."

"Yes?" I said. I wasn't sure of where this was heading. Part of why I'd come to the lake with Daniel tonight was that he was safe for my current project. I'd been in love with him for years, but I knew he wasn't attracted to me, and my frustration over that had subsided to a non-physical, gentle yearning that was just a constant undertone in my soul. I could swim naked with him, enjoy it in a purely tactile way, and go home and go to sleep - no expectations of anything remotely sexual, and, unlike my female friends, Daniel didn't ever want to discuss sexual exploits during and after a swim.

But right then, he was just looking at me, in his quiet, intense kind of "how are you not seeing the obvious thing here" way. I hated when he looked at me like that, expecting intelligence on my part, while I just wanted to gaze into his eyes and lose myself there. "What?" I asked impatiently.

He smiled. There was something a little off in his smile. "I just think, if you're going to deny yourself properly, you have to be denying something you actively want."

"But - how? I don't even have a crush on anyone, currently." Mostly true - what I felt for Daniel went well beyond a crush, but it was also not really obsessive. "Are you saying I should go out to bars and hit on guys? Go on dates when I know damn well I won't sleep with them? That seems unnecessarily cruel. And also, I probably wouldn't be able to pretend to be interested in them."

"That wasn't what I was thinking, no," he said. "What if you were presented with a situation in which you really wanted to be aroused? Or at least, in which you couldn't help it."

I wasn't following. "What, like put on a porn flick just to torment myself? I think I can watch stuff like that objectively. Ditto for erotica. If I know I can't get myself off afterwards, I'm not even going to get into reading it. I'll just go all literary-editor on it."

"And no doubt you would do an excellent job of that," he said, only a bit patronizingly. "But what about something more real?" He was still looking right into my eyes. Somehow we were lying closer together than we normally did. I suddenly became aware of that, and that our hands were close, almost touching. And then my heart tried to launch itself out of my chest as he brushed his fingers over mine.

"Oh." Sweet mother of - what the fuck. "Oh, you wouldn't."

"Would this not help your project?" His fingers were brushing up my arm. He lowered his voice. "And is this not something you want?"

He knew, the bastard, he knew all along how I felt, and he hadn't done anything until now? Damn him ...he was right, it was perfect, and it was horrible, and I wanted to kick him in the nuts and...fuck. I tried to salvage control. "I..." My voice was shaking. I took a breath. If he knew, there was no point being anything less than honest. "I do want this. Of course I do. But it's too... It wouldn't be just sex, with you. Can we postpone? Rain check?"

I knew even as I said it what his answer would be. "Of course it's not just sex. That's why it will work." He gave a little shrug, looking tense. "I have been aware that you seemed to want me."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't - my voice wasn't working. "And you must have known that for some reason, you weren't to my taste. Have you never wondered what my tastes are? Did my enjoyment, watching you, watching me drink beer when you couldn't... did that teach you nothing?"

His eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "This will be incredible fodder for that blog of yours. It will be excruciatingly uncomfortable for you. And you will want it, and you will want to drag it out as long as you can, because it's almost right, isn't it?" He was getting more animated, more excited. This was - weird. "I like you a lot, as a friend, when you're your usual, buoyant, self-assured, hedonistic self. And I think you're very pretty. Do I want you like that? No." He looked at me in a way that he'd never looked at me before. Hungry.

Then he smiled, and it wasn't entirely a pleasant smile. "But if you're going want to be helpless and tortured...well." Even in the darkness I could see that his pupils were dilated.

"Holy shit," I breathed. "You're a fucking sadist." Suddenly a great many small things made a lot more sense. His occasionally cruel sense of humour. His obvious attraction to damaged women. His distaste for happy-ending movies. His frequent delight - and skill - in office politics.

"I'm not a physical sadist. That's too easy. And this is not something I ordinarily get to indulge in, because I like to think I'm not an asshole. But - yes. The thought of touching you and not letting you have any satisfaction and you agreeing to that -"

"That's a self-imposed restriction. How do you know I won't abandon it?"

"Oh, I wouldn't let you throw away such a perfect opportunity to explore sexual denial. That wouldn't be kind of me, would it?" He paused. "And now you know what I want. Would you deny me?"

