Dotting the “I” in bi
“You will what?”, I insisted, a little less defiant this time. He was shaking like a reed, from anger I assumed, but he let go of me and took half a step back in the cramped little booth.
“No one can ever find out about this, you hear!” He still attempted to make it sound intimidating, but I heard the insecurity creeping in his voice.
“Hey,” I soothed, “don’t tell me you didn’t like it. You don’t just stick your dick in someone’s face unless you like it.”
He may have been taller and stronger, but I had always been smarter and more insightful than him. And I was right on the money. He didn’t scare me. Sometimes I felt sorry for him. But not now. Now he just made me thirsty. He didn’t resist when I approached him, and just surrendered when I started to unzip his pants. I peeled it over his knees straight away and let it fall to his ankles. This time I did sit down on the toilet lid, and grabbed the elastic of his undies, pulled it down slowly until his erection jumped out of its cage like a tormented locked up snake that was finally set free.