Straight Boy: A Short Story (3 page)

Sage groaned, pushing back onto Xavier’s cock, wanting him deeper.

Their grunts and moans echoed in the cell as they moved together, fucking faster and faster. Sage knew anyone could see them, anyone could hear them, but the thought turned him on even more. He didn’t care, not now.

Shoving a hand under him, Xavier wrapped a hand around his cock and started jerking him off. It was too much all at once and the orgasm hit Sage hard. He came with a long, hoarse moan. It left him boneless, and he just lay still as Xavier pounded into him a few more times before coming with a low groan.

They lay like that for a long while, still breathing hard. Xavier was too heavy, but Sage didn’t want him to move. It felt good. So good. He could still feel Xavier inside him, but the expected freak out didn’t come. Not yet, at least.

At last, Xavier pulled out and rolled onto his side, tugging Sage against his chest. It probably looked like they were spooning, but of course they weren’t. The bunk was just too narrow. But… But Sage had to admit it felt good to feel someone so close after months of feeling alone.

Maybe he was touch-starved.

Maybe this was what Stockholm syndrome felt like.

Maybe.

Right now, Sage couldn’t bring himself to care.

He buried his face in Xavier’s arm and breathed.

“Still straight?” Xavier murmured into his ear, pulling him tighter to him.

“Yep,” Sage said, closing his eyes.

But he didn’t push him away.

He totally would.

Later.

End of Part I

PART II: STARVED

“If they call you my bitch, you say you’re my bitch.” A hot whisper against his ear as the firm, muscular body pressed against him from behind. “You’re my thing, Blue Eyes. Remember that. My thing.”

Sage woke up with a start and stared at the ceiling in confusion for a moment before recalling where he was. His bedroom. Right. He was no longer in prison. It was over. He was free.

He was free of him.

A quiet snoring right beside him made Sage turn his head.

Laura was sleeping by his side, her pretty face peaceful and her porcelain-like skin glowing in the moonlight coming from the window.

It was over.

It was over.

Sage repeated it for the next few minutes, but it was useless: he was still tense and alert, in more ways than one.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to match his girlfriend’s breathing.

It didn’t work.

Maybe Laura was right and he really needed to see a therapist after all.

“It was a traumatic experience for you,” she had said only the other day. “A psychologist will help you, love.”

A traumatic experience.

Sage’s lips twisted. She didn’t know the half of it, though sometimes he wondered if she suspected something. Laura had never asked, but she wasn’t stupid. Given his...problems, she probably suspected something had been done to him in prison. She probably thought he had been raped.

A harsh chuckle left Sage’s throat. If only she knew. Even thinking about Laura’s expression if she ever found out... It made his face burn with shame and embarrassment. He had never considered himself homophobic and had been of the opinion that there was nothing wrong with being gay; it had just nothing to do with him. He’d always known he was straight.

What would his mom think if she was still alive?

Sage swallowed hard. It’d been almost a year since she’d died—he was still in prison at the time—and the pain had dulled, but at moments like these, solitary, lonely moments, he missed her.

Sighing, Sage turned onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to count his breathing, tried to focus on how many breaths he was taking in and out. It didn’t work. The pillow was too soft. The mattress was too soft. The room was too warm.

Dammit.

A year. He had been in prison only for a year, but everything—his freedom, Laura, their relationship—still felt surreal. Sometimes, it felt like his surroundings would disappear any moment and would be replaced with a tiny, cold cell and a heavy, possessive arm slung over his stomach.

Sage swore under his breath. No. He wouldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t think about him. It was over. He was normal again.

He was.

* * *

Laura was very beautiful, curvy in all the right places and slender everywhere else. She would make any red-blooded man’s mouth water.

Yet once again, Sage found himself turning away and looking at his soft dick in dismay. He sat up and ran a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

Behind him, Laura heaved a sigh. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said, rolling off the bed. His face red with mortification and his back to her, he pulled on his shorts. He couldn’t look at her.

“I really think you need to see a therapist,” she said carefully.

He hated that tone. She treated him as though he was a very sick person. Maybe he was.

“I don’t need a therapist,” Sage bit out.

“Be reasonable,” she said. “It’s been five months, but you clearly still have problems. I’m not even talking about...this. You keep pushing me away. I have to ask you if I can stay for the night! You barely sleep, and when you do, I’ve seen you moan in your sleep, as though you’re in pain. You don’t talk to me. Half of the time you’re so distant it feels like you aren’t even here!”

Sage snapped, “If I suck so much, why are you still here?”

Silence followed his words.

“Do you want me to leave you alone? Is that what you want?”

Sighing, Sage turned around and walked to her. “I’m sorry,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. You know I love you.”

He pressed his face against her sweet-smelling hair and closed his eyes. She was so soft in his arms. So small. So fragile.

So wrong
, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Sage bit his lip hard and opened his eyes. “I’ll see a therapist.”

* * *

“Tell me about him.” Dr. Richardson’s voice was pleasant and friendly.

Sage wondered if it was part of her training. Probably.

“Who?” he said, looking at his hands.

“Xavier. The man you shared a cell with. What was your relationship like?”

