I never told anyone I was gay. It didn't feel necessary. My parents were dead and grandma must have suspected it after the fifth stranger awkwardly sat at dinner with us at her insistence. She tried to make conversation but I never picked them for their conversational skills. And they never came back. Maybe this was her way of scaring them off. To protect me from myself.
The list of nameless strangers I let fuck me is longer than I care to remember. I was never picky. Mostly I just didn't want to be alone. I crave the comfort of another's body next to mine. Their pulse on my tongue and their warm seed in my intestines. Lust has always made me stupid. I desire their fluids more than I fear the turquoise hallway. And it's never enough. There's something comforting about being reduced to meat. To melt into each other and surrender your dignity for just an hour.
"Take the whole thing." A hand curls in my hair and pushes me down. The tip of his stiff cock jams against the back of my throat and I cough and gurgle and grip his thigh. My drool coats his length, runs down over my lips and stains his pants. "Yes. Like that," he breathes heavy. No doubt he enjoys my predicament. And I enjoy it, too. I wish he would touch me. My pants are straining. But I don't want it to be over. I like aching. I like them hurting me.
I have to close my eyes to focus. To force back the reflex to gag. I don't want to throw up on him. My body jolts, and fights the hand pushing me down, deeper. My eyes water. I can feel him pulse in my mouth. He's close. I buck into the car seat. I need air.
Lukewarm cum fills my mouth and it feels like drowning. I try to swallow but it's futile and I cough up what had been half-way down my throat. I lick and suck, with the fervour of a starved man at his first meal. After a brief struggle he relents with a laugh and I gasp for air.
My mouth hangs open, dripping white. A wet trail of tears stains my cheeks. My eyes are glassy and unfocused. It takes me a moment to realise that I'm staring at a stranger across the parking lot. He's standing by his car, watching me.
The hand that had been brutalising my scalp has changed pace and gently wipes my chin. Digits press past my lips and I lick them clean while I hold the stranger's gaze. He grins and pushes the gas nozzle back into its slot and disappears inside the shop.
"I gotta go, sorry. Customer," I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I fish a packet of pills from my pocket and hold it out between two fingers. He grunts, obviously displeased by the abrupt end and hands me a couple bills in exchange. I count them, nod and climb out of his car with an apologetic smile. Andrew likes me too much to stay mad.