Get It Harder

I don’t get to jerk off again until I write this down. Rules. I am typing as fast as I can.

I pushed my chair back from the table and closed my eyes. “Make a wish,” she told me. I could smell burnt sugar mixed with smoke from the blown out candles. The words came out shaking. What I wanted. She put her fingers on my lips, “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to say any more.”

I heard her pull her chair next to me and I squeezed my eyes more tightly shut. I would not open them. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see us right there at the table with the dirty dishes and the cake. I was already lost inside my head. A boy getting hard in his pants. Always getting hard. Never at the right time. Always getting caught on the bus or standing in line. Always.

She put a hand on my thigh and pressed her lips to my ear, “What’s that?” I jumped a little at the jolt. How real I felt. My dick twitching in my pants. She flicked it hard with a snap of her fingers, “Did I give you a boner?” I covered my lap with my hands and she grabbed my wrists, dragging my hands across my growing hard-on. “I want to see it,” she whispered, “I stare at you sometimes. I see it all the time.”

She lifted my right arm up and placed my hand on my belt, stroking my fingers until I did what she wanted. I unhooked my belt buckle. Leaned  my head back. Felt my neck stiffen. My eyes still squeezed shut tight.

I reached both hands into my pants. I pulled hard. She moved. I felt her lean over me. She pulled my pants more open and shimmied them down, making me shift in my chair. I felt myself exposed. My hands in my underwear. My thighs strapped together by my pants.

“You’re not hard enough,” she said, sounding surprised. “You couldn’t keep that soft dick inside me,” she laughed, “Get it harder.”

I worked my fingers. My hands. I pulled until it hurt. She kept talking, “No, baby. Are you scared? Do I make you nervous?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t say a word. I felt the sweat in my armpits and on my chest. I pulled harder and grunted my frustration, my self loathing, my disappointment in myself. I know I’m not good enough for her to fuck. I know it. Not good enough for any of these girls. They laugh when they catch me staring. I’m always staring.

“I want to put it inside me,” she said, “but I need you hard. I need more than that, baby.” Her tone was half encouraging, half annoyed. I worked harder. I wanted her on me. I imagined her thighs wrapped around me. Her hands on my shoulders. Smelling her sweet breath in my face. Feeling her pussy squeezed around me. My hands on her hips. Or her tits. The lace of her bra on the backs of my hands, cupping her soft breasts. Feeling a girl. Feeling her.

“Let me help you,” she said and scratched her nails against my thigh. Then I felt her hand on the back of mine. I felt it through my underwear. She rubbed my hand. My hand pumped up and down. Squeezing. Pulling. My muscles started to burn. She kissed my forehead. “You’re going to come for me just like this,” she said, “Come in your underwear. I want to see it.”

I jerked my hand back and forth. So close. I was so close. The front legs of my chair kicked back and she caught me. “Next time,” she said, “Maybe next time you’ll be ready for me.” I curled over my thighs, coming so hard. I lost my breath for a moment and felt dizzy.

“You’re sweet,” she said and shifted off her seat to the floor. She rested her head in my lap. We sat there like that while I calmed down.

When I opened my eyes the sun had gone down and we ate the whole cake between us in the dark.

Queerotica: Inside the Mind of BD Swain – Reprobait Magazine

I really enjoyed doing this interview. Great questions that made me think about my writing. Thank you, Fran & Reprobait Magazine.

Queerotica: Inside the Mind of BD Swain – Reprobait Magazine

Not Fade Away

My back was slicked with sweat in an instant. My soft undershirt stuck to my ribs as I twisted to look over my right shoulder. ”Shit,” I muttered under my breath, the word stretching out long. I steadied myself and eased the clutch in again. The stick shift moved a few centimeters and stuck fast. I heard my own voice in my head, sweet soothing tones telling me to just relax. Take it easy. I can do this. I depressed the clutch twice, let it settle, and eased the car smoothly into reverse. “Finally,” I breathed, “Fuck.” I parked on this busy little block and looked around furtively hoping no one was watching. But of course someone was.

I smiled and blushed hard. I saw her eyes trace the sizeable distance between my wheels and the curb. She flashed me an okay sign with her hand and laughed. “Not bad really,” she said, laughing, as I climbed out. “Hey,” I said, “She’s new to me, this car.” She stopped laughing and smiled, asking “What the hell is it?” I grinned at my little car, patting the hood. “It’s mine. That’s what it is.” I stared at her. The day had been warm but it was starting to cool off a little in the afternoon. She was wearing a simple green cotton shirt with a wide scoop neck, nearly off her shoulders and a thin black skirt that hugged her hips, hitting a few inches above her knees. I smiled at her boots. Thick, tall motorcycle boots. She looked sexy without seeming like she cared about it that much. She looked good. I got hot looking at her muscled thighs as she leaned over to look through the back window. I saw the dimpled backs of her knees and felt a rush that made me clench and unclench my fingers. “Let’s go,” I thought, “Let’s see what happens.”