Sage shrugged with one shoulder, still eyeing his hands. “Normal enough, I guess.”

Dr. Richardson sighed. “Sage, you have to be honest with me. There’s no point in your coming to see me if you are not. I’m here to help you. Anything you tell me stays in this room.”

Sage glanced at her. The woman’s gray eyes met his. She seemed sincere enough.

“You really won’t tell my girlfriend anything?”

“I won’t. In my line of work, trust is extremely important. I would never betray doctor-patient confidentiality. Now, please tell me about Xavier.”

Sage looked back at his hands. “What do you want to know?”

“Did you have sexual relations with him?”

Sage licked his lips. “How did you guess?” he muttered.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed.” Dr. Richardson’s voice was sympathetic. “I would have been more surprised if something like that didn’t happen to you, considering your physical appearance.”

Sage let out a short laugh. “Thanks?”

“There really is nothing to be ashamed of. Studies show that at least twenty percent of inmates are pressured into sexual relations. The figure is most likely much higher—most inmates simply don’t admit it, fearing that it will ruin them if anyone finds out.”

Sage continued looking at his hands.

Dr. Richardson sighed again. “Very well. Please describe Xavier using three words.”

“Asshole,” Sage said. “Confident. Big.” He frowned. “Though he isn’t really that big. I’m not sure why I said that. Sure, he’s tall and fit, but he isn’t built like a tank.”

She noted something in her notebook. “Would you say you hate him?”

Sage chuckled. “What do you think? Of course I hated him. He—he turned me into—into his thing. And everyone knew.” He clenched his fingers into fists.

Silence. Sage couldn’t bring himself to look at the therapist.

“Sage,” she said at last. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to know that I’m not trying to offend you. Regardless of your answer, it won’t change anything.”

He didn’t like it already. “Fine. Ask away.”

“Did you find sex with your cellmate physically enjoyable?”

Sage sucked a breath in. “I’m straight.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she said gently. “If one’s partner is experienced, sexual intercourse can be enjoyable regardless of one’s sexuality.”

“It... it wasn’t terrible, I guess.”

“Have you ever achieved orgasm with him?”

Sage looked aside, and then at the window, and then at the bookcase. “Yeah,” he said, awkwardly.

“So he was a considerate sexual partner?”

“Not really.”

There was silence as she processed his words. “You mean he was rough with you, but you still experienced an orgasm?”

“Does it matter?” Sage said, his face aflame.

Dr. Richardson studied him for a moment. “Very well, we will not talk about it this time if you don’t want to. Let’s talk about your girlfriend.”

“Laura? What about her?”

“Do you love her?”

“Of course,” Sage said quickly. “We’ve been together for years.”

Dr. Richardson’s gaze unnerved him a bit. “Have you had sex with your girlfriend since you were released from prison?”

Sage fidgeted. “Yeah, sure.”

“Is it as satisfying as before?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just a simple question. Please answer it truthfully. I won’t judge you.”

Sage hesitated. “It’s okay enough,” he said awkwardly. “But...”

The doctor waited patiently.

“But it feels off,” Sage finished, without looking at her.

“Off?”

“I feel like... like something is missing.”

“Could you elaborate, please?”

Her calm, professional tone helped him.

“It feels wrong to be the—the… I mean—it’s just—she expects me to initiate sex, do all the work and pleasure her, but...” He trailed off, too embarrassed to finish.

“But you have become accustomed to being on the receiving end,” Dr. Richardson finished for him.

Sage cringed. At least she hadn’t said he’d gotten used to having a dick in him when he came.

“Yeah,” he said reluctantly, looking down.

Her tone was careful as she said, “I think you should talk about the problem with your girlfriend. Perhaps she would be willing to take a more aggressive role.”

Sage was pretty sure even his ears were red now. “Aren’t you supposed to cure me instead of giving advice like that?”

“Sexual preferences can’t be ‘cured.’ Wanting a more submissive role in sex is not wrong. Your sexual preferences simply appear to have changed.”

Sage gripped his thigh with his fingers. “All right. I’ll talk to Laura.” He stood up.

She smiled. “I’ll see you in a week, Sage.”

* * *

A week later, Sage found himself back in the same chair, with Dr. Richardson seated opposite him.

“Did you talk to your girlfriend?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Was she amenable to your suggestion?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“Sage, I need you to tell me more than that. I’m a doctor, remember. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Sage took a deep breath in. She was right: she was a doctor. She probably heard weirder things every day. “We tried it. Laura was even excited—we’d never tried anything like that before.”

“Was it satisfying?”

Sage hesitated. “A bit better than before.” But only because he had actually managed to keep his erection. Mostly it had been just uncomfortable and awkward as hell. He had closed his eyes and lain passively, letting her do whatever she wanted to him, letting her use his body, but it still felt off. She was too light. Too small. Too soft.

“I see,” Dr. Richardson said. “Did Laura and you do it again?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It felt off. Was... unsatisfying.” It was. Despite coming, it had been the least satisfying orgasm in his life. Hollow. Afterward, Sage felt uneasy and dirty, and he couldn’t quite meet Laura’s eyes. She hadn’t said anything, but there had been wariness and discomfort on her face ever since.