Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
I scanned my bedroom quickly, noting my inexpertly made bed, the laptop computer on my desk under the window, and the empty laundry basket next to my closet. Nothing out of place, I mused before moving toward Elliot’s room. And there it was again.
Thump, thump, thump… “Oh, fuck. Yeah, that’s good.”
Oh.
I froze outside the closed door and listened to the telltale sounds of sex in progress. Bedsprings squeaking, skin slapping, and erotic grunts peppered with a steady stream of “Oh fuck, yes.” And yes, two male voices.
I didn’t know enough about gay sex to know what was happening, but my imagination filled in the blanks. I stared at the door until the steady thump of a headboard hitting the wall escalated a couple of notches.
“Yeah, right there. More. Fuck, I’m close,” someone who wasn’t Elliot grunted.
I backed away from the door quickly and hurried to the bathroom. I grabbed a towel from the hook behind me and wiped the steam from the mirror. My eyes were wild, my skin looked blotchy, and my dick stuck out like a fucking flagpole. I held on to the faux-marble counter and stroked myself as a kaleidoscope of sexy images flooded my brain…all featuring Sky. Sky on his knees, his lips wrapped around my shaft, his tongue twirling lazy circles around the head of my cock. Sky swallowing me whole.
I squeezed my eyes shut and let my hips fly. Every fantasy fueled by that kiss in the parking lot bubbled to the surface, demanding immediate attention. I could tell myself it didn’t matter later. I could tell myself I was just curious. I could tell myself no one would care. But right now, I needed release.
I cupped my balls as I upped the tempo, letting my imagination go one step further. What would Sky do if I told him I was close? Would he swallow or tell me to fuck him? I had no idea how to fuck a guy, but I’d figure it out. I’d push my cock in his tight hole and—bam! My orgasm hit me like a freight train. Cum shot over my fingers and splattered the countertop. I squeezed my eyes shut and gasped for air.
When I felt like I could stand without stumbling, I stepped back and surveyed the damage. The bathroom looked like a sauna and smelled like cum. I used the towel to wipe the counter, tossed it on the floor, and jumped into the shower. I stood under the warm spray and hung my head, letting the water sluice over my skin and wash away the evidence. And maybe I hoped it washed something inside of me too. I didn’t want this…whatever this was. I just wanted to be me.
I took the fastest shower possible, pulled a clean towel from Elliot’s stash on the shelf over the toilet, and dried off before wrapping it around my waist. I listened for signs of life, then hurried to my room to get dressed and get out.
I called Troy and Logan and asked them to meet up for pizza. We hung out at the food court near campus, talking sports, our team’s chances next season, and our class loads in the fall semester. General topics that kept my mind from spinning. I must have done a decent job of acting normal, ’cause they didn’t seem suspicious or ask any probing questions. We didn’t have practice the next day, but they reminded me about Schultz’s party Saturday night. They might have even mentioned hot babes, booze, and a good chance to get laid. I just nodded absently and waved good-bye.
But I still didn’t go home. I moved on to my favorite comic shop and sat in a corner, reading old Avengers comics until closing time. I told myself I wanted to give Elliot space, but the truth was…I was freaked out. Majorly freaked out.
I’m bi.
Maybe I’d always known and didn’t want to deal with it. Maybe I hoped it was an “out of sight, out of mind” thing. It wasn’t. It was real. It wasn’t going away. I didn’t want to go to parties with babes and booze. I wanted things I didn’t think I could talk about. ’Cause I wasn’t ready to say that word out loud. Not even to Elliot. I needed time to get used to the idea that I might not be who I thought I was.
Either Elliot didn’t know I’d overheard him and his new guy, or he chose to ignore it. The following morning, he gave me a fist bump, scratched his balls through his boxer briefs, then poured himself a cup of coffee like he did every other day. I grunted a greeting as I observed him over the rim of my mug. Elliot was huge. He was six foot six with broad shoulders, a trim waist, and a mop of shaggy light-brown hair. He was a quintessential California beach bum in the best possible way. People gravitated to Elliot. He had a friendly demeanor and a cool but kind vibe that made him seem approachable. And usually, the guy was an open book.