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Sunday 1346 hrs
So there you have it. Whitney Fordman is in love. With moi! I can’t tell you how absolutely unashamedly proud I am of myself right now. Not to mention how completely and hopelessly in love too. Clark Kent… you’ve been done in.
One minute I was trembling to think I might have taken advantage of him in his weakest moments, and in the very next one, there he was, clinging to me.. his arms clutched tight around my body, his face buried into my shoulder, biting back child-like sobs. I am rocking him, kissing him, stroking his soft hair.. asking him to forgive me for ever doubting his feelings, telling him over and over..
“I love you too Whit.. I love you.”
But mostly I’m just crying myself. With relief, with happiness, with dread.
He has to leave soon. Maybe not now, on account of the investigation and all but soon, he would grab his knapsack and go back to playing soldier. And I would still be here, miles away, in small town Smallville. The thought of having to let him go just makes me gather him tighter into my arms.
Wont let you go! Wont let you go!
I wonder if this is why Whit has been panting and gasping so much .. because I’m always bloody squeezing the life out of him?
Idiot. I relax a little and walk him to the bed, sit him down beside me, pulling his legs onto my lap to get closer. Not close enough damnit.
He finally unburies his face from my shoulder and turns it up in offering. I kiss him like I did the first time, like there might be no other time. His tongue fights back in earnest, sucking at my lips, my tongue, licking the walls of my mouth as far as he would go.
Its amazing how the littlest of movements he makes in my mouth and in my arms send pleasure-filled jolts up and down my spine, only to gather at the groin. And then I turn my attention to his.
I undo the last two buttons on his black shirt… mine actually.. but damn thing never looked this good on me now did it? I stroke the growing mound between his legs over the denim for awhile. He shifts, making me gasp into the kiss, spreads his legs on my lap to allow better access and digs his nails into my back where he is clasping me. I slide down the zipper and go in, only to tear off the front of his boxers, my boxers, and grip him. He jerks up in surprise and chuckles but continues to suck at my tongue, delightfully whimpering into my mouth. Chloe says I have big hands, and long fingers. Well right now, I can’t seem to grab enough of Whit’s beautiful shaft and the silken balls. The feel of Whitney, so warm and perfect to touch.. its like nothing I’ve known all my paranormal life. I finger the slit trying to get in as Whit starts to fidget.
“All in good time babe, all in good time”
I start pumping him, up and down, up and down I go on his shaft while returning to the tip to squeeze out drops of his nectar onto my index finger. I bring the finger up and parting slightly from the bruised lips, insert it into his mouth. He sucks at it so hungrily and when its all gone, he captures my mouth again with his. He grips my wrist and brings it down back on his cock.
I go back to tugging and pulling and tugging until he is breathless and squirming like crazy. I’m not sure how or why but it seems like he is waiting for me to tell him if he can ..come? I smile into the still hungry kiss and squeeze his heavy sac. He lets go with a loud gasp.
His entire body is wrecked by uncontrollable shudders I can feel seeping from him into me. I hold on to him while he moans and spasms into my hand and onto my torn boxers and my jeans and my jeans that I’m wearing, and he’s gasping for cursed breath and seeking to bury his face into my neck permanently. I kiss his head, once again positioned right in front of my lips as he comes.
Finally it passes, and all is silent, except his ragged breathing. His spent organ continues to throb in my grip. He looks at my hand dripping with his semen, then looks up at me, smiling so shyly, with this.. I don’t know.. confused.. longing… sure-not-sure expression on his face.
God that’s endearing, he’s asking for my permission again! I bring up my hand to his lips and he is holding it with his own before a pink tongue shakily peeks out to take a lick.
Oh. My. God.
Never thought it would be so erotic to have Whitboy licking cum off my hands.. doesn’t matter whose. He licks and licks and when its all gone, he turns towards me. I must have been gaping at him with an open mouth because he’s grinning away, well aware of the effect he’s had on me and damn proud of it too. And then he kisses me full on my lips, reminding me of his taste from the night before. Salty but sweet. Like.. not so ripe apples? My Whitney… apples and roses... green apples and red roses…
“I love you.”
