I Submit. Sort Of.

Jed and I went to see Hounded, which was part of the Brooklyn Film Festival and playing at the Cobble Hill Cinema on Court Street. Jed had sent me a link which had brief blurbs about the films playing that evening, and Hounded sounded sexy, so I chose that over the story of a special friendship that develops between two boys, blah, blah, blah.

Hounded is about a burnt out probation officer who gets involved in a sadomasochistic relationship with one of her parolees, a sulky and rather sexy boy of about 16. It was pretty kinky. For much of the film, the boy, Jan, is trying to please this woman, romance her. Jan’s clearly this vulnerable kid and Elsa’s an in-charge adult with a longtime partner and teenage daughter. But Jan is not just pursuing her but daring her, trying to seduce her into using and abusing him, which, eventually, she starts to do. He gets her to beat him with a ruler, chain him up at her partner’s empty garage, etc. He wants it, and she loves doing it.

I really liked the film's exploration of the power dynamic, and it made me think about the conversation Jefferson and I once had about submission and dominance. The power structure is thus: even though Elsa is the responsible adult whose job it is to keep Jan in line, the fact is that Jan is in charge, because Elsa has so much to lose if the affair goes wrong (as it must). And once Elsa gives into the temptation of an erotic and violent relationship with a susceptible teenager, she has put herself at risk, not only because of the heady power of the kinky stuff, but also because her relationship with this boy threatens the well being of her family and her own emotional stability. There’s a power in Jan’s youth and beauty; he can afford to be vulnerable in a way Elsa cannot.

Anyway. Jed and I sat in the theatre and nudged one another at various sexy and disturbing moments, and when the lights came up we agreed: It was hot (hot being Jed’s favored term of approval). There is an element of dominance and submission in the way Jed and I fuck. I thought about that, and about the appropriateness of this choice of film, and I got all shivery.

We took the train to Jed’s neighborhood, where Jed lives in a bona fide loft in a converted factory, along with lots of other arty white twentysomethings. It reminded me of a dorm. In his loft, two windowless rooms had been carved out of the raw space with the judicious use of particleboard walls and whatnot. There was a real kitchen and bathroom, however, and I thought it was kind of cool.

Jed introduced me to his roommate, and then opened a bottle of wine and fried up some dumplings, burning his hand in the process. I hadn’t had dinner, so soon I was buzzed and feeling very mellow, sitting in Jed’s kitchen watching him fence with the grease-spitting pan, using the lid like a shield as he tried to sear the wonton skins without burning himself.

If I were his age, I would have a massive, brain-numbing crush on Jed. As it is, I find him pretty thrilling.

We ate our dumplings and broccoli, and by the end of the meal I was feeling just sodden with horniness and affection. We sat on stool at the kitchen counter, my thigh sandwiched between his. We kissed, and I tugged my fingers through his heat-damp curls.

Eventually we retired to his bedroom, which was one of the carved out rooms in the middle of the loft. It was dim and crammed with stuff, and Jed had a loft bed. The ladder wasn’t angled: it was flush against the bed without real steps, just wide planks a foot or so apart. Jed had to hoist me up, and when I reached the top I struggled cause I couldn’t get a purchase. When I landed on his mattress I stretched out. It was very attic-like and cozy (or possibly claustrophobic), with the ceiling low over us.

We started to kiss, and Jed pressed himself against me. “These need to come off,” he said, and tugged off my underwear. He was wearing white boy short underwear, which he took off.

I slid up against him, wanting him inside me. We kissed, and after a few moments I said, “Are you going to fuck me?”

Jed pulled his torso away from me. “Maybe I will,” he said, “And maybe I won’t.”

I eyed him: “Do you want me to beg?” As always, with Jed my voice becomes this breathless demand. I sound all whispery and achy, and at the same time sort of careless: “’Cause I will if you want me to.” As long as you fuck me. “Do you want me to beg?”

He said nothing. I pushed myself up against him, and finally he reached over to what would have been a bedside table if this had been the floor. This is what he kept next to his bed: a pack of cigarettes, condoms, the aforementioned super slick BabeLube, and a tub of antiseptic hand wipes. No books or anything. He tore open a condom. He had barely touched me and I was afraid I wasn’t wet enough, but it didn’t matter: I was. “Ahh,” I sighed as he entered me.

