CAUGHT TRESPISSING
Max learns that the girl he’s been seeing, who lives next door, has moved out. On cue, a hot dom guy he’s been chatting with asks to come over. Her apartment is unlocked and empty...if you can't host, do the most. What could possibly go wrong?
She tells me her apartment is empty. Empty like, no furniture, nothing. A polite, informative text makes it clear: our affair is over.
While her message sinks in, I open Grindr on the couch of my apartment down the hall and recognize the face of a guy with olive skin. He has a distinct, pointed jaw. Golden hour, two days unshaven. Green eyes glare at the camera. I’d met him on a sunny afternoon half a year earlier. He seemed alright. Pretty face, a bit over the top with its angularity. Months ago, we’d exchanged a number of sadistic fantasies, and then one afternoon he was 800 feet away. A beefy guy I was also toying with online was in the area as well. Green Eyes said he was down. They came within minutes of each other, taking turns with my body on the couch, on the rug, against the window.
So now, when I see his demand, yeah, I’m interested. This guy is game. I send him some photos, nasty ones, compositionally bankrupt. Green Eyes doesn’t like me. I lead him on often and without remorse, but whatever. I don’t care what he thinks of me. That’s kind of the whole point. Tonight, it seems we want the same thing.
We agree on the terms. I share her apartment number. The doorman is reluctant to let him up. I guess that the guy on duty is her friend, the one who liked seeing me with her, who complimented us together. Getting naked in her empty entranceway makes me wet. I wait for him on my knees. He walks in and unzips his pants. I open my mouth. He slaps me. Two fingers push my lips open and hot liquid fills my throat. I swallow as much as I can. Piss overflows, spilling down my chin and onto my chest. I gag, he laughs.
Two fingers push my lips open and hot liquid fills my throat.
As the effusion soaks my hair my mind wanders. With strangers there is no need to stay present. This was nothing like the sex I’d been having with her in this apartment over the last few months. I mean, she was assertive too, but we kept it simple. It was organic. When we met, she ran up to me on the street, touched my arm, and asked for my number. A friend confided that she’d just been dumped for a woman five years her junior – my age. When I saw her at the club the next weekend there was little conversation. She took me inside and pinned me to the wall. For months we met up weekly, drinking martinis and disagreeing. She was loud and came easily. I never spent the night.
Now the floor of her apartment is slippery. I smell his sweat and piss on my body. He spits on my face. I want to tell the guy that I’m impressed with the volume but my mouth is full. He tells me to turn around, pushes my face to the ground, and slips inside me. Right as he’s getting a rhythm going, the front door flies open. Fluorescent hallway light slaps me in the face. The roar of a familiar voice is rendered almost inaudible by an instant rush of adrenaline. Everything moves in slow motion. The intruder’s red cheeks flap to a halt as recognition dawns on us both. There’s no mistaking the doorman, who I’ve seen pretty much every day since I moved into this apartment, looking at my naked body, screaming his head off. And, of course, there’s no way he’s mistaking me either. His bugged out eyes linger on my scarred chest. I scramble to pull up my shorts. As if to codify the humiliation, to make sure I never forget, he frowns and spits my name. And then he says it again, this time commanding me to get the fuck out of her apartment.
I imagine her receiving an email from management asking why she’d left her apartment covered in piss.
I nudge Green Eyes who bolts out the door sporting a semi. I cross the hall. I take a shower. I shake. I put on a baseball cap and a pair of sweatpants. I try to sneak back into her apartment, thinking the least I can do is mop. The door is locked. I imagine her receiving an email from management asking why she’d left her apartment covered in piss. I have a $100 bill. Maybe money will spare me further debasement, though I’m not sure stooping to bribery really helps my case. I grab a cigarette, and take the elevator three floors down to the main entrance. The doorman is sitting behind the glass. I speak under my breath and thrust the bill towards him. He flashes a grim smile, rejecting the offering. I wonder about the cameras. I smoke the cigarette. I apologize to Green Eyes, who tells me that I owe him. I go to sleep. I go to work. I don’t say a word to anyone. The next night I write the whole thing down, anonymously post it to an online forum, and jerk off to the comments.
I will, years later, as I’m writing this story, run into Green Eyes outside of a popular downtown restaurant. I’m propped against a street pole waiting for a table, smelling like afternoon sex and sweat from the gym. This guy is staring at me. He whispers something to his friend and laughs. The sound of his laughter is familiar. When it clicks my cheeks burn. I’m grateful that my dinner date is late. I struggle to mask my elevated pulse and growing hard on as he approaches. We flirt as if it’s only been a few days. I agree to give him my number though I will not be responding to future messages and I think we both know it. He asks for my Instagram and I dodge the question. He holds my gaze. Leaning in, he reminds me why I owe him.