I’ll give him credit, he was damn respectful. I mean, we’d been there for a week and a half and we’d been pushed and pulled together over and over again and he never made a move. Every hour my body grew more hungry, though my days were full of songs and chants and raised signs.
I saw him go from a clean cut college kid in a cardigan and jeans into a scruffy looking anarchist, red faced from screaming and garbed in the mishmash of sweaters and coats we’d all gotten from donations.
It took four days for me to work up talking to him. His sign was complicated rhetoric and I had to look up some of the terms on my phone. It turned out he was a film student, like me. I’d come from Boston and he was from NY.
There was something about his intensity. There was something about way he pushed back when the cops moved the barricades in. He dared the world to fuck with him. He was ready to fight, ready to be hurt, ready to do what it took to make his point; our point.
We talked about queer theory and socialist themes in cowboy movies. We talked about The French Connection for hours.
I said he was respectful because that one night when it was so cold even the best of us were contemplating going home at least until morning, I pushed myself into his arms and he smiled and just held me.
I looked up at him and bit my lip. He looked into my eyes. Then we were kissing and kissing and I didn’t care that it had been a while since we brushed our teeth. All those hours next to him had made me acutely sensitive to his body.
“I can’t stand being so close to you and not touching you,” I whispered in his ear.
He grunted, looking around. I grabbed his chin.
His stubble was dirty blond and his lips were ruddy pink and there was this healthy glow to him. We kissed and kissed until it felt like I was trapped in my clothes. My body was sticky and insatiable even though my head and ears were freezing.
An hour later someone tapped me and with a sideways smile pointed to a tent on the far side of the camp.
“I have to do my turn at the medicine booth. You two should sleep for a while. I’ll be back in four hours,”
Then there was just my hand in his and the blur of colors as we rushed to the tent before anyone else could call it.
Then the zip of the flap of the tent and a world that was suddenly absent of wind the hundreds of eyes that were on us.
We didn’t speak, we just attacked each other. All those hours boiling down the need into this thick potent lust. His hands were under my shirt, then down the backs of my jeans grabbing my ass. His mouth was hungry and he bit and sucked at my lips. I fell into his growling aggression. I let him take me.
I turned from him and fell down on the sleeping bags and blankets. I pulled my jeans down and pushed my ass up in the air. I arched my back and hoped he understood. We didn’t have time enough for love or seduction. We only had time enough to use each other’s bodies.
He fumbled with his knapsack. Condoms and lube, just like I knew he would have. The cold wetness smoothed over me, making me jump, then his firm hand on the base of my neck, pushing me down.
“Is this okay?” he whispered.
“Yes,” I hissed.
“I mean, can I hold you down?”
“Yes,” my mouth was a snake, only capable of hissing.
“I couldn’t stand being near you without touching you anymore,” he said, his fingers inside of me, owning me.
“Just fuck me. Hurt me, please. Just use me,” and I meant every word of it.
His hand was on the back of my neck when I felt him press against me with his cock. He held me down by the neck like an animal. I was an animal. I was wild and only his hand was keeping me down, keeping me held down to be fucked.
Then all the thoughts, even the minimal instinctual growls in my head were gone and there was only the push and pull of him. There was only the pressure of him inside of my body and then the longing when he was briefly outside of it.
I pushed back against him and he matched my rhythm. I squeezed him when he was inside of me and I could feel his body groan as he came closer to the edge.
When he came his body went wild, he grabbed my hips and his body weight pressed against me and then I felt him pulse with the convulsions of an orgasm pent up for hours, for days.
Later, in the crowd I felt the unsated need in my belly like a prize. He was smiling and he took my hand and we shouted and sang into the night like the rebels we were.If you liked this story you can send me a tip via paypal.me/writingdirty