Desire’s Dutiful Cause

How do you let go when all you’ve done is hold on?

He takes a step toward me with a daring, exploratory expression. I stand my ground and end up darting away from him at the last moment. His hand brushes against my bare stomach not covered by my skimpy tank top. I move backward and feel his fingertips firmly graze the skin. It’s like the beginning of a dance that we failed to coordinate the footsteps to correctly.

His brief touch wasn’t an attack but rather seemed to be an assessment. I’m aware of him checking to see how willing I am for touch outside of our agreed massage. I take a deep breath in and wait for him to try something again. He stands calmly and gestures at the couch. My eyes dart to the furniture and back up into his.

I trace the lines of his face with my gaze starting at his cheekbones as they lead down into a somewhat sharp jawline. It’s covered with a patch of fuzzy, black hair and his eyes are a deep brown color. I allow myself to memorize the features. He has full lips that seem to be in a constant, infuriatingly sexy smirk. It mirrors my own tight lipped grin I give that no one can ever read.

I know he will restrain himself with keeping things almost like a professional session. I just wonder which one of us will break first.

I move to lie down on my stomach. My face presses into the worn upholstery of the couch. His hands work on me and I’m glad that he can’t see my expressions. I let my eyes close and steady my breathing.

He works into a particularly tender muscle in my upper thigh. I press my face deeper into the couch and try to not let my breath catch. He’s aware of the change and pauses with his work.

“I think I’ll give that a break and come back to it. Uhhh, and it’s gotten quite late. I think I might cook something up for us here.”

“You actually know how to cook? That shit is impressive.”

I pop up from my prone position and my head spins. Blinking my eyes forcibly I focus on a fixed point. It’s not uncommon for me to pass out from getting up too quickly from a lying down position. I follow him into the kitchen and he grabs me a drink from within the fridge.

I watch as he scrambles through the freezer and brings out ground beef. He runs the water in the sink and we talk about his travels. He lived in Japan for years and loves the culture there. I’ve always wanted to go but I’ve only been to Europe. Though I dutifully keep my passport up to date since the age of sixteen.

We talk about traveling to visit our families and I uncover more about his life. I find out his he’s a black sheep like me, which explains the duality of the mask he wears in public versus private. There’s this fuck the world and what it thinks that happens when you’re told you aren’t enough. I guess even with him facing war that only his family can truly cut him psychologically in a way that it’s difficult to recover.

I somehow end up talking about my less than charmed existence. How I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy what I’ve gone through in life. The kind of shit a child shouldn’t be exposed to, and have history repeat itself into her young adulthood.

I don’t go into specifics of what these horrors are. He doesn’t ask me which I appreciate since it feels like I’m cutting my own skin admitting the injustices of my past. And how no one ever saved me so I had to learn how to save myself from this fucked up world.

What three things would you wish upon your worst enemy? My friends and I were asking this question and when they came to me they were like man, that’s fucked up. And it didn’t take me a moment to have my answer.”

My lips purse and I stroke my chin absentmindedly. I’m impressed that his mind gripped onto an answer so quickly. As a kid I always struggled with my mind mauling for too long and finding an answer to something a week later. I feel my shoulders raise and lower in a shrug.

“Honestly I have no clue. I can’t seem to make up my mind.”

He brings out one finger and moves to two and three as he tells me his answer.

“Immortality, insomnia, and immobility.”

My mouth falls open as he explains his reasoning. I know already that would be possibly the most awful existence. The immortality means living with yourself forever, insomnia you can’t escape your hell in dreams, and immobility you’re trapped within your body.

I take a step back and start laughing. My head shakes my shoulder length hair back and forth. It whips against my face and I prop my elbow against the counter.

It’s the most clever and diabolical answer I’ve ever heard to this question. I know my answer can’t even compare and the fact he knew immediately what it was is impressive.

“Holy shit, yeah, that is majorly fucked up.”

“So, what about your three?”

