That morning, what we dreamed of becoming, had lusted after and impaled myself against became reality. Tiny got out of bed, and walked over.
She went past our bed and into the bathroom, where she spent a great deal of time preparing herself for who knows what. I snuggled into him.
I was happily content, snoozing through the morning, no thoughts of dancing or becoming the center of attention, yet Danny had better plans.
He scrunched his butt up into me and gyrated just a bit. Thinking back on it now, it was meant to advertise his willingness for me to enter.
Danny took the initiative, reaching over and grabbing a handful of gook out of a tube, and reaching behind to lube himself quite completely.
Then he put his hand on me, felt it for a moment, and then aimed directly for his hole. I had never felt anything like it in my entire life.
I moved against him, without thought for anything other than how it felt: wonderful. It was the culmination of everything I had done before.
I picked up my tempo and thrust again and again. There was nothing other than being inside of him and finding myself the center of his song.
Then I froze, rigid against him, my insides erupted, poured myself into him, made him mine. There was nothing else like it in my experience.
Tiny walked back into the room, with a tray of coffee she had made in the bathroom. “You look like you could use some,” she said innocently.
