Sexy by proxy

Originally published on June 6, 2007.

After a drunken night at Pinocchio I came home to find Arssi watching TV. We drank a couple beers together and went to bed.

I figured I’d just brush him off when he rolled over on top of me to perform his domestic duties. However, he’s gotten so good at getting me hard — seriously working over my nipples and lightly punching me, all while laughing the whole time, as well as biting my lips and deep-tonguing — that I figured I’d let him play with me for a while and then call it quits.

I got hard, really hard, and felt him up to see if there was any reaction. Nuthin’. He suggested we get some Nivea so he could finish me off. It felt good; he massaged my balls and played with my asshole but, again, I couldn’t come.

That is, until I began fantasizing about Marek. About Marek fucking me. About kissing me. About the times when he really got into it. About his coming in my mouth.

(I remember one night when I had declined to let that happen, Marek was pissed and wanted to know just exactly what was wrong that he couldn’t come in my mouth! His indignation made me laugh, which just annoyed him more.)

My dick in Arssi’s fist, I came thinking about Marek. There seems to be no other way for me at the moment. Pathetic and somehow humiliating.

I’ve never had to fantasize about someone else while having sex, though I’ve heard it’s a common enough strategy. I’ve never had to, or perhaps I just decided to appreciate those less-than-explosive experiences for what they were rather than what they weren’t.

Sex by proxy. I’ll have to settle for that for now.

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