“God,” he said as he pumped against me, “I love your hot little body.”

“Uh,” I said, not very eloquently, and pushed up closer against him.

“You’re really a slut, aren’t you?” he went on. “I just want to stuff you full of my cock and use your body, huh.”

“I’m a selective slut,” I breathed, a little distractedly. But yes: I wanted to be stuffed full of his cock and be used by him. Yup, absolutely…. Ahhh.

When Jed paused for a bit I said “Hit me,” and turned over.

I was sort of thinking about the movie, but I was also remembering the last time we fucked: how Jed told me to turn over and then very slowly and rather tenderly proceeded to slap my ass, softly at first, and then with a firm, practiced hand.

Jed obliged. What I liked was being able to see him out of the corner of my eye, how he lifted his hand high and then brought it down as if he were going to thrash me, but only swept his hand lightly across my bare ass. I liked the choreographed grace of it, the way Jed looked so absorbed. It is hard to actually see the person bent over your ass without a mirror, but I turned my head and did my best.

I think I could have gone on like this for some time, but he only did it for a bit. “Let me get on top of you,” I said then, and after not having him inside me for a few minutes, the relief of his dick sliding into me was great.

I rocked against him. “You’re a real little slut,” Jed muttered admiringly as I thrust myself against his cock. “A slut for me.”

I was sweating, and smiling, and working hard. I shoved my breasts at him, “Like my tits?” I asked, like I didn’t know the answer. “Suck my nipples.”

Jed slid his mouth along my nipples, swirling his tongue against my skin, and I felt my orgasm start to build. “I’m really close,” I whispered to Jed, as I swung myself back and forth on top of him. “Hold my hips, OK? Yeah, like that.”

He kept up a stream of words while I relaxed into the rhythm of it, and when I came I slumped against his neck, panting with exhaustion and grateful for the long lean length of him beneath me. Jed held his arms around me while I waited for my heart rate to subside.

Then it was his turn. “Get on all fours,” Jed said. I obeyed. He manipulated his dick into me and started to pump away at my pussy. I tried to encourage him by jiggling my ass, pumping back at him. “Can I play with your ass?” He said.

“Uh huh.” And he slid a finger inside me. My anus opened up to his finger without difficulty, his finger felt smooth and slippery. It didn’t hurt, it just didn’t feel particularly good. After a bit he stopped fucking and fingering me and I turned over on my back. “Remember what you said the other week?” Jed prompted.

I knew exactly what he meant: he’d asked if he could fuck my ass and I’d breathed “Next time, OK?” He probably remembered that as a promise, not as me putting him off. Gah! “Yes, I know exactly what you’re referring to,” I said ruefully.

“Listen,” he said, “I have introduced, like, four women to anal sex and they’ve all loved it, I promise…”

“No, that’s not it,” I protested. I mean, I thought it might hurt, but that wasn’t the problem: it was more like it didn’t turn me on. The only time I had been excited was when Jeremy played with my ass, and I couldn’t call him up and say, “Hey, Jeremy! It’s Lily … yeah, that girl you unceremoniously dumped a few months ago…. Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. … Listen: remember how you put your finger up my ass? You do? Well, can you tell me exactly how you did it? … Right, right…”

“It won’t hurt,” Jed promised. “This lube—” he gestured to the much-vaunted BabeLube – is really great, it’s not too thin, but it’s really slick…”

“I’m just kind of teen Christian about my ass,” I said weakly. It’s true. I guess I’m saving my ass virginity for something (or someone?). I suspect Jefferson feels he has first dibs, but huh. I mean, yes, I’m kind of scared of the pain, but it’s more like I’m not that into it. I want to want it. And I think there’s a good chance that I will. Eventually. So I’m prepared to wait until I do.

But what the hell, if Jed wanted it that much, was I really compromising my sexual autonomy by indulging him? My considered answer: Nah. Also, Jed wasn’t a bad bet, safety wise: he hadn’t slept with nearly as many people as Jefferson, for instance. I shrugged: “OK.”

