Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
I stop breathing when my eyes open, the breath I inhale as I wake freezing in my lungs for a moment. Though she looks to be half asleep, Becca’s fingers stroke lazily along my hard cock. The reason my heart is pounding, though, is ten seconds ago, before I jolted into consciousness…it wasn’t Becca’s hand wrapped around my dick.
It was Laurence Cole’s.
What the… I roll gently to the edge of the mattress and out of Becca’s soft grip, hoping not to stir her further. She sighs softly, shifts a little, and then pulls the duvet up to her chin. Confident she’s back to full sleep, I ease myself out of bed and amble to the bathroom. I turn the shower on, letting it heat up while I use the toilet. It’s not the easiest piss I’ve ever had. Every time my erection wanes, my dream flashes through my mind and diverts the blood flow right back where it started.
For a good minute, I stare myself out in the mirror, hands gripping the sink like I’ll fall down where I stand without the support. My reflection appears the same, but something’s happening inside. I want to say something is changing, but seeing my own eyes look back at me, almost as if they’re judging me for simply thinking it, I know they’d be the words of a liar. Nothing’s changing. Nothing is happening. It’s…surfacing. Escaping. Growing.
And I’m terrified.
I’ve spent most of my life suppressing it. Refusing to acknowledge its existence. At first, it was safer that way. Then, easier. Eventually, it simply became routine.
“Dammit!” I slap the tiles, water splashing back at me. I’m in the shower now, beneath the hot spray. I lean into it, let it rain onto my face, down my back. The temperature is on the cusp of uncomfortable. I need that. The distraction.
It’s too late. I’m thirty-seven. Married. Happily. So…why are my eyes closed? Why am I purposely taking myself back to that dream, and imagining myself gripping a fistful of Laurence Cole’s hair while I bring his lips to my mouth…all while tugging at the hardest dick I think I’ve ever had?
“Fuck…” I’m careful to moan quietly, but I can’t keep it in altogether. My soapy fingers glide smoothly up and down my shaft. Squeezing tight. Moving fast. I don’t even try to stop imagining the heat of the water is coming from Laurence’s mouth instead of the inside of my palm any longer. I’m too close. The pressure’s too much.
Fire builds in my groin, pulling blood from the top of my body right into the dick in my hand. Legs weak, my hand falls against the wall for support. “Shit…” The word’s carried away in a cascade of steaming water while I mentally fuck Laurence’s mouth, imagine my balls grazing the stubble on his jaw, wonder how intense that would feel in reality…
And that’s what does it, what makes my dick spasm in my hand, briefly decorating the bathroom tiles in cum before the shower spray rinses it down the drain.
And my wife is in the next room. My perfect, beautiful best friend. The mother of my children. The woman who’s given me everything is sleeping on the other side of the wall while I’ve just wanked over another person in my head. Another man.
It’s hardly the first time my brain reminds me, but I tell myself porn doesn’t count. Even gay porn. It’s true, too. I even Googled it once. Lots of straight men watch gay porn, apparently. I wonder if the men they surveyed to obtain those statistics were simply living in a routine, too….
The difference this time is Laurence is real. He exists beyond a screen. I’ve actually met the man. I know him. My fantasies, for the first time, are…achievable.
“Fuck!” I slap the wall again. And again. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”
“Will?”
“Crap…” I hear the bathroom handle jiggle. “Be out in a sec!” I call, but Becca’s head is already around the doorframe before I finish.
Once she sees it’s me, she enters fully. “Everything okay? What’s all the banging?”
I grab a towel off the rail as I step over the rim of the bath. “I, uh, slipped. Stubbed my toe,” I say, wrapping the towel around my waist.
Becca’s lips mould into a sympathetic pout. She approaches with her arms out, cups my cheeks. “Poor baby,” she says before kissing my lips. “All better?”
Not even a little. Oh, Rebecca… “Much,” I say. Lie. What am I doing? She’s the only person I want to talk to about what’s going on in my head, and the only one I can’t. I reach for her wrists automatically, removing her hands from my face so that I can pull her into my chest. My arms fold around her back, holding her close while I rest my cheek on top of her head.