On top

“Gilbert, your turn,” Sullivan said after the foreplay had lost its interest for him.

He could only take a blow job for so long before he got bored and began to lose his erection. I mean, really, a guy had to be really, really good at giving one to have any effect at all. Nine out of ten times, sucking it like a popsicle worked for about fifteen seconds. And then the rest of the time, he’d wonder how much longer the sucking would continue.

Sullivan supposed he shouldn’t be sharing this in writing with people three thousand miles away. But it’s tasteful sex, not tacky sex, he thought … or wondered. And the snippet’s going to San Francisco, the most open-minded vortex in the universe. Meanwhile, Gilbert made no attempt to slow down on Sullivan’s popsicle (if this were going to remain tasteful, perhaps sticking with the metaphor might help).

“Okay, Gilbert, time for some real action.” Sullivan put both hands on Gilbert’s shaved head and pulled it back. “Your turn on top.”

“Hey, I want the bottom this time.”

“Nah, you had it last time. Remember last Saturday after your mother left? You were so worn out, all you could do was lie there.”

“True. Okay, let’s see where it goes.” Yippee, Sullivan thought – now he could just lie there and like Gilbert do all the work. I mean, it wasn’t as if Sullivan didn’t do all the house chores like cleaning the floors, doing the laundry, and shopping for groceries. He didn’t always have to be on top, did he?

Gilbert lay on his back. “Okay, sit on me and let’s go for a ride.”

Oh, well, Sullivan thought. Even on bottom, he had to be on top.