Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Fuck, yes.”
He watched me with hooded eyelids, his breath hitching on the upstroke. I wondered if he had any idea how sexy he looked or how much I wanted to plaster myself against him, climb him, ride him. His fingers were on my belt, unbuttoning my khakis, undoing my zipper. And his hand was in my briefs, his thumb grazing my crown.
Smitty teased me with featherlight touches as he ravaged my mouth, dirty and greedy. The contrast was a jolting turn-on. I was practically vibrating, vaguely aware this was in danger of ending way too soon. That wouldn’t do.
I pushed my khakis and briefs to my knees and licked my palm, then stood on my tiptoes, gripped our cocks in a tight hold, and jacked us both. When breathing and kissing became a challenge, Smitty rested his forehead on mine, his eyes locked on our dicks, growling low and deep.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he grunted, spurting over my fist.
I used his cum as lube and two strokes later, I trembled through one of the strongest orgasms of my life. “Oh, oh, oh…fuck.”
My whole body quaked as if I’d been poked with an electric prod. I kissed him, slow and lazy while my pulse returned to Earth. Kissing him was so easy. So good. And it kept reality at bay.
I wasn’t sure what I was worried about, though. This was Smitty.
“We should have dinner every night,” he blurted.
I pursed my lips and nodded. “Well, you do have a lot of ramen.”
“And foosball.”
“True. But I’m not gonna let you win next time.”
His comedic triple take made me laugh. “Let me win? Oh, my…wow. Yeah, it’s on. Best two out of three, baby.”
It was hard to take a naked man with his sweats around his ankles and dried cum on his stomach seriously, but I supposed that was Smitty’s charm. We didn’t have to overthink this attraction or give it a name. We could hang out—laugh, talk, play games. We could be something simple. Something easy.
And that was how the next chapter started.
Simple and easy.
10
SMITTY
Ihad a crush on my neighbor and I went to high school every day. