Straight Boy: A Short Story

by Alessandra Hazard

He whimpered when Xavier pushed another slick finger in and started fucking him with them. It felt good. So good. Sage closed his eyes and, wrapping his hand around his cock, started jerking off. He tried to think about his girlfriend, but Xavier’s big hand stroking his stomach and ass made it impossible. He had a man’s fingers in his ass and he was loving it. But right now, he didn’t care how wrong and dirty—and gay—it was.

  Sage groaned when Xavier’s fingers started moving faster. He wanted to come. He was burning with it. He stroked his cock, small moans leaving his lips as Xavier tortured his prostate. He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t. But god, it felt so good.

  Xavier shoved a third finger in, and the burn made Sage cry out and come, shaking with his entire body, his knees barely holding him up.

  When Sage opened his eyes, the realization of what had just happened hit him hard: He came with Xavier’s fingers inside him. Another man had made him come. And everyone saw it.

  Dazedly, Sage jumped away from Xavier. He soaped himself all over, trying to ignore the catcalls.

  He refused to look at Xavier.

  * * *

  They didn’t talk about it.

  Sage ignored Xavier, and Xavier let him ignore him.

  Next time they were in the showers, Sage tensed, expecting Xavier to push his fingers in again, but he didn’t.

  It threw Sage off-balance.

  He told himself he was glad—and he was. Being fingered in public was beyond mortifying.

  He was glad.

  * * *

  A few weeks went by, and all Xavier did was fondle him a little. Sometimes, he kneaded Sage’s ass and massaged his hole, but he never pushed his fingers in anymore. The worst part was, Sage still got an erection even when Xavier’s hand barely touched his ass.

  It confused him and made him angry—with himself. And it annoyed him that Xavier constantly walked around shirtless. A show-off.

  “Don’t you own a shirt?” Sage snapped one evening.

  Xavier just looked at him for a long moment, his eyes gleaming. “It never bothered you before.”

  Sage scowled.

  The assessing look Xavier gave him made him uncomfortable.

  “What?” Sage said.

  “Do you want something, Sage?”

  Sage. His own name sounded strange. Xavier usually called him something ridiculous, knowing how much it annoyed him.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Sage turned onto his stomach, determined to ignore him.

  But Xavier didn’t let him ignore him.

  He tensed when he felt Xavier sit on his bunk next to him.

  A big hand touched his butt.

  “Do you want me to touch you?” Xavier’s voice was quiet.

  Sage wet his lips. “No.”

  A finger slipped under his shorts and stroked between his cheeks gently. “You sure about that?”

  “I’m straight.”

  “Do you want me to touch you?” Xavier repeated, as though he hadn’t said anything.

  Sage bit his lip and remained quiet.

  Probably taking it as a yes, Xavier pulled his shorts down.

  It isn’t happening, Sage told himself. It couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t lying on a prison bunk while his cellmate groped and spread his cheeks.

  It was really happening.

  Sage bit the inside of his cheek when Xavier’s finger circled his twitching hole. Then there was something wet pressing against his hole. Sage went rigid. A tongue. Xavier was licking his hole.

  Flushing, Sage whispered, “What are you doing—it’s disgusting—” And gay.

  Sage tried to push Xavier’s head away from his ass, but Xavier just gripped his buttocks hard and, spreading his cheeks, forced his tongue in.

  “Are you craz—mmm…” Sage’s protests turned into a long moan as Xavier fucked his hole with his tongue, delving deeper and deeper, again and again, until it wasn’t deep enough. Sage groaned and started pushing back on the tongue, wanting more, needing more, his hole twitching hungrily around the tongue. He whimpered, pushing his ass higher. It was dirty and obscene, and so very wrong, but he loved it. Distantly, he wondered what Laura would say if she saw him now, writhing on a guy’s tongue like a—like a slut. He flushed at the thought, but he couldn’t stop doing it—just as he couldn’t stop needy whimpers.

  “Please.” He wanted to come. He wanted something deeper in him. The tongue felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough. “More.”

  Suddenly, the tongue was gone.

  Sage panted heavily, rubbing his leaking cock against the mattress, his hole twitching and empty. Finally, two lubed fingers pushed into his hole, and his ass immediately clenched around them.

  “You were fucking born for this,” Xavier said hoarsely, pumping the fingers in and out of him. Sage moaned as they repeatedly brushed slightly against his prostate—too briefly; he wanted it harder.

  “Harder,” he said, pushing back onto Xavier’s fingers.

  Xavier chuckled. “I’ll give you my cock in a moment.”

  Sage’s eyes widened. “I’m not gay.”

  Xavier pulled the fingers out, and Sage whined, his hole clenching convulsively.

  So empty. He never thought it was possible to feel so empty.

  He squirmed, wanting.

  Xavier circled his fingers over his hole. Sage tried to impale himself on them, but Xavier took the fingers away, laughing softly. The next moment, Xavier rolled on top of him and Sage felt something slick and blunt touch his hole.

  “This is my cock,” Xavier said hoarsely. “If you want it, you will ask for it. I’m not going to fuck you if you don’t want ask.”

  “I have a girlfriend,” Sage whispered.

