by Mark Ward, 3:49am July 10th 2022

All my life I’ve finished too quickly. So quick that I just don’t try it with others anymore. They’re left frustrated and unsatisfied, as am I. Sure, I’ve cum but it was mechanical: we’d just started to kiss – I hadn’t even acclimatised yet, my brain was still a minute or so behind wondering if he liked me, if he was actually going to close the gap between us and kiss me.

Which is something I spent my days wondering about Spencer as we worked together at the morgue. I was his assistant. He did all the serious stuff; the embalming, the reconstruction. It was my job to hand him the correct tools and make his coffee. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

He was quieter than usual today. He’d spent the morning working on a young woman, almost reverently. He caught me staring. After a long, long pause, he said, “She was my high school girlfriend. The last girlfriend I ever had.”

He was nearly forty. I was twenty and working here for the summer before going back to college. I was naïve then.


“Your last?”

“I haven’t been a saint, don’t worry Simon,” he laughed softly. “Have you had a boyfriend yet?”

Of course he’d clocked me. I stuttered, “No. No.”

He put down his tools. “You’re not a virgin, are you – Shit. I shouldn’t. I’m sorry, this is inappropriate.”

I blushed but I reached out for him, my hands touching his arm, lightly coated with fine dark hair. “It’s fine. I’ve been with guys, but, no one’s, stuck around.”

“That’s a shame.” He came up close to me. “By the way, you’re fired.”

“What? Why? I need this fucking job.”

He took off gloves and plastic scrubs. He stood before me in normal clothes. “Because this would be inappropriate otherwise.”

And he leaned across the tray of scalpels and kissed me.

We kissed for about five, maybe ten minutes, content in the breathlessness of a first kiss before our hands started to wander. My hands stroked his muscular arms. His hands tickled my side. We kissed hungrily, tongues probing deeper between caught breaths. My hands pulling him in closer. His hands moving down to my ass, gripping it -

And I came, grunting so loud that at first he thought I’d pulled something, and panicked, asked me if I was okay, before realising what had happened. I wanted the earth to swallow me. I didn’t have a change of clothes with me – why didn’t I have something in my locker?

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t-”

He stood up and moved back to get a better look at me. He looked at me as if I was beautiful.

“I didn’t, it’s just when-”

He came right up to me, so his body was touching mine, unbothered by the wet patch. “Shut up.” And he kissed me. “Now go get cleaned up, we’ve got work to do.”

“I thought I was fired.”

He laughed and waved me away.



Every time we tried, I shot too early. He wasn’t put off. If anything, he wanted to find a way to help. We tried just kissing with no hands. We tried no foreplay and straight into blowjobs. We tried on the operating table. No matter what, I shot really early. I always made sure he came: I wanted to see him cum, to make him shoot, he knew I got off on it. But he wanted to do the same for me.

“Firstly, I think your body is hypersensitive, sure, but it’s more that you need to be in control. And being with someone, it’s give and take.”

He said this out of nowhere. We were finishing up for the evening. Everything was clean, quiet and put away.

“I don’t want to be. I would love nothing more than for someone else to be in control.”

“I think you need something to dull the nerves.”

I continued checking everything one last time before we left. “I don’t drink or do drugs.”

“You need to quiet your body and experience things having somehow given up that control.”

“And how do I do that?”

“I’m not sure yet.”



He was sweet. He messaged me good night most evenings. He brought me out to dinner. He met my mom. I don’t know what he saw in me. Every time we approached sex, I got more and more caught up in knots, knowing I was going to cum quickly again, quicker and quicker each time. Would I now come before sex was even mentioned? Was I on a time delay? He had infinite fucking patience for me and I couldn’t look at him anymore. I rang in sick to work. I stopped answering his texts.

“Why are you punishing me? I love you.”

I turned up for work the next morning. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes. And I think I have a way to help you.”



He put the vial in front of us. “It incapacitates you but you’re still awake. We learnt about it in mortuary school. A What Not to Do. There was a famous case of someone who took this in very high quantities and looked dead but was very much alive. The mortician started the autopsy and saw the heart was still beating.”

This from the man who said he loved me?

“Listen. You can feel everything but your body is still. You won’t shoot your load. You will feel my touch, my kiss and you won’t cum. Your body will get used to it.”

“I don’t think-”

“And I wouldn’t even suggest doing this unless you are 100% comfortable with it. That’s why I thought, if you wanted to give it a go, you could try it on me first.”


“I would give myself the drug and I’d be incapacitated. That’s how much I trust you, Simon. You could play around, with my consent, and I’d come back to myself in about 30 minutes.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“Because I want to be with you and I don’t know what else to do and I can see in your face if you shoot early one more time, you’re going to leave.”

I looked down, embarrassed, because he was right.

“What if something goes wrong?”

“I’ll have my friend on speed-dial. He’s a pharmacist. Specialises in synthesised chemicals. It’s up to you.”

That night, I managed to edge for almost fifteen minutes before cumming. A personal best. I texted him: let’s do it.

The next evening, in a spotless lab, he injected himself with the drug and slowly lay back on the table.

“Are you okay?” I stared into his eyes. I can’t respond, remember?

