Love Is Ǝvil

3 I Don't Want to Be ...

The ceiling looked down on him disapprovingly.

Marshall flipped it off, then he rolled his eyes about himself. He was such an idiot.

He should've left the motel when he had had the chance. One orgasm was enough for one night, but no, he of course couldn't get his mouth full enough. As usual. Well, figuratively. At least that he hadn't done.

Yet.

Instantly, he had an image in his head, himself kneeling in front of that guy, his lips around the erection and his eyes closed with relish. Swallow that cum, fag.

"Oh god", he sighed, covering his face with his hands. His cheeks were too hot and so was his abdomen. Again, he heard his own voice moaning lustful.

He could still taste the guy, his tongue and his fingers. Oh fuck, how he had sucked those fingers ... So then, he had gotten his mouth full. Great, all gay boxes checked. Now what?

Marshall rolled on his side and pulled the blanket over his head. He hadn't felt this awful in a long time and he wasn't exactly thrilled to feel like shit again. If he could just disappear. He had thought he was over that. These nights out were making it worse. What was his therapist thinking? He would go out on stage and come out as gay, find a cute cottage in the country side and move there with his boyfriend and two tiny dogs? Fuck that! That ain't never gonna happen.

Next time he saw his therapist, he'd tell her to shut it. This gay thing wasn't working out and even if he'd be fine with being gay - which he absolutely wasn't - he couldn't live like this anyway. No reason to try what you couldn't have. He had enough other problems to work through.

Like, how he was crying right now. He didn't even know what he was crying over. This was just fucked up. Gay sex made you into wuss. Don't flatter yourself, you've always been a softie. He couldn't afford that. One more reason not to be gay.

He still felt a tingling sensation where he absolutely shouldn't. He could still feel the thin lips moving on his, the other man's tongue licking his ear, the stranger's hands stroking all over his body ...

Marshall hated himself.