gender Archives - BD Swain

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.

Bound for Mexico

I’m like a teenage boy tonight. If she touches it, I’ll explode. Come all over her fingers. In my pants. I can’t keep still. My thighs shifting. Opening. Lifting my ass off this folding chair and sitting back down, adjusted.

Keep an eye on her fingers. Let her see you blush. Let her catch you looking. Looking at her. Her mouth. Her neck. Her tits. The hem of her skirt. Her boots. Your thighs. The buttons of your shirt. Your belt. Your own crawling, clawing fingers.

“Baby,” I want to say, but she’s not my baby. “Hey,” I say, thinking that maybe I can keep her talking a minute or two longer. Maybe there’s something more to say. Something more she wants to hear. Something that will make her smile a little and look down. Make her think about it.

My ass is sore from sitting on this metal chair. People were yawning and nodding off all around us. I was nervous. Picking at the stitching on my jeans. Scratching the back of my head. Craning my neck a little lower just to see how her shirt pulled between the buttons across her tits. “Jesus,” I thought, this woman looks so fucking good. She caught me staring at her all night. I saw her smile and blush. I felt the energy of it jump around inside me. Boost my swagger.

“Hey,” I said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.” She looked over her shoulder like there was someone who needed to give permission, then turned around with a smile that looked good on her and said, “Sure.” We nodded at each other, scraping our chairs loudly against the linoleum as we stood up.

Outside, I smoked a cigarette and she wrinkled up her nose at the drifting smoke. Not what I expected. The night was cool. She talked about Mexico. Wanted to know if I’d been. I hadn’t. Wanted to tell me about it. Why she loves it. We talked about all the people who go but never see Mexico. People who go and stay at some fancy spa with salt water pools and breezy drapes and generically fancy meals. “Why the fuck do I want to travel all that way to stay in some nondescript hotel?” I shook my head. “People are stupid,” she said. “Fucking idiots,” I agreed.

We didn’t have much to say after Mexico. My fingers were fumbling for a place to land. In and out of my pockets. Touching my lighter. Feeling the wadded up bits of paper and change. We looked in every window that we passed, indiscriminately. The cleaners. The eyeglass place. An empty shell of what was a decent bar once. The coffee shop was still open. Two americanos. She sat with me outside on a bench, leaning a little against my shoulder as we watched people walk by. It felt okay. Quiet and peaceful. Like we knew each other better than we did.

I slid my arm over her shoulder and she gave me a funny look. “I don’t know,” I said, smiling shrugging, like I was trying to figure something out, “I like you.” She smiled at me, “Yeah,” she said, “Me too.” I kissed her then. I kissed her soft. I rested my fingers lightly on her knee, letting them slip just between her legs a little. She touched my cheek. She ran her fingers from my neck up the back of my head, through my hair, and gripped my head. Electric. The fuzzed out thick cords of energy shot through my arms and legs. I needed her hand on me.

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her off the bench. “We gotta go,” I said and led the way to my little apartment a few blocks away. I had to battle with my bike inside the door – shoving it halfway into my closet to give us room to move. “Damn,” I said and squeezed her knuckles. I kissed her up against the bathroom door and tugged at her hand. “I want it so bad,” I whispered.

We weren’t drunk. Not even tipsy. Buzzed a little, I guess, from meeting someone new, the night air, the coffee. But it’s not as easy like this. It’s not sloppy like when your drunk and just slip into it, wondering later who started something. This was clear. I started it. And she was right there with me.

She tensed against my grabbing hands. Her arm jerking upwards as I tried to push her hand between my legs, my eyes pleading with her. She smiled with a playful look, her tongue on her teeth, as she jerked her hand out of my grip. I circled her waist with a quick grip and slapped her forearm, seeing the sting of it in her scowl for a split second. We struggled for a minute. She slapped my hands away several times before I had her wrist tight in my fingers again. She laughed from deep in her throat. “I want it,” I said, and felt my muscles strain to shove her hand between my legs. I had to hold it there, rubbing her closed fist against me. I felt myself twitch and throb.

I had to hold on tight. She bucked. I felt my neck get hot and wet with sweat. My chest, my back, my thighs burning with a stiff tension. I held her tight around her middle and flipped the both of us around so her back was up against the door. Now I could lean into her. Get the heels of my boots up off the ground and drive myself hard against her. I held onto the closed doorknob to keep from being pushed away. I felt her heart pound. I smashed my mouth against hers and let go long enough to move my hands around to her ass, pulling her harder against me. “Come on,” I groaned, my spit hitting her lips.

