Blue Oxford Shirts

I’ve become obsessed with blue oxford shirts and cock-sucking. I’ve always liked cock-sucking, but I’ve never liked the color blue unless it was part of something that was naturally blue, like the sky or forget-me-knots. My dislike of blue started because I had an ex that loved blue; the bluing of our home started with Mesa, the Dansk faux Native American dinnerware pattern that was so popular in the ‘80’s. After the dishes, our house was overtaken with blue. We painted our bedroom walls eggshell blue. We grew blue flowers. Then we broke up, and I swore off blue. Years passed, and little trails of blue started seeping back into my life, a stripe on a sock or a navy wool jacket all became desirable again.

Then during one of your visits I started thinking about blue oxford shirts. And cock-sucking. I don’t know why. I mean, I know why I thought about cock-sucking, but a daydream about a shirt I never wanted was an enigma. It wasn’t gradual, but arrived suddenly; I woke up, looked at you still asleep beside me and wondered what it would be like if I was sucking your cock while we were wearing blue oxford shirts….or, if you were sucking my cock. There was something about the shirts, combined with quickie early morning sex that made me wet. I thought about how I’d get out of bed to get ready for work, shower, and iron my shirt while wearing my shorts. I knew you liked to look at me while I ironed. I would deliberately drag out the process. I’d scratch my ass and rub my cunt through my shorts distractedly, or lean over a little too far to pick up my shoes from the floor, making sure you got a tempting view of my rear end. I’d tie my tie haphazardly, and ask for your help. Once you told me that I tied my tie like a dyke from the ‘70’s, so I secretly swore never to learn how to do it differently. I wanted to ask for help, and have you stand up next to me chest to chest, all tall and serious. You’d knot my tie correctly, your mouth twisted up gravely and eyes intent. I loved watching how solemn you became as you dressed me. I’d joke about making you some morning porn so you could watch me get ready for work, letting the change and gendered layers turn you on.

I watched you sleep and thought about my imaginary blue oxford shirt. I wondered how the slightly rough cotton shirt would feel, all warm against my torso after I had ironed it. I’d use spray starch. I’d wear my black shorts and black bra, because black goes with everything, and black and blue is classic together. I’d leave my shirt unbuttoned when I’d walk into the bedroom, and I would catch a shining sliver of your opened eye as you followed me surreptitiously.

I looked over to see if you were starting to wake up yet. I stirred, hoping that you would wake up enough to fuck, hoping that you would be able to read the message that I was sending with each shift of my naked body. You turned over lazily and grabbed my hip, kissing my shoulder. Your lips were still soft with dreams. I snuggled closer against your warm body, pressing my hips into yours, and murmuring morning fuck-me’s into your half-asleep ear. You growled a tiny morning noise that said “yes”, and I started to tell you all about the blue oxford shirts. And the cock-sucking. I could tell that you were turned on and amused. Your hand moved across my hip and slid down my ass, seizing it firmly. We pressed ourselves together tightly, our bodies a little moist from being under the covers all night, and from the beginning of sexual heat. I told you in detail about how I wanted to kneel on the scratchy red Persian carpet in my blue shirt and suck your cock. Both of our shirts would be unbuttoned, and as I knelt to take your cock in my mouth, your crisply starched shirt would fall on either side of my face like a curtain. I would be in a cave of cock-sucking, the scent of your cunt wafting upwards, my spit wetting the way as I slid my lips up and down your shaft. I was getting hotter and hotter as I described how I wanted to suck your cock, and our hips were pressing together more urgently.

I got up to pee, untangling myself from your embrace and toddling towards bathroom. I took a minute to rinse out my mouth before coming back to bed. Turning the corner into the bedroom, I saw you were sitting on the edge of the mattress. Despite being dazed by horniness, lack of coffee, and the hour, I jauntily sauntered over intending to topple you over and fuck you, but you stopped me by thrusting a crumbled shirt into my hand. I shrugged it on as you pushed me to the floor roughly and opened up your shirt. It wasn’t blue, but I who the hell cared. I smiled lasciviously at the cock that you’d strapped on while I was in the bathroom. I appreciate a fellow who can think on his feet, so I leaned into your cock with my mouth, biting my lower lip in anticipation of what was coming.

The Persian carpet was coarse against my knees, your hairy thighs framed your rubber harness, and your shirt folded around my head as I started to suck your cock. With my mouth so close, I smelled the heady scents of rubber, your cunt, and your ass. It was like cock-sucking surround-sound, but with odors and I loved it. I grabbed your hips on both sides and took your silicone cock in as far as I could, making sure that I pressed the base into your pelvic mound as I swallowed your cock. The carpet was hurting my knees, but in that way that made me want to rub my entire body against it to get more of the prickly painful sensation. As I moaned into your cock and cunt, you pulled me up and then abruptly turned me face-down on the side of the bed. I could hear the slurpy noise of lube as you squeezed it from the bottle into the palm of your hand. I eagerly started to open my legs as you slid two fingers inside of my cunt. You slid another finger in and started fucking me shallowly. I yelled into the sheets and started to come as you fucked me, your fingers curved and pressing into my g-spot. With your shirt framing my ass, the memory of sucking your cock fresh in my mouth, and your hand inside of my cunt, I could not stop coming. I yelled, and started babbling with need as you pushed forward and twisted your hand inside of my cunt. “Please fuck me. Please be inside of me. Please.”

You rubbed your knuckles in a “u” shape, pressed down, and then begin fucking me hard and in earnest. It felt like I was being fucked into some spot in the universe; some indeterminate “X” where my limbs and cunt were splayed open to pleasure and you. I had to struggle not to reflexively close my legs. I screamed, and felt a wave of come begin inside of my belly and cunt. With a chain of pulsations, hot come squirted from my cunt. My legs were already dripping from coming, but this orgasm washed all of that away. I could hear you in the distance saying “sweet” as I arched myself up and towards you, and then I collapsed. You eased your hand from inside of me, and laid across my back, your wet forearms holding me close. I got up to pee and make coffee, my thighs sticky to my knees, wiped the lube and come off my legs with my shirt, and tossed it to you as a morning fuck souvenir. You smiled, leaned back, and winked at me as you tucked my come-soaked shirt under one arm. We snuggled together, and rolled to our sides still clinging to each other and kissing, with each kiss sweetly sealing our fuck.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
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