Page 24 of Way Down Deep

That I could never leave you like that, with your cock all hard against my ass and my wetness still on your fingers. The need to make you feel as good would be too great; it was too great after reading, when I stroked myself to my second orgasm. It filled my head with all kinds of imaginings: like sliding down off your lap and onto my knees.

Lips swollen from that long, slow suck of your cock.

Tongue greedy to taste you.

Already begging for you to show me how you like it again, just so I can feel your fingers wrapped around mine as I work you. So I get a hand on my head, urging me to go faster or slower or ohhhh god I want to come again just thinking about it.

Just thinking about you letting me know exactly what you need.

Tell me exactly what you need, Malcolm. Don’t hold back. Fill in all the blanks in my inexperienced imagination.

9.31am

Oh, stranger. The things I want to say to you.

But you see there are rules now, and as it’s between the hours of 7am and 10pm, I will keep it clean. I will tell you about my plans for the day and act as though your texts didn’t pitch me into a fever dream.

After ten, I will tell exactly what I thought of them, and some ideas of my own. But not a minute before then.

Tell me about your day. Your plans. What will you read and watch and eat?

Me, I have set myself a mission. I was scrolling back through our texts and noticed I’d complained that I can’t go running anymore. Toddlers aren’t famous for their pace-setting or endurance, you see.

But I was wrong, I realized. People run all the time with kids. I just need a jogging stroller.

So that’s what I’m doing with my day. I’ll be bundling the boy up and driving us to Birmingham, where the internet has it on good authority that I might find a sporting goods store.

I’m a little nervous. For starters, I’ve only driven here maybe five times, never frequently enough to get used to the left-hand thing. The boy’s made a quasi-hermit of me.

More to the point, I feel awkward out in public with him. The way he is … I always worry some well-meaning old woman will ask if he’s okay, and I’ll have no idea what to say, since he’s not. I’d probably mumble something about him needing a nap, then get very interested in the check-out aisle magazines. I worry he looks so glazed that someone will assume I’ve drugged and abducted him.

But those fears won’t deter me. We will find our stroller and a new pair of running shoes for me and afterward stop for ice cream, if I can find a place.

I wish I could buy us a Frisbee or a ball to toss around, but I tried the whole catch thing once, and I still cringe whenever I think of it.

I found a cricket ball when we were at the park and threw it to the boy. Not hard at all, just underhand, from a few feet away. I tossed it toward his chest, and instead of trying to catch it he turned away—swiveled from the knees and let it bounce off his arm—then just stood there frozen, face screwed up tight like a fist. Like he’d been hit by something before and was waiting for the next one.

I think it’s for the best that I don’t know exactly what he went through before I got here. That ignorance spares me knowing who I might need to track down and kick the living shit out of, and that’s probably good. My energies are needed elsewhere.

Anyhow, that’s my day. It sounds quite wholesome, don’t you think?

Maybe later I’ll tell you if we’re successful.

And maybe later, sometime after 10pm, I’ll tell you a few other things.

9.55am

I drifted off while waiting for your next message, thinking I was bound to wake up to something amazing. That it would make my impatience easier to bear.

Damn you, damn you, damn you.

Not a day in, and I already want to toss the rules to the wind.

But I won’t, I promise I won’t. Mostly because I respect your boundaries, and partly because I love to hear you talk about your day almost as much as whatever seediness we’ve descended into. Just knowing that you’re choosing these things, wanting these things, beginning fresh with so many lovely activities…

It fills me with warmth. It makes me want to be brave too.

Because those things are brave, in my opinion. Every step you take with him must seem like a leap in the dark, and yet you’re trying all the same. And though it might seem like your efforts are in vain, I know he hears you. I know he will feel the care you’re taking.