was as if I were the meanest goat at the petting zoo, and he was one wrong move away from losing a finger.
It made no sense, Journal. We’d been dating for over a month. I was ninety-five percent sure he wasn’t gay or married. Neither of us was drunk. And an erection of more-than-respectable size was pressed against my naked hip. Why was he so hesitant to make a move?
At first, I assumed it was just because I’d never been with a gentleman before.
Perhaps he just doesn’t want to overstep my boundaries, I thought. Perhaps there’s some secret bat signal of consent that I haven’t given him because I don’t know what it is because I’ve never been with a nice guy before.
But then I remembered that I’d brought an overnight bag with me. I’m pretty sure if there were ever a universal sign for down to fuck, that would be it.
Whatever the reason, my cool, calm, collected Ken was behaving like a mime trying to get out of an invisible phone booth, so I decided to help the poor guy out. Rolling him on top of me, I shifted my hips until the head of his impressive cock was poised at the entrance of my impatient, thrumming body. Then, I kissed the shit out of him.
There, motherfucker. I consent. Bring it.
But still he didn’t relax. Ken’s body remained stiff above me, and his breathing was quiet and shallow, like he was concentrating on something. I, on the other hand, couldn’t concentrate on anything with him hesitantly sliding the entire length of his manhood back and forth over my slippery flesh.
Gradually, his pace quickened. Over and over, with each successive pass, Ken would graze my entrance, just enough to cause me to lift my hips in invitation, before denying me again. Confused and frustrated, I glanced up at his face in search of an explanation.
Is he afraid to fuck me without a condom?
(He should have been.)
Is he reliving a childhood trauma? Is he having a seizure?
While the man looming over me did look tense, for reasons I didn’t understand at the time, it was the familiar smirk and the twinkle of mischief behind his aqua eyes that made me realize this motherfucker was playing a game. He was going to make me call every shot, just like he always did.
Kenneth Easton had all the power, and he was using it to make me take control. As much as I didn’t appreciate being manipulated, I couldn’t deny how empowering it was to be the puppet master of this hunky, mysterious, real-life Ken doll.
Submitting to his impossibly strong will, I reached between us and stroked Ken’s slick girth, which felt rigid and ready and so right in my hands. Guiding him into my body, I gasped at the way he stretched and filled me. It wasn’t painful. It was perfect, like a puzzle piece locking into place. I held him to me, appreciating the exquisite fullness, and he waited.
I don’t know if he was feeling what I was feeling or if he was still just stubbornly refusing to take the lead, but once we began to move, it became pretty obvious that Ken was feeling a whole lot of something. Finally letting go of all his self-imposed restraint, Ken pulled my thigh up around his waist and rocked into me with everything he had. His mouth crushed into mine. His hands claimed my hair, my hips, my ass. He was feral and free and sexy as fuck, and I wanted desperately to reward him for that.
The only problem was that no man had ever or would ever make me come missionary-style. It’s just not how I’m built.
Rather than risk Ken’s newfound confidence by flipping him back over so soon, I decided to noisily fake an orgasm around the three-minute mark just to give him a little positive reinforcement.
Because I’m selfless like that, Journal.
With my second objective taken care of (Confidence boost? Check!), I moved on to priority number one—figuring out whether or not this hottie really wanted me to hurt him. While pretending like I was still in the throes of the mind-blowing orgasm he’d just given me, I sank my nails into Ken’s shoulder blades as hard as I could. Instead of hearing him suck in a pained breath or feeling him flinch in response, which would have been the appropriate reaction, I felt Ken’s taut muscles soften like putty in my hands.
The fuck?
I’d just stabbed the man with ten little