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I dropped Will off at the terminal around six. His flight wasn’t scheduled for another hour, but he had decided to get to the airport early, and get some reports into his hard drive in the first class lounge. The drive from Chelsea to LaGuardia had been silent torture. The only sound was the throaty growl of the Jaguar’s big eight-cylinder engine as we roared through the Midtown Tunnel and into Queens. It was always the same argument. Our relationship for the last two years has been primarily built on strong physical attraction, but our sexual needs were often at odds.
We were both tops. Our sex was always hot, physical, and athletic, but neither of us would submit ultimately to the other. As often as I tried, he simply would not surrender his temptingly tight little butt to me. I loved to try, and the struggle was often the sexiest part of our lovemaking. Will was a powerfully built man. He had played pro baseball in the early nineties, and had the sturdy shoulders and large biceps of a power hitter. A knee injury ended his career, or he would probably still be playing today.
Likewise, Will would try to get me underneath him all the time. I would let him put a finger or two into my tight asshole, but when that “big ten” came knocking at my back door, I’d buck him off me like a skittish bronco. This business trip would have him out of town for a week, and our goodbye sex that afternoon was the last straw. I refused to roll over and get fucked, and Will exploded. Neither of us dealt well with rejection. That’s what comes from over developed egos.
“You just don’t give a damn about what I need, do you Robby? You fucking selfish bastard. I give you everything you need, and you can’t give up one freaking thing to me that would make me happy?”
“So, what, now you own my ass because you pay the electric bill? You fucking think I’m your slave or something? And what about you, Will? You don’t really care about my needs, either. Keep your fucking money.”
His well-invested resources had enabled him to start a consulting business, and we lived comfortably together in a three-bedroom condo on west 23rd street, across from the Chelsea Hotel. But I was making enough on my own at the health club, and didn’t need to take his . . . . .