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You regret pulling out the photo album almost immediately. You’d meant to skip past the early bits, show him something from an office picnic a few years back to prove a point: Sergeant Bailey’s hands really were tremendously large – like saucers!
But he stops you and laughs.
“Look at you! You’re gorgeous!”
“Oh, shut it,” you say, and try to turn the page.
But he stops you again, this time with a gentle hand on your wrist. Kurt moves to the edge of the sofa, leaning over the album splayed open on the coffee table. The picture he studies so intently is of you circa 1987, in the country somewhere on holiday, dark hair spilling out from under the bill of an ugly cap.
“Look at those curls!” he breathes, voice full of wonder. “If I had known you when I was twenty, it wouldn’t have taken me thirty years to sleep with a man.”
You feel the burn in your cheeks flaring, and your temper as well.
“Let’s just move on, shall we?”
He looks at you then, and even though you keep your eyes on the floor, you know that he sees.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you before that you’re beautiful?”
Of course not, why would they?
You’ve never wanted to be one of those people, one of those beautiful people, anyway. You have a serious job to do and all. Sure, when you were younger you might have been considered handsome, in a devilish sort of way. There had never been a shortage of boys knocking on your door. But if they’d told you that you were beautiful – right before they shoved their dick in your pretty little mouth – you never heard it.
It’s different this time, somehow.
This man of few words, who doesn’t drop compliments lightly, is gazing at you in a way no one ever has before, telling you you’re handsome, devastatingly so.
And now he’s pulling at your clothes and baring more of your skin to his gaze, and he’s pushing you backwards onto the sofa, and his hands are touching every part of you, and his kisses are rendering gentle affirmations of his words…
handsome … gorgeous … beautiful…
…and then he’s between your legs, taking you into his mouth for the first time, worshiping your cock. Because it’s beautiful; you’re beautiful. And your back is arching and you’re coming (for him). And you don’t know if you’re really starting to believe it’s true (beautiful), but if he wants to think so, you won’t argue anymore.