I glance back at my partner and into his crystal eyes. We have been together for so long now it feels like an eternity, but at the same time it can never be long enough. I recognise the devious glint that flashes in his eyes – and know to expect a surprise of some kind. Given the significance of our milestone, there is just one thing I want to hear from him, but I can find no faith that he will speak them.
I decide to probe him, anyway. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘Just how much I love you,’ he says, that glint shining brighter. ‘I can’t believe we’re that close to our sixth anniversary.’
‘I know what you mean,’ I answer, joy blushing in my voice. ‘How have you managed to put up with me for this long?’
‘Sheer pleasure, knowing the best is always yet to come with you,’ his answer swift, prepared. He has had time to think about this. I beam with the knowledge, we have become so matched that we counter each other’s’ idiosyncrasies. I the obscenely disorganised, he the excessively prepared, always knowing what to do to calm the mayhem that is my life.
‘I love you,’ I repeat and tuck myself into his arms. The strength in his embrace and determination in his eyes are the fuel to our love. I know there is always something in him that I can trust and live from.
A kiss on her cheek, then the children’s, and I’m gone. I grab my briefcase, flick the annoying clump of hair that never leaves my forehead alone and my commute begins. Already I’m bored. The impending mundane drudge settles over me quickly. I know all the stats, all the expectations and KPIs, but to be honest I just can’t be fucked. I endure the humdrum for an income, and there is nothing else redeeming about it. The numbers blur. The conversations with Tom from work – always about his weekend fuck – are intended to rouse envy of the single man’s freedoms, but they don’t register on my radar. His professed sexual prowess is not threatening in the face of his incompetence at everything else. The mindless monotony makes me want to vomit what’s left of the dreams I once had out onto the pavement. The meetings, the numbers, the stats, the passwords, and the fucking water cooler make me want to escape to a place where I never have to see them again. Thank Christ I have something special tonight. Something to justify my time and the commitment of six years. It feels like there have been so many anniversaries that I lose track of exactly what’s going on, and then suddenly it’s that time of year for another one. But the night is perfectly planned and Christ knows I need this chance to just relax and bask in what has been a glorious six years. The anticipation of celebrating with food, wine and sex is almost as tantalising as these things themselves. But the best thing I try to keep to myself, at least for now. The best thing is one last gift, given that the end of the night knowing my partner expects nothing further. Surprise is my greatest skill. My dull suits and papers might hide it (which is kinda the point) but nevertheless it is there.
The makeup is too much, I tell myself. I’m not usually this dolled-up for a night out, but this isn’t just any night. This is the night, possibly anyway. I have this feeling in my heart that something special will happen tonight. Something that only happens once in everyone’s life, well I know this is going to be the only time that it happens for me. I’ve never felt like this before. There’s something about him that makes me fly. His blues eyes and the deep wrinkle on his left cheek (which shows experience) warm my soul. His dark brown hair always parts where it is supposed to, except for that one stray strand that bobs at his forehead. Those eyes, oh those crystal eyes, are something unto themselves. I look into them and I know that I will never fully understand what is going on behind them. They’re a challenge, one I accept and undertake without fear.
A kaleidoscope of ties lay out before me on the bed, sprawled like so many sweet, luscious memories. I’m reminded of our lives together, right back to our first night, the unexpected pain of penetration – the roughness lasted only moments before the true pleasure of the situation rode within me into ecstasy.
Like little sweet nothings, the memories linger on my cheeks and on all my special places. Whenever I move I can feel him. He is part of me, part of my life. I don’t know what I would do if it changed, if he left without a word or the half-arsed, it’s not you excuse. Fuck that. I’d know it’s me if that happened, but I know it’s not the case tonight. He’s gone to a lot of trouble to make this anniversary special. Unless you’re a celebrity the likes of Kylie (Goddess!), you would need to make those reservations and a deposit two years in advance, and a commitment like that requires confidence in your relationship. The red, I decide. Nothing suggests passion better than the colour red.
Sex shops have this sticky feel about them. Disgusting I hiss, flicking the fucking bit of hair that can’t be controlled. Every time I enter one of these places I want to shower for twenty minutes before I can do anything else. I put it down to the cum-stain look that appears spattered on the walls and carpet. Carpet really was a poor choice – give it ten years of lonely horny men wondering through and it would be like ice skating in here. Surely something easier to clean would have been the way to go.
Nonetheless, I know what I’ve come for. There’s something I have always been ashamed of, despite my wife telling me it’s the perfect size. One inch for you, one for me and one to go in and out, she would say. What bullshit. I know she needs something extra, I can’t do that. The old myth that three inches is enough simply can’t apply, and I don’t care for her reassurances. It’s just something that I know she’s after, and I can’t blame her for that. Neither can she satisfy all of my needs, and so I don’t see any point in pretending.