Listen, I need to tell you something. It’s part of the story. Cars are sexy. I mean, they’re supposed to be sexy. But these modern cars? They’re boring as hell. Plastic bumpers you can poke with your finger that pop back out at you. Dull looking things with room for kids. Safe and relatively quiet with stereos and bluetooth and compartments everywhere including the ceiling. Electric everything. A million ways for something to break. Push button ignitions. A front seat so wide you have to lean way over to grab your date’s thigh, a giant box for storing more shit sits there like a fucking wall between the two of you. It’s no good. Comfortable maybe, but no good. I had one of these comfortable cars but I threw it over for something that feels real. Something I can get my hands dirty with. I’d only had it a few weeks and I was still learning its quirks. Learning how to close the driver’s door just right. Learning how to adjust the choke when I start it up. How I have to feel for it based on how cold the morning is. Learning how a car like this changes everything.

I can’t say I knew what I was doing when I bought it. I didn’t. Honestly, I had no idea what I was getting into. Well, that’s not exactly true. I’d dreamed about it. Fantasized. I stared at every vintage car I passed on the streets. Craning my neck to get a better look. I peered in their windows. Beautiful or beat up, I didn’t care. I’d thought about buying my own but it seemed like a crazy idea. Something stupid stuck in my head but not real. The idea felt completely impotent even as I crawled through the for sale ads every week.

It was dumb luck that I found this car. My car. This crazy, little car. It’s a good foot shorter than me and I’m not a tall butch. It wasn’t one of those stylish muscle cars I always drooled over. It wasn’t that beautiful Detroit design, American steel. This car is small. The smallest car in town with an air cooled 600cc engine like a motorcycle and wheels that would look about right on a go-cart. It’s not beautiful but it’s sexy. And I get to talk to a lot of strangers, even if they start out laughing.

She laughed. I don’t blame her. I was stuck in the road trying to parallel park with the gear refusing to slip into reverse. She’d watched the whole messy job. I explained the problem to her as I opened the passenger door to let her take a look inside. “I’ve been figuring it out,” I said, “Reading about it. There’s something different with reverse. Sometimes you have to push the clutch in a couple times before the gears line up right. I’ve only had it a couple weeks so I’m still getting the feel of it.” She reached one arm out to the driver’s side and ran her fingers over the wooden steering wheel. “I like this,” she said, “The wood.” “Yeah,” I nodded, “It’s real smooth.”

I smiled and leaned over her with one hand on the passenger door and the other on the hot metal roof, trapping her there inside the car with my arms outstretched. My chest hovered above her face. I ducked my head down to look at her, “You want a ride? You want to feel it?” I saw her blush at the words. It’s magic the way a car lets you talk to a girl like you’re asking if she wants to fuck. Or let’s be honest, the way a car let’s you ask a girl if she wants to fuck without being explicit. She nodded, her mouth held open but not saying anything. “Let’s go!” I laughed and tossed the keys into the air, catching them again in the palm of my hand as I walked around the front of the car. That bounce in my step. Queer. Butch. Loaded dice.

I rapped my knuckle on the driver’s side, pointing her to the door handle. “Driver’s door sticks,” I yelled through the glass. She leaned over, aware of her body and the angle this put her in, shifting her neck so I could see her tits cupping over the edge of her bra as she opened the door from the inside. “Thanks,” I said, grinning as I slid behind the wheel. Starting up, the car enveloped us with its sweet, low rumble. We shook in the low, vinyl seats. It’s a four speed manual – a dash shifter – beautiful. I take the spindly stick shift in my hand. Gentle. I touch the knob with just the tips of my fingers, guiding it into gear with a light touch. You don’t ever force it.

I love knowing how it all works. Knowing that I push in the clutch to separate the gears, still spinning. Knowing how to glide the gear shift quickly into place, bringing the gears back together, everything still moving. Easing smoothly off the clutch with my left foot while my right lightly touches the throttle. The engine revs up and you’re off. 

You don’t drive this car fast. You can, but it’s unnecessary. I reach my left hand low and crank my window down. She giggles next to me, “Oh my god, you crank the windows!” Everyone who’s ridden with me has a moment where they remember their childhood. Sitting next to their dad, rolling down the window, feeling the hot air outside blow by and stir a breeze that felt almost cool on their face. She savored the lever in her hand. Rolled the window all the way down and ran her hand slowly over the frame, her fingers touching the outside of the door, her thumb on the interior. 

