Shaun Levin - The Whole Bloody Story of My Life from Beginning to End

Just listen to this. You're not going to believe it. I was on the tube, right, coming home from the studio, right, and there was this guy on the train. We were eyeing each other like fucking animals. And I just knew something was going to happen. I could tell he was really into me. I could tell he really wanted me. I knew exactly what I was wearing, and I could tell it was making him hot. He was so fucking gorgeous, and he just couldn't keep his eyes off me. And I let him, fuck, I let him stare as much as he wanted to, right. And then he got up, and it was like he had some fucking dog collar around my neck. He yanked me out of my seat, and I was off. After him. We were way past King's Cross, past the Angel. But I wasn't going to let this one get away. He was fucking gorgeous, and I was shaking, I was, I was so fucking nervous I thought I'd shit in my pants. In these new fucking cords. I thought I was going to die.

Anyway.

His place wasn't far from the station, but I could tell I'd never be able to trace my Way back later. I could tell there was no way I'd find my way back to the station. It's not like I know my way around London after all these years. Take me to a part I've never been before, and every house and street looks the fucking same to me. Identical. But I was being led by him, right, fucking dragged along like a dog. His boots were thudding on the pavement as if they were saying: fuck you all out there. I don't give a fuck what you all think. I live here. This is my fucking street. I've never had that, you see. I've never had that feeling in any place. So it was like I could feel it through him. Fuck, I could have carried on walking behind him forever.

But then we got to his house. Just this regular fucking house. He opened the front gate as if he didn't give a fuck whether I was behind him or not. He unlocked the front door, and we walked up to his flat on the first floor. One of those converted houses with about six fucking flats in one house. He said his brother owned the whole place. He said his brother felt sorry for him. He said he felt sorry for him and let him stay in one of the flats. And then inside. Inside there was no light. The blinds were down, and he kicked the door shut behind him, and there was this dead fucking silence. Like: Shut the fuck up, nobody talks from this point on.

I knew he was going to turn round and lash at my face with a fucking knife. I knew it. I thought, This guy's going to whip out a fucking chain from his back pocket and fuck my head in. And I thought, What the fuck. There's no way I'm going to get out of here so just fucking enjoy yourself. And did his place stink. Fuck, that place smelt foul. Cigarettes and dirt and smelly clothes, and I just thought, You English are so fucking grimy. You're all fucking slobs. And that was when I knew this guy would never hurt me.

He came at me, grinning, grinning like some fucking evil fuck, but I just kept my eyes on his. I let him play his game. His face was this close to me, this close, and he put his mouth on mine. He held the back of my neck and pushed my mouth open with his tongue as if he wanted to dig through me. He was quiet, not a word, and I wasn't going to risk saying anything. I wasn't going to make a fool of myself by saying something really stupid. Then he bit my bottom lip, here, look, look what he did, left his mark on me, and then he stepped back. He stepped back to look at me and started to undress right there in the fucking living room. In that fucking pitch-dark living room that stunk of wet ashes, armpits, and shit-stained underwear. He knew I was watching him. He took his time taking off his jacket, unbuttoning his white cotton shirt, massaging the hair on his chest, pinching his nipples. He stood there in his boots and jeans, and I knew with every pore in my fucking body that this guy was going to fuck me and it was going to be so fucking good.

He was like a fucking animal, I'm telling you, thick and hard and covered in dark red hair. He left his clothes on the floor and walked into his bedroom, sweat glistening on him like fucking dew in a spider's web. You can't imagine what it was like. I just wanted to go down on my knees and lick his whole fucking body. I did. I was ready to lick the fucking floorboards his shoes had stood on. I imagined looking up at the fur on his shoulders and his chest and stomach and him pulling me to my feet and saying: Boy, I'm going to fuck your pussy.

Fuck it, you know how smooth I am. You know how sometimes my body feels as soft as a cunt and I'll do anything to get a man to fuck me. I'll follow him into his bedroom and beg him to stick his cock inside me. I'll call fucking strangers on the phone and leave the door open for them to come in. That's what was going to happen here. But no begging this time, right. He was fucking hot for me. He was going to fuck me like a fucking wolf, and there was nothing I could do about it. I took off my All-Stars and my cords, then my T-shirt. I left them lying there in the hallway and went into his bedroom and lay back on the bed, just watching him take off the rest of his clothes. He stared at me while he undid his trousers and scooped out his cock. He looked at me as if he could kill me and he said, "I want your arse so fucking badly. Show it to me. Lie back like that and let me see. Let me see where I'm going to stick my fucking cock."

And I did just what he said. Fuck. He was so fucking hot for me.

"I'm going to fuck your arse," he said. "I'm going to fuck it so good. I'm going to fuck your arse like it's the only thing in this fucking world."

This guy couldn't get enough. Can you picture it. Can you picture him there talking to me, saying, "I want to be inside you, man. I want to fuck you so hard and long and sore. I want to fuck that soft smooth cunt of yours. Come on, show me. Spread your arse like that. Yeah. Let's see."

By then I'd propped myself up on his pillows, holding my arse open and watching him pull off his boots, then his trousers and socks. He wasn't wearing any underpants, and his cock stood out like a fucking flagpole, jerking up and down every time he said "fuck" as if his prick was some fucking worm-monster waiting to get stuck into my fucking arsehole.

He came at me with a vengeance. He did. He pushed those cushions off the bed and jerked my legs over my head and buried his tongue up my arse like there was no fucking tomorrow. I wanted his whole fucking face in there. I wanted him slobbering all over me, making noises with his mouth so it'd feel like the sounds were coming from inside me. His tongue pressed against the lips of my arsehole, and I lifted myself up and held on to the back of his shoulders and pulled him into me deeper. And he made those noises, those fucking animal noises, as if he couldn't get enough. Like a mangy fucking mutt caged and starved for days. He whimpered and growled and chewed into my arse as if he didn't care what was going to happen.

And his bed was like ice. Believe me. I'll never forget that. Like ice. Sheets like a fucking ice rink. But smelly. Fuck, did they stink. Damp and creased and smelly. I could feel the fucking cum stains melting under my back. And his hot tongue between my legs.

"Open up," he said. "Open." And I swear I could have screamed or fallen in love between each syllable. "Come on, baby," he said. "Come on. Open up for me."

I could have ripped myself in two for him to be inside me. I pulled my arse cheeks apart and felt his face push further into me. I don't know if you've ever felt this way. I don't know if you've ever trusted someone like that. Have you? Have you ever trusted someone to do to you whatever they wanted, and you knew they'd never hurt you?