I pulled us harder against each other. I gripped her thigh between mine and dragged myself up and down. “Feel me,” I said, “I want you to touch it.” My voice shook. I gave myself away. She touched me, lightly, on the small of my back. “I like this,” she said and grabbed my hips, “Come on.” She pulled me harder up and down against her thigh. She moaned and coo’d her encouragement. I tensed up, sweating through my clothes, breathing hot and hard. “Damn it,” I said, jerking my head and slapped the palms of my hands against the door. The boom shook us. I grabbed her face and pulled her over to the bed. I sat down and patted the mattress beside me, “Sit.”

Leaning back on my arms, I let my knees fall wide and looked at her. I looked at her hands. Looked at my jeans. “I want you to touch it,” I said, shifting my hips.

She leaned against me and started slow with her hand just above my knee. She pet me, squeezed my leg, rubbed her hand harder and harder up and down my thigh. She stroked me with her fingers, just inside my thighs, until I thought I was going to pass out. “Please,” I whimpered and her fingers traced the seam of my jeans right up and over my clit. The ripples shot through me as her nails dragged between my legs, catching on the thick denim. She teased me like this until I felt dizzy and closed my eyes, breathing deep.

She slid my belt buckle open and pulled my belt off slowly, making the leather hiss through the loops. Her hand slid under my jeans after she took her time unbuttoning my fly. Her fingers rested for a moment on my soaked briefs before pushing them aside and running her fingers on either side of my stiffening cock. Wet and hard. I felt it grow between her knuckles. She tugged and pulled. “You’re getting so big,” she whispered and stroked me in a slow, lazy fashion.

I sat leaning back on my arms and watched her wrist bend with each pull. I stared as the base of her thumb circled and slid in and out of my pants. Up and down. Teasing me bigger. So swollen. So hot.

She heard my breath change. She heard where I was and put her head against my chest. “I want you to come in my hand like this,” she said, “Let me see it.” Her head bent further down, resting against my stomach. “Come right here,” she said, “Come in my face like this,” and moved herself between my legs, letting me see her cheek, the hair falling over her eyes, her parted lips. My hips jerked up again and again. She pulled so hard on my clit. I lifted my ass for a second to pull my pants down to my thighs and crashed back down, jerking hard into her hand. Watching her stroke me. Feeling that rush.

I came so hard. I came in slow, lengthy, shuddering waves. Coming and coming in a way I didn’t recognize. She kept stroking me and it felt so damn good. I held her hand against me until I stilled. She kissed my wet inner thigh. We flopped back on the bed and I tried to roll over on top of her but she hushed me with a “There there now, sweet boy.” “Save it for next time,” she said and kissed my neck with her fingers on my shirt buttons. I lay there feeling her scratch at my chest, taking her in.

“Hey,” I said, “We should go to Mexico.” She looked up at me. She laughed and bit my rib, “What?” “Yeah, I don’t know,” I said, “It sounds like fun though.”

Rub It Harder

We fucked a lot. Especially in the early days. We fucked every day we saw each other. Sometimes more than once a day. “I like to fuck,” I told her. She just smiled. We were a good match. She challenged everything I’d known up to that point. Everything I’d known about myself, thought I’d known. Turns out I hadn’t figured out as much as I thought I had.

I was stone. Or nearly stone. Very rarely could I let some girl touch me down there. I didn’t quite know what to call it. I hated the word pussy for myself. I couldn’t say cunt. Dick sounded too much like pretending. Cock had the same problem. And the moment some girl said one of those words, I closed up. I left the building emotionally, physically. Everything broke down. I wasn’t one or the other. I was a little lost. This is me. Not you. Everyone goes through there own thing.

With her, somehow, I opened.

I remember the first time she fucked me. We hadn’t been together for that long. A few weeks maybe. I was in her bed. We were making out. My hand was under her shirt. The kiss felt so incredible, I didn’t want anything else. We kissed for a long time, my fingers rubbing her tits and my leg resting lightly between her thighs. She pushed me onto my back and started to unbutton my shirt. I opened my mouth to say something but she gave me this look that burned my cheeks. She looked me up and down, her mouth hanging open. I felt everything shift even before she spoke.

“Are you getting hard?” she asked, taunting me, “Don’t worry, I know you can’t help it.” I nodded. I grabbed at my jeans and felt between my legs for it. She followed my hand with her eyes, nodding. “That’s right,” she said, “You want to show me what you’ve got?” I grunted, unable to speak. She sat up on her knees and stared down at my hand on my fly. She pet my knuckles, smiling, before knocking my hand away. “Let’s see,” she said and started rubbing my jeans. Her hand moved in long strokes. Her fingers grabbed and kneaded me. She pulled. “Are you a big boy?” she laughed, “I won’t suck you off until you’re as big as you can get.”

