Harder in every sense.
Fantasies don’t cut it anymore. I need the real thing. Need more. But that’s never gonna happen. Not the way I want it.
Stripping, I step into the shower stall and turn on the water on warm. It rains down on me and I turn my face up, letting it run into my mouth. The ache between my legs is too insistent to ignore today, though, so I reach down and wrap my hand around my hard dick.
Ah hell, yeah. I squeeze hard, my breath stuttering, and brace one hand against the wall as I work my hand up and down my length. This is good. Not nearly enough, but good nevertheless. I press my forehead to the tiles and close my eyes, imagining how it could be.
The heat of a naked body behind me. Hands gripping my hips, my ass. A mouth around my dick, hot and tight.
Damn. My hand is flying over my cock. Need to come. Have needed it for weeks, but my body isn’t co-operating. Which is why I gave in and made a strategic purchase, one that Joel almost discovered—
Fuck, Joel.
I bite the inside of my cheek, my balls suddenly tightening, my cock swelling more. Yeah, this, now, this—
“Jet? You here—oh shit, sorry.”
I look up. The door is open, Joel standing at the opening, his gaze fixed on my dick, his eyes wide…
And I come with a strangled moan, splashing my cum on the tiled walls of the shower, my hips jerking.
Holy shit.
Spent, I slump against the wall, my deflating dick still held in one hand, unable to look away from my roommate and best friend who’s still gaping at me.
Still dazed with pleasure, I grin at him and blink. “Like what you saw?”
Of course he slams the door shut and takes off.
Ah fuck.
***
I’m pacing the living room like a trapped animal.
My resume has been sent, but I’m not holding my breath. Just because I took the decision to expand my work horizons from dank, filthy bars to something else doesn’t mean I’m gonna get the position.
In fact, I rather doubt they’ll want me based on my stupid resume, even if Joel helped me put it together.
Damn. Joel.
He hasn’t come back yet since the shower incident.
And now I feel guilty, although I didn’t do it on purpose. Couldn’t help coming. I’d been on the brink anyway, and the way he looked at me…
I kick at the sofa, shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, and go stand by the window. It’s dark outside, and the street lights and passing cars make the street below look festive, even though it’s an average, dirty street, on an average, dirty weekday.
Where did he go? Should I call him?
What should I say?
Dammit, I knew something like this would flip him out. His family is totally conservative. Fucking nuts. I can imagine he feels like he betrayed his manhood just by looking, or something equally idiotic.
I need to talk to him when he’s back, calm him down. Promise him he’s still straight as an arrow. That guys check each other’s dicks all the time.
Thing is, I’m pretty sure we’d done so already back at school in the showers after PE, and at the gym in the changing rooms. He hadn’t freaked out then, so why now?
Two possible explanations I can think of: