Ship of Fools

by Sophia Soames

  “Good eh?”

  “Where did you learn that?” I giggle into his mouth, as he kisses me. “Do it again.”

  “Porn. There’s this couple I watch, they are really good at showing all those parts of sex that normal porn cuts out. You know, the foreplay, stretching, making each other laugh.”

  “Sounds hot.”

  “It is. Picked up some tricks.” His fingers fuck into me again, and I buck off the bed as he tries to hold me down. He gets more lube. I steal some too, so I can give my dick a few strokes. This? Awesome.

  He’s definitely a tease, and he alternates with fingers, then he jerks me off until I almost beg for mercy, and then I think I’m going to come and he just pulls back and won’t let me. Fucking hell!

  “Get inside me.” I demand, as he lies back down behind me, and wraps me up against his chest, spooning me with every piece of skin he can touch me with. Lips, hips, legs even his toes stroke the soles of my feet as I hum and sigh with contentment.

  “You ready?” he asks.

  “I’m dying.” I shout, swatting at him as he lifts my knees back up to my chest, and wraps a big hairy arm around me.

  “You need... to fuck me...” I pant out. “Hard and fast.”

  “Yes, boss,” he says, and… then he moves away, which makes me cold and sad, and lonely and needy, and I pout a little at him as he gets up on his knees. Condom. Cock. Huge cock.

  “Fuck me, you’re gorgeous.” I say, because it’s the freaking truth. He’s strong and sculpted. hairy and manly, and those muscles under his skin and… and... and his cock is just. Big. Huge. Hard and perfect.

  He smiles. I tense up. This is the part that is... perhaps not so nice.

  “Just relax. I’m right here.” He’s back behind me, my knees back up against my chest, his hands everywhere as he lines himself up behind me, twisting my body into position like a rag doll. He’s spooning me and kissing me and...

  I don’t know how he does it, but he pushes inside me in a firm, hard stroke. It should hurt, but fuck. He’s huge. I tense up again, and he shushes in my ear.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” He whispers. “I’ll never ever do anything you don’t want me to do to you, and I will never make it painful. I’ve been there, and it’s fucking awful. I promise you, just tell me if it’s too much and I will stop. Always.”

  “You’re huge.” I stutter out. He shushes again and strokes my leg. Wraps his hand around my cock and rolls his hips.

  He seems completely calm, giving me tiny soft strokes as his hips roll, and I try to breathe through the intrusion. Let him move my body as he sees fit, as I slowly relax and his hand is giving my dick just the right amount of pressure and pull, his cock now moving smoothly in and out of me.

  “Faster.” I hiss. He’s too slow. Too gentle. I need. I need it all. I’m not going to last long. I can feel my mind going, my body rising up off the bed and my blood roaring in my ears as he starts to fuck me for real.

  He’s bloody strong, holding us both together as he slams into me, letting go of my dick so he can hold my leg up and get the angle right. He keeps going as I drift in and out of blissful moaning and urging him on, using my leg to try to up the speed. He’s good, firm and rough, like his hands and arms are holding me in prisoner and his cock is almost violently slamming into me, at a frightening speed. In out. Hard and fast. Perfect.

  I grab myself just in time to finish myself off with a few clumsy strokes. I come and my mouth can only hiccup out syllables as I coat myself in splashes of cum.

  He keeps going, my whole body over sensitised as I whine and try to catch his mouth in a kiss. All he can do is drool against my mouth as he stills in a spasm that seems to rock his body to the core.

  He’s come inside of me. His arms around my body, I’m wrapped up like a little Christmas present, with his arms being a pretty little bow.

  We lie there forever, before he reluctantly lets go, and disposes of the condom somewhere on the floor and tugs at the covers. Then there are uncoordinated pushes and pulls at my limp body until I’m under the duvet, as I just smile and let myself roll into pillows that smell of summer days, and too many sheets and blankets getting tucked under my chin. Kisses. So many little kisses.

  He wraps his arms around me and whispers “Don’t leave.”

  I couldn’t leave if I tried.

