Unspeakably Erotic by D.L. King

Author:D.L. King
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2017-01-10T05:00:00+00:00

CUCKOLD

B. D. Swain

Tell me it isn’t true that at the heart of every young butch is a balled-up, wet hankie. Prove it. The butches I know are always coming up short, feeling insecure and unsatisfied when what they’ve got is so right. I’m not pointing fingers. I’m talking about me; me and every goddamn butch I ever met. I’m here to tell you I needed to change. Things were no good. I was no good. But all that was going to be set straight. I was sure of it.

I never cared about being short like some of my friends. I never minded if my date insisted on paying for dinner or could drink me under the table. It wasn’t the day-to-day bullshit that ate me up inside. It was a matter of degree. It was that I grew up soft, educated, rich enough to never think much about money. It was that I never worked a job with my hands. I hadn’t earned the leather boots I wore. I’d bought them without thinking twice about the money. Every time I saw a hard butch pull wadded-up singles out of her front pocket and count them before ordering her beer, I hated myself.

It didn’t matter that I picked a girl up at the bar. I was never butch enough. I spent the next couple of hours fucking her angry, pounding into her to make up for what I wasn’t. A real butch. A hard one. I fucked her until she curled her fingers around the back of my neck and told me she couldn’t take any more. I growled in her ear. She fell asleep in my bed and I kneeled next to her, staring in wonder. Why would she come home with me? How could I ever keep a girl like this after she found out I was a phony? I might look tough at the bar, but she’d find out how soft I was soon enough. It ate me up inside. I could never be the butch I longed to be.

I get what this sounds like. Poor little rich asshole. Yeah, that’s me. That’s all you need to know for now. But let me tell you the rest of the story. Let me tell you how I kept going back to the bars. Kept playing the part. Me with crumpled dollar bills soaking up beer on the bar. There I am with a bottle of Bud in the corner. I don’t smoke but it would have been a soft pack of Marlboros if I did. I wore my jeans tight and kept a ring of keys in my front right pocket, wearing away a hole toward my inner thigh. I looked the part in those bars. I knew enough to make eye contact. I knew enough to smile and chat and get a little drunk and press my hand against the small of her back. “Baby, let’s get out of here,” I’d say and more times than you’d think, we’d go.

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