Southern Hospitality

I was honestly about to leave, forgot Memphis and drive the night into another state and wake up somewhere. Something in me changed my mind; okay, so maybe it was a man on Hinge that was piquing my interest. In the end, there weren’t any men in immediate sight, so I’d grab a drink at a cute bar, have a little more fun in Memphis before I left for good. Guess that’s how I ended up in your bed, a simple change in direction, and now I’m walking into a gay bar for the first time. Noticing you immediately sitting down on the couch with an older woman on your shoulder. It was your teeth, the gold teeth sitting in your smile, that caught the light, throwing it back at me, catching my attention. Seemed as if everyone was definitely queer or falling into a wide range of sexual identities/sexual preferences I didn’t want to assume. The woman talking to you came over to me, asking if I used “Fetlife,” which I couldn’t quite place in the moment. I think she just wanted to have an excuse to talk to me. As I saw the details up close, synthetic wig, breast plate, latex dress,  glasses, she looked very good but fit into the  over forty-five deep into fetishizing her trans identity vibe that I’d seen before; it didn’t excite me enough to care so much, honestly. I couldn’t quite get behind becoming that level of objectifying and fetishizing, but who am I to judge, right? I did all loads of “socially unacceptable behavior” that was just a realm that I didn’t play in. I decided to sit with what I now saw was a group of three older trans women with you intermingled into the middle. I kept my distance, keeping a gap between us, but postured my body towards you, crossing my legs. You stood up after a few minutes into the conversation and said, “I’m going for a cig, want one?” It was hitting me then, all six feet four inches towering over me, even though I was in heels, you were still taller. So naturally, I stood to join you. We walked through the hallway and out the back door, where you chose a bench to sit on while I stood in front of you as you lit my cigarette. You just watched me, observing my beauty mostly in awe, as you tried to secure having me come home with you. I needed to pee so badly that I had to cut the conversation short, part of me playing coy, I ran off to find the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, two drinks in my head, raced through processing all the logistics of how tonight could go. Would I take my makeup off in the car? No, he’d have to start with me looking pretty. Could I quickly douche and prepare myself for a night of getting filled? All the natural progression of questions you ask yourself while living on the road and going home with a man. I’d drink to that with you on the couch, laughing about how bad the karaoke was. Call it free tequila, but I was starting to be comfortable with you, inching closer to you on the couch. So when you looked at me and said, “Hey, wanna get out of here?” I agreed, and we made our way out, not before getting the attention of a couple that was definitely swingers. I got too sucked up into you that I could’ve noticed how they were eyeing me the entirety of the time I was in the bar. A military-fit type of couple with a little bit of coke in the mix. I saw it in his eyes, the lust behind the glare like a dog drooling over his food. I saw the hunger in his eyes as you ravished my body with a glance, oddly enough, it only excited his wife more. I was tremendously thankful you were walking me out the door. Otherwise, I probably would’ve walked into a much worse place than I wanted to be tonight. It’s funny you told me your name was “Kevin.” That I’d find out was only a fake name because it was also your first experience in a gay bar, and you were dreaming of meeting a girl just like me. Here I was. That’s where I think to myself and wonder if our fates exist like I was meant to meet you or maybe it was just the energy we both gave looking for someone which led our paths together. Like a gentleman, you walked me to my car, and I followed you home, crossing the border into Arkansas, another first for me tonight. You picked us up a bottle of tequila at a drive-through liquor store while you stayed on the phone with me the entirety of the drive. It was cute because I barely understood some of the words you said through your thick southern accent. You told me you wouldn’t fuck me on the first night because you were indeed “a gentleman,” but I’d fight you until I got my way, and I ended up lying on your bed filled. It was past midnight by the time you got inside me, so you were kind of right after all. “We wouldn’t fuck the first night” just the next morning. Your hands were strong, but your presence was calming as you reminded me to relax my body and breathe through the hours you spent that night inside me. I’ve never seen a man with such control over when he’d ejaculate. You edged yourself for hours while maintaining a pattern that pleasured my body entirely. So when you did cum, it was like a whole orchestra. I hope we didn’t keep up the neighbors. It was funny because our accents were so different from each other that at times I couldn’t understand what it was you were saying. And when I got excited and spoke fast, you’d feel the same way. I spent three days in your bed with you, sucking your cock for hours, cuddling, watching movies, taking shots, and smoking cigs in bed. I was in awe of such a beautiful giant man you were in comparison to my body, and that’s something I’ve always craved to experience. You know? The feeling of being held but massive hands that made me feel delicate. You’d show me southern hospitality and charm for the first time, so you’d always be someone I wouldn’t forget. Oh, and thanks for the cute fit.