Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
When my heartbeat evened out, I had a fleeting thought that this was a perfect time to freak out. With our pants around our knees and jizz all over our hands, it was pretty fucking obvious that we’d been up to no good.
I had no regrets.
“We’re a mess.” I pulled my plaid shirt off and used one side as a cum rag, gesturing for him to do the same.
“Thanks,” George whispered before choking on the beginnings of an apology that went something like. “Um…I, uh—I’m sorry that I—”
I dropped the shirt, then grabbed his chin and kissed him roughly. “Shh. Don’t do that. I’m not sorry. Not at all.”
He smiled tentatively and licked his lips. “Okay. So…I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes. Tomorrow.”
So, there you go. I’d just had my hand-job-by-a-dude cherry popped. And I’d fucking loved it.
I didn’t know what to think about this new twist in my life. I’d never let a guy touch my dick. I’d never even thought about it. But I hadn’t hesitated. I wanted George’s hands on me. Hell, I wanted to put mine all over him. If that made me bi, so be it.
I’d spent the rest of that night and all of the next day reliving a ten-minute hand job while I changed the oil on a few cars, repaired a tire leak, and towed a minivan out of the fast lane on the 210. I listened to sports radio, hoping to quiet the whirlwind in my head, but it didn’t work. I couldn’t stop thinking about cock. As one does.
Correction, as one does when one realizes his bro-crush has taken on a life of its own and entered a whole new phase.
I thought about George’s hand on my dick, my hands on his ass. And yes, I thought about putting my dick in his ass. That didn’t freak me out in the slightest, but maybe that was because I’d had a girlfriend or two who’d been into anal sex. Nothing about sex was taboo for me at all. I prided myself on trying every position and location possible. If my partner was up for it, so was I.
But this was new.
Like I told George, I’d come to a crossroads of sorts where it seemed pretty damn important to take chances and not limit myself or experiences. Maybe that went beyond my professional outlook. Maybe I’d unknowingly tripped a switch and unlocked something in me that needed to be explored. Maybe George was the key. He was a known quantity in an unfamiliar landscape. I trusted him.
And yeah, I wanted him. I liked his confidence and felt protective of his flashes of uncertainty. I always had, but it was amplified somehow.
The problem was that I was in over my head. Sure, I googled the hell out of bisexuality and watched gay porn like it was my job, but the only other bi guy I knew was Simon. I sure as fuck couldn’t ask him about it. In fact, I didn’t want to think about Simon at all.
I figured my best bet was to follow George’s lead.
But George was…George. A little eccentric and too smart for me by half.
He made a grand appearance Tuesday evening, standing backlit at the kitchen side door with a reheated plate of tamales and a beer and two forks. He talked my ear off about active satellites orbiting Earth while I hummed and grunted on cue. Don’t get me wrong—it was interesting. I knew next to nothing about the complex network floating high above the atmosphere and it was fascinating shit. But he was infinitely more fascinating.
George went from animated and engaging one moment to deeply thoughtful in a beat. His brain moved at light speed, slowing occasionally to make sure he wasn’t too far ahead of the rest of us mere mortals while his cape circled around him like Darth Vader’s.
Unlike Vader, there was nothing evil about George. He was more of a quirky scientist trying out a disguise than a menace. I would have loved to know the real reason he wore that thing and why he only put it on occasionally. I sensed there was a complicated set of rules involved.
George was big on rules. But not regular ones. His seemed to be personally designed to fit superstitions and rituals he’d established years ago. I didn’t understand his methods, but I liked that he did his own thing.
And even though I was dying to bring up the hand job and ask a thousand questions, I held back. I didn’t want to freak him out. Hell, I didn’t want to freak out. So when conversation drifted to Newton’s dating issues, I went along for the ride.
We sat side by side on the stoop, eating dinner, and discussing the best method to help his fellow geek.
“Like I said, he needs something to refer to if he gets nervous.”