I pulled myself up on my elbows, mesmerized by the motions of her hand on my prick. I saw us. Teenagers in a corner. In a school hallway on prom night. An abandoned chemistry lab in the dark. Behind the bleachers. The back seat of a car. I pawed through different scenarios in my mind. Where am I? Where are we? I flipped through the images like I was selecting the next song on a jukebox. A couch. My childhood home. Late at night. “We need to be quiet,” I said and she cocked her head, tuning in to me. “Okay, sweetheart,” she said, “Whatever you say.” She paused, staring at me, and then stopped rubbing me. She looked hard at my hand and nodded her head. I slowly dragged my hand down and took over rubbing myself. “Yeah, baby,” she said and started to undo my belt, “Show me how big you can get.”

She took her time unbuttoning my jeans. I rubbed. I pulled. Watching her fingers move. My jeans hung open. Her fingers scratched at the elastic band on my briefs. She smiled. Paused. Her fingers crawled up under my shirt, clawing at my skin. Buttons under her fingers again. My shirt. She started at the last button and worked her way up. One finger traced the edges of my tank top. I sucked in my breath and arched my back, realizing that the look on my face was probably more shocked than turned on. She stayed with me. My eyes were locked on her. I rubbed at my jeans, pulling on my cock. Quiet breathing. Her whispers, “I want you as stiff as you can get.” I rubbed harder. “That’s right,” she said with her lips against my ear, “That’s so good.”

I started to slide my hand into my jeans but she grabbed my wrist. “No, baby,” she signed, “You don’t understand. That’s mine.” I felt tears well up in my eyes. There was no stopping. I felt my cock so hard in my jeans it made me wince. “I need you to take it out,” I said, my voice barely audible, a hoarse whisper, “I need you to rub it harder.” She smiled at me. Smiled down at my wet, red face. “Oh, you’re so good,” she squealed and lay down beside me before sliding her hand between my jeans and my briefs. She slid her fingers on either side of my clit with the cotton of my shorts between her fingers and me. I felt hard. So hard. I gasped to feel the pressure of her fingers against me. Someone other than me making me feel it. Everything undone. I felt big. Giant. “Oh, baby,” she said, “You feel so good.”

She whispered into my ear as she stroked me. “Do you shake just before you get off? Do you quiver? I feel something. Wet. Did you come a little in your pants? I want you to come in my hand like this. I want you to come all over my fingers.” She slid her hand inside my underwear. I held my breath as her fingers slid over my clit and pushed inside me. I felt my cunt open up for her. And then everything shifted. “I want to be inside you,” I said. She slid one leg over me and straddled my hips, her fingers still thrusting into me. “Like this?” she said, lifting her skirt. I put my hands on her thighs and pushed my hips up against her. My chest flushed. My breath tightened and then I let go, relaxed, and closed my eyes. I felt myself inside her. Fucking her. My cock hard, straining. Her pussy gripping me. “Let me in deep,” I said. We rocked against each other like this while I stared at her. Quiet. Somehow furious. I felt myself inside her. Filling her. I nearly came but she pulled away and put a finger on my lips. “Wait,” she said.

She slid off of my hips. Slid down and leaned forward until her face was between my thighs. She pulled my jeans and shorts down and started fucking me harder. “You’re so good to me,” she said, “Giving me what I want like this.” I pulled a pillow under my head so I could look at her. “You like this?” I asked, my voice came out cracked and halting. She just nodded and stared at me. I watched her arm move. I felt the pounding feeling. I listened to the sound of us fucking. Her fucking me. Me fucking her. Everything spun and smashed together. “I want you to come in my face,” she said and left her mouth hanging open. My hips jerked towards her over and over again. I heard myself yelling. I heard her reminding me to be quiet. I left the fantasy. The couch. The boy. The girl. The quiet house. I was right there on her bed. Legs spread. Getting fucked. About to come in her face. “FUCK,” I yelled. Surprising myself. Making her laugh. “Fuck,” I breathed, spent, buckled over.

She kissed my clit. I jerked in surprise. She kissed my thighs, my hip bones. She kissed her way up my chest, stopping to suck on my neck. I looked at her. Dismayed. Dismantled. I kissed her mouth. Soft at first, then sucking hard on her lips. I held her face in my hands. I held her tight and told her everything.

