Donny’s Dialogue

CONTENT ALERT: This story is adults-only and contains sexual scenes.

By Victor Rodger, 29 April 2020

Donny had a muli* on him that looked like a couple of bowls of just-set jelly, a muli that rippled when Robert smacked it, a muli that felt like dough as Robert pushed Donny’s buttocks apart before plunging his tongue into Donny’s asshole.

Donny moaned softly with pleasure in the darkness of their London hotel room.

They had met online just before Christmas when Robert had made his first hunting expedition on Grindr after landing in London from Auckland to begin a writer’s residency. He had been pleasantly surprised to recognise another Polynesian face and soon discovered that Donny was in London on holiday from Oxford University where he had won a prestigious scholarship to complete a PHD in something that Robert did not entirely understand. After meeting later that day in Robert’s hotel room, they had slept together and subsequently met up whenever their respective schedules allowed. 

Earlier that afternoon, Robert had met Donny outside King’s Cross Station when he arrived from Oxford.  It was Valentine’s Day and they were surrounded by couples, straight, gay, or otherwise, who held flowers, chocolates, each other’s hands.

Donny was still closeted – Mormon - so instead of showing any outward affection they had walked, side by side towards the hotel in an anticipatory silence.  Robert supposed that to passers by they may have looked like cousins: two hulkingly tall, broad Samoan men – one dark skinned and one lighter – but both with thighs and mulis that stretched the fabric of their 4XL ASOS jeans to their very limit. 

Donny had caught Robert eyeing up his muli as they walked towards the hotel.

“Sole, aua.”

But Robert wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t wait to get Donny naked, which he did even before their hotel room door closed behind them.

As Robert’s tongue went deeper and deeper into Donny and Donny continued to moan, Robert hoped that this time might be different. That this time Donny would simply keep moaning.

But instead Donny was soon talking to Robert the way he eventually always did whenever they had sex, which was to say that Donny was talking to Robert as if they were in a clip on Pornhub.

“Oh yeah. You got your tongue in my hole? You got your tongue in my hole, daddy?”

Robert withdrew his tongue and looked up at Donny over Donny’s wide muli which lay in front of his face like an enormous smooth mountain made of Whittakers Creamy Milk chocolate.

“Sole: Daddy?  Really?”

In fact, Donny’s employment of the term “daddy” wasn’t the actual problem – Robert was self aware enough to know that he had left his ingénue days well behind him on a dance-floor somewhere, sometime during the last century. But Robert didn’t feel like he could be honest with Donny – not completely – without hurting his feelings. He was, relatively speaking, just a boy: twenty-five to Robert’s fifty. And in their brief time together Robert had already seen how sensitive Donny was underneath his seemingly laidback exterior, how something that Robert considered a gentle mock could wound him.

Donny craned his neck to look back at Robert over his own mountainous muli.

“Uce; what’d you stop for? You don’t like it when I say ‘daddy?’”

If there was one thing that the writer inside Robert could not abide it was bad dialogue. 

“Look … if I’m being completely honest, “ said Robert, “… it’s just … I’m not into running commentaries while I’m rimming you I guess.”

Donny frowned.

“What do you mean?”

The bad dialogue spouting porn star side of Donny had surprised Robert: not because he was Mormon – but because Donny was smart. Smarter than his  ‘fuck me daddy’ dialogue would suggest. In between sex they often talked about race and class and gender and their terrible fathers; they discussed everyone from Franz Fanon to Donny’s Mormon namesake, Donny Osmond. 

What made Donny so porny? Robert sometimes wondered.

Donny rolled over onto his back, his knees bent and legs wide open so that Robert was now directly facing his thick erect penis and his ballsack with its light coating of hair.

Donny repeated his question, this time more firmly:

“What do you mean? Just say it, uce.”

Robert knew he was entering new and dangerous territory with his smart, young lover, so approached his response with care.  

“Sex with you – it’s great.”

“Awwww gee shucks.”

“No I mean it. It’s hot. It’s really hot. You know that. “

“But…?”

Robert hesitated for a moment:

“…but when you start talking like a bad porn star it really turns me off.”

Donny’s penis immediately began to go limp.

“Like a what?”

Robert was worried that he’d gone too far but knew there was no going back now.

“So, for example when you say: ‘You got your tongue in my hole, daddy?’”  

“Yeah?”

“I mean, you gotta admit that’s kinda porn star-ish, right?”

“So?”

Robert wasn’t quite sure what to say to this. Donny straightened his legs and closed his eyes.

“Dead.”

(Donny’s generation’s shorthand for ‘you’re killing me’ as Robert had recently learned).

Donny lay still, looking indeed, as if he were dead. For a moment there was no sound in the room except for the soft whir of the air con and the vague sound of traffic below them. 

Donny suddenly opened his eyes.

“So you just want to me to be quiet when we fuck? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Well, … I mean … I don’t want to squash your self expression but, uh, yeah, that would … that would work for me.”

Donny shrugged.

“Sweet as.”

Robert felt relief.

“So I’m not cancelled?”

More youthspeak that Robert had cribbed from Donny.

Donny smiled as he rolled back over onto his stomach.

“Sole: I cancelled you a long time ago.”

Robert wasn’t entirely sure if Donny was joking or not but before he could investigate further, Donny lifted his beautiful mulii into the air.

“Take two … and action.”

Robert chuckled, squeezed two large handfuls of Donny’s buttocks and then started to work Donny’s muli again with his tongue.