  I want to talk. I want to taste that cock of his. I want to lick his body from top to toe. There are so many other things I want to do. I want…I need…

  I fall asleep, my body too exhausted to move and my brain too overwhelmed to think anymore.

  Luca

  Christmas morning traditionally starts with me waking up on my parents’ sofa with a sore back and a crick in my neck. Anna usually bunks up with Bea, since Anna’s childhood room got converted into Mum’s office slash storage area for her many business ventures, and nowadays houses most of our mum’s knitting yarn, and god knows what else festers in the house where we grew up.

  My room became part of the garage when I moved out, in an attempt to get our car inside the improved space. It still wasn’t large enough for Dad’s van, so now instead houses all Dad’s paperwork and files from his business. It’s just the way things are around there, and I almost half expect to wake up at home before I get my eyes open. The air smells of cooking, buttery flavours and coffee, and I’m nice and content under the covers.

  I know I am home in my own flat though, in my bed. I’m all warm, satisfied and sleepy, still on a high from the night before. He should have left. That would have been easier to deal with, a slow painful nursing of that deep heartburning ache, full of memories of him, that would eventually fade. Instead, he is clearly pottering around in my kitchen, which makes me all nervous.

  This wasn’t part of the plan.

  I like sex. But I approach it like I do most things in life. It has to be practical, safe and easy. I have a few friends for that sort of thing, friends who are just like me and we fuck around to satisfy that itch, and it’s never something that involves feelings. I don’t even kiss them, we just suck each other off, and I get to fuck them, and they get off and I get off and then we have a cup of tea and that’s it. I know it’s hardly romantic, but it works and keeps me sane. I don’t need the complications of heartbreak and the horrific depression that follows. I’ve been there and it almost broke me. I don’t even think about it anymore. Well, I hardly think about it, until things like this happen, and I remember how easily my life could self-destruct.

  Last night was just as perfect as I expected a night with him to be, and I can still smell him on my skin. I want to go shower, but that feels like washing him off me, and taking away the memories etched on my brain. Andreas was amazing, sexy and funny, making me laugh with all his little ways. He let me take charge, and that? That’s what I need. I need to be in control. That’s what makes me tick, and I…

  It makes me ashamed to even think about it and admit it to myself, but I’m just like that when it comes to sex. I suppose I’ve got some dominant urges that I pull out of the hat when it comes to intimacy, yet in real life? I am skittish, scared of conflicts, and play it safer than I should. Bea has told me enough times to stop hiding and start getting myself out there again, into real life. The problem is, I like my version of real life. It’s a nice problem-free existence where I’m quite happy, thank you very much.

  “You’re awake!” he says, his face lighting up like a beam of sunlight, as he comes in carrying a tray. Well, I’m no domestic goddess, so he is using my cheap IKEA chopping board as a tray, and balanced on it, are two cups of coffee and a plate of perfectly golden pancakes.

  “You have no syrup, which is kind of shit, because pancakes are always better with syrup.”

  “You made pancakes.” I state in disbelief.

  “Yeah? I was going to do a full English, but your cupboards are kind of bare. I found one egg, so pancakes it was. You had no bloody bacon, no beans and not even a mushroom or tomato. And it’s Chr
istmas Day, so nothing’s open in this godforsaken town.

  “You made pancakes.” I stutter out again.

  “Love pancakes. Here’s your coffee. It’s black because I used up the last of the milk for the pancakes. Take it or leave it. Have you got a milk frother? Just so I know, otherwise I will get you one, so I can make you a nice frothy top on your cappuccinos.”

  It’s very him, so much him that I can’t stop smiling as I accept the cup of perfectly brewed coffee, a layer of perfect golden foam on the top, and steam rising from the cup. And pancakes.

  He rolls one up like a cigar and hands it to me, feeding it to me like I’m a child. I lick his finger. He laughs. Feeds me another bite, sticking his thumb in my mouth, letting me clean the buttery residue off his skin.

  My dick likes that too, and I half contemplate if it’s worth throwing coffee and pancakes all over the carpet, so I can take him across the IKEA chopping board that now sits on my bed.

