3barts deviantart

“Mmmm…nice…” she whispered as she broke from our kiss and captured my gaze in the dim light with beautiful green eyes I can still see in my mind. She watched my face as her hand continued down across my belt buckle until she could clamp her hand around my cock through the straining fabric.

Maybe you and I do deserve to suffer for our wrongdoing. If that’s so, then it means that when things get painful, when things get difficult, we don’t have the luxury of quitting. We don’t get to end our lives to escape what we did. Whatever form the pain takes, we bear it, we endure it, we welcome it, all while we try to make this world a place where people like us, like how we used to be, have no place, and the people who would be hurt can instead live in peace. The next time you encounter an obstacle you cannot overcome, when you just want to curl up into a ball and quit on the world, remind yourself that you don’t deserve the peace of surrender. You have to keep working, to keep fighting, to keep suffering, until the day when you’ve fully repented.

“We’re going to need some of this,” she said, unscrewing the cap. “Lubrication,” she said with a smile, seeing the confused look on my face. She poured a generous handful of oil and slathered it onto my shaft and my balls. She spied the label as she set the bottle down. “Hmm…extra virgin. That’s the only thing in this house tonight that is virgin anything.” I laughed nervously. I remember now my clueless mom never figured out why her bottle of olive oil kept appearing in my bathroom.