No, of course I wouldn't. This was all kinds of wrong, but the desire to please him - in that way - was a visceral ache, now. My mind was reeling, but my body was responding. For so long I'd wanted his touch, and now his fingers were running up my arm and trailing slowly down my side, over the curve of my hip. His lips were on mine, gently at first, then more insistently. I kissed him back, eagerly, and he responded. Very enthusiastically. He was kissing me harder than I liked, but I couldn't bring myself to push away or stop him.

And - he was right: I didn't want him to stop. It wasn't just that his hand had found my breast and was carefully pinching my nipple until I squirmed - wasn't that his mouth had moved to my neck and his kisses turned to gentle bites, sending shards of pleasure down between my legs. I wanted to give this to him. I wanted to make him happy. I could suffer for that.

I arched my back and moaned and he stopped immediately, murmuring something about not being too exciting. "No, please," I heard myself begging.

His lips curved against my neck in a smile. "So you do want me to continue?"

"Yes. Fuck. Damn you. Why can't you be normal?"

His fingers slid down my abdomen, then down my leg, well past where I wanted them to be. He rested his hand on my inner thigh, brushing up and down, never quite reaching my now-wet pussy. I was terrified, thinking it through. I had never wanted anyone so badly, for so long - but he had promised not to let me climax. Could I even handle that? What if I lost my shit completely?

His teeth nipped my earlobe. "Normal is dull." His voice was quiet; it always turned me on a bit, but now it slid almost physically into my mind. "How many times have you said that? You wouldn't even like me if I were normal. You wouldn't be interested in me at all."

I hated that he was right. But my annoyance transferred to what he was doing with his hand on my leg. Each stroke up came infinitesimally closer to my lips, to the wetness there that longed to be touched. Further up, but never quite there. Meanwhile his mouth moved down my neck, across my chest. His lips found my breast and then I felt his teeth on my nipple, gently nibbling. "Mmmm" he murmured. "I think this is not quite how you like it, though." He drew more of my breast into his mouth and thrust his tongue roughly over the areola. At the same time the hand that had been stroking my thigh slid confidently upwards into my slick wetness, his strong thumb pushing against my clit. I gasped and almost came then. "Oh yes," he murmured. "There we go." And then he stopped, and simply looked at me.

I reached for him instinctively, my body craving his touch already, the absence of it almost painful. He drew back slightly. "And how is that?"

I couldn't speak. I reached again for him, wanting to touch his erect cock, which I noticed for the first time. It was thick and delicious looking, practically begging me to wrap my hand around it. Daniel grabbed my hand and moved it behind my back. "No."

"But..."

"You don't get to give, here." He looked at me almost gently. "I know you. I know you probably get as much pleasure from pleasing your partner as you receive from him. But we're not doing that tonight. I'm going to take, but you're not going to give. Not willingly."

I think I whimpered. "What - " He put his hand over my mouth. I could smell myself on him, and I wanted more. I didn't care, anymore, what was going to happen. I just wanted his hands on me, his mouth on me. I wanted his cock inside me. I wanted as much of him as I could get and I would do what he asked, so long as he didn't stop.

I think he saw my capitulation then. His hand snaked around to the back of my neck and he pulled me toward him, kissing me hard again, his tongue pushing past my lips, sweeping against mine, exploring my mouth. He lay on top of me, his erection pushing against my thigh, his weight holding me down. His hand grabbed my ass, then slid up and cupped my breast before squeezing it. Then his mouth was sliding down my body again, first to one breast, then the other, then he was trailing his tongue across my stomach, swirling around my belly button, and then lower, lower...

He took forever to get there. I never knew how exquisite kisses on my belly could feel. Exquisite and insufficient. I felt every kiss like a brand and longed for more. His mouth traveled down and then up again, back to my breasts. I almost came from him sucking hard on my nipples, but he knew. He knew every time I was close, and he backed off, kissed my shoulder, my ribs, my belly...