  “I want to fuck you so bad right now.” I say with a grin, and he laughs out loud, rolling up another pancake and taking a showy bite out of it as he winks at me.

  “Let me finish my coffee, and you can pound my arse as much as you want. I loved last night. Loved it. I haven’t been fucked like that, like, ever. Never ever. You, can do me, anytime.”

  “So, we are doing this again?” I question, before my mouth gets stuffed full of pancake, and then he leans over and kisses me breathless as I chew. It’s disgustingly lovely and stupidly erotic as I put my hand inside his dressing gown, stroking his chest and pinching a nipple.

  It’s my dressing gown. He’s wearing my dressing gown, and it’s frankly stupid how much I love seeing him in it.

  “I’ve…” I start, between being fed and kissed, as he crawls onto my lap and straddles me, pancake in one hand and coffee in the other.

  “You’re going to spill coffee everywhere and get burned.”

  “Yeah, probably, but it’ll be worth it.” He giggles back, and makes himself comfortable, now sitting cross-legged between my legs. He takes a bite of the pancake in his hand, then feeds me the remaining piece, his face far too close to my own, and I smile as he gives me a triumphant grin and takes a sip from his cup of coffee. “I could do this, every morning. I woke up and watched you sleep for a while, because the light from outside was on your face and you looked beautiful. But then I got antsy and had to get up and go explore and get a drink and it was just… I got hungry and I wanted to do something nice for you. I didn’t want you to wake up full of regrets and go Oh my god, he’s still here!”

  “You’re still here. I told you to stay.”

  “I wanted to stay. But, you know, most guys don’t like you hanging around in the morning.”

  He looks sad, and I kiss him. If I wasn’t holding my coffee, and he wasn’t holding his, I would wrap him up in a big hug, because that is something I don’t like to hear, not coming from him. Because why anyone wouldn’t want him, and wouldn’t want to wake up to his relentless chatter and perfect coffee, and his warm body in my dressing gown? Madness.

  “I would want to wake up with you every morning, that would be a lovely fantasy.” I say, and kiss his temple. His forehead. Side of his head. Earning myself a mouthful of hair in the process.

  “I’d happily move in with you, it’s much nicer here than in my flat.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Rented furnished newbuild, you know up on the Croftlands’ estate?” He sips. I kiss. He laughs. “It’s nice enough, but I don’t own anything. I have my coffee maker, a suitcase full of clothes and my books and tech and stuff. Everything fits nicely in my Mini. I could literally move in with you this afternoon, and we could live happily ever after.” He giggles and I drain my cup. Then I drop it on the floor and cup his face.

  “Don’t tempt me with fantasies that will never happen. My little heart couldn’t take the heartbreak of when you get bored with me and dump me like a scrunched-up tissue.”

  “What kind of metaphor is that? Have you seen yourself? I’d struggle to turn you into a scrunched-up tissue, the size of you, all these muscles, you are more like a giant, cuddly bear.”

  “I’m not a bear.”

  “You are totally a bear, and I’m like your little cub.”

  He’s so ridiculous that I can't help myself. I take his cup and drop it carelessly on the floor, then flip him onto his back in one fell swoop. He weighs practically nothing, his legs and arms flapping around as I tickle my way underneath the dressing gown, kissing any part of his skin that I can reach.

  I’m naked. Covered in sweat and dried cum from last night. Him? He smells of soap and happiness, as I rip the dressing gown from his shoulders, and push my ridiculously hard cock against his arse as the board and the now empty plate hits the floor with an alarming crash.

  “You can just slide back in there if you want. I don’t mind.” he says, a little wide-eyed with shock.

  “I’m not doing that.” I mutter, in between little throaty moans escaping against my will. “That will hurt.”

  “I’m okay with a little hurt.” His hips are bucking underneath me as his legs wrap around my back. “Just do it.”

  “Any idea where the lube went?”

  “I can feel you better without the lube. You used enough of it, last night. I’m still lubricated like a good old engine on the inside.”

  “OMG.” I sigh. “Your jokes are worse than my dad’s.”