  But did he? Did he have a girlfriend?

  Xavier sucked on his neck, his breath hot against his skin. “I don’t care. You may have a girlfriend, but right now you want my cock in you.”

  The head of the cock stroked his hole but didn’t push in. Sage bit back a moan. He wanted it. He wanted a cock in him. He wanted it so badly he was shaking with it. He wanted Xavier to fuck him. He wanted to spread his legs like a whore and beg. God, he really was Xavier’s bitch. What had this prison done to him?

  “I hate you,” he said, with feeling.

  “Sure,” Xavier said, placing kisses all over his neck and making his neck tingle. “Now ask.”

  Sage shook his head, but his body had a mind of its own and was already pushing back on the cock. He gasped as the head breached his sphincter. It didn’t hurt as much as he expected, so he pushed back again, moaning as Xavier’s cock slid all the way in.

  “You were supposed to ask,” Xavier gritted out.

  Sage grinned. “Was I?”

  “Cheeky little shit,” Xavier ground out before starting to move. He set a quick rhythm, fucking into him without restraint.

  Sage closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe how good it felt. He was moaning and panting as he pushed back onto his cellmate’s cock, his own cock drooling all over the mattress.

  “That’s it,” Xavier said against his ear, licking and kissing it. “You’re my thing now. Mine.”

  Sage groaned, pushing back onto Xavier’s cock, wanting him deeper.

  Their grunts and moans echoed in the cell as they moved together, fucking faster and faster. Sage knew anyone could see them, anyone could hear them, but the thought turned him on even more. He didn’t care, not now.

  Shoving a hand under him, Xavier wrapped a hand around his cock and started jerking him off. It was too much all at once and the orgasm hit Sage hard. He came with a long, hoarse moan. It left him boneless, and he just lay still as Xavier pounded into him a few more times before coming with a low groan.

  They lay like that for a long while, still breathing hard. Xavier was too heavy, but Sage didn’t want him to move. It felt good. So good. He could still feel Xavier inside him, but the expected freak out didn’t come. Not yet, at least.

  At last, Xavier pulled out and rolled onto his side, tuggi
ng Sage against his chest. It probably looked like they were spooning, but of course they weren’t. The bunk was just too narrow. But… But Sage had to admit it felt good to feel someone so close after months of feeling alone.

  Maybe he was touch-starved.

  Maybe this was what Stockholm syndrome felt like.

  Maybe.

  Right now, Sage couldn’t bring himself to care.

  He buried his face in Xavier’s arm and breathed.

  “Still straight?” Xavier murmured into his ear, pulling him tighter to him.

  “Yep,” Sage said, closing his eyes.

  But he didn’t push him away.

  He totally would.

  Later.

  End of Part I

  PART II: STARVED

  “If they call you my bitch, you say you’re my bitch.” A hot whisper against his ear as the firm, muscular body pressed against him from behind. “You’re my thing, Blue Eyes. Remember that. My thing.”

  Sage woke up with a start and stared at the ceiling in confusion for a moment before recalling where he was. His bedroom. Right. He was no longer in prison. It was over. He was free.

  He was free of him.

  A quiet snoring right beside him made Sage turn his head.

  Laura was sleeping by his side, her pretty face peaceful and her porcelain-like skin glowing in the moonlight coming from the window.

  It was over.

  It was over.

  Sage repeated it for the next few minutes, but it was useless: he was still tense and alert, in more ways than one.

  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to match his girlfriend’s breathing.

  It didn’t work.

  Maybe Laura was right and he really needed to see a therapist after all.

  “It was a traumatic experience for you,” she had said only the other day. “A psychologist will help you, love.”

  A traumatic experience.

  Sage’s lips twisted. She didn’t know the half of it, though sometimes he wondered if she suspected something. Laura had never asked, but she wasn’t stupid. Given his...problems, she probably suspected something had been done to him in prison. She probably thought he had been raped.

  A harsh chuckle left Sage’s throat. If only she knew. Even thinking about Laura’s expression if she ever found out... It made his face burn with shame and embarrassment. He had never considered himself homophobic and had been of the opinion that there was nothing wrong with being gay; it had just nothing to do with him. He’d always known he was straight.

  What would his mom think if she was still alive?

  Sage swallowed hard. It’d been almost a year since she’d died—he was still in prison at the time—and the pain had dulled, but at moments like these, solitary, lonely moments, he missed her.

  Sighing, Sage turned onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to count his breathing, tried to focus on how many breaths he was taking in and out. It didn’t work. The pillow was too soft. The mattress was too soft. The room was too warm.

  Dammit.

  A year. He had been in prison only for a year, but everything—his freedom, Laura, their relationship—still felt surreal. Sometimes, it felt like his surroundings would disappear any moment and would be replaced with a tiny, cold cell and a heavy, possessive arm slung over his stomach.

  Sage swore under his breath. No. He wouldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t think about him. It was over. He was normal again.

  He was.

  * * *

  Laura was very beautiful, curvy in all the right places and slender everywhere else. She would make any red-blooded man’s mouth water.