That Teenage Feeling

“Meet me in the girl’s weight room after 6th period,” she said.

This was a long time ago. Back when no high school had a proper girl’s weight room. Maybe you’re old enough to remember this fact. Maybe not. But when I was in high school, the girls got shit. My gym teacher installed a soda machine and saved up the quarters to buy us equipment. I hope it’s better now. Jesus.

The girl’s weight room was a large sized closet crammed with a bench and a rack of free weights and a chair squat and a leg press. That was it. No mirror. No window. No nothing.

We’d been paired up in gym class that day for the president’s fitness test. She’d been a senior last year too. She always had this look on her face with a slack jaw and half smile that made us all assume she was high. I’d heard she was, mostly. I’d never really talked to her and we didn’t talk now. We held each other’s ankles for sit ups. We worked the stop watch and watched each other shake as we tried to hold our chin above the bar. We were the only ones to push ourselves. The only ones breaking a sweat. Her name was April. She didn’t look like an April. I told her that. It was at lunch that she came up and told me to meet her. I managed a nod and she was gone. My palms started sweating.

I had a 7th period class. I’d never cut class in my life, but I was going to meet her, no doubt. I walked up to my biology teacher and told her I didn’t feel well. It was that easy. I headed down the hall and walked right by the nurse’s office to the stairwell and down to the gym. Empty. Echoing. All the basketballs lined up in a cage. My gym locker gave off a loud rattle as I grabbed my shorts and t-shirt. I got changed. I thought we were going to work out. Or that’s what I told myself.

She sat on the bench press in her jeans. I looked down at my shorts. “Good,” she said and stood up, motioning for me to get settled. I nodded, mute, and sat down, my knees straddling the end of the bench. My hands hung between my thighs. I looked up at her. I knew what this was, and then again, I didn’t. “Lean back,” she said, “Go ahead.” I leaned back, my elbows guiding me down until I was flat against the bench. I put my hands up on the bar above me. “Yeah,” she said, “That’s not what I want. I want to touch your dick.”

Time stopped. I couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in my head. Her words echoed inside me, “Your dick.” My face was hot. My cunt was heavy, flushed. “My dick,” I thought. I wasn’t confused. I knew what she meant. It’s just that no one had ever seen me that way. Like I saw me. “Yeah,” I said, “Okay.”

I stared at her hand moving towards my shorts. She leaned over me and slid her fingers under the elastic band around my waist and into my underwear. No set up. No pretense. Just her hand suddenly on my clit, rubbing me. I felt dry. Her fingers dragged across me with a jagged pull. I was wet, but she wasn’t interested in my pussy. I felt it, my dick, growing hard between her fingers.

My fingers were still wrapped around the bar above my shoulders. I gripped the cold metal and focused on my breathing. In. Out. “Fuck,” I heard myself say. April smiled at me. “I want to see your pretty little cock,” she said and tugged my shorts down to my knees in one quick movement. She spread my lips and held my clit between her fingers, stroking me. I felt it. Oh god, I felt it. I felt my cock grow between her thumb and forefinger. I felt her eyes on me. Everything changed. My quads tensed. My hips moved. “Stay quiet,” she said and pulled on my clit.

My shirt stuck to me. My chest was sweating. My low back. The bench was biting into my ass as my flesh stuck to it. I was grinding my cunt against her hand. “Look at you,” she said, smiling. I could see a white ball of gum in her teeth. “So sweet,” she said. I felt new. A shiny new girl. Wet and sweating on this bench below her. She was about to make me come. “I’m so hard,” I whispered, wondering if this was the right thing to say. “You are,” she smiled, “so hard, girl. Come for me now.”

I bucked and yelled out once before she clapped a hand over my mouth, looking around. I came. My stomach tightened. My leg muscles stiffened and lifted my ass up off the bench. My arms straightened and I lifted the bar a little before realizing what I was doing and set it back down. My hands fell off to the sides. My knuckles hit the floor.

“Next time, I’ll suck you off,” she said and got up, wiping her fingers on a small towel that she threw into the laundry bag hanging on a hook by the door. It took me a few minutes after she left before I pulled my shorts up.

I wondered who did this to her? That was the first thing I thought as I stood up on shaky legs and made my way back to the locker room to change. I put my fingers to my lips, “April,” I whispered, feeling the shape of her name on my mouth.

Everything and nothing felt epic when I was in high school. It’s only years later, telling this story, that it catches in my chest. The first girl who reached into my pants and touch my dick. The first girl to jack me off.