  “I want to meet your dad. He’s like, famous in the car industry.”

  “Are we fucking or discussing my father’s credentials?”

  “I’m more thinking we should act out more of that kinky fantasy we had going on last night.”

  He’s truly... off his head. High on coffee. Ridiculous. Lovely, in the loveliest way as I lick the tip of his nose, and place a million kisses on his ridiculous mouth, as my cock has somehow nudged itself inside him. Just a little, but I push, and he wriggles and moans as I break through the muscles resisting my entry. It’s tight as hell, and I realise too late I’m bare and condom-less and stupid as fuck. I don’t know where he’s been. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m in too deep here and I half panic, trying to push away, as he holds me even tighter. Legs and arms and his mouth against mine.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers.

  “It’s not.” I whisper back. I’m close to panic here, What the hell am I doing?

  “I’ve never been with anyone like you. You, are... amazing, kind, patient and you let me be... me. You don’t laugh at me or belittle me or think I’m some stupid, airhead twink. I feel safe with you, and I feel... like I can just be me. I can relax, be all stupid and silly, and you will still like me tomorrow morning. Hell, you might even like me next week. I’m not used to that. So that’s why it’s okay, because I want it to be. I want this to be a thing we can do, like have sex, and laugh about it and play out our silly fantasies, and make things… real? Do you think this is real?”

  I’m struggling to follow him, my cock pulsating inside of him, and the urge to fuck his brains out overwhelming me, as I do a pathetic little jerk and try my best to breathe through the fog clouding my brain. I start to speak and stutter and then I try to pull back and somehow it all just comes out of my mouth, like I have some need to tell him, tell anyone, and explain why this is just such a bad... bad. Bad...

  “I met someone when I was twenty-one,” I hiccup out. “His name’s Connor, and he was the most beautiful boy ever. We were boyfriends for a stupid, insane rollercoaster of a tiny fucking couple of months, yet it felt like a lifetime... and then he dumped me for someone he met on a night out and I... it wasn’t a good time. I think I lost it for a while. It messed with my head, and most of the time I just thought of either kicking things, or hurling myself in front of the express train to Manchester. I wasn’t right, and I knew it, but there was nothing I could do to stop myself. I was just broken and hurt, and everything was so bloody fucked up.”

  “I understand that,” he says
softly, shushing in my ear, as I realise, I am crying. Big ugly crocodile tears falling from my face, as my whole body is convulsing with sobs, and my cock? Limp as a bad hot dog, sliding out of him as he shushes and soothes me with kisses and skin.

  “I drank myself into a stupor, spent all my savings on alcohol. Smoked a shedload of weed. Then I was in therapy for a year. It didn’t help. I still wanted to kill him. And his new boyfriend. And I wanted to burn down the rest of the world while I was at it.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “My mum’s mum was an alcoholic, and my mum almost had a nervous breakdown with me drinking, thinking I was turning into one as well. My parents never drink, because it freaks my mum out. She has triggers, and I mean…” I sob. He shushes, and strokes my hair. “That’s what would happen if… if I lost it again. I don’t think I could... pick myself up again.”

  “I’m not Connor.” He says softly.

  “I know.” I sob.

  “You are years older and wiser.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it.”

  “You are terrified of me, and what I might do to you.”

  His words hit me like a hammer to the nuts, and I bury my face in his neck. Let the scent of him somehow soothe me as he strokes my back. I’m probably squashing him, and he must be struggling to breathe with me on top of his body like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Just strokes. Soothes. Shushes softly as I somehow seem to calm myself down.

  “You are… exactly what I am scared of.” I manage to whisper out.

  “And you, are like all my nightmares and every fantasy I have ever had, weirdly thrown into one.” He says, and giggles into my hair. “I think, we could.”

  “We could, what?”

  “We could work at this.”

  “Doing exactly what?” I say, finally getting my face out of the snug little place against his shoulder.

  “Being good for each other. Starting over. Being friends. Falling in love instead of just being in lust. Sleeping together and waking up like this. Talking, and... being just who we are. We need to stop being scared. Because you are not the only one terrified here.”