©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#566)
It feels like dress up to all of us.
I’m sure there are people out there who put on a tux every night and it’s the most normal thing in the world, but most of us learned to suck cock in jeans and a sweater. Hell, most of us learned in an unflattering swimsuit or running shorts after track practice.
I learned to kiss under a pool table, and the first time I touched a wet cunt was behind the tennis courts with a teacher looking on from the window above. I tasted pussy on the grass of the library, and I held too many asses to count on awkward dance floors with girls I could barely talk too.
And yet, when I put on those pants and the tie, when she snaps on her garters, the world changes. All those pasts are still there, but all I can feel is my blood pulsing and all I can think about is what her thighs will feel like beneath my tongue. I can hold a glass of champagne to her lips as I slide inside her and I get to be in my own story. She’s elegant and I’m classy, and her pussy is so tight I can barely keep my eyes open.
Sometimes she calls me Sir and sometimes it’s bastard, but it doesn’t matter. In the morning I can never remember if we were pretending to dress up the night before or faking it right there in our flannel sheets and cheap coffee.
The line between real and everything else is as weak as my memory of the night before.