Brian
After I let Ray fall asleep mid morning, I was feeling like I’ve been hit with a ten-ton pile of bricks. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a bone-deep, satisfying type of fatigue, and it only comes from a heavy night of hot sex. Sure enough, there’s a weight in my arms and when I open my eyes, Ray is lying there, beautiful beyond compare. He looks so peaceful asleep. His lush pink lips are parted slightly as he breathes, and I almost felt bad for fucking him roughly when I knew he was enough to qualify as a work of art--the prettiest portrait ever painted, and one that should be kept safe in a museum, only for viewing and never for touching.
But then, I grin. I’m a red-blooded American male, and hell, I would have loved taking him every which way until Sunday. I’m not ashamed to admit it either because with the way he was screaming and crying out, Ray got the ride of his life. He looked so innocent and naive but the things we did in bed together? The words dirty, nasty, and filthy don’t
