“You’re being great and helpful,” I assure him, “and I appreciate it.”
“Thanks! Hey, actually, this one is pretty decent.” He pulls a shirt off of its hanger. “Pair this with these,” he says, tugging on a pair of jeans I haven’t worn in probably a year, “and maybe we got something going on. Here. Try these on.”
He lays the shirt and jeans on the bed next to me.
I stare at him, dumbfounded.
He wants me to change into them. Right now. In front of him.
I’m used to changing in front of guys. I’m not shy in that way. But this isn’t the locker room. This is my bedroom. And he’s not just any locker room guy; he’s Danny Chen, the one person I’m downright infatuated with.
Also, all I’m wearing underneath is a pair of boxer briefs that will show everything.
Every inch of everything.
“Trust me,” he says, “you’re gonna look great. I’ve got an eye for this kind of thing.”
He thinks the clothes he picked out for me—from my own closet—are the problem.
Phew.
But I decide to be brave. I have no choice, really. After one last second of hesitation, I kick off my shoes, then unzip and drop my pants. As I unbutton and peel off my shirt, my eyes keep hopping over to Danny for some reason, like they’re two nervous, hungry boys who keep jumping from their seats to taste-test everything on the dinner table.
Danny is the scrumptious, meaty, steaming spread.
And I can’t get enough.
“You’re totally blessed with perfect hair, by the way, so no problem in that department.”
I stop and face him, down to nothing but my underwear.
I was seconds from grabbing the shirt off the bed, and now he’s caught me in another net with his words. “P-Perfect hair …?”
“Aww, don’t be modest now!” He comes right up to me.
Right up to me.
Nearly against me.
In just my underwear.
Then—of all things—Danny proceeds to run his soft, caring fingers through my hair.
I stare into his eyes, paralyzed, melted, and terrified all at once.
“See what I mean?” he says, oblivious to my inner hurricane. “No matter what you do to it, it just sort of … settles right into place, into a perfect style.”
Danny’s words swim circles in my ears as I feel electricity in every limb of my exposed, nearly-naked body, from my fingertips to my toes, at the simple combing of his fingers through my hair. His face is right in front of mine, and though his eyes are on my hair that he keeps playing with, I feel hopelessly affixed to him, connected as if by concrete, by diamond, by something impossibly strong and unbreakable.
All of that electricity starts to flood somewhere else.
Somewhere down below my waist.
Oh, no.
He meets my eyes, and a soft smile touches his full, kissable lips. “See?” he says gently. “Your hair is amazing.”
I’m at a complete loss. I can’t even thank him properly.
More electricity swells and churns down there. Desperate. Excited. Insatiable.
And his fingers keep combing my hair, stroke after curious stroke.
And his smile keeps hovering in front of my face. His adorable smile. His lips I’ve dreamt of.
His brilliant eyes.
I want this moment and all of these feelings inside me to last forever. This is the exact emotion I’ve been chasing with every fantasy of mine, with every speck of hope I build for the prospect of a good date, with every squeeze of my pillow at night when I fall asleep alone.
This is it. This is what I want.
Then Danny glances down at once. I do the same, for a moment pulled from my dreams.
Those dreams are replaced with a nightmare: I’m hard as a rock.
Sticking out like an accusatory finger—and pointing right at Danny.
“Oops.” His hand stays in my hair. He keeps staring down at it. “I, uh, wow, you’re big.”
I turn away at once, my face flushing red, as his hand slips from my hair. “Sorry. Um …” I try to laugh it off, but end up just choking on my own breath as I grab the pants off the bed and feverishly begin to thrust my legs into them.
Except the pants are tight.
Very tight.
And my hard dick won’t fit in them. “It’s, uh … It’s been a while since someone’s put their hands in my hair and, um, I just, uh …” I keep trying to shove my dick into these jeans. I push one way, it pops out another. I try to bend it, and it aches and flexes against my efforts, determined to stay as stiff as a goddamned plank. “Sorry, I’m having trouble, uh …”
“Hey, it’s okay, we’re both guys, we’re both gay. There’s nothing to worry about.”
This is more than embarrassing. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting to have my hair stroked so much, and I’m just in my underwear, and—”
“It’s nice hair!” Danny insists with half a laugh. “That’s all I was saying!”