What I Want You to Do to Me

[raileus]

What I Want You to Do to Me
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Author's Note

This is a work of fantasy. The encounter, the character of Andrew, and the events surrounding that encounter are fictional.

However, I am not fictional.

Some of what I have written about my life in this story is real. The references to childhood abuse, sexual assault, trauma, and the emotional consequences of those experiences are based on things I have actually lived through.

The fantasy itself did not happen. Andrew is a fictional character, and the sexual encounter described here is a fantasy. But the person imagining it is real, and so are the experiences and emotions that helped shape it.

For me, this story is about more than sex. It is about imagining what it might feel like to experience intimacy without fear, touch without harm, desire without exploitation, and to be wanted while still being respected, heard, and safe.

Some of the story is fantasy.

Some of the pain behind it is not.

— Chris

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I was on my way to work. I was walking as I always do, with my headphones on, oblivious to the world, like I'm in my own music video.

Eventually, I got close to my job. They were almost opening, but I bumped into a man in a black suit, and he dropped some papers out of his briefcase.

At this point, I was extremely embarrassed because I wasn't paying attention, so it was definitely my fault. I tried to pick up the papers and help him, continuously apologizing for my carelessness.

He smiled and said, "Don't worry about it. It's okay."

But then he stared.

He took a moment and looked at me as if he had never seen someone who looked quite like me. And I guess that's true. It's not often that you see a biological female with a shaved head, so most of the time I get questions like, "Oh, do you have cancer?" or, "Oh, are you gay?"

You know, all the stereotypes.

Of course, the way he looked at me didn't seem like he was thinking any of that at all.

He smiled again after staring at me for quite an unusual amount of time and handed me a business card.

I smiled, accepted it, and said, "Thank you," even though I had no idea what I was thanking him for.

Then he walked away.

I don't know where he went. I don't know where he was going. But he left, and I went on to work.

Later that afternoon, when I got home from work, I looked at the business card.

The name on it was Andrew Ward. Apparently, he was a lawyer at a pretty prestigious firm. I don't really know anything about those things, but I called the number and asked for him.

There was a pause after the secretary said, "One moment, please."

Then he answered the phone.

I introduced myself and reminded him that I was the person who had bumped into him embarrassingly that morning.

"Yes," he said. "I remember."

At some point, I asked why he had given me the business card.

He said, "Well, if you don't mind, I would like to take you out for dinner—and then whatever you'd like after that."

I paused for quite a moment.

Because it wasn't just the dinner. It was the way he said whatever you'd like after that.

What did that mean?

It was such an unusual proposal, and I had never been asked out to dinner before, so I thought, Why not?

So we went out to this restaurant I'd never been to before—a really nice Japanese restaurant—and we had some amazing sushi.

I was surprised because, unbeknownst to him, I absolutely love sushi.

We got to talking about that and several other things. He asked me if I was single and whether I had any kids—all the usual things people ask.

Eventually, the question about my hair came up.

He said he didn't want to pry, but he was curious.

I told him it was just a personal choice. I felt more comfortable that way. And even though my body is biologically female, I identify as non-binary.

He took a moment to take that in and then nodded his head as if he understood completely.

After our meal, he took me back to his car, which was a pretty fancy car, by the way. I think it was a black Mercedes, if I'm not mistaken. The seats were quite comfortable.

Then he said, "Chris, I want to be frank with you about this. I want to know what you would like to do next—and by that, I mean anything."

I looked at him and paused, trying to grasp exactly what he was getting at.

Then it clicked.

Wait a minute. Is he asking what I think he's asking?

Well, me being the frank person that I am, I had to come right out and say it.

"Are you asking if I want to have sex with you?"

And he answered far too quickly.

"Yes."

I felt like I had a frog in my throat. I almost couldn't speak or swallow, but my mind and body were desperately saying, Please say yes.

Eventually, the word came out.

"Yes."

I don't know how it sounded, but I know that he heard it.

And that was it.

We were on the road again.

He took us to a Hilton hotel and got a room for the night. Then we went up to the room.

He suggested that I take a shower or do anything else I wanted to do.

So I did.

Afterward, I got into a big, comfortable robe.

From there, he ordered room service. There was wine and some sort of fruit plate with grapes and cheese.

I told him that I was an alcoholic and couldn't have the wine, so he sent it back quickly.

He told me to enjoy the rest of the food while he went to take a shower himself.

Then he came out of the bathroom wearing a big, comfortable robe too.

The room was gorgeous, and the view was great. The bed was incredibly comfortable, although I was starting to feel more nervous about lying on it.

I felt like he was about to remove that robe at any moment, and I tried to stop him.

I needed to tell him something, and I didn't know how he was going to take it.

So I asked him to sit down.

He sat beside me and listened attentively to what I had to say.

"When we do this, I want you to know something. I've never had sex with a man consensually. I was physically, emotionally, and sexually abused as a child, and later in life I was assaulted.