I pause and try to think of my most terrible three. But, there aren’t any enemies I’ve had throughout my lifetime. I’ve had more than enough assholes filter in and out of my life treating me unkindly. I’m used to people meeting me and saying how I’m so unusual. And I should conform to culture and societies standards.

I take a deep breath and feel like I’m peeling back a layer of my protection admitting my three things. My hand rubs the back of my neck and I look away from him.

“You can guess who is my worst enemy. And for them I would wish for them to finally see happiness, that they see the manipulative bullshit they do constantly, and to finally be able to live with themselves.”

He gets this thoughtful expression in response to my admittance. I feel uncomfortable sharing this part of myself. I like being viewed as a more hard edged person than the softness that I try to polish into knife edges.

“That’s actually a lot more profound than my answer.”

“I think it’s pathetic, but thank you. I just don’t think wishing the worst would do a damn bit of good. Since that enemy is also someone I’ve loved the most, and I continue to love them even though I don’t want to.”

We stare at each other in silence. It’s not an uncomfortable quiet but one where you realize that a layer has been peeled off. I’m wearing a constant mask that no one sees behind. And, he just got a glimpse under this armor that never leaves me.

His head tilts and the way he stares at me causes my skin to burn. I clear my throat and shift my weight from one side to the other.

“Well we need to waste time, and I’m interested in your technique,” he offers as a suggestion.

I grin as he gives me control over the situation and his body. My hands rub together and I point to the couch. I command him to lie face down and he complies.

He first undoes his buckle and I hear his jeans unzip. I force my gaze upward to the ceiling. Coco butter is pumped into my palm and I rub it into my skin. The lotion absorbs into my already silky soft surface of the inside of my hand. There’s this grin on his face which clearly says what he’s thinking: Why are you looking away when you really want to look at me as I undress?

I sneak a look and try to keep my jaw attached to my face. His quads are a thing of beauty, like he’s some kind of Greek sculpture. I’m reminded of the perfection of David that Michelangelo made out of clay and infused life into. His boxers leave little to imagination and I bite my lip in restrained desire.

He slides into the face down position. His legs drape over the edge of the couch because of his height. My dominant side stares down at his prone form and I lick my lips at the possibilities.

There’s a part of me that wants to jump on top of him right now. Straddling him underneath my powerful thighs and squeeze them like clamps around his torso. Then I’d lay claim first to the back of his neck and then kiss down his back. I’d maybe drag a blunt nail against his spine and enjoy his reaction.

I instruct myself not to do any of these actions. I start on his arm and slide my hands onto his triceps. This is considerable with the musculature and I know he’s working out consistently. I find a way into his shoulders and squeeze his traps.

His dog comes over to investigate our activities. She noses him and he rubs her head with the one arm I’m not working on. I smile at this and try to keep my mind in a professional mindset. I wonder how long I can last before trying to test him like he did with me.

This is what I do, I separate my sexuality from touch all the time. I despise touch and crave it so much it’s palpable at times. Having someone be allowed to touch me is something that’s rare. So, I live in this loop where my need to be desired, wanted, and laid claim to completely is never met.

Until this moment where I know this man might be the key to my sexual lock. I’ve slowly let one man chisel away at my defenses. Except this Unicorn man before me is like a sledgehammer against my walls. His intuition is at a degree that I know he can read between the lines of my silences.

And the fact he may be able to open it sooner than any other human being is terrifying. I tell myself to resist any and all urges to see what we could be.


If you enjoyed this piece which is a part of my Unicorn series please click the handy dandy 💚 to turn it ❤️ with the magic of your love!

This is the Unicorn man series and a continuation. To follow down the Unicorn rabbit hole here’s the stories that follow:

Part 1- Fucking with People Isn’t a Problem

Part 2- Fuck or Be Fucked?

Part 3- I Choose Be Fucked

Part 4- Eat Me or Be Eaten? That’s the Question

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated MentalDessert’s story.