  Yet once again, Sage found himself turning away and looking at his soft dick in dismay. He sat up and ran a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

  Behind him, Laura heaved a sigh. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No,” he said, rolling off the bed. His face red with mortification and his back to her, he pulled on his shorts. He couldn’t look at her.

  “I really think you need to see a therapist,” she said carefully.

  He hated that tone. She treated him as though he was a very sick person. Maybe he was.

  “I don’t need a therapist,” Sage bit out.

  “Be reasonable,” she said. “It’s been five months, but you clearly still have problems. I’m not even talking about...this. You keep pushing me away. I have to ask you if I can stay for the night! You barely sleep, and when you do, I’ve seen you moan in your sleep, as though you’re in pain. You don’t talk to me. Half of the time you’re so distant it feels like you aren’t even here!”

  Sage snapped, “If I suck so much, why are you still here?”

  Silence followed his words.

  “Do you want me to leave you alone? Is that what you want?”

  Sighing, Sage turned around and walked to her. “I’m sorry,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. You know I love you.”

  He pressed his face against her sweet-smelling hair and closed his eyes. She was so soft in his arms. So small. So fragile.

  So wrong, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

  Sage bit his lip hard and opened his eyes. “I’ll see a therapist.”

  * * *

  “Tell me about him.” Dr. Richardson’s voice was pleasant and friendly.

  Sage wondered if it was part of her training. Probably.

  “Who?” he said, looking at his hands.

  “Xavier. The man you shared a cell with. What was your relationship like?”

  Sage shrugged with one shoulder, still eyeing his hands. “Normal enough, I guess.”

  Dr. Richardson sighed. “Sage, you have to be honest with me. There’s no point in your coming to see me if you are not. I’m here to help you. Anything you tell me stays in this room.”

  Sage glanced at her. The woman’s gray eyes met his. She seemed sincere enough.

  “You really won’t tell my girlfriend anything?”

  “I won’t. In my line of work, trust is extremely important. I would never betray doctor-patient confidentiality. Now, please tell me about Xavier.”

  Sage looked back at his hands. “What do you want to know?”

  “Did you have sexual relations with him?”

  Sage licked his lips. “How did you guess?” he muttered.

  “There’s no need to be embarrassed.” Dr. Richardson’s voice was sympathetic. “I would have been more surprised if something like that didn’t happen to you, considering your physical appearance.”

  Sage let out a short laugh. “Thanks?”

  “There really is nothing to be ashamed of. Studies show that at least twenty percent of inmates are pressured into sexual relations. The figure is most likely much higher—most inmates simply don’t admit it, fearing that it will ruin them if anyone finds out.”

  Sage continued looking at his hands.

  Dr. Richardson sighed again. “Very well. Please describe Xavier using three words.”

  “Asshole,” Sage said. “Confident. Big.” He frowned. “Though he isn’t really that big. I’m not sure why I said that. Sure, he’s tall and fit, but he isn’t built like a tank.”

  She noted something in her notebook. “Would you say you hate him?”

  Sage chuckled. “What do you think? Of course I hated him. He—he turned me into—into his thing. And everyone knew.” He clenched his fingers into fists.

  Silence. Sage couldn’t bring himself to look at the therapist.

  “Sage,” she said at last. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to know that I’m not trying to offend you. Regardless of your answer, it won’t change anything.”

  He didn’t like it already. “Fine. Ask away.”

  “Did you find sex with your cellmate physically enjoyable?”

  Sage sucked a breath in. “I’m straight.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” she said gently. “If one’s partner is exper
ienced, sexual intercourse can be enjoyable regardless of one’s sexuality.”

  “It... it wasn’t terrible, I guess.”

  “Have you ever achieved orgasm with him?”

  Sage looked aside, and then at the window, and then at the bookcase. “Yeah,” he said, awkwardly.

  “So he was a considerate sexual partner?”

  “Not really.”

  There was silence as she processed his words. “You mean he was rough with you, but you still experienced an orgasm?”

  “Does it matter?” Sage said, his face aflame.

  Dr. Richardson studied him for a moment. “Very well, we will not talk about it this time if you don’t want to. Let’s talk about your girlfriend.”

  “Laura? What about her?”

  “Do you love her?”

  “Of course,” Sage said quickly. “We’ve been together for years.”

  Dr. Richardson’s gaze unnerved him a bit. “Have you had sex with your girlfriend since you were released from prison?”

  Sage fidgeted. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Is it as satisfying as before?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Just a simple question. Please answer it truthfully. I won’t judge you.”

  Sage hesitated. “It’s okay enough,” he said awkwardly. “But...”

  The doctor waited patiently.

  “But it feels off,” Sage finished, without looking at her.

  “Off?”

  “I feel like... like something is missing.”

  “Could you elaborate, please?”

  Her calm, professional tone helped him.

  “It feels wrong to be the—the… I mean—it’s just—she expects me to initiate sex, do all the work and pleasure her, but...” He trailed off, too embarrassed to finish.

  “But you have become accustomed to being on the receiving end,” Dr. Richardson finished for him.

  Sage cringed. At least she hadn’t said he’d gotten used to having a dick in him when he came.

  “Yeah,” he said reluctantly, looking down.