Lucrezia Magazine

I’ll never have another erection again. Conceding that it’s only been four hours since my hard-on deflated, its rigid, ready-to-blow tumescence shattered by a sudden realization and a roll of toilet paper; maybe I’m being a little dramatic. But still, this isn’t just a case of blue balls. This is deeper, like a Patsy Cline song, or a railroad spike forged from downers shoved ramrod up my ass. This has to do with reciprocation. Yeah, I know. Women, since the dawn of time, will tell you all about their lackluster love lives, going on and on about how their husbands abandon them right after their moment of bliss, or roll over and fall asleep. And then there are the premature ejaculators.

But I submit, we are gay men – owning the same equipment as our bedfellows – we should know better. I’m not saying every guy in the world should “give up the pink” for their lover, fuck-buddies, tricks or one-night-stands, but once you’ve gotten off you should at least put a little effort into getting the other guy off! Otherwise we’re no better than a heard of breeder males.

Since I’m on this subject – and I wouldn’t be on it unless I had something fresh on my mind – let me illuminate and ruminate. Today I made the hour trek up to Pittsburgh to see (get fucked by) my ex-boyfriend. We’ll call him Dax. I arrived in town on time and gave him a ring, so he knew I was in range, so he could scoot away out of sight of his current boyfriend. (A very long and boring story) But instead I got pushed back –brushed off – for an hour. Which was fine, I had bookstores I’d wanted to go to. (No, not those kinds of bookstores, that’s what the Internet’s for, perverts!)

But then he called and it was pushed back again, this time another hour and a half. I hadn’t jerked off in three days, and with the price of gas I wasn’t just going to say fuck it and drive back home without getting what I’d come for: an ass full of cock and my balls drained of their ooey-gooey centers. But by this time, he was half an hour late calling me back. I was seriously contemplating cutting my losses and jerking off to some streaming Internet porn.

He showed up – with some old guy in the truck with him. The old guy was some electrical inspector, a recently added friend of his, and we were driving him all the way to the other side of Pittsburgh, and dropping him at his home. This was rush hour and I was stuck for another hour with those two, wishing I’d just turned the ignition over on my truck and driven home. By this time I was also getting hungry, and I had to piss. One of which was robbing me of strength whilst the other was making me hard as hell, again.

Once the old guy was dropped off I thought we’d be headed back to his place to fuck, but somehow we ended up at an Enterprise rental car agency, where a twenty-something girl drove us across town (in yet another wrong direction) to go pick up Dax’s truck. I’d been so thrown off by my mounting lust and the appearance of the old guy that I hadn’t realized we weren’t riding around in his usual Silverado, but in a Dodge.

There was gas to be bought, to halfway fill up the rental truck, and my ex-boyfriend handed me his gas card and said seventeen bucks, and disappeared around the corner to pick up his Silverado. Well, seventeen bucks of fuel didn’t do the trick, and since he’d said half a tank and left the card with me, I kept filling the tank until it was half full, which was more like thirty dollars.

The Enterprise girl headed back to the home office and Dax showed up about three minutes later with his truck, and that’s when all hell broke loose. He was screaming profanities at me, and at the now absent Enterprise girl. This side of him I didn’t miss in the least, and truth be told it was why I preferred just having sex with him, long ago forgoing stay-overs or visits. The bickering between Dax and his boyfriend, and the sneaking around that would ensue over the span of two days would turn anyone’s stomach.

Well, I got real quiet, but it wasn’t hurt or scared that I was feeling – I was getting pissed. Somehow he divined this by my blank stare (people have lately taken to calling it my serial killer gaze – it’s when I’m past mother-fucking you and instead thinking about fun things to do with your corpse) and quickly changed the subject. He was even trying to joke about it. “I’m not mad at you, though, BAD BOY! No dick for you. I’m sending you to bed without!” And just when I thought we were finally heading back to our rendezvous spot, to fuck, we’re suddenly pulling up in front of Enterprise, again.

I walked across the street to a BP station to buy a pack of smokes – I’d quit months ago – and a lighter. Then I stood looking over at him giving the manager of the place hell and getting his gas money back. I thought long and hard about calling for a taxi and getting my own ass back to my truck and then home. But I finally walked back across the street and got back in Dax’s truck. By then Dax was happy, his refunded cash in hand, and he reached over and gave my dick a hard squeeze.

“I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you,” he purred.

Twenty minutes later we were finally back at the house, in the bedroom, naked, I’d sucked his cock, licked his balls, and dove tongue first into his particularly sweet, tight ass. Then he flipped me over on my stomach, and without a bit of spit or lube pushed not too slowly right on into me. This is the part I loved the most, what I live for – that laying bare of me, ripping me apart. He fucked me for a nice long stretch and finally shot his load up my ass. Politically correct or not, It’s how we do it. That’s when I suddenly got that hit in the balls with the reality thing. I usually don’t care that once it’s over it’s over.