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“I’m nervous.”

Why did I say I was nervous. Was I nervous? It didn’t matter because I knew internally that this was what I needed. Which at the moment was Oliver’s hand on top of mind, his cigarette casually burning beneath his fingers. My body was humming like a symphony. This felt like Vivaldi to me, intense, romantic, and slightly anxious. My body had been humming and taking on various symphonies in a way that excited and frightened me ever since we first shook hands in my fathers study. His hand caressed mine snd shook it slightly harder than necessary and ever since then I have been slightly harder than necessary. I had been living everyday in hopes of a conversation or a fleeting touch. I needed anything he would give me. If he wanted to hold me and stroke my back while I read him Chekhov that would be okay. If he wanted to whisper explicit obscenities in my ear while he brought me off so slowly with the same intensity that he gripped my hand with that day that tears pooled above my upper lip that would be more than okay. I wanted our sweat, saliva, and cum to mix into a concoction of love and lust that I would devour from his body. But what I wanted didn’t matter. I was starting to fear that I didn’t have a self concept anymore. That I didn’t have an awareness of where he ended and I began. Maybe that’s why all of a sudden I was second guessing what I believed to be the most natural carnal fantasy of my life. Oliver inside me. Inside my heart, soul, and body. But now that it was going to become a reality I was terrified. Not because I thought he would hurt me, actually quite the opposite. He would bring me such indescribable pleasure that I would die right then and there. That’s why in recent days of analyzing my dream of Oliver saying “You’ll kill me if you stop,” made me laugh. It really did seem humorous to me because surely the one to die by the others hand or cock would be me. I attribute this is to be the work of my subconscious and unrealistic fears of self-loathing. I knew my body wouldn’t be able to handle it and I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I didn’t want to cum from him just placing his hand under my shorts, but more importantly I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to cry and have Oliver feel like he had to take care of me even though that’s all I could ever wish for. I would sprawl out on a table with my feet tied to my wrists and an Apple settled between my teeth collecting drool as an offering. I’m here Oliver. Use me. Make me cry, make me cum just please don’t leave. Don’t leave. Oliver was going to leave. Would it be because of me, because I’m not enough. If I was, would he stay? My offering will never be enough. He will kill me by his hand or cock and leave me there to die. What a glorious way to die.

“Elio, you okay?”

“Yah, just thinking.”

“About what?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Well I can’t go talk to your mom right now.”

I tried to shove him with my hand and he caught it and placed my porcelain flesh against his tanned fluffy chest which settled on his heart like a magnetic pull.

“Do you feel that?”

“Not as fast as mine.”

“You goose, Do you have to make everything a competition?”

“What’s my prize?”

“Anything you want.”

As usual Oliver’s words went from my loins straight to my heart. Anything I want.

“Anything I want?”

“Yes, Elio what do you want?”

My hand was still attached to his heart and I wanted it. I wanted to hold it in my hand and feel it pump Oliver’s life force. I wanted to open up my chest and stick his heart on top of mine so they beat as one always and forever.

“Your heart.”

My voice broke at the word heart and I squeezed his chest along with the hair that resided there and fell in to him. He wrapped his arms around me and started rubbing my back in soothing circles. Something wet trailed from the top of my forehead to my nose. I lifted my chin from Oliver’s collarbone and looked up to find Oliver teary eyed. The only instinct I had was to lick his tears. I wanted to taste him but more importantly I wanted to taste his sadness because it existed. I didn’t know why but he was crying, in front of me, opening up his tear ducts for me to lick like a cat does with warm milk. In that moment I realized how greedy I was when it came to this man. I wanted his heart, his mind, his blood, his tears, his cock.

“I feel like you’re devouring me.”

Oliver’s voice came out low and husky and I prayed in that moment that he was holding me because I think I would have fallen without his arms enveloping my bones.

“You know I was actually nervous I would cry tonight.”

“Really? Why?”

“Either from pain or pleasure, maybe both.”

“I never want to cause you pain Elio.”

“But what if I want it?”

“Pain? No one wants to be in pain.”

He brushed my curls to the side of my face and lowered his lips on to mine claiming me. His tears and our saliva mixed in a way that made me feel dizzy.

“Oliver.”

I breathed against his neck because I couldn’t quite reach his ear.

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“To make you happy.”

His answer fell out of his mouth so suddenly and unapologetically I felt a new kind of awe. To make me happy? What had I done to deserve this?

“Oliver, but what if all I want is to make you happy?”

“You want my heart remember?”

“I do.”

“It already belongs to you Elio.”

I leaped into his arms and he caught me with ease. He tenderly laced his fingers underneath my thighs and started to walk towards his room. My room.