Cleanness

I lined myself up and then hesitated, remembering my earlier worries about disease, the men who had fucked him and me, it was a stupid risk; but then he leaned back until he touched my cock, his hole tightening like a mouth again, and I didn’t care about disease, about disease or anything else, if there was a risk we would share that too, and in a single motion I made him take it all. I held still for a moment, waiting for the pleasure to dull. When I pulled back he tightened against me, his body straining to hold me in, and then I took his narrow pelvis in both hands and fucked him hard. Yes, he said again, yes, but it didn’t annoy me now, it had become sweet to me, I liked it when he said Fuck me, when he said fuck me harder, that inane dialogue; I’ll fuck you, I said, I’ll fuck you hard, take it, I said, pulling on him as I thrust forward, slamming him against me. He had lifted himself onto his hands again, and he arched his back, pushing into me. Like that, he said, like that, make me your whore, and I laughed a little, I said Is that what you want, you want to be my whore? I slapped him then, hard on his ass, and he groaned, Please, he said, his voice electric with need, please, fuck me like your whore, I want to be your faggot whore, and at the sound of it I felt something move in me, like a shifting of gears. That’s right, I said, you’re my faggot whore, and then I shoved him down, hard, and fell on top of him, pinning him beneath my weight. I hooked my arm beneath his neck and pulled his face close to mine, choking him, You faggot, I said, fucking him more slowly but more savagely, digging into him, you worthless faggot. My voice was low now, I was speaking into his ear, You know what you are, I said, you’re a whore, this is all you’re good for, I said, this is all you deserve. Maybe they had always been there, these words, maybe once you have heard such language it infects you, that was what it felt like, like something bursting free in me, corrosive and hot, without end, I had been waiting my entire life to say those words. I lifted my head and spat on his face, twice in quick succession, saying Faggot each time, you dirty faggot, and he cried out again, his eyes clenched shut. I smeared the saliva on his face and left my hand on his head, leaning on him, forcing his face into the thin mattress, against the hard wood beneath it. Please, he said again, his voice muffled, please, I’m nothing. He repeated this, I’m nothing, I’m nothing, and I echoed him, I said That’s right, I was fucking him with my whole body, lifting up and falling back on him, you’re a faggot, I said, you’re nothing, you’re a faggot, you’re nothing. I hammered into him as I felt it rise in me, that cruelty and rage, that acid grief, and when I came I felt him come beneath me, his body shaking, I heard him give a cry of joy.

I lined myself up and then hesitated, remembering my earlier worries about disease, the men who had fucked him and me, it was a stupid risk; but then he leaned…