"Most of the men in my life that I've known have always looked at me in the wrong way and had cruel, awful intentions.

"I've never had anyone touch me in a way that felt appropriate or safe."

He looked at me for what seemed like forever.

His almost bluish-gray eyes looked as though they were filled with tears.

I had never seen a man look as though he was on the verge of crying like that. It shocked me.

Between that and his beautiful gray-white hair—yeah, he was quite a bit older than me—but there was something about him that stood out.

I don't know.

I guess that's why I had said yes to all of this to begin with.

Eventually, he spoke.

"I would never hurt you. And I want you to know that. If I do anything that you don't want, or you want me to stop, then I'll stop."

So I told him okay.

I moved the tray to a table along with the water and the other things I had.

He dimmed the lights.

I was still sitting on the bed.

He stood in front of me and began to undress.

For his age, he was quite fit. And as far as his size was concerned, I was quite impressed.

Seeing him immediately turned me on, but I was so shocked that I could barely move.

I don't think it was nervousness.

I think it was the realization.

Finally, I was going to be with someone who really wanted me in a good way—not selfishly, not just for his own needs and pleasure, but because he also wanted to give me pleasure.

He took my hands and placed them on his waist.

Then he grabbed the robe, untied it, and slowly slid it down.

He laid me down on the bed and gently lay on top of me.

Then he started kissing me everywhere.

He started at my head, as far as I could remember, and then moved down my neck and everywhere else.

I couldn't remember a place he hadn't kissed.

Everywhere his lips touched, my skin became hot.

I was overwhelmed.

Eventually, he returned to my face, kissing me on my lips again. He kissed me deeply, and his hands began exploring my body, touching me until I was so aroused I thought I might climax right there.

I watched him put on a condom.

Then he wrapped his arms around me as tightly as he could beneath my shoulder blades while holding my head and kissing me again.

He entered me slowly.

Very slowly.

He moved carefully, and I could feel how hard he was already.

But it felt good.

It didn't hurt.

It wasn't sharp or painful.

It felt like I was alive again somehow.

I didn't know how to describe it.

I had never been with a man like this.

He was so gentle, and everything felt amazing.

Eventually, he started moving faster as we both became more aroused.

He could hear me moaning louder, almost with an aching sound, as though I were in pain—even though it was only because I had so much desire inside me.

Everything had been so pent up.

I guess I'm not sure how to explain it.

I just know that I had wanted someone to touch me like this for a very long time.

And here he was.

He moved faster.

I placed my hands on him, holding him as I felt him move inside me.

I could feel the tension building throughout my body.

And then I remember saying over and over:

"Yes. Please. Oh God, yes."

And then I came.

I felt an orgasm unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

I could feel him inside me, the pressure, the movement, and I could hear his deep groan as he came at the same time.

I felt so good that I became overwhelmed with emotion and started crying.

He just held me.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I told him that it was just so beautiful.

He held me tighter and said that everything was going to be okay.

That I was okay.

Later, we had sex again after resting.

Apparently, I had become even more aroused after the first time.

During the second time, I asked him to put his hands around my neck and squeeze—not enough to hurt me, but enough to give me the feeling of being dominated.

I trusted him enough.

I wanted to feel the pressure and the sense of control while he was having sex with me more intensely.

He asked me, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, please."

He put his hands around my neck, carefully enough for me to feel the pressure of his control without hurting me.

Then he shifted his position, and I moved beneath him.

He started moving harder.

I began screaming in ecstasy.

It was as though my mind was on some kind of drug.

I was completely gone.

Completely lost.

I could barely even hear myself.

I could only feel the pleasure.

There was nothing else.

After the second time, we both had to take a break.

I was trying to catch my breath, and I'm quite sure he was too.

Eventually, I asked him, "Why did you give me that card that day? And why me?"

He looked at me.

"Why not you?"

And that was the first time I thought:

I deserve this.

I deserve to have pleasure.

I deserve to be wanted.

I deserve to feel wanted.

I deserve to be touched.

I deserve to experience intimacy.

I deserve to be desired just like anyone else.

And he was right.

Why not me?

So, one last time before we went to sleep, I lay on my stomach and let him take me from behind.

By that point, I was completely aroused and ready for him.

My body was relaxed, and I was completely receptive to him.

Whatever intensity we chose, I was ready for it.

Afterward, we stayed in each other's arms for a while, and eventually we fell asleep.

By morning, I had a small breakfast, and then we got dressed and prepared to leave the room.

He took me back to my house.

Before I left, he kissed me in the car and smiled.

Then he motioned for my arm, as if he wanted to hold my hand or pull me back toward him.

I'm not sure.

Instead, he placed a card in my hand.

This time, it was similar to the business card from before, but heavier and more metallic.

It had his name on it.

And his personal cell phone number.

He smiled, then drove away.

I stood there holding the card and kept thinking:

Should I call him again?