“Thanks,” I mumbled. I stared at the little can of paint in my hand before tilting it from side to side to try to determine how much was left. It was a quart can and maybe half full. I thought that would be enough to cover the bookshelf pretty nicely, but I’d definitely have to get it sanded down better first, which meant I wouldn’t be able to get it done today. Tria was going to be home from school within an hour, and she told me she was going to try some new vegetarian recipe she found in a book she got at the college library.
Tria did not cook just pancakes. She could make almost anything and had been trying out various vegetable-centered dishes to cook for me though I told her she didn’t have to. She continued to state that it was her part of the living arrangements, so she was going to learn to cook what I would eat.
I cleaned up the mess I had made and set the little bookshelf up in the corner farthest from the shower. I wasn’t sure if humidity would do anything to it or not, but it seemed like a good idea. I made it back to the apartment with about ten minutes to spare before the Hoffman College transportation van rolled up in front of the building.
“I have to run to the grocery,” Tria announced as soon as she got in the door. “I found this new cookbook at the library, and it’s perfect.”
She yanked the giant-ass, full-sized cookbook out of Black Hole Briefcase and flopped it down on the kitchen table. She flipped through the pages of the vegetarian cookbook and came to a recipe for Swedish Bean Balls.
“Bean balls?” I asked skeptically.
“Look at what’s in it. I think it might be good.”
I looked over the list of ingredients—kidney beans, rice, onions, breadcrumbs—and nothing sounded bad at all. The book said to put it all over mashed potatoes with some vegetarian gravy. I wasn’t really sure what it would all taste like, but I said I would at least give it a try. Tria wrote down a list of things to buy, bitched about me giving her the cash for it, but eventually relented and took the money.
I glanced over the recipe again and was glad I didn’t have to fight for a couple of days because it was going to be some heavy stuff. Yolanda would probably want to kill me if she saw me eating a big pile of mashed potatoes and gravy.
Since Tria was going to be gone for a while, I jumped on the opportunity to head into the shower and take care of business. I’d always had pretty regular daily jerk-off sessions, and having Tria living with me had certainly made that a little difficult. Waking up spooning her every night didn’t help, either.
What also didn’t help were the images in my mind whenever I took my dick in my hand.
It wasn’t even a matter of trying to think about her; as soon as there was flesh-on-flesh, her face was in my mind. The chick from my favorite porno getting a spit roast no longer did a thing for me. I only thought of Tria’s eyes, Tria’s lips, and Tria’s body as I ran my hand up and down my shaft.
I closed my eyes as the water poured down my shoulders and back. I curled the fingers of my right hand around the base and dragged slowly up and over the tip, while the left hand reached down to cup my balls. In my mind, I lay her down on the bed and lifted one leg up over my shoulder before slowly sliding into her. Her head was pressed against the mattress, and her back arched as she moaned my name.
“Oh yeah,” I mumbled. “That’s it, baby. Take it…”
My hand moved faster over my shaft, and the Tria in my head moved rhythmically with my thrusts against the sheets. I could see my hand reaching to caress her breast, stroke the nipple, and pinch it. I thrust faster. Tria cried out again, and my legs shook as the buildup exploded over my hand before being washed away by the shower stream.
“Fuck,” I muttered. Even standing there in the shower, I felt like I needed a shower.
After I got myself back under control, I washed my hair, which didn’t take much since it was nice and short, thanks to a coupon for a haircut Tria found for me at the grocery store. I turned around a couple of times to get all the soap off of me, then turned off the water and climbed out.
The line of little bottles Tria had on the shower ledge called to me—I really wanted to know which one made her smell so good, but I restrained myself. Something about sniffing her shower products seemed pretty creepy—tempting, but creepy.
Back in the bedroom, I poked around in the bottom dresser drawer, trying to find some clean boxers. The pile of laundry in the corner was now being shoved into a laundry bag Tria brought from her old apartment, but the clothes were starting to hang out the top. Tria had her dirty clothes in a plastic laundry basket. Since I had done a crappy job of putting shit away after the last laundry trip, I couldn’t find any boxers and decided to just forget it.
I turned to grab my jeans, which were already laid out on the bed. At that exact moment, Tria turned the corner and walked into the room.
“Oh my God!” Tria screeched as she simultaneously covered her face with her hands, turned bright red, and tried to get back out of the room without seeing where she was going. She banged into the wall a bit but managed to get herself out of there.
I had to laugh, not just because the sight was pretty damn funny but also in relief. If I hadn’t just jacked off, the knowledge that she was looking at my dick would have probably brought him to attention pretty quickly.
Moody little bastard.
I pulled my jeans up and buttoned them. When I walked into the living room, Tria was on the couch with her head in her hands.
“I am so sorry!” she cried without looking up. “I didn’t know you were changing. I wasn’t trying to…to…”
“Tria, relax,” I said with another short laugh. “Fuck, Yolanda’s always walking in on me, and she doesn’t even have the decency to look away!”
“I just…I mean…I didn’t know you were…”
I walked around her and sat down on the other side. I had spent way too much time in the cage being mostly naked to really be concerned about any chick seeing my cock, and I didn’t want her to be upset about it. There was also that distinctly porn-influenced male side of me that just wanted to yank it out and let her get to know it really well so she would know for sure that being looked at didn’t bother me.
That line of thinking was going to have to change pretty quickly, refractory period be damned.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “Really. No big deal. Shit like that is bound to happen when you live with someone, right?