He’d had the foresight to be dressed in just a robe. I opened it and started to stroke his chest, his stomach. I was hard. I didn’t want to cum yet. I’d already decided that I would stay fully clothed, stuffed into my tightest jeans.

It was strange how with everything in his body completely slack, including his blank face, that I could see the excitement in his eyes. I climbed onto the table, straddling him. I bent over, licked his neck, his nipple, his armpit. I could feel it approach. I dragged my tongue across his chest and repeated the reverse. I came by the time I reached his other nipple, but I didn’t stop. I was still hard. I kept exploring. Fifteen minutes later, my body flecked with sweat and sticky with cum, I came again, laughing. I lay on his chest and held him close. I could hear his breath become less even, more reactionary. I could feel his erection against my leg. I glided down his body and took him in my mouth. I came immediately and I felt like all the progress we’d made had been wiped away.

“Baby steps” he said, pulling me up to him for a kiss as he jerked himself off.



And like waking up with a headache that you hoped would go when you went to sleep, normal service resumed. No matter how gingerly we approached it, I shot early. The night he lay there for me seemed like a distant memory. Every time we had sex was a further embarrassment – I wanted to die each time it happened – and I couldn’t take much more.

He’d suggested that I could try the drug too. He didn’t push, he just offered and left it there. One Friday morning, we met at work – having been out separately the night before and stayed at our own places – and he hugged me good morning and I came. I just walked out. He texted me later that day, We’ll get through this. Why did he have to be so fucking understanding? If he was angry, I could cut him off.

I tried. I didn’t go into work on Monday or Tuesday. I didn’t answer his calls or emails. Eventually on Wednesday, my Mom rang me wanting to know why he was ringing her, completely distraught and reprimanding me for my behaviour, telling me that I was lucky to have such a caring man as him.

I skulked into work late Friday morning, intending to quit.


I couldn’t look at him.

“Why are you punishing me?”

I went to argue, but had no defence.

“I’ve been nothing but patient with you. I’m in love with you, you fucking idiot.”

He was crying. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to fix it. I -

“Spencer. Give me the drug.”



After two days of apologies and convincing him that I was ready, that this wasn’t an overreaction, that I wanted to try it, he relented. He went through everything again, telling me how I wouldn’t be able to move but I’d be able to feel everything, and that it would wear off in roughly 30 minutes.

He stood beside me, needle prepped. “Are you sure you want to do this? We really don’t have to.”

I pulled him close and kissed him. “I’m sure. I just hate needles. I – I don’t want to see it go in.”

“You won’t have to. Just look away.”

A sharp pinch and then he gently guided my upper body back onto the table. I felt lightheaded and a numbness spread across my body. I tried to lift my arm and couldn’t.

He was the gentlest he had ever been. He caressed my body all over and I could feel each sensation, building on the last. He massaged me, kissed me, licked me. The sensations continued to build inside me but I hadn’t come, I wasn’t even hard, although without the drug I would’ve been. This was a gift.

After around 25 minutes, I could feel myself get hard. He laughed and dropped down to my crotch. “The interesting thing is, is that you’ll come back to yourself, but that takes time. You’ll be able to start to move, but you won’t be fully back to yourself for, say, another-” he licked around my cock head “- fifteen minutes?” I didn’t come. He smiled and went to work, giving me my first proper blowjob. I shot down his throat a full twenty minutes later.



I spent the night at his, my arms wrapped around him as we watched terrible movies. A night free from shame. I felt the most normal I’d ever been.



And with the dawn came blinding sunlight and morning wood. He was curled into me, his back against my crotch. It woke him. “Oh, hello”.

He rolled over and kissed me, deeply. My breathing was shallow. Any minute now, my body would -


He gripped my cock in his hand and started to jerk it. It felt so, fucking, good – “Wait!”

He kept his hand tight around it. “What?”

“Last night, I’ve never. Can we do that –“

He started to move his hand up and down, “What?”

“Can we do that, again? Can you give me the-”

His hand moved faster. “What?”

“I don’t want to cum yet.”

“You won’t.”

“Give me the drug again. I want you to make me cum like you did before. I want time with you.”

He took his hand off me, sat up and sternly asked, “You want to take it again?”


“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I want to be with you like I was last night.”

“Okay. Are you ready?”

“Wait, now, you have some here –“

He reached over and pinched me on the underside of my arm. “There you go.”


“Did you not see the needle go in? But you felt it, right?”

I tried to speak as he licked down my body. When he reached my crotch, I spluttered, “But I saw you inject yourself.”

“Oh yeah, I did. I took the drug but I would never give it to someone else. What if something went wrong? I’d never be able to live with myself. At least, if something happened to me, it’d be on my head.”

“So you gave me nothing.”

He smiled widely “Nope” and swallowed my cock to its base. He slowly pulled back. “Well, a few new kinks maybe.”

I pushed him on the bed. “Don’t move.”

He laughed. “See what I mean? Do I need to keep you away from the bodies?”

I ran my hands up his legs to his cock. “I prefer my flesh warm and hard.” I sucked him, deeper and faster, until he shot his load. I was hard, dripping pre-cum.

“You want to come?”

I smiled. “Not yet.”