Pimping Him Out

Jake and I have been seeing each other for a few weeks now. The other night a friend called him up and asked if he wanted to come over.

“He and his boyfriend wanted to have a threesome,” he told me later.

I was a little surprised. “So, is that something you do? With him?”

“Sometimes. He’s kind of a fuck buddy.”

Jake doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have a fuck buddy. He’s goofy and boyish. He’s got curly blond hair, blue eyes and a heaping dose of wide-eyed All-American Midwestern-ness straight out of a WB dramedy. But he’s actually pretty dirty. The night I met him he was dancing naked on a bar. The first time we slept together, as he ground his pelvis into mine, our legs scissored, he said, “This would be even better with a double-headed dildo.” He’s even told me he once peed on a guy.

“Is he hot?” I asked about Jake’s fuck buddy.

“Yeah. He’s always calling me, telling me how much he loves riding my cock.”

Riding my cock. It just kept resonating in my psyche. Riding my cock. He loves riding my cock. As if the thought of two lean, well-muscled college boys naked on their bed, squirming in sexual frustration, trying to find another guy to come join the fun wasn’t enough to make me spontaneously combust. I pounced on Jake and he took me to bed.

But when we got there all I could think of was Jake and his fuck buddy. I pictured both of them naked, Jake lying back, his arms folded under his head while his fuck buddy – skinny, but well defined, smooth chest, shaved head – bounces up and down, Jake’s thick cock sliding in and out of him. Both of them pink and sweaty. It was like the fuel I needed to keep going, a source of my sexual vitality. I felt like if I didn’t focus, if I didn’t keep sucking up that energy, I’d be stuck having half-hearted, disinterested sex for all eternity, without ever stopping or getting off. When I came those words burned in my head; He loves riding my cock.

And now that’s all I can think of whenever Jake and I have sex. Not in an obsessive, jealous way. For some reason it makes me want him more. The idea of Jake as this sexual creature with a past that I have no control over; I know that kind of thing drives most people nuts. But I like that Jake has fucked other guys and that they want to come back for more. It’s kind of like owning a horse that has won the Kentucky Derby, or the way that guy from Korn must feel about his porn star wife: that sense of accomplishment even though you really haven’t done anything.

Or maybe this is just my way of distancing myself. I’m not used to having sex with someone regularly so maybe this is like a defense mechanism. Maybe I’m not all that comfortable with the reality of him and me so I have to remove myself from it. I have to turn him into this porn star in my head, pimping him out to all these imaginary boys. I don’t have to be there, I don’t have to be involved with him. I don’t have to deal with all the things he’s asking of me without asking. I’m just a spectator with no responsibilities and nothing at stake.