Yeah, I like girls, and I like boys. I like them both together. On me. Under me. In me. Around me.
I sometimes thought my dad knew. That it was one of the reasons why he hated me. Hated my mom. Why would he hit her if he didn’t hate her, right? Why would he hit me?
But looking back, I’m not sure he knew. Guy was a fucking psychopath. What he did later… What he did to Mom. Christ. Who knows what went on inside his head?
Fucked up shit.
Now Joel… Sooner or later he has to notice, right? Notice that I’ve been with plenty of girls, but he’s the only boy I’ve ever wanted.
I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is that I’m hard like a rock from having Candy kiss me and Joel touch me, and my tongue is loose from the Scotch. My limbs are loose.
I’m melding with the sofa, melting into it. The only hard part about me is my dick that’s trapped painfully in my jeans, and not for the first time today. If I don’t come soon, I’ll burst.
And he’s right here, flushed and just as hard, glaring at the booze as if it’s to blame for our state. For being left here, together, without a girl between us to justify any lust we might feel.
Well, guess what? I’m not letting it go. I’m not going to bed without coming—and if he doesn’t want to participate, then fuck him.
Though the way he keeps glancing at me, angrily and appreciatively, makes me want to push him some more. He’s relaxed, too, not drunk but buzzed, and oh man, that hard-on has to be painful.
“You look like you need some help.” I nod at the big bulge at his crotch.
I’m all about helping him. If he takes me to bed, then I’m taking him in hand. A fucking pity Candy had to go. I was looking forward to testing the waters—getting Candy off as he watched to see what he’d do—but there’s still stuff we can do without turning too gay for Joel’s comfort.
If he agrees.
He reaches down a hand to help me up. “Come on.”
I grab his hand, tug on it. Surprise flickers over his face. He yelps as he starts toppling over me and manages to catch himself with one hand on the back of the couch.
He’s arched over me, his crotch almost in my face. “What the hell? Jet—”
I cup his hard-on and get another yelp out of him.
Two in a day. Way to go. I knead the hard flesh through the fabric, cupping my own dick with my other hand.
“Jet…” This time his voice is breathless, and he hasn’t moved from what has to be an uncomfortable position.
I give my dick one last squeeze and grab his shoulder, pulling him to me. He curses as I twist and push him underneath me on the sofa.
“What are you doing?” he sputters.
“Getting us off.”
“I don’t need your help for that.”
“Yeah, you damn well do.” He struggles beneath me, and I’m sure he can throw me off him if I let him. “Stop fighting me, dude. Afraid of getting cooties? I promise you won’t touch my naked dick, so relax.”
“What, then?”
I glance down at this broad chest that’s rising and falling as if he’s run for miles and wink. “We’ll play. I got toys.”
“What sort of toys?”
He’s right to be suspicious. It’s not like I’ve ever mentioned my toys, and we’re practically dick to dick, every slight movement bringing them close enough to touch. Every time that happens, we both gasp.
“Sex toys. You don’t have to use one if you don’t like it.” I shrug. “You can watch.”
I know I have him at that, his pupils dilating, his hips rolling upward. Of course that means our hard-ons brush together, and I can’t help a moan.