And then finally, after what seemed like hours, his tongue - his surprisingly strong, supple tongue - was running over my clit, licking not quite hard enough, then sliding between my lips into me, then out again, and over my clit, then down again. I couldn't bear it, it was so good, but not enough, just barely not enough. I was panting, twisting, trying to get more pressure, more sensation. Daniel pulled back, grinning. "You ARE having a time of it, aren't you?"

"Please" was all I could say. My dignity-preserving mechanisms were gone. All I wanted was him, in my pussy. I didn't care which parts of him. I needed him more than oxygen, right then. He slid back down, his tongue teasing in and out of me and around my throbbing clit. My nerves started to fail, and I began to lose feeling. Sensing this, he sat back on his heels and looked at me. "Don't give up on me now," he said. "There's plenty more to come." His strong hands pulled me towards him. "I wonder if you can handle me inside you, a little."

"Oh, yes. Yes. Please, please," I hated the pleading tone in my voice but I said it anyway. It was a small price to pay. He pulled my hips partway up his legs, then angled his cock with his hand and pushed into me, careful to avoid my swollen clit. I was so wet there was barely any resistance despite his girth. But I could feel him - oh, how I could feel him, stretching me so beautifully. And oh, how I wanted him to lean forward into me, to push himself all the way in so the root of his cock would rock against my clit and send me over the edge into what would have been an orgasm to end all orgasms. But of course he didn't. He slid in only a few inches, then out, slowly, over and over, those few delicious inches. Despite the limited pressure I could feel every millimetre of every stroke, and I felt my pussy start to clench around him. I love my body, I thought. I was going to come anyway. I would come from just that little bit of him. He was so underestimating the power of my arousal. Everything inside me tightened up, preparing for release. And then his cock was gone, and he was sitting back again, a wondering smile on his face. "You are something else," he said, shaking his head. "That won't do, at all."

I stared at him, too dazed to even whimper. I shook my head. "No" I whispered. "No don't."

"Get up," he said. "Kneel here."

I knew what he wanted. I knew because I'd told him, long ago, that I didn't particularly like giving blow jobs, and it was now apparent that there was no way he'd conveniently forgotten. But I would do it, I would do it gladly just so I could keep him inside me, somehow.

I knelt before him, his cock level with my face. "This is how we have to finish this," he said, almost regretfully. I was torn between the raging, still on-the-edge feeling of almost—orgasm, and the desire to give him pleasure, to let him release. I took his cock in my mouth, sucking him further in than I'd thought myself capable, letting him thrust into me, trying to feel it in my whole body, and failing miserably. He took my face in his hands and part of me rejoiced at the gentleness of that touch, while the rest of me screamed in protest. I wanted him to come. I wanted it to never end. I wanted just to hold him, and damn it, I wanted him to like that and I wanted him to take me in his arms and hold me. But as I heard his breath grow ragged, and as he thrust into my aching mouth, his cock hardening more, I realized that he would never be what I needed. I would always long for him to touch me with love and he would only take joy in my pain. My heart broke then, finally, and tears streamed out of my eyes as my mouth still held his pumping cock.

He moaned in surprise and came hard, as my hot tears slid over his hands, tangible tracks of my despair. I dutifully gulped and swallowed. Then I collapsed, curling into a ball, trying desperately not to cry aloud. My arousal hadn't abated. I still craved touch between my legs, but I no longer wanted to come. That release seemed wrong, now. I was in pain, and I had to stay that way.

After a minute, Daniel gently pulled me up to my knees. He held me by my shoulders. I couldn't look at him. I stared down at the dock and the towel bunched up beneath me. He bent his head, and kissed me gently on my forehead. "Thank you."

Then he said nothing more, and started to get dressed. After a minute or two, I did the same.

We were silent until we were ready to go. He looked at me. I don't know what I looked like, then. A mess, probably, a haunted, tortured mess. He gave me a crooked grin. "Shall we head to the pub then?"

I probably shouldn't have hit him. I had known what I was getting into, and yes, I had wanted it. But that right hook was exactly the kind of satisfying I needed, then. And I knew as it landed that I would survive him. The rueful grin he gave me after, and the knowing look, said that he had never doubted that. He had fully expected the punch. I realized that in his own weird way he loved me, that I was the only person in the world who could have done that for him.

It wasn't what I wanted. But it would have to be enough.