Part Two

I arrived at Paolo’s hotel room around 4pm. He invited me to sit on the bed next to him, and he asked me if I just like men, or women as well? So we got to talking about things of this nature, and before long, I came to understand that he was very bi-sexual. He told me stories of this “straight” DJ that he fell in love with, how they were together for six months. The “straight” DJ was in love with Paolo’s asshole, but that was about it.

The idea of Paolo, this gorgeously raw, masculine and jagged, heterosexual seeming thing of a person, hooking up with some exotic “straight” Argentinian DJ….seemed so fucking hot. I guess I find some sort of weird pleasure in experiencing people do out of character things. When sexually expressive people suddenly become shy and intimidated, it’s hot as fuck. When shy people suddenly become overthrown by their own expressions, hot as fuck! When straight people do gay shit,…so hot. I guess shock is exciting.

We roll around this idea, that things out of the norm are so exciting, not just sexually, but in life at large…We begin joking about how maybe there’s different ways of doing things in life, that we never would have thought of, that would be so much more enjoyable done differently. For instance, he says, kissing. What if we didn’t kiss each other’s mouths and necks, ears and stomachs, but instead….the crooks of our elbows? The top of our asscracks? The ankle? The eye socket?

“Do you want to find out?”


I hold out my arm. He keeps his eyes fixed on mine, and with a smile, bows his head into the crook of my arm, where he flicks his extended tongue across the inside of my elbow. He withdraws it and we both giggle. Our first kiss was on the inside of my elbow. Anyways. He opens his mouth and slowly approaches the soft skin, teasing me as if that’s the most sensitive, erotic place on my whole body. Pushing his tongue into the tender flesh, he rolls it in circles, presses his lips against me, slurping and suctioning, darting his eyes up at me. I guess the sight he sees surprises him, because he finds me breathless with my head tilted back and my mouth open…we both bust out laughing.

It really is true that the most arousing place in the body is within our minds. He makes fun of me for being so sensitive. I dare him to be less sensitive, and I pull his ankle out from under him. I place his foot on my shoulder, arch my neck around like a swan and begin breathing warm, moist breath on his ankle, staring at him. He rolls his shadowy eyes at me, and I ignore him. Tongue between puckered lips, tracing circles around his ankle, I begin… Lose yourself, I think to myself. Lose yourself in this silly, playful game and don’t find yourself until you’ve made him lose himself in it too. So I get lost in it, making out with his ankle. Sucking on it, biting it, grazing it, flickering it with the tip of my tongue…I look up at him after a few minutes and he’s way more lost than I ever was with him in my elbow. His brow is furrowed, eyes up in his brain, his mouth agape, barely breathing, laid out on the bed. And bulging through his pants, a boner you could tie a flag to.

Ha-haaaa! I exclaim, and he blinks open, pulls me gently by the hand and offers me a congratulations. We still haven’t kissed on the mouth.

We’re both up on our knees, facing each other. He kisses my nose like I’m a tiny, cute mouse. And then he engulfs it, with his mouth. I’m cracking up with this nasal-y laugh and he hushes me. Flicks the tip of my nose with his tongue, sucks on it gently, nibbles it. Stops for a moment, teases me more until I actually almost want him to continue, and then I pull away and place my lips on his eye. I glaze his eyelid over with a juicy layer of spit. I slurp it all up and bury the tip of my tongue in the corners, and he goes nuts. Absolutely wild. I suck on his eyeball, and he moans. I almost spray spit in his face laughing, just before he grabs my face between his two hands and kisses me on the mouth.

This is not a delicate, nor inhibited kiss. This is a desperate explosion of having wanted to do this for hours and now not having any control over how it happens kiss. He squeezes my face so tight and I open my mouth and push my tongue into his. He’s moaning, sucking on my tongue, pressing his cock into my pubic bone. My fingers are laced through his hair, pulling, when he grabs me by the dreads and pulls my head down backwards so I’m arched, with my neck and chest vulnerably exposed to him. He licks from my collar bone all the way up behind my ear, where he whispers, “Hey girl. Am I being too rough with you?”

Some condescension in his voice drives me to pull my head up and bite his neck so hard I could feel my fang teeth weakening his skin. Apparently he loves this, and pulls me on top of him, pushing and pulling my hips rhythmically over the ridge on his lap as I latch and suck onto the bite I gave him.

He pulls my shirt off and I lean down so my breasts are right in front of his face. Teasing him with a rub of a nipple across his lips. Him teasing me with his hot breath, and his open mouth. We’re playing catch the nipple if you can. He distracts me by massaging my ass and he catches one, and swirls and swirls and swirls my nipple around his tongue. Biting down, giving me an electric shock from my chest down between my legs. He’s getting lost in suckling, and me too.

Without even noticing, my hips are rolling, pressing my sex against his through our clothes. We get lost in the starry darkness beneath our eyelids, breathing hard, short, fast breaths, holding onto each other with a roughness I’d never experienced before. Our dancing bodies, hitting all these luxurious spots as the energy between us is amplifying, our growls getting louder and less containable.

His wood is so alive beneath me, and I want to see it. I bite by the button of his pants, shake my head and they unbutton themselves. Everything in this world feels humid, savory, flushed warm. I spend a long moment just admiring this unique manifestation of masculinity. Paolo doesn’t mind. He strokes my cheek with a smile, watching me watch him.

I lick him up, up, up rhythmically until his knees are shaking a little bit. You’re good at torture, he tells me.

Taking him into my mouth, playing and swirling and sucking, he’s poetically telling me things he’s experiencing, so fiery that the people in next few rooms could probably narrate this story just as well as I could. Slowly, slipping down, merging more, I can feel him in my throat, I can feel his wood shaking with need, I hum laughter and the vibrations push him over an invisible edge.

We lay beside one another, and he tells me the story of what just happened. He recounts it all in Spanish, in a dreamy, post-orgasmic voice. He told me many things and I listened to the many things he needed to say. He held me and thanked me for not being afraid of his brokenness, as a person, and for that moment, as a lover. He told me that my spontaneity helped revive him from a stagnancy that he just didn’t know how to break. The stagnancy of emotion and lifestyle that drove him to attempting suicide.

We communicated and mused each other for some weeks, I told him everything about traveling life and kept begging him to follow his dreams instead of becoming stagnant again at his job waiting tables in a lame town where he had no friends anymore. Right before I dipped out of any cell service into the woods for an extended period of time, he told me that he quit his job and is going traveling, on a route he’s always dreamed of.

He still calls me sometimes, drunk, lacing me with poetry and flatteries. Last time we spoke, he was living in Austin, TX, writing a lot and doing poetry slams, stoked on life.