I find my ideal items. Oh so thick, so many colours and choices. Something thick and latex is all I need, yet I’m intrigued by the options of vein protrusion and tickling vibrations. But I can’t let myself be distracted from what I came for – two of the same; one for her, one for me. Suddenly, I’m overcome by awkwardness, shivering at the thought that someone might recognise me – from the school or the local parish – anyone could spot me in this well-lit place. Why do they bother with so many lights? It’s as if they expect people to steal from them all the time. Why else would they bother?
The night arrives and we settle down for a time that I won’t forget. The anticipation has sweated off some of my makeup. Our champagne glasses tinkle together.
‘To us,’ I pronounce.
‘To us,’ he answers my call and taps his glass on mine.
I don’t believe my luck. We’ve reached six years and he hasn’t gotten bored and succumbed to the itch that is the demise of so many couples. It’s a long time, at least by the standards set by our friends and previous lovers. Thank Christ our city is large enough to avoid running into our past too often. I shiver at the prospect of encountering an ex-lover, it would be like confronting the walking dead.
This night has been dipped in heaven and gold for me as we indulge in our meal and head on home for the rest of the night’s – festivities we shall say. I never could have believed that the night would have been so splendid. I’m stunned by the lengths my partner has gone to – I didn’t know he had such surprising reserves. There’s something different about him tonight, a passion I’ve never seen before and one I am set on pursuing. I push him back onto the bed and let him drop onto it with a gentle thud, before sprawling myself on top of him. Our lips lock, a gentle tickle of my tongue on his lips and I am in. He is unusually easy tonight, another surprise. Our embrace runs forth, practised, precise. I know the motions to send shivers to his groin. He knows mine too. There is nothing unexpected in his body, only in his moves. He detaches for a moment, gazing into my eyes as if dragging out my every thought.
‘Such an incredible grey,’ he says I stare back, his crystal star entrapping. He smiles, pushing his lips back onto mine.
I flip us, his back now to the bed. Our naked flesh is as bare as our once remaining innocence. He teases loose the back of my hair from its usual, control position. It’s not the first time I’ve been with a man like this, not the first time I’ve done what I intend to do, yet something flutters inside of me. Nerves perhaps? For years he has been my everything. I’ve seen his face wracked by illness and buoyed with the elegance and grace of his proudest moments. There is nothing of him that I’ve never seen before. Despite this, I feel flutters. A tingle fluctuates within me, as though an illness would take me now if I do not feel the cure of his moist lips upon me. That texture I know, I can use to bury my fears.
‘Roll over,’ I hint seductively, my tone calculated to send a pulse through is already erect penis. A surprise is to come.
An aroused trust glows through my eyes. We’ve done this before. Only once, but it set the standard for all men who sought to place anything within my flesh. It was slow and gentle, what anyone would describe as making love, but that was just the start. That gentle introduction was solely to relax me in preparation for the sheer force to come. And it came, and so did I, like never before. Blood pounded through my heart as if pumped in the hand of a demon, the pressure on my legs triggered tingling in every nerve end. My masculine essence was building, ready to be launched in wondrous display, and yet I resisted, defying and revelling in the pressure of the rising orgasm. I am consumed by the ecstasy teasing my nerves, dancing on the edge of consciousness. My mind flooded as I came, overloaded by the intensity of sensation. The extreme pleasure can only be maintained for mere moments, but returning with my clarity is a tingle of ecstasy, reverberating from my toes to every pore with repetitions and reminders of the climax frenzy.
Tonight he gives me the same expression. The naughtiness and desire are striking in his crystal eyes. I know what’s to follow. How could I refuse?
He rolls as commanded, expecting what’s to come. I tease him a little. My tongue traces a line down his back, flicking at the exact locations required to tantalise and arouse his loins. He whimpers at the touch of my tongue, the moisture marking the spaces that are mine. Over the years he has become my possession, free to roam but never too far from his master. My lips move in to kiss his tail bone, a titillation for him.
I reach behind me and into my bag of tricks. He has glanced at it in anticipation many times during the night wondering if it contained a gift for him, but I have guarded this sack and its numerous contents zealously. He knows there’s something in here for him. I reach in, feeling for the latex nestled at the bottom under layers of protection.
‘I’m ready for you,’ he purrs, arse waiting in the air. His eyes remain shut, a slight flutter disturbing his lashes. He thinks this will be like before. His trust in me is almost a little embarrassing, yet strikes pleasure down to my groin.
I find the dildo I am looking for. Green, thick and veiny, to the point where it would be grotesque if it were the real thing, but as a replica it is a toy for all the senses. His G-spot tingles at the ready, knowing the pressure can bring climax.
He looks back at me, eyes glancing between mine and the monster in my hand.
‘Well, hello,’ he tries, tongue pressing on his lips, ‘jumping ahead a little bit are we?’
‘This is just for starters,’ I assure him. ‘A little starter before you get the real feast.’