I say that aloud. He meets my gaze wide eyed.
“I love you too” and dives right into my mouth again.
“Starving. How can you tell?”
Had to laugh at that. After that performance? Jeez. But fact is, he hasn’t eaten ever since he got up that morning.
Reluctantly, I dump his legs on the creaking bed and get up to change into another pair of jeans.
“Lets go down and grab something”
Whit hesitates. “What about your.. ?”
“Oh they’re fine. My dad wanted me to be sure, I am sure. He shouldn’t have any more problems”
“Okay but.. you think it’s a good idea? W-What about your mom?”
“Oh she’s wayyy okay. Don’t worry about her.”
Whitney isn’t convinced. He gets up and walks toward the wardrobe. Weakly, I notice. Better get some food into the boy before he faints on me.
“Clark I cant believe your folks are so cool about this. Don’t you think it’s a little weird? Only son who they just discovered is gay.. brings home some beat-up loser guy, makes out right in the family house and they are okay with it?!?”
“Lets just say they are really really used to their son’s weirdness. And who’re you calling loser loser?”
I pretend to whack away at him and he ducks. And the smile is back…. does anyone else hear those beautiful bells ringing?
He takes out another pair of boxers and jeans and puts them on. I’m soon gonna run out of clothes like this.
“Didn’t they ask how I got so.. damaged?”
Damage? What damage? Whit standing there in nothing but a short black shirt that in no way covers any of his assets.. nope … I see no damage!
Ahem, get serious Kent. The kid is really worried.
“I think with the news all over the TV and the police coming to talk to you, they figured it out by themselves. My mom she patched you up the first time I brought you and didn’t ask one question.”
He is surprised. “Your mom?”
“No yikes. There’s no yikes needed here.”
“ok then SHIT.”
I go to him. Whit’s jittery about facing my folks, so fine he wouldn’t have to. When I reach him he’d already pulled up the boxers (damn) and is struggling with the jeans, which once again is a little tight on his glorious frame.
I take the catches of his new jeans from his slightly shaking hands and close them myself. He lets me zip him up and adjust the shirt on his shoulders while he stands with his hands on his waist, feet set apart, staring at me doubtfully.
"What, too tight?"
I pat his bottom twice in quick succession where the denim clings the snuggest. (Is that even a word?) But he doesn't find it funny and continues to frown at me.
“You keep saying that”
“Because you keep freaking out on me! My folks are really cool believe me. But hey if you’re not ready you’re not ready. Lets go for lunch at the Talon. We should speak to Lana and give her a heads up.”
Okay Whitney is *really* freaking out now. About having to tell Lana about that night. He isn’t sure he wants to. He rubs the back of his neck with his left hand.
“We.. we’ll have to make up some story for her.”
“I think by now she must have a good idea what happened too Whit”.
I say that very softly. He has this look of controlled helplessness on his face I can’t bear. I reach out for him and with one hand press his face into my shoulder again, rubbing his neck for him.
“Too many people know Clark.”
“People you can trust believe me”
“Its not just me Clark.. it’s the both of us now..”
“What if my mom gets to know?”
“Why are you so afraid of letting her know Whit? Its not like any of it was your fault”
He looks up at me, stepping back a little.
“Yeah but you don’t know her. She’s a delicate woman, she panics very easily and already she hates my being in a life-threatening occupation. Let's just say I’m the only family she’s left with and she doesn’t wanna lose me.”
I guess he is right. Betty Fordman is a sweet lady who hails from a very protected background. After the sickness and subsequent death of her husband, she suddenly had to shed the housewife image and come out to face the music for herself and her only son. Anyways you don’t need a bloody excuse to worry about someone you love.
And then there is the police.
You think I haven’t thought about what happens if he does go and spill the whole story out to the authorities? I have. You think I don’t care if my freak status is exposed to the world in the process? Well I do. But right now, I care more for this boy and his sanity. But you know what.. something tells me… Whitney himself doesn’t know the whole story yet.. he doesn’t remember.. yet.
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