Maximilian Alexander Forsberg, thirty-one years old, born and raised in Enskede outside of Stockholm. Works as a salesperson. He is manhood, personified. An Adonis. An Eros. A mountain of muscle. He hits the weights at least three times a week. And two days a week, for his fitness; he runs. He watches football and drinks beer, alternating between laughing and raising his voice with clear, sure shouts to the players – he knows the sport from playing it since he was a kid and has lots and lots of matches, penalties, and corners behind him. He enjoys watching action movies. He listens to indie artists. He eats at least two burgers when we barbeque on our balcony. Sometimes he goes out with friends or co-workers. Now and again he reads a biography about some historic person, often a woman. He enjoys routines, patterns. With me.

Max, few people say his whole name, only if a family member is upset by something he’s stood behind and they didn’t. We’ve been together five years at this point. We met over Tinder. I noticed after a few days of chatting, I use emojis and he didn’t, but something with him still made me believe in this guy. We went out to a bar. It was the first time we met in-person. I instantly fell for him. He wore a black t-shirt, tight over his chest and ripped abs and a pair of fashionable, somewhat bleached ripped jeans. He also wore a pair of white sneakers, seemingly unused. Secure in his style, with clear colours, nothing out of place. He’d used wax to comb his hair to one side, dark as his bushy eyebrows. His eyes, the same shade. His nose was neither big nor small, nor in between. I couldn’t decide, but it stuck with me and that’s what I loved the best. The cheekbones, high. His smile was as sure as his hug when we greeted each other. I drank in the smell of mint, and a cologne that I had registered with several of my fashionable acquaintances. He introduced himself as Max.

One glass turned to two and before the night was over, I was on all fours on my bed in my apartment and was nicely pounded by him from behind. Not only did I cum once, but I came three times that night. I thoroughly enjoyed it and felt blessed with the thought that I’d met him, although his lack of emojis had me doubting. But, I was thankful. My whole body sounding like a fanfare of bliss. I hadn’t been fucked like that in years, that’s how it felt. Even if the last time I’d had sex was some weeks before that. But that guy, a Karl who was too much of a gentleman to relax and let go of inhibitions to let the lust free, was at this point forgotten, he had been a one night stand. It was different with Max. This was the beginning of so much more.

I felt it.

Two days ago, we celebrated our fifth anniversary. Five years. That’s how long we’ve been together. Or, that’s how long it’s been since this date, this first shag – the first time we met. Our relationship works, it really does. I would even say that it’s working well. We know each other’s routines. We laugh at the others’ jargon. We can talk about the big and small stuff. Sometimes we fight, but never too much. We fuck and the sex is good. Absolutely, it’s fine. I can’t say anything else.

But something is missing.

Something that we need, that neither I nor Max has found yet. I have thought long and hard at this point. Tried to understand what it’s all about – what’s missing. Because, as I said, we’re good together. Everything’s good. I shouldn’t complain, really. But the feeling is there. The one telling me the opposite. The one making me realize that yes, I’m lying to myself a little bit after all, consciously or unconsciously. I can’t let it go. There’s something. And no matter how big or small something is, there’s a cloud growing and making my thoughts spread. Making me question every way possible. I don’t want it to be this way. I don’t want everything to be just ‘fine’ between us. I want it to be completely fucking fabulous. I want us to love every day that we’re together. And above all, this has made itself more clear to me as time has passed, I want our sex to be as hot and sparkling as pure magic. I want to fuck, not just until reaching an orgasm, I want to fuck to a total fucking splendour! A firework. A storm. A whole sea of lust and beauty, I want to swim in and lick the juices from both his and my body. That’s how I want it. But Max? He’s traditional. He likes to take me from behind. Sometimes he likes it when I ride him, too. But more than that? No. I’m not blaming him, not at all, you’re always two in a relationship. But the variation, that’s what I’m missing. That’s what we both miss. I really believe so.

We’re stuck in the routines of everyday life. A mundane life. A…life? It shouldn’t have to be this way. Sure, a relationship can change with time, and yet be good. But it shouldn’t have to fizzle out, or have the steam taken from it! I really don’t think so, and I’m convinced that this doesn’t have to be the case. It’s all about courage. Courage to try something new. To have the courage for new emotions, new methods, new…things.

I don’t really know how to talk with Max about this. Not that I think he’ll be offended, no, we talk about most things. However, I still want a concrete option of how we can spice up our relationship. That’s why I start looking. I google and visit webpages telling me about ideas from different sexual positions, Kama sutra, switching locations where you have sex; to other places you usually don’t use for sexual pleasure. New places such as the car, the lawnmower, the hammock, the stairs. The wording is the article, not mine. There are also ideas about roleplaying, games. Something catches my interest. Roleplaying? To be someone else? To dress up and pretend he’s a doctor and I’m his patient…no, that one is not for me. Even less so for Max. But something about changing roles makes me want to read on, gathering more information. I keep googling. I enter sites with both this and that. The ideas relieve others. Lick this way, kiss this way, suck this way. Buy a swing. Have sex in your friend’s bed during a dinner with lots of guests. Yes, the ideas are endless. Sex, the erotic adventure, is an enormous range never seeming to end.

I ponder it for a few days. The thoughts sweep through me, I try to catch them and form ideas that feel both good and concrete, something Max and I would like. Still, I am unsuccessful. Time and time again it reaches me, the inspiration for a good idea, but just as I think I have it – it flies away – gone, somewhere else.

When I’ve already given up. When I’m doing something completely different than thinking of potential ideas of how to enhance our sex life – that’s when it hits me.

Like I said, Max is manliness itself. Sure of his thing. Sure of himself. Sure of his routines. Sure of what he does good, something he rarely departs from. Because that’s his… self-esteem? His pleasure? His safety? And suddenly everything falls into place in front of me. Roles. Roleplay. Manliness. Identity. Pattern. Habits. Everyday. To do what you’ve always done. To be… as you’ve always been.

What would happen if we changed this?

What would happen if I stepped out of my role?

What would happen if Max stepped out of his?

Immediately as the thought hits me, I see it being done, becoming reality. I see both Max and I fit into this idea, and how I sincerely believe that this is exactly what I’m looking for – and a burning sensation starts between my thighs. I get horny from just thinking about it. I close my eyes and see the picture in front of me. This new, exciting, inciting – forbidden? Oh, the roles would change completely. Not least the role of female and male. Max would be in a whole new situation, a whole new role, a new place. Above all: a new feeling. I am convinced that this is something completely new for him. Not in my wildest fantasy can I imagine him trying something like this before. Never, never, ever.

Still, for some reason, I feel sure he will like it. As long as he dares to try it, dares to trust me and do something new. Break our pattern, defy his manliness and the norms belonging to being male – he would be ecstatic. He would be carried away. I even think that he would love it. Almost as much as I would.

As I think these thoughts, I imagine how it feels to wear it. How it would feel against my skin. The material, it must be plastic? Would he feel pain? Yes, probably, he must, if he’s not used to it yet. At least in the beginning. I would have to be careful, do it slowly, with careful movements. And lots of lube. I have never done anything like this before. Not ever. Yet, as this thought takes root, I’m blown away and feel the longing and a dripping, growing lust in me. Why haven’t I thought about this before? Why haven’t I thought along these tracks – until now? Maybe it was time. Perhaps the boredom had reached a dead-end. Keep on, or change. I chose the latter and I hope, no I even beg, that Max will say yes. Because if he’s willing to try, if he says yes, we won’t regret it in the least. Of this, I am sure.

 

Madeleine Emma Augustina Johansson, twenty-seven years old, born and raised in Linköping. Working as a freelance writer. When she asks me, I don’t know how to react. I know neither how I feel or what I’m thinking. The thought needs to pass through my head a few times before I even know what she’s saying.

Strap-on.

Being fucked.

Me.

No, I think. “No,” I say, after squirming on the couch for way too long, probably making Madde understand and feel uncomfortable. “No,” I say again, and then telling a joke about some macho-shit, just as ridiculous as I feel. I don’t know why I just can’t say that? I just can’t say yes or maybe. Just the thought of me not instantly saying no, feels like too much. Too much how? I ask myself as soon as the wording is in my mind. Once again, I feel ridiculous. Why can’t I decide yes or no? The thoughts pile up. I walk out of the living room, sitting down by the computer, trying to distract my mind. Though, I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking: how would it feel? I have no idea whatsoever. Why would I say no to something I know nothing about? I know that my manliness, or the idea of me, the attempts to achieve and take on this role, controls me more than it should. It’s a sadness in me. Something I’ve noticed time and time again that I need to work on. I actively am trying to break free from, to pursue Max, rather than the manliness. Or rather, the idea of manliness. Still, despite these thoughts, explanations, and positive pictures, I don’t know how I feel about trying. It’s so far off from me. To be penetrated.

I’m wrestling with the thought. At the same time, I’m trying to interpret my own thoughts and understand them, see the reason, see the positive, see it as something I might enjoy. Something that might just be both good and necessary for both Madde and me. I can’t help noticing what’s happening to me. Inside me. Inside my sweatpants; I have an erection. My cock starts to burn, to pulse. I long to bring my hand to it and stroke myself until I explode through my fingers. All the while, I think of how I see Madde, with a strap-on, fucking me.

I would be an idiot if I didn’t try. If I didn’t push all the stupid norms, ideas, idiotic ideas, away from me – and followed my curiosity.

We have sex that night, Madde and I. We fuck as usual. We cum. It’s both nice and good, all that. Before I fall asleep I decide.

The next day at lunch, I will go and buy a strap-on.

 

When Max shows me what he’s bought; I freak out. I become a teenager again. Infatuation, giggles and insecurity mix with exhilaration and curiosity. I get so excited. Horny. I can’t wait to try it. At the same time, I worry – what if it’s a disappointment? What if it’s nothing like I’ve imagined? Pushing the thought aside, the feeling of Max saying yes takes over. He is willing to try. Somewhere inside, although I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t think he would say yes. Now, this Friday, late afternoon, as he hands me the package and I quickly open it – surprises, presents and my patience have never got along well – I get excited. It feels like a win, like something improbable and wonderful. The excitement grows inside me, extending in every direction. I can barely contain myself. I want us to try it immediately. Which we decide to do.

 

The bedroom. It is after six pm. The lust is dripping between my legs. It grows as if a ticking bomb were nearing explosion. The orgasm looms in the corner of my eye, not out of reach. Max undresses in front of me. I do the same. We’re getting nearer to bare skin, garment after garment is thrown on the floor, becoming a messy pile under and in front of our feet. Standing opposite each other, I see that he is unsure. Even so, his hard cock is telling me of his will to go on. His gaze is impatient, waiting, and at the same time, horny and possibly a bit scared? I ask if he’s sure that he wants to do this and he nods. For a few seconds, I can’t do anything else but drink him in. Max. The man. My man. He’s tall, he’s fit, he’s ripped. His muscles clearly forming his tense body. His chest muscles visibly bulge out. His stomach is solid. His chest is freshly shaven. His legs are hairy, not much, but the masculinity is there. His thighs are steady, tense, built from lots of exercise – like the rest of his physical appearance. I meet his gaze. I look at his face, drink in the details. I think that perhaps this won’t happen after all. Maybe it’s just a fantasy, a wet dream and at any moment I’ll wake up, be delirious and say to myself: but it felt so real! But this isn’t a dream, this is here and now. This is Max and Madde in their bedroom. Everything is as usual in the waken state. And yet, not. Yet so far, far away.

I want to near his lips. Full, thick, well-shaped lips like a moon. I want to get closer with a kiss. His stubble will prickle my skin when we kiss – just the way I like. He will drown me in wet kisses, filled with temptation. I will beg for more. Plead and receive. But not yet, not now. First I will put on the thing, the piece – the cock.

Slowly I take the toy from its box. I put my legs into the harness, pull it up to my waist where I, with the help of the belt, keep it steady and fix it to the right spot. Yes, the material is like plastic. An imitation of leather admittedly, yet not real. The material is cold, even chilly against my skin, which is now steaming hot. I tighten it properly, careful so that it doesn’t loosen and slide down my legs. In front of me, I’m not only seeing Max’s cock point steady in my direction – hard, hungry, steady, delicious. I also see mine. My strap-on. My cock. It’s a big cock, dark in colour. Not black, but not far off. I take it in both my hands. Grip it as I imagine a man, Max in particular, often would hold their Adonis between their hands. I press, squeeze, and then stroke with my hands forward and backward. Caressing. Wanking lightly. The material, it might be silicone, heats fast from my hand. Max follows every movement eagerly, with excitement, with total concentration. I clearly notice that he likes it. A lot. Proof. This knowledge fills me with such electricity, such a trembling feeling of lust and desire. I want nothing more than to fuck him. I want nothing more than to use this thing, this organ – and penetrate him. I’ve transformed into a woman with a man’s sex. A woman with the man’s power. With manhood like him, but my mind.

I ask Max to get on the bed, on all fours. He listens. He doesn’t say anything, he just acts. A few quick seconds later and he is there. In my old position. He sits on his knees, supporting himself with his muscular arms. Turning his head backward, time and time again, as if to ensure himself of the next step in my plan. His buttocks point towards me. It’s also fit. Big. Firm. Proper. His buttocks are like a human fruit, split in two. A fruit I want nothing more than to… taste. Genius! I think. The want, the curiosity – but also the advantage. Decidedly, I’m closing in and before he can react, just as his gaze is turned to the front, I kiss his anus in a wet, hungry kiss. And one more. I continuously kiss his anus. I kiss the slit to the inside of his body and I kiss his buttocks, one after the other. I even slap the right one with my hand, while doing this. The sound smacks, the skin vibrates although it’s firm. I do it again and again. Harder. Max leans towards me, in a movement asking for more. He’s breathing heavier, the lust filling his breath. I start licking him. A short time after, I lick his anus with everything I got. My tongue licks his virility. My tongue emits saliva all over his buttocks and his anus. I lick him until my saliva runs down his golden, tense skin. Max moans. He doesn’t talk, he moans. His body, his lounges, his lust makes it clear that he likes it. That he’s turned on. That he’s excited. And that’s what’s magical between Max and me, as he gets horny – I get horny. The knowledge that I’m making him horny, ignites in me like an unstoppable fire. I lick faster. Inserting my tongue inside him, not just at the opening, teasingly at the border – no, I insert my tongue in his hole. Tasting him. Alternating by kissing and licking, faster, harder, deeper. My pussy whines and wants more and can’t wait.

I must fuck him.

Now, warm and wet, it’s time. I stop. Standing close, close to him with my material cock in front of me, pointing like a hungry, glowing limb, and again I need to ask myself: is this really happening? Maximilian Alexander Forsberg. Is he really in front of me, Madeleine Emma Augustina Johansson? Waiting for my cock? Waiting for the feeling to be penetrated, dominated, owned by me? Yes! Yes! Yes! It’s really happening. It happens, it strikes. And I’m a cannonade of wet, wild fantasies materialized to time and space.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask him, although I already know the answer. I want to hear him say the words. I have the power. He’s the one begging, the one praying. He’s rock hard. He wants this, he longs, just as I do, for me to put my staff in him – to penetrate, fuck and pleasure.

“Fuck me, Madde. I want to feel your cock. Deep inside me.”

