Sex and a Movie

Since I had started hanging out with Zane, I'd been more motivated than ever to get my apartment into some semblance of order. Not only was it mortifying when Zane would come over - because he got to see the squalor in which I'd come to excel - but it was ten times worse when he'd start picking up. I knew that he wasn't doing it in a malicious way, that he was just trying to help, but I didn't want to be picked up after like a toddler. Once my winter-time depression started to wane, I began the seemingly impossible task of pulling all of the boxes of shit out from my junk pile and actually going through them; putting the stuff I wanted to keep it totes and throwing away the things that were no longer needed.

During this purgation and organization period, I bought myself a shelf with LED lights from Walmart; I knew that I probably wouldn't be able to put it together myself, but I had James who would help if Zane couldn't.

In March, Zane got a job as a cook at a bar; the hours and pay were nowhere near what they had been when he'd been at the factory, but it helped him tremendously with his depression and got him out of the house. One not so special Thursday night, all I wanted to do was get out of work, get McDonald's, and watch my shows: Scrubs and Love Story: JFK Jr. & Carolyn Bessette. Toward the end of my shift, Zane messaged me, offering to come over and put my shelf together for me; I didn't want to deviate from my routine, but I knew that - once again - he was trying to help me and that I couldn't say no just because I was a creature of habit. The truth was, I was having a rough week at work; I desperately needed a break, but the guilt of knowing my boss would have to cover my shifts - on top of owning three stores and trying to live his own life - and the fact that due to my shopping addiction I needed to work as much as possible in order to stay afloat, kept me from taking my much needed vacation. Zane felt bad when I complained to him that I was near my breaking point and just wanted to go home and cry.

I had enough time to get my McDonald's and scarf it down while I watched that week's episode of Scrubs; just as I was finishing the episode, Zane let me know that he was outside. He went right to work on putting the shelf together; since I wasn't helping him with that, I decided to forgo that week's episode of Love Story and instead gave into the overwhelming temptation I'd experienced for the last month or so to watch Sex and the City: the Movie.

While Zane worked on the shelf, I'd tell him to watch certain parts, mainly because the movie was so important to me and I liked sharing it with people who had never seen it before. Shortly after the failed wedding scene, Zane finished the shelf; I took a quick shower and then we got into bed. I wasn't sure how long he planned on staying, but at that point I had every intention of finishing the movie. Surprisingly, Zane watched it with me, predicting certain things, but mostly watching in rapt attention. When it was done, I asked him if he'd liked it; he responded that it was a lot like Friends...but with sex.

After some small talk, our clothes came off; before I knew it, I had Zane on all fours in front of me. We hadn't had sex in probably about a month, which was fine because we weren't dating, but if he was offering, I certainly wasn't going to turn it down. I started by slipping one finger into him, feeling his warmth expand around my pointer finger. "How's that?" I asked, moving my finger back and forth inside of him.

"Good," he murmured, arching his back for me.

Before long, I added a finger, laughing. "You know, when I fingered Lance, I got four in him. Think you can handle four?"

"I don't know," Zane replied, moaning a little as I worked my fingers inside of him.

"Guess we'll have to find out."

Zane's hole was so tight that it didn't want to take three fingers at first. He had told me that all of his previous boyfriends had had smaller dicks; while he had a lot of sexual experience, his hole wasn't used and abused. With some extra lube - and some patience - I was able to get three fingers inside of him; he really started to moan when I brushed his prostate then.

"Think you can handle another?" I asked, moving my fingers more quickly inside of him.

"I don't know," he confessed, "you can try..."

As I pulled my fingers out to apply more lube - and make sure it got on my pinky finger - I had a gut feeling that four fingers wasn't going to work. Zane's hole hadn't wanted three; still, I got the three back inside before starting to work the fourth in. I could feel his sphincter tighten immediately; I tried to get the fourth finger in a little bit more, nervous at how restricting his hole was being. I didn't want to hurt him - or make him bleed. I decided to pull out and try a different tactic.

"Are you ready for my dick?" I asked, surprised at how rock hard my cock was. It was a true sign of how much I trusted Zane and was comfortable with him that I was able to get fully hard with him - especially since we weren't dating. Between my innate shyness and the Zoloft, I often skipped sex for safer options like oral.

