You could have just told me [1/?]
anonymous
September 16 2010, 00:21:07 UTC
gratification!anon, at your service <3.
During the seventies, when the EC's were just starting to get off the ground, Germany found himself in bed with Italy for the first time. He had always told himself he would never do it; there was nothing in his experience of sex that was something that he wanted to share with the man-- his friend. But it was peace time; the big wars of the past were over. Right? And so that night, when-- full of good food and wine-- Italy fell into his lap, he didn't push him away as he always had before. Weakness or bravery? Decades later, he still hadn't made up his mind.
Germany's sexual tastes made him uncomfortable. Not his affinity for pain; that was hardly rare-- although his particular preference, more so. It was not to say that he never indulged in the infliction of pain; he didn't mind, and besides, it was sometimes hard to avoid. However, while he his heart would sometimes thump and his face flush, the bone-deep pounding of his pulse, the exquisite arousal, so intense it itself was almost pain-- this was reserved for the sting of a lash, the feeling of teeth in his skin, and, on a very rare occasion, the cold burn of a blade. As a teenager, lead by the explosive ball of testosterone that was Prussia, it had made him deeply uncomfortable; now, he had made his peace with it.
Anal sex was much more difficult. It had implications that the simple trade of pain did not. It wasn't the sort of thing one just gave away, when one was like them; no matter how enlightened some of his children became, the fact was that penetration was associated with conquest and subordination. He had engaged in it many times; however, as a militarily successful nation, it was many years before he was compelled to receive. The First World War had already ended by the time he had realized that this act, that was supposed to be nothing more than a physical manifestation of his subjugation... he enjoyed it. After the wars-- well. It had been memorable. The shame, the guilt, the anger; embarrassingly, it had been some of the most intense sex of his life. He still woke from dreams occasionally, cold fury on France's face, hot rage on England's. He tried his best to forget them.
Once in a while, in the night, when the dreams wouldn't stop and he needed it like burning, he went to Prussia. He wouldn't speak; he would enter the man's room, lock the door, remove his shirt. Prussia would sigh. “Again, bro?” he always said. Germany would not answer. It was the only recreational anal sex he had ever participated in.
So in bed that night with Italy, he was relieved when the issue wasn't confronted. There was kissing, sweaty hands, hot lips-- and at the end,lying in Italy's huge, comfortable bed (he had always wondered why he needed one so big), their relationship as simple and comfortable as ever. A few years later, the next time he let himself be lured, nothing had changed; warm, uncomplicated-- dreadfully erotic, but ultimately simple.
During the seventies, when the EC's were just starting to get off the ground, Germany found himself in bed with Italy for the first time. He had always told himself he would never do it; there was nothing in his experience of sex that was something that he wanted to share with the man-- his friend. But it was peace time; the big wars of the past were over. Right? And so that night, when-- full of good food and wine-- Italy fell into his lap, he didn't push him away as he always had before. Weakness or bravery? Decades later, he still hadn't made up his mind.
Germany's sexual tastes made him uncomfortable. Not his affinity for pain; that was hardly rare-- although his particular preference, more so. It was not to say that he never indulged in the infliction of pain; he didn't mind, and besides, it was sometimes hard to avoid. However, while he his heart would sometimes thump and his face flush, the bone-deep pounding of his pulse, the exquisite arousal, so intense it itself was almost pain-- this was reserved for the sting of a lash, the feeling of teeth in his skin, and, on a very rare occasion, the cold burn of a blade. As a teenager, lead by the explosive ball of testosterone that was Prussia, it had made him deeply uncomfortable; now, he had made his peace with it.
Anal sex was much more difficult. It had implications that the simple trade of pain did not. It wasn't the sort of thing one just gave away, when one was like them; no matter how enlightened some of his children became, the fact was that penetration was associated with conquest and subordination. He had engaged in it many times; however, as a militarily successful nation, it was many years before he was compelled to receive. The First World War had already ended by the time he had realized that this act, that was supposed to be nothing more than a physical manifestation of his subjugation... he enjoyed it. After the wars-- well. It had been memorable. The shame, the guilt, the anger; embarrassingly, it had been some of the most intense sex of his life. He still woke from dreams occasionally, cold fury on France's face, hot rage on England's. He tried his best to forget them.
Once in a while, in the night, when the dreams wouldn't stop and he needed it like burning, he went to Prussia. He wouldn't speak; he would enter the man's room, lock the door, remove his shirt. Prussia would sigh. “Again, bro?” he always said. Germany would not answer. It was the only recreational anal sex he had ever participated in.
So in bed that night with Italy, he was relieved when the issue wasn't confronted. There was kissing, sweaty hands, hot lips-- and at the end,lying in Italy's huge, comfortable bed (he had always wondered why he needed one so big), their relationship as simple and comfortable as ever. A few years later, the next time he let himself be lured, nothing had changed; warm, uncomplicated-- dreadfully erotic, but ultimately simple.
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