Marked for Love 1 Read Online Free PDF Page A

unhappiness. I appreciated the softer tone which made me all the more sorry for displeasing him.
    Maybe I had sucked too hard. Maybe I hadn’t done it fast enough or hard enough, or maybe it was too hard or too fast. I wish he had just given me another slap, like he did the first time, instead of punishing me like this. The insecurities inside me began crowding my mind. I’d been rejected by so many men in the past. Ever since my father kicked me out of the house, I’d done whatever I could to survive. It was hard to make it on your own. I never had a steady income, so when the sporadic work I did had slowed down, I became desperate enough to consider every option. Unfortunately, that had meant sometimes bedding men I’d never normally even give two looks at for the night, just to have a place to rest my head. I hated myself for stooping so low, but sleeping with one man was much better than sleeping on the street and risking being attacked and used by several men.
    Many of the men I stayed with had done what they wanted to me, and then after one or two times, tossed me aside, never to hear from them again. I often wondered if there was something wrong with me. Was I not attractive enough? Was I simply not any good in the sack? I tried to do what they wanted, even if it made me uncomfortable, even if it caused me pain; anything to please them, but nothing seemed to be enough.
    My friend once told me that maybe it was because I was meant to be with someone else; someone who was waiting for me: that destiny had something in store for me that I could not even imagine. And although I liked the romantic idea of that, I tried to be realistic. That was the best way to not get hurt again.
    I knew I couldn’t be that unattractive. A lot of guys hit on me, and I was used to that: especially the older guys with silver hair - they tried to pick me up. This had started well before I could admit to myself that I did not like girls in the way my father desperately wished I would. With every girl’s crush that I rejected, he grew further and further away from me. Finally, I just had to admit to myself that I was gay. This was when I was 16 years old, and despite my efforts to hide it, despite my parents' efforts to Bible-thump it out of me, it wouldn’t go away. It was a part of me, and although I tried to hate it for so many years, eventually I had to admit to myself, I liked it, I embraced it. It was who I was.
    I stepped inside the bathroom’s doorway and turned on the light. My eyes were flooded with unnatural yellow light that was all the more painful after being in the softly lit living room. Regaining my composure, I looked around. Along the right wall was the linen closet that Buck had told me about. Past that, there was a checkered marble countertop with a single sink. To my left, just past the swing of the door, was the shower, and past that was the toilet. It was a simple bathroom, definitely not meant to be the master bath, but still very nice for a guest restroom. I opened the glass shower door and turned the hot water on as high as it would go. I needed to wash the chill of this night away. Going back to the linen closet, I pulled out a thick olive green towel. Although it smelled clean, I could see pieces of dog hair still in it. This was the first proof of a pet that I had seen all night.
    Under the hot water, I lathered up the soap between my hands. I was still hard; I couldn’t help myself. There was something about him: something about that man that turned me on like I hadn’t been turned on before.
    I imagined him inside the shower with me as I soaped up my slender, toned chest and abs, the soap gliding down every surface until it reached my hardened cock and balls, finally swirling down the drain. I could almost feel him behind me, lathering up my cheeks and my insides, slipping his long, coarse thick fingers inside me, pushing their way inside me. He would use the full weight of his body to keep me pinned to