I don’t masturbate much, but this guy I’m seeing does every day, usually more than once. He tells me it’s a cis guy thing, about how a hard-on is way harder to ignore than “just getting wet”, which—well, that’s not why. I’m the first trans man he’s slept with so I can understand why he might be wrong, but I’ve known enough truly perverted tboys to know it’s not an anatomical thing. I just don’t need it as much as he does.
Anyway—No Nut November rolls around, and while we’re not quite at the stage where I’d be able to control his orgasms when we’re not together, I make a joke in passing that NNN for me would be having to masturbate every single day. That sense of frustration and obligation, of having to spend time I wanted to use differently doing something that’s just not what I want—I’m just making an observation, watching my cigarette smoke waft off into the night air—but when I turn to look at him, his pupils have swallowed his irises and he’s pitched toward me, eyes trained on my throat.
“What if we traded?” he rasps. I snort and pass him the cig. “I’m busier than you, boy. I don’t have time to sit around with my dick in my hand.”
He tries again. “I mean—if you, uh—if I told you when I wanted to get off. And I didn’t, but you did.”
That’s more interesting. I consider him lengthwise. “It’s like, three times a day, right? I have a job.”
He shakes his head. “Well, yeah, but—if we’re just talking about need? Once in the morning, maybe again to fall asleep. I think—I think you could do it.”
“Oh, I could,” I sigh. “And I won’t lie, I’m tempted. Would you show me?”
I snag the cigarette back from him. “When you need it. Would you send me a picture of your cock?”
His throat works as he swallows. “Uh, I mean, yeah?”
I picture it for a moment. This boy, this young man I’m just starting to know, spending a month doing nothing with his boners but sending pictures of them to me. I normally would not at all appreciate being forced to cum on a daily basis, but the idea of him—lying back in the early morning, dick pink and weeping onto his stomach, hands twitching with the urge to touch while he imagines my fingers tucked inside my cunt—has a real ring to it.
“Alright.” I shrug. “Let’s try it.”
gummygunk
kaledo-art
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
ellievsbear