She’s looking around. We’re not talking. We’d have to shout over the noise anyway. She grins at the people staring. Waves back at little kids on the sidewalk. I feel her eyes on me. I feel cocky. I know I look sharp today. My hair freshly cut. A thick wave in my hair slicked back with pomade, sides tight. I’ve got on a crisp white short-sleeved button down with my jeans. The tattoos on my forearms look a deep black, almost shiny. I let her stare at me and then smile knowingly before I turn my head to look at her and nod. An acknowledgement. I look her slowly up and down and then nod towards her lap. “Your seat belt,” I shout over the engine, “You might want to put it on.” She’s reaches around trying to figure out where the belt is and then struggles to get it on right. “It’s like an airplane belt,” I explain. She figures it out. Cinching it tight across her lap. Adjusting it. She runs her fingers across the dash. Pulls out the lighter. Flips open the ashtray. Cranes her neck to look into the back seat. “I love it,” she says. I just nod and keep driving.

I drive her down the wide streets in the industrial part of town. I wind my way down towards the water, the shipping yards. We pass the idling trucks. At a stop sign, one of the truck drivers yells down to tell us he likes the car. She nods and waves up at him. Looks over at me. Happy. I drive us to an old abandoned park I know. The parking lot is bigger than it ever needed to be by far. It’s a terrible place for a park, out in the middle of nowhere with too many diesel fumes from the trucks that sit idling all along this stretch.

I turn to her, my head tilted down, looking at her from under my lashes. This is how I ask. My eyebrows raised, inquiring. I think we can have some fun. I’m grinning at her, waiting. She looks at the park ahead and gives me a look like she’s the kind of girl who always takes a dare. We’re both grinning now. “Well, alright,” I laughed and she eased back into her seat, reaching her hand across to my shoulder and turned her head to look out the window. I flick the right turn signal on and slow a little as I turn into the lot. This is when it feels real to me. Not the flirting. Not the asking. But the point where you’re looking to land. Finding that place to park, walking into an apartment, easing out the back door somewhere. That’s when my cheeks burn and my hands feel thicker. 

I drive deep into the lot. Back towards an old abandoned cement platform with generic looking Greek columns in a half circle. There is no shady spot. There is no clump of trees. There’s stiff looking grass covered in goose shit, the smelly edge of the bay, a few unwelcoming stone benches, and the two of us in my car. I lean over to kiss her at the same time my hand touches the key in the ignition to turn it off. My mouth is on hers before the sudden silence hits us. This old car is so loud. My ears ring a little when the motor shuts off. She’s still leaning back, quietly at ease. I curve my palm around the back of her neck and squeeze, kissing her hard. Her tongue feels lazy in my mouth. That seems right.

We kiss like this. I touch her. I hold my hands up to her cheeks and slowly trace my fingers down her neck, across her shoulders, down her arms, past her elbows and right past the tips of her fingers to her thighs, stopping to unbuckle her seatbelt. I pushed my hands between her knees and pulled her legs a little more open. She slid down in her seat, pushing her pussy towards me. I can see the light color of her panties beneath her skirt but stop before I get ahead of myself and move my hands over her skirt and around to her ass. My hands moved to the small of her back. I gripped her with the tips of my fingers, dragging them back up to her shoulder blades and moving my mouth to her jaw. I opened my mouth wide and pressed into her with my teeth until I felt bone push back against me. Not too hard a bite, just a firm squeeze. Sucking my way down her neck to her collarbone. Slow and lazy. Making out as the car heated up in the sun. She licked beads of sweat off her upper lip and I kissed her mouth again.

“Touch me,” I whispered and pulled her hands to my chest, dragging her fingers across my tits. The feel of her through my shirt cut into me with a sharp pain of desire. I felt my cunt open for this and it made me grab her wrists. “Push up your skirt,” I said and my throat caught on the words. “Fuck,” I said and pushed her hands to her lap, “Let me see you,” I groaned. I was up on my knees by now and curved over her, trying to find a way to fuck her. The seats don’t lean back. It’s not a cramped space, but it’s tight. I could get my hand between her legs but my elbow would smack into the glove box if I really wanted to fuck her. And I wanted to really fuck.

She pulled on my hands, pushing my fingers against her pussy and pulling aside her thin cotton panties. She dragged my fingers through her wet lips. Her face looked angry. Her eyes were closed, screwed up tight. She growled low in her throat. “Fuck me,” she said, spitting the words through clenched teeth. “God damn it,” I yelled and opened my door. I grabbed her thighs and swung her around, pulling at her so she laid down across the front seat before I crawled back into the car, hovering over her. I pushed her knees wider apart, kneeling between them and squeezed her thighs before moving my fingers to her pussy. I wanted to be deep inside her. She was on her back, her arms raised up above her head and draped out the open window behind her. I stared down at her hips and watched, entranced, as she humped the air below me. I watched her stomach clench with each thrust. I held my shaking hand just above her pussy. Watching her rise in waves to find me. “I’m right here,” I whispered, not to comfort her but to tease.