"Yeah," Zane replied, preparing himself to be penetrated.

For the first time ever in my life, I felt absolutely no stress or anxiety as I moved to kneel behind him and slipped inside. I was immediately greeted by his warmth. Zane groaned - whether in pain or ecstasy, I couldn't tell. I stayed still for a few seconds, giving his ass time to adjust to me. Once I started moving, Zane really moaned, which only made me fuck him harder and faster.

"Do you like that dick?"

"Mmmm, yeah."

"Does it feel good?

"Yeah."

"Do you like it when I fuck you?"

"Yeah."

It was so refreshing to be in an intimate situation with someone that I was comfortable enough to be myself around. The few times that I had had sex with random guys off of Grindr I'd been completely mute, so afraid of being bad at sex; I'd spent the entire sexual encounter in my head questioning if I was doing it right, if my dick was hitting the guy's prostate, if I was going to make the guy cum. While all of that helped me last longer than I probably would have otherwise, it also made it difficult for me to get hard enough to even make it inside. Zane was the only guy that I hadn't had that problem with.

I found myself enjoying the sex, reveling in each wave of pleasure, in Zane's moans, even in the creak of my bed. My mind was blissfully silent, spurring me on. My hands roamed Zane's body, smacking his ass, gripping his hips tightly, snaking up his back to push his head down into the blankets. Why hadn't I ever been able to have sex like this before? Sure, Zane was cute, definitely more attractive than most of the guys I'd been with, but there was also the pressure of knowing that Zane wanted more than just a frantic tumble in the sack; for whatever reason he liked me and wanted me to be his boyfriend despite the fact that we were polar opposites in pretty much every conceivable way.

When I came inside of Zane, it was the next best thing to a vacation I could get in my situation. I felt all of my stress, all of my anxiety, my anger, my frustration flee my body - into Zane's ass.

As soon as I felt like my legs would work again, I went to clean myself off and get Zane a towel. "You got lube all over me," he jokingly complained, wetting the hand towel and wiping lube off of his back and shoulder blades.

"I'm sorry! I like to touch during sex," I replied, laughing.

"Do you feel better now?" he asked, a wicked glint in his eye. I hoped that he hadn't had sex with me out of pity, just to make me feel better.

"A lot," I confirmed, falling back into the bed. Zane lay across the bed in front of me. I grabbed his dick and started playing with it, even though it stayed soft. "Don't you want to cum?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Nah, I'm good." He smiled, moving to lay on the pillow next to mine.

"Was the sex good, at least?"

"Very good. Even better than last time," he answered enthusiastically. "I am pretty impressed with Lance, though. Three fingers was pushing it."

"I know. I felt the resistance when I tried to get that fourth finger in. I was worried that I was going to hurt you."

Zane left soon after that, stopping in the doorway long enough to brush his lips against mine before he disappeared into the dark night. I got in the shower immediately after he left, replaying the entire night over in my head. Had sex been all that I needed? Was I just being a baby about my workload because all I had in my life was work and my cats? Guilt set in a little as I thought about how Zane wanted to top me and I wasn't sure that I was ever going to be okay with trying that; it wasn't fair of me to not accommodate him, but if it wasn't for me, it wasn't for me. There were other ways to make him cum.

A month has gone by, and I have the majority of the boxes broken down and put into totes. Zane was talking about building me shelves for everything, but we haven't seen each other in a few weeks. He's supposed to be getting more hours at the bar soon, which is great, because thirteen hours a week isn't enough for him to live on. I'm glad that I've been able to keep up with the organization regimen, but now that it's starting to get warm out, I know that if I don't finish soon, it won't be done until the fall. My apartment gets so hot in the summer that on my days off, all I can do to stay cool is fill my tub with ice cold water and sit in it. The cost of fixing the AC is more than I could even fathom. and fans - while slightly helpful - just don't get the job done.

I look forward to the day that my apartment is neat and orderly, when I can spend my days off doing light tidying up instead of deep cleaning. I come from a family of hoarders, but the feeling of seeing just how much got thrown away makes me feel accomplished. Maybe one day I can go back to being a mentally well, organized person; I won't have to be embarrassed any time someone wants to come over. Maybe if I can reign in the chaos around me, order it, my mental health will start to get better; I won't look around at the chaos and feel like a complete slob.