He utters words I never heard in this order from him. Sentences I’ve never, ever thought would come from his mouth. I love it. The lust almost explodes between my legs. I move a few fingers to my pussy, intensely finger fucking myself for a short, brief moment and explode in a mirage, a fanfare, a triumph of pleasure. The orgasm takes me, kisses me, makes me complete. I continue our doing. My body enjoys this freedom – now, there’s nothing else, just the lust, the rhythm and the beauty, beauty in getting satisfied. I don’t even have to wonder. I will love it, I think. Love to enter him. Will enjoy every thrust. Every penetration, every rhythm. I don’t even question if he feels the same My own lust is strong and shining. This, this will be good.

Then I do it. Taking some lube on my fingers. Quickly stroking his anus, letting my fingers slide in, letting two fingers slide in, letting three fingers slide in. Max whines. Max is rock hard. Max says yes, yes, yes. More, more, more. I continue. I gather lube, covering my strap-on. Thoroughly. I drench the tip in lube, the most important, for it to enter without resistance, without it being painful. Max’s words are drowned in waves of whines and puffs. I can feel the liberation, thrusts, pulse, and eager patience from him, and a cock that is ready to burst, a sex that wants to roar.

I have the cock. I have the power. I have the ability to make him reach an orgasm, the ability to make him feel – new, foreign, stimulated and hopefully somewhat outstandingly wonderful. Me. It’s me who does it. It’s me he will be grateful to. This thought, this knowledge, it fills me with the drunken feeling of possibility. To be able to give and at the same time get. He is dependent on me, here and now. The fire moves like an attack through my body. My lust is absolute.

 

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes! More. Mmm… Careful, careful. Yes… yes… yes… Oh! YES! YES! YES!”

Fuck. My whole body reacts. I sit on all fours on our shared bed. My legs spread wide apart. Between my legs, pushing against the backside of my thighs, and with a pair of hands around my waist to not lose her balance – is she. I’m being pounded. Fucked. First, she licks me. This feeling, her rough tongue against my body, tingling, enticing, making my body tremble from excitement, writhing in lust – making me relish. I fall as if in trance. I abdicate. For my sanity. For my manliness. For time and space and room. I abdicate completely for this feeling, this vibration, this pulsing, this seductive perception. The lust pumps through my cock. I don’t even need to see it to feel how it grows in lightning speed. My body surges, in pace and speed. Rises. Every time Madde reaches me with her tongue and her lips, I am dislocated to a place where there’s as much peace as the erotic electricity’s rhythm and pulse. And when she pushes the strap-on, towards my ass, as she lets it glide between my buttocks. Fuck. I can’t describe the feeling in any other way than that it’s something that needs to be experienced to understand.

She thrusts her cock into me, Madde. Time and time again. First carefully, slowly, to make me get used to it, to make my tight, narrow opening adapt. Slowly, I’m adjusting. I can take more. The more she thrusts, the faster the speed. Harder. My body is contorting. Transforming. I no longer fit in it. No longer fit in myself, inside my skin. I need to get out, the lust becomes fire, becomes steam. Breathing hard and heavy, I move my body towards Madde’s in a common rhythm. I arch my back so that the penetration deepens. Creating a feeling of pain just as much as the most magical, phenomenal pleasure. I’m completely lost. Lost to Madde, to her power, to her sex. I am the one receiving, not the one giving. The role is new, never have I had this role before. I love it. Fucking hell, I love it. I beg her for more. I beg her to do it harder.

I cum. Maybe in the most satisfying orgasm I’ve ever experienced, I spray my cum over the mattress under me, while having her inside me. Being fucked. From behind. Me, on all fours. I don’t know if it’s the thrusts themselves or if it’s this new knowledge, that I have the other role – which makes me cum with such a force, this incomparable intensity. But I do cum, and it’s the most magical feeling. All of me is emptied. Time and time again. All the while she keeps fucking me.