“Wherever you go, go with all your heart.”
Elliot had wondered if the awkward spacing on that Target knockoff wall art was to prevent anyone from reading it as “Wherever you go-go.” That was earlier, when he was expressing polite white lies with this guy—what was his name?—about the decor. Tacky model home, Elliott thought to himself now. He took these moments, getting fucked doggystyle, as almost meditative. He didn’t have to be performative; he could feel the sensations but also let his mind drift, lulled by the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin.
What would he eat after this? Truth be told, he was starving—he’d heated up some fish sticks earlier just to put something in his stomach, because he hated hearing it growl during sex, especially if it ended up being awkward silent sex—and stopping somewhere—oh fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Had he left the stove on? Shit.
“I’m close!” he heard the voice behind him grunt. Elliot focused his energies into clenching and massaging this nice but style-deficient guy’s cock. If he could make him cum, he could be up and dressed in under five minutes. Maybe his condo hadn’t burned down yet.