The Parade Pt. 03

"M-Ah-me! I-I am!," I whine out and He cums hard, shuddering between my thighs. My toes curl. That same wicked smile crosses his lips again and he stops me, panting "Not. Any. more" in victory over conquering me. It takes less than a second for it to click, for me to realize he's right, but I grab at him and pull him close.

I need his kisses.

My pussy is throbbing but I can't let him go.

Can't let him pull out.

Just stay inside me.

Tears of relief form but I can't stop kissing his lips.

'I'm not His straight boy,' the thought flutters through my sex addled mind like a leaf in the wind, 'But I'm His.'

*****

I've got what few belongings I have in a grand total of 6 boxes.

Clothes.

Laptop.

Phone chargers.

Shower stuff.

Buttplug and douche.

I know I can't stay here anymore. Not after what I did to T. And I'm worried about her only it's in retrospect I grasp how cruel it was for her to find out like that. I'm not proud. I'm exhausted and sore all over but this needs to get done. When He left yesterday evening, I answered a craigslist ad looking for a sublet.

West Harlem so my commute to work will be about the same.

Two months, I'll figure out my next step after I get settled in.

The leaseholder is gonna give me the keys when I get there.

It's what best; I can't possibly stay with Him. Don't even know his name yet.

Now riding in the van cab with my few boxes, I keep checking my phone. Twenty texts in the past twelve hours. I texted her "I can never be sorry enough" and "I'll have my things out by tonight. It's not fair of me to stay" and "Please stay safe. I do love you."

Perhaps that last bit isn't fair either. If I loved her, I wouldn't have let what happened happen.

She hasn't responded but I've seen the ellipses pop up several times. At the very least she's seen the texts. She's somewhere. Probably her sister's.

Like a ghost I pass, ethereal, distant. I barely even register getting the keys and hauling my junk up the three flights, only really having it sink in as I sit up on the provided single mattress. Boxes half opened, used tape littering the floor still, a new text comes in.

Him.

"You sure you don't need help?"

Considerate, all things considered.

I fire back "Yeah, I'm all set."

"Come over when your done," he texts but quickly follows up with a corrective text, "you're*"

"Yes," I answer with the air of conviction he definitely wants from me but my true self is a somber one at present for obvious reasons. I mean, I will see him tonight no matter what. That's a given. My post sex brain though is still reeling from the fallout of yesterday.

But there's no going back.

Intentional or not, I chose this.

Tearing open the last box and rummaging through the pile of laundry inside, I pull out a security box and sit it on my bed. Unlocking it and ignoring the passport, tax documents, and photos, I take the soft cotton addition in hand and lie back.

Her used underwear.

Longing, hollowed out, I take a deep huff of it, her scent, and close my eyes.

But I can't even imagine sex with her.

It's just Him now, making love to me while I watch through the leg holes.

And in lieu of shame, I'm just hard again.