Donny moaned softly.

“Mmmmmmmmm.”

And again.

“Mmmmmmmmmm, yeah.”

Robert, pleased with the restraint that Donny was showing, kept going faster and deeper, spurred on by Donny’s moans.

“Ooooh fuck yeah, daddy.”

Annoyed, Robert slapped Donny hard on his muli.

“Sorry.”  

Donny returned to simply moaning with pleasure. 

But then, just as Robert was really finding his rhythm, Donny said:

“Oh yeah, daddy, you got your tongue all up in my ass. You like that, don’t you, daddy?”

Robert immediately withdrew from Donny.

“Shit. Sorry. It just came out,” said Donny.

Donny reached behind himself to try and force Robert’s head back towards his ass but Robert batted his hand away. Instead he knelt back onto the bed and looked down at Donny. Even in the darkened room his smooth caramel skin was in stark contrast to the crisp white bedspread.

“You watch a lotta porn? I mean when you’re not hard at work on your PHD?”

Donny scoffed then shrugged.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Who’s your favourite actor?”

Donny laughed.

“I don’t know any of their names. Why? Do you?”

“Francois Sagat. I used to like him back in the day”

“Who?”

“French. Muscly. Tattooed hairline?”

Donny looked blankly.

“What about Colby Jansen? You know him?”

“Show me.”

And so together they watched a clip of Colby Jansen on Robert’s ipad with another actor by the name of Rocco Steele. Colby Jansen was saying things like ‘It’s so fucking big’ (which it was) and ‘Use that fuckhole’ (which the other actor most certainly did).

Donny frowned.  

“So why can this guy say all that shit and you don’t say anything but when I say it, you don’t like it? I don’t get it.”

“Maybe because it sounds scripted when you say it.”

Donny looked at Robert with derision.

“Cancelled. Definitely cancelled.”

Donny rolled over onto his side, his back to Robert.

This was not the Valentine’s Day Robert had envisaged when he had first arranged to meet Donny in London. Robert looked over at Danny’s back, idly ran his index finger up and down his spine.  

“Sole? Sole?”

When Donny didn’t respond. Robert grabbed the remote control and turned on the hotel television. He was taken aback to see some familiar New Zealand faces in a murder mystery that looked like a lot of other British murder mysteries. As far as he could tell this particular mystery was something to do with a lady duck hunter who had come a cropper. He was certain the murderer would turn out to be the vaguely unhinged palagi woman with the severe bowl cut.

Eventually Donny turned back towards Robert and laid his head on Robert’s shoulder.

Robert felt relieved to feel the warmth of Donny’s skin against his again and was taken aback to realise how unsettled the tension between them had made him feel.

Robert began to stroke Donny’s coarse black hair which was already generously peppered with grey and together they watched the show.

“They’re duck hunters?” said Donny

“Uh huh,” said Robert.

It soon became clear that the woman with the severe bowl cut had indeed shot the other lady duck hunter because the lady duck hunter had been having an affair with the chicken farmer who the lady with the severe bowl cut had had a crush on.

“Palagis,” said Donny as the lady with the bowl cut was handcuffed and placed into a police car.

“Uh huh,” said Robert.

Donny raised his head from Robert’s shoulder and looked at him.

“Would you change any of their dialogue?”

“Absolutely.”

Donny seemed to consider this for a moment.

“Has anyone ever accused you of being really critical?”

“Once or twice.”

Donny wriggled further up Robert’s shoulder.

“No shit.”

Donny grabbed Robert’s hand and began to move it up and down Donny’s hair again.  

“This is nice.” Donny said sometime later.

“Yeah. It is,” said Robert.

After a while, Donny said: “Sometimes I want to rewrite your dialogue too, you know.”

Robert stopped stroking Donny’s hair.

“Like when?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Donny grabbed Robert’s hand, placed it back again and began to move it up and down Donny’s hair.  

“When?”

But Donny stayed silent.

They lay side by side in silence for sometime until finally Robert spoke into the night:

“Interior. London Hotel. Night.

Robert strokes Donny’s head on Valentine’s Day.  

Looks at him fondly. 

Neither of them speak.”

Donny remained still but hugged Robert tighter.

In the morning they were surprised to wake up in the same position, still entwined.

After they showered and dressed, Robert and Donny walked down to Kings Cross station with their bags. Robert was catching a train from St Pancras to Manchester but Donny had to get the tube back to Liverpool St and then connect with a train to Oxford.

Robert felt an uncommon surge of affection for this young man who he knew he’d hurt and wanted nothing more than to enfold him in the kind of hug he only gave Donny behind closed doors but he remembered only too well the time in own his life when he himself had been scared of showing such affection to another man in public.

“I wish I could kiss you,” said Robert into Donny’s ear as he pulled Donny in for a shoulder-to-shoulder bro hug. Robert began to pull away but Donny held him close as he whispered into Robert’s ear:

“Exterior. Kings Cross Station. Morning.

Sometime in the not too distant future.

Donny looks at Robert.  

Kisses him on the lips.  

For a long time.

A long long long time.

People watch.

And Donny doesn’t care.”

Donny released Robert’s hand, winked at Robert.

“Fa, daddy.”

Robert smiled.

“Ia, fa.”

Donny turned and began his descent into King’s Cross and Robert watched him until he disappeared from sight. Then, breathing in the crisp February air, he headed towards St Pancras, still smiling and warmed.

___

*Muli means Ass in Samoan.