Would they do more? Would they go down on each other? Have sex with each other? They never touch much during sex with me.
They aren’t as I imagined them, and I don’t care about my stupid story anymore if I can be with them, discovering new things about them every day, touching them, and pleasuring them, and living with them.
I don’t want to write that story, because I’m going to tell them about it, and then I’ll delete it forever.
In fact, I’ll delete it, period. I’m sorry for the readers who invested so much time in it, who loved my imaginary boys, but it’s not fair.
Nothing is as I thought it was. Both boys are so different from the men I painted them to be in my story it’s not even funny. With every revelation,
every tiny tidbit I learn about them, the tables are turned, my perception of them is changed.
How Joel hesitated to touch Jet, how he vanished today. How Jet gets after those phone calls and the talk about shrinks and pills.
But also the good sides. Jet’s artistic nature, Joel’s intellectual one and his awesome cooking skills, his protectiveness of Jet.
As it turns out, they don’t give a damn about tantric sex. They want it rough, quick, slow, hard, in every way.
I never thought they’d kiss so differently, or they’d prefer different things in sex, though—like how Jet is more passionate, Joel more aggressive and controlling, how Jet likes to play with my ass and Joel is more of a titty-pussy guy.
And all these thoughts are making my face warm and my heart race, my pulse beat between my legs.
My boys aren’t imaginary anymore. They’re real, and I’m in big, big trouble…
Chapter Twenty Six
JOEL
“The world,” my father says, “is full of depraved men. Welfare cases, socialists, faggots. Joel would never turn out to be one of them. He’s my son.”
You’d think that after fighting with paperwork all day at work and feeling paranoid about the covert looks and giggles I receive from some people, I wouldn’t have time or energy left to worry about other stuff.
Like Candy. Like Jet.
Like kissing him, getting us off together and then running.
But I do. Worry, that is. Or maybe I just need time to think. To process this. Process the fact I kissed a guy for the first time in my life and liked it.
His taste… unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. Strong. Salty. Spicy. Definitely male.
One hundred percent Jet.
I liked it way too much, and that’s scary shit.
So unlike Candy’s taste. She’s sweet. Love her taste, God… I’d love to kiss Jet, eat up that spice, and then kiss her to wash it down with her sugar.
I’m so fucked.
After leaving the office, I sit in my car for a while, trying to come to grips with this realization and only panicking more.
At a loss for what to do next, I grab my phone and call my sis. We don’t see each other much, lately, and that’s largely my fault. I’ve been so wrapped up in this thing with Jet and Candy, I’ve not been returning her calls and texts.
I don’t know why, but I need to hear her voice.
She picks up on the second ring. “Joey! Where have you been? I’ve missed you, big brother.”
I grin, padding over to the window to stare out at the faint lights of the street below. “Missed you, too, Evie. What’s up? How’s Micah?”
That’s her boyfriend. I’ve never seen my little sis so in love before. He’s a good guy. I wasn’t convinced at first, swayed by my parents’ vehement opposition to Evie dating him. He’s a poor, young inker at Zane Madden’s Damage Control tattoo shop, and the fact he’s an orphan and spent some time on the streets was enough reason to believe he’s trash, or so my parents insisted. So did Evie’s ex-boyfriend and ex-buddy of mine.