We fuck because we are fucked. We feel fucked over. Raw. Fucking angry. “Dirty,” she said. One word and a look. Her head tilted slightly down, her eyes looking up at me to make me feel taller. These are not conscious or practiced moments. Everything is instinct.
We had just left a party we were anxious to ditch. A work party. Mostly straight people. Bad appetizers and shitty rum drinks. No one on the dance floor. We left after wandering around and chatting with enough people to be polite. I don’t think we stayed more than half an hour. I hate small talk. I get jumpy. Thank god we didn’t have to stay longer. I never like straight parties, but right now, with the tragedy of the election, I really can’t stand to be in a room full of people like that. White, rich, entitled, and wanting to care about what’s going on but enjoying the comfortable assurance that it doesn’t really affect them. They don’t feel the damage and all the fucked up bullshit that so many of us do. I was angry walking out of there. Hurt and angry.
“Let’s go,” she said and I grabbed her arm as we headed out the door. I felt her move towards the car as we neared it but I tightened my grip and kept walking. I was heading towards the water, the graffiti, the warehouses. I walked quickly, silent, wanting to be in the dark, wanting brick and not this shiny glass and steel that surrounded us. I stopped where it was dark enough, quiet enough. We slipped between two buildings. I put her hands against the wall.
Power. Give me the power in this moment. Let me be bigger, stronger, more capable. Let me position you and shove your legs open with my knee. Let me be in control now, baby. Give it to me.
She’s wearing a fuzzy jacket that I like to pet with my fingers. Her hair is newly cut short, almost too short for me to grab, it slips through my fingers. I want her scalp to come alive and feel me. I pull and tug. She moans and closes her eyes. Her head falls back into my grip. I hold her still, my left arm crooked behind her back, holding her hair while my other hand pets her slowly. I start with my fingertips on her forehead and slowly drag my hand across her face, teasing her lips, scratching a bit at her neck, tracing her collar bone, sliding over and down her tits, grabbing at her belly, shifting over to her hips, her thighs, between her legs, to her ass. “Baby,” I mouth the word into her ear, barely breathing. “Make it dirty,” she tells me.
I slipped my hand under her skirt and pulled the tight fabric over her ass. I pushed her feet further apart. “Back your ass up against me,” I said and pushed my hand between her legs, “Piss on my fingers.”
I waited. I traced a finger against her lace panties, “Soak them,” I said. I felt her hot piss on my cold skin. I heard it splash against the sidewalk. Pulling her panties to the side, I let her feel my hand in the wet stream. I stood behind her, looking down at her heels, my shoes, her bare legs, my trousers, the growing puddle of piss beneath us.
I thought about how cold her cunt must feel. Wet in this cold air. I rubbed my hand inside her thighs, painting her with piss. I wanted her skin to pick up the cold air like an antenna. I wanted to feel her shudder with cold. I kissed her ass and pinched the soft, sweet flesh. Pinching the backs her thighs. Twisting her skin in my fingers until I heard her softly wince.
I pulled her wet panties down to her knees and dragged the back of my hand up inside her thigh until I felt her wet hole and shoved three fingers inside her. I fucked her hard, quickly pumping in and out of her. I bit her ass with quick little nips of my teeth. My fingers. My hands. My mouth. My teeth. That’s all I wanted her to feel of me. Feel me on your ass, your thighs, inside your hole. I wanted her to feel the piss on her legs and the cold brick building that steadied her and feel herself being fucked.
“I’m not going to make you come,” I said, “I want to watch you.” I pulled out of her and grabbed her neck with my wet fingers. “Show me how dirty you are,” I said quietly, “I’m going to hold you still like this while you touch yourself.” I watched her lift a hand off the wall and twist it at the wrist. She was cold and stiff. “Warm your fingers in you mouth,” I said and a hot desire ripped through me as I watched her suck one finger and then another. Slowly. Teasing me. Showing me. My mouth was open. Wanting to taste her. “Do it, baby,” I said, trying to sound demanding but knowing it came out like a plea.
With her fingers warmed, she started to jerk off. I kept my hand on her neck and pushed against her ass. She came before I was ready, before I wanted it to end. “Again,” I said and she nodded. “Again,” she said.
She came two more times before we stepped back to the sidewalk. I pulled her piss soaked panties all the way off before we walked away and carried them hanging from my fingers. They were gone by the time we got to the car. I’d dropped them somewhere and hadn’t noticed with my cold, stiff fingers. “Your panties are gone,” I said, opening the door for her. She just smiled at me. Pleased.
She held her hand on my thigh while I drove us home, petting me. I love the dreamy feeling that comes. We held that dream the whole drive. Held it when we got inside. “Come to bed dirty,” I said. She undressed and climbed under the covers with me. It was a good feeling.
We fuck because we are fucked. Get it while you can. Be more queer. More debauched. Piss on the their front lawns. Fuck in their side streets. I pray for queers to be radical and frightening again. We are not just like everyone else. We are stars. Support all the "others" out there. Fight the bullshit. Take it back. Be bigger.
Photo courtesy of Understanding Flutterby
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