Greed bleeds into his emotions, along with trepidation. There is nothing unexpected in the pleading look he throws back at me. I lubricate the toy and position it at the ready to begin easing into entry.
I shut my eyes and wait, arse waving behind me ready for the pleasure promised in the green vibrator. It’s not the first sex toy we’ve used, but the first time one has been used to begin the night.
The insertion forces a yelp out of me, but never one of pain. That disappeared with the first push into me. I give myself to the passion, all the trappings if the civilised man falling away, leaving myself to the animalistic pleasure. My spine tingles with the movement of his wrist, and I push myself back, begging for more. If this is just a toy, I can’t bear to think what thrill will arrive with the main course.
Time pauses for me but not for my lover. He retracts the dildo and reaches into his bag. More toys await – the anticipation is a tantalising treat.
‘Ready for the next level?’ He asks, tongue curling in my ear. I nod vigorously. ‘For the next course you must promise me something.’
‘Mmm,’ I groan.
‘Promise not to look? It’s better if you feel.’
‘Oh, yes please. Sounds incredible.’
I clench my eyes shut. Moisture drips from my cock in anticipation. I hear rustling behind me while he searches for the next act in this show. I feel something solid pressed to the outside of my anus. Here it comes, I think to myself. The rustling is over. He is ready in position behind me. I am ready for this.
The sensation explodes in my mind, the sound of wood on wood jolts through me. Pain bleeds from the inside. I retch and cry, no pleasure is found. Only pain and blood. Life seeps out of me. My eyes refuse to open, my mind stuck solely on the agony.
My love leans forward, whispering in my ears. I shriek with anguish. His words crush my soul. I am done my muscles release, dropping me to the bed.
Forever arrives as a literally term for him.
He purrs again at my request to shut his eyes and wait for glory. Satisfaction is certainly to come, but only for one person in this room. I reach back into my bag and seek out the wood. Such a sexual term wood, heralding a man’s arousal and readiness for intercourse. If he knew of the wood I hold in my hand he wouldn’t be so trusting, so permissive. He has come to accept my many weird desires, but I doubt he expected this.
The wood fills my palm effortlessly. It’s shaped like a dildo, perhaps a little more pointed for my own purposes, but not so much as to cause alarm. Hello my old friend I tell myself. I brush its tip along his hole, teasing. Shivers quake through his body and into my wrist. He wants this. I can give it to him. In my other hand is wood also. A mallet.
My hands shake with anticipation, my cock throbs insanely. I swing forward in practised precision. Wood clashes. The stake pierces his pleasure. Shrieks escape his lips, the cry of pain so similar to one of pleasure. His green eyes widen, his surprised features pale. It was a present he surely would not have expected. I twist and thrust the stake as it were my own erection. My hips gyrate. The climax rises. I release the wooden stake for my fleshy thing. I finish myself off on his back, the thick white on the already cooling skin, and lean in during the orgasm.
‘I fucking… hate… homos,’ I hiss as I bite onto his earlobe, the life dripping away from him.
The stake retracts. He convulses. Nothing but gurgles splutter in the room.
‘I let you finish up,’ I spit, throwing my mallet and stake back into my bag. Inside I see the second of the dildos. I’m sure my wife will love that I scowl at the thought, one for him, one for her to fill that child-destroyed vagina I’ve suffered for twenty years. Red seeps into the sheets. Lucky I have already prepared. Cling wrap is a lot of work to get over a mattress but cheap, accessible and a quick cover for a body that’s ocean bound.
I stand up and stretch, satisfied with my work but knowing there is still much more filth to clean up before the gates of heaven are open to me. The faggot on the bed has succumbed quicker than the others, leaving me plenty of time to complete the rest of the night’s work. His eyelids ease to a final slit, the grey has faded quickly from his eyes. The task from here is easy, routine, but without pleasure, a chore. Fold, scrub, leave and all before the ten a.m. checkout.
As I stretch I catch the glimmer and sparkle from his hand. The ring is expensive, diamond set in white gold. With contempt I retract the beautiful object from his finger and drop it into my bag of goodies. Gay-fucking-marriage, I can’t believe he thought I would proceed with such a disgrace. Acting against God’s will, accepting the ring. You deserve death.
The noise throbs through me. Lights assault my pupils from every direction. The sound is an irritation, yet I know this is where I must rest and wait.
‘Hey,’ a slick, topless man slides up next to me.
‘Hey,’ I respond. The usual conversation is bound to follow.
‘Not much,’ I chime back, flicking my loose hair. ‘I’m supposed to be on an anniversary date, but got stood up.’
‘That’s no good, I’m sure we can cheer you up though.’ A smile grows between his cheeks. His eyes beam toward mine. A possession and desire rests inside them. There is something he wants. Something I can give.
‘I’m sure there is,’ I beam back at him.