#eli c

You’re a teenage boy.

No one in your life has ever really treated you as such. Your teachers call you sensible, your friends often agree. Your mom tells you secrets and conspires with you over little things against your dad. Your boyfriend expects you to hold all the answers. You expect yourself to fix all of your, and his, problems.

But he’s gone now, unreachable. And your mom is more distant by the day. And the teachers are unfamiliar, your friends are new. And you’ve never felt more like a scared little boy.

So you take attention where you can. A boy friends you on Facebook. He’s a senior, too, apparently, but to you he feels so worldly. He propositions you, immediately. Who does that?

Well, Sebastian, you suppose. But even he at least saw you in person first, heard all about you from his friends.

This boy, Eli, seeks out sexual partners online, and he outright asks them for what he wants. You’re not his whole world – you’re presumably one in a string of many who have pleased him and then swiftly moved on with their lives.

It feels adult. It feels saucy and new and just the right kind of scary.

You’ve always tried to do the right thing and look where it’s gotten you.

So you go over. He says his parents are out, and will be for a while. He offers you a drink. You take a glass of water and gulp it down in his kitchen.

It’s quiet. You’re not speaking and neither is he. He’s leaning against the counter and you take him in.

He’s got short cropped brown hair. Brown eyes. They’re warm, and maybe a bit mischievous. He’s leaning back against the counter wearing low slung blue jeans and a tight fitting ringer tee. Kurt would never invite a boy round wearing – don’t think about Kurt. Eli stretches back slightly against the counter and a hint of the taut skin of his stomach flashes out. He catches you looking. He asks if you want to go upstairs. You lick your lips and nod.

It’s fast, then. He grabs your upper arms and kisses you and you kiss back. At first it’s instinctive, but then you realise it feels different to what you’re expecting. You try to change up the usual movement of your lips against his.

He takes the lead. He pulls you onto the bed and you go willingly. He starts to pull your t-shirt off and you pull away to do it yourself, get it off faster. You lift it over your head and off, and while you were doing that he did the same, and now he’s starting on the buttons of his jeans.

He’s got a nice body. He looks good, boyish, a bit cheeky. He asks you what you like and apparently you answer, though you’re not sure what you said.

But you know you don’t want to “fuck”. You’re not some idealist, you can separate fucking from love, but that feels just a step too intimate right now. You want to get him off, and to be honest, you want him to get you off too, and then be on your way. You don’t want to need anything from him, and you certainly don’t want him to need anything from you.

Before you know it he’s naked. He’s naked and kneeling on the bed and you’re sucking his cock deep into the back of your throat.

The heat and the weight of it feels soothing. Your heartbeat evens out, your thoughts slow. It’s like something clicks inside of you and you feel complete.

You flatten your tongue out as far as it will go, licking at the base of him while his cockhead is nestled between your tonsils. You know you’re supposed to pull back and sink down, pull back and sink down, but just for a few moments, all you want to do is swallow around it, suck on it deeply, consume it.

He strokes your hair and whispers, “Wow.” You feel something like pride swell up inside you, and he starts to gently thrust.

You look up at him, wide eyed, you can feel them watering at the edges, willing him to understand what you mean. You can take it, he should let you have it. And thankfully, he does. The hand in your hair moves down to your jaw, and he starts to really thrust now.

You give it back as good as you get, sliding your mouth back and forth in time, keeping your throat relaxed.

You hear him mutter something, and then he’s pushing you off and taking himself in hand. He grips hard, strokes almost violently for a couple of seconds, and shoots (impressively) up his own chest.

He takes a breather, just a second, and then he’s flipping you back, pulling you out of your pants and sucking you down in return.

It feels incredible. And for a blissful few minutes it’s all you can focus on.

Up and down, up and down, then he starts massaging your balls at the same time. You tap him urgently on the side of the head and he seems to understand, pulling his mouth away and working you through it as you release, squeezing at your balls with one hand and sliding the other up and down your shaft. It feels so fucking good. It hasn’t been that long, yet you’d almost forgotten the euphoria of it, how nothing else exists in that moment but your body, floating, otherworldly.

You’ve always had an active fantasy life, and you got very good at pleasuring yourself a good long time ago, but god, sharing it with another person… the first time sharing it with another person… oh god, don’t think about Kurt.

But you are thinking about Kurt. The first time, with Kurt. He’d been so nervous he was shaking, tentative and unsure, but never for even a moment unsure about how he felt about you. He’d given, and let himself be open and vulnerable enough to let you give too. God, you’d loved the giving, the pleasing. And when he finds out he’ll never let you please him again, never trust you enough to let himself be raw and wanting and exposed and pleading for you to give him what he needs ever again.

Eli slaps you gently on the thigh and excuses himself as he grabs his clothes to go to the bathroom. You start to panic. Hard. You spot a box of Kleenex on his bedside table and scrub yourself half raw with them. You slip your clothes back on, rushed, and sit on the edge of the bed.

You hear Eli return, and you think he makes a joke or something. But you just have to leave. You need to go more than you’ve ever needed anything in your whole life.