We started to fuck again, with Jed’s finger slipping up inside my ass again. But then, instead of the prelude to ass sex which includes (I would hope) more lube and a bit of crooning dirty talk, Jed pulled off the condom: “Suck my dick,” he said.

I climbed onto him and leaned over, dangling my tits over his cock. I licked the length of him, and sucked his balls, and then finally wrapped my mouth around him, in all his uncircumcised, and quite lengthy, glory. “Ahhhh,” Jed groaned. “That feels really good.”

I smiled down at his dick, which was properly stiff and engorged. Then I went back to sucking him off. His dick felt really slick and slippery in my mouth, and it was a pleasure to work it over. “Yeah,” muttered Jed, “You’re good at that…”

And a after a minute or so he said, “I’m gonna come,” and my mouth was filled with his warm, wet come. I kept sucking away, drawing it all out. I swallowed a bit, but mostly I let it drip out of my mouth and onto his stomach. It didn’t taste foul by any means, but I avoid swallowing.

I hauled myself off Jed and collapsed next to him, smiling at the ceiling. Jed shook the pack of cigarettes and, on discovering that it was empty, said, “I’m going to get a pack of cigarettes – want to take a quick walk?”

“OK.” But Jed didn’t get up. Instead he reached over again, and this time pulled over one of two acoustic guitars sitting behind all the lube and wipes. “I don’t really know any songs,” he explained, “Just my own.” He was going to play his songs for me.

Christ, the college girls must have lined up to fuck him. I bet this sensitive rocker poet stuff, especially when combined with that long body and those blond curls, must have been a pretty incendiary mix. Of course, as I am not only older and wiser but immune to these arty boys and their acoustic charms, I merely find this amusing and sweet.

Yeah right. If I’ve been dismissive of Jed due to his occasionally pseudo-deep conversation, not to mention his flakiness or the fact that tonight he’d actually worn a black bandanna around his neck, cowhand style (really! I can’t believe he gets away with stuff like that, but when you’re really tall and cute and sure of yourself, all things are possible, I expect) but I take it all back: his song was great.

It was about Kit, whom I’d met at the first orgy I attended, back in February. I had spoken to her briefly, and now I tried to picture her: pretty, with a strong resemblance to Scarlett Johansson, with pronounced curves and creamy pale skin.

I lay there, openmouthed: it was a good song. More than that, it was romantic, and sexy, and the lyrics were smart. Jim wrote you a poem, I reminded myself.

When he finished his song I shook my head, dumbfounded, “Jed,” I said, “That was great. You are really talented.”

He smiled at me. He knew that already.

Then we got up and went for a walk, with me wearing his maroon leather jacket ’cause it wasn’t as warm outside as it should have been. Jed carried his guitar: he was going to play me another song. At the corner store he bought a pack of cigarettes entirely with coins drawn from a handkerchief pouch (“Like a hobo!” I observed) and then we sat on what appeared to be the front seat of a Ford Taurus resting on the sidewalk in front of his building. There Jed arranged himself and sang me another song. People walking by looked at us as Jed performed, which made me smile, embarrassed at the attention. But Jed was shameless. This song was really good too. I was humbled.

At last we returned to his apartment and got ready for bed. He lay next to me on the mattress and turned, fetal position, to face me. I was surprised – he is not much as a cuddler. I mirrored him, and then he started to kiss me.

Oh, I thought, as we wrestled, we’re going to have sex again! Gosh, I liked his energy, and the tiredness I’d felt earlier was gone.

He fucked me from behind, pushing against me while I stretched up against him, like a cat. We went fast: after a minute he said, “Can I come?”

I nodded: “Uh huh.”

He came with me on my knees, his breath a steady rhythm in my ear.

**

“Which side do you like?” I asked. Meaning, what side of the bed.

“This is my side,” he said. He lay at the edge, and I next to the wall.

“OK.” Jed had rigged up his fan so that we wouldn’t melt from the heat. I lay marooned under his white duvet, enjoying the cool air on my face. Jed flopped onto his side and I lay on my stomach. “Goodnight,” I said.

I leaned over to kiss him and then I buried my face in his pillow and waited to fall asleep.