“Fuck me,” she yelled and reached over to hit my chest with a balled up fist. I stared down at her. Spit hanging off my lower lip. Sweat stinging my eyes. I stared and smiled while I pushed the heel of my hand against her clit. Smashing into her. “Fuck me,” she yelled again, hitting me harder. She hit me a few more times. I was grinding my hand against her clit, the meatiest part of my palm, barely feeling her. When she swung again for my chest, I whipped my left hand forward and caught her wrist. “No,” I said, “I’m taking it slow.” I bent over her and sucked her lower lip into my mouth. She gave me her tongue, deep in my mouth and I sucked and sucked. I kept my palm cupped over her. Kept grinding against her clit and sliding my whole hand down between her legs. Her hole opened up for me. I felt it against my palm. I wanted her like that. I wanted her pussy to grab at me and pull my fingers inside her. I wanted to feel her pussy open and then tightly grip around my knuckles. 

I steadied myself with a hand on the dash and pushed three fingers inside her. She swung her hands down to meet me and tugged at my wrist, pulling me deeper in and holding me there. I let my weight sink on top of her. My thighs fell on hers. She pushed up against me, my fingers still inside her. “Take it from me,” I said, “I want to feel you come and take it.” She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pulled her knees up. I heard her leg knock against the steering wheel behind me. She pulled us tight together. My forearm burned, strained in an awkward position but I stayed put and felt her rub hard up against me. We fell into a strong rhythm. I could smell my own sweat. My shirt stuck to my back. My jeans stuck to my thighs. I stopped moving much at all and let her find me. Let her rub and burn her clit against the fly of my jeans. I had to shift once when I thought my fingers were about to break, moving myself lower to stay inside her.

She came with her body clenched and jerking but so quiet. There was a soft whispering sound in my ear. The tiniest whistle of a note on her breath. I held so still. Waiting. Rewarded after a moment by her hands on either side of my head, her fingers teasing the close cut hair just behind my ears. I pulled myself up on my knees. My head curved low in the tight space. “Unbuckle my belt,” I told her. She reached up and moved her fingers fast on the metal. She slid the leather out of the loops, pulled the button on my jeans, and teased the zipper down, leaving my pants hanging open. “Watch me,” I said, spreading my fingers wide and dragging them up my sweat covered belly to disappear under my shirt before pointing my hand down and sliding it into my briefs.

My cunt was so wet, my clit already hard, pushing out to meet my fingers. I stared at her hands. Her fingers still hovered in the air near my zipper. She moved as if she was touching me and stared at the bulge of my hand buried in my boy briefs. She watched me. My hips shoved forward. I imagined her up on her knees, peeling down my pants. Imagined her mouth opening, her eyes looking up at me. I closed my eyes and let my head hang with my chin on my chest. I was so turned on, so close to coming. “I want you to come all over my stomach,” she said suddenly, jerking me right into the moment. Seeing it clearly. I looked down and watched her slide her body lower between my thighs. I groaned loudly. My hips jerked hard. I came for a long time with an intense, deep release. 

Her eyes were on me, low. It was so good. So good. I pulled my wet fingers out of my pants and traced her lips with them. She sucked at me gently at first and then harder. “Fuck my mouth with your sticky fingers,” she said to me and I nearly came again watching her mouth say the words and feeling her tongue tease my fingers. I leaned over her, serious, taking her in all over again. “Who are you?” I said, stunned, feeling dumb-struck by this dirty girl laid across my front seat. I pushed my fingers softly over her tongue and snaked my free hand behind her head, lifting her face closer. “That’s it,” I said, fucking her mouth more intensely. Watching her suck in her cheeks. Feeling her tongue tease the tight ridge between my fingers. I stared at her mouth and felt a tugging on my clit. “I can feel you sucking my dick,” I whispered, reverential, “I feel it.” She nodded, keeping her lips wrapped around my fingers. I jerked forward. My hips believing that my cock was seizing, shuddering in her mouth. It felt so real. I didn’t really come or maybe I did. A ghostly shadow of my earlier orgasm, something surged deep inside me. I might describe it as imagined if it hadn’t felt so fucking real. 

I hid my face in her neck and opened my mouth against her. “God damn,” I said, “You’re so good.” She laughed, sinking her fingers into my hair. “Start it up again,” she whispered, “Let’s get out of here.” I adjusted myself outside the car for a moment, wiping my hand on my thigh, catching my breath. When I climbed back in, I saw her with her seatbelt on. She was waiting. “C’mon, let’s go,” she said and I turned the key in the ignition, adjusting the choke and letting it warm up before starting the ritual – left foot down on the clutch, right foot hovering over the gas, right hand on the stick. The easing out and off and right into gear. I drove away with a grin on my face that would take a long time to fade away.