I moved to Boston (Boss town) shortly after my 21st birthday. I need to finish college and am attending what is referred to as “a historically blue collar, commuter school” by a cranky old man visiting a coffee shop where I work during my year off of school. When I mention I’m studying English Literature he scowls with judgement, “It’s not really a school meant for people studying liberal arts.”
Anything is better than the rural hell hole where I was raised. I absorb his passive insults and smile while I hand him a receipt for his cheesecake and coffee.
When I first arrive to Boss town I reconnect with friends who had moved there years before. They attend what is referred to as “the school with a more global reputation” by a girl I meet whose father bought her a Lexus. Her boyfriend is a coke dealer but he doesn’t do coke, “Monkeys don’t sell bananas!” is his motto she says.
The girl with the Lexus drives several of us to a dive bar in Allston. She’s wearing a t-shirt with the Sugar Daddy lollipop logo on it. I spot the King from across the room. I want to take him home with me. He is 6’4” with blonde hair and blue eyes. He has a strong jaw. He tells me that’s what makes him so beautiful, it’s been passed down in his genes. He has full lips like some waspy 90s era Calvin Klein model. There are buildings named after his ancestors. I continue to size him up but assume I’m not good enough. My new friends are cackling with each other and playing Buck Hunter.
I gather my liquid courage and walk up to him and his friend and start flirting with him. I tell him he’s not my type and it works. We continue to talk as I explain I’m new here. I decide to abandon my friends and tell him he can come home with me. Later on in the cab back to my apartment, we make out furiously. He brushes his fingers over my nipples through my shirt. His hands are big, his mouth is wide and the kisses are wet. I’m too drunk to have sex that night but in the morning I wake up next to him with a hazy memory.
“What’s your name again?” I ask, I have no shame.
I start to go down on him. He has a huge cock and muscular legs. I grab onto his legs as I slide his penis into my mouth. He pulls the blanket over my head while I wrap my lips around the head of his penis. I move my mouth up and down his shaft gently as he grows harder on my tongue.
“Don’t you know how to deep-throat?”
“Yes, of course I can deep-throat.” I want him to know how well I can suck cock. This is where I find most of my value. I let his cock slide deeper into my mouth until it hits the back of my throat, choking. My mouth gets wetter, producing more and more saliva to wet his cock with. I want to show him that I can make him cum with my mouth, I begin sucking harder and faster. He puts his hands on my head and starts to fuck my throat. He cums inside my mouth, his sperm is hot and he doesn’t let me come up for air. It sprays down my throat. I swallow every last drop of him.
“Who’s that?” He sees a picture of a beautiful man taped to my wall.
“That’s Julian Casablancas from the Strokes”
I tore it out of Spin Magazine. I love the Strokes and wished I lived in New York.
“Oh I was gonna say that’s a really hot girl.” He mocks Julian’s femininity, but he knows he has it too.
“I want to fuck your ass to the hilt.” I get a text message from him one night after months of silence. He’s in medical school now and thinks he’s hot shit. He usually comes over late at night and tells me stories about what it was like to grow up rich. “I’m a card carrying member of the Mayflower Compact, hahaha,” he laughs at his own joke. He explains how easy it is for him to get out of trouble. Drunk driving, harassing gay men in the Fens with his friends in high school. Which reminds him, did I know that his high school is one of the best in the country?
One night he shows up at my apartment after visiting friends from college. I let him because I am desperate for this attention. He tells me the trip left him energized so he thought maybe he’d come over to fuck. He asks me to lay on my bed and masturbate for him. I remove my panties and spread my legs for him. My pussy is glistening with sticky wetness. He groans as I slide my finger over my slit and into my cunt. He sits in a chair at my desk and we stare at each other from across the room.
“My friends and their people are squatting in these buildings in Brooklyn. It’s just a bunch of artists throwing up walls and making bedrooms for themselves in these huge loft spaces, they don’t pay rent.” He thinks it’s so funny and cool. I am jealous that his friends get to live rent free in New York. Years later I realize he’s referring to the Mckibbin lofts.
Another late night, he comes over when my roommate and her boyfriend are home, watching a movie. We sit with them awkwardly for a while, drinking beer and making conversation. I suggest we go into my bedroom and he is thankful. Back in my room he opens up Kazaa and downloads You are my Angel by Horace Andy. He jokes around that he and my roommate have sexual tension running between them. I have no idea what the fuck is he talking about but am jealous. I tell him it annoys me that he never compliments or expresses what he likes about me. “You have soft skin,” he says as he unbuttons my shirt and begins kissing the skin around my nipples.
The last time I see him is the night of my college graduation. Most of the furniture has been moved out except for a futon in the living room. I have no idea what I’m about to do with my life, all I know is I want him to fuck me so I can be part of something unattainable for one moment. He sits down and starts to pull off his pants. He takes a swig of his beer and sets it on the ground next to him. I stand in front of him wearing a light floral sundress. With my back to him I wiggle my ass and bend over to spread my pussy in his face. He reaches his hand out to feel the contours of my ass. I cannot hold back, I start to slide down on his cock, riding him without a condom. He puts his hand around my throat and starts bucking his hips up fucking me harder. I want to feel his cock on my clit from the inside. I flip around and start riding him slowly. He plays with the fabric draped around my ass while I press my tits against him. “I love this fucking dress,” he says.
He flips me over onto the ground and buries his cock deep inside me. There is so much anger between us when we have sex.
His shoulders are broad, I hold on and start fucking him like he’s my toy, sliding my pussy up against the shaft, rubbing my clit.
The orgasm starts to build, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming!!” I start screaming. He keeps pumping his strong legs harder, thrusting his cock deep inside, I can feel as l come, his cum shoots up inside me. He grabs onto my hair and pulls my neck back so that I remember who is in control. I roll off of him and we fall to opposite sides of the futon.
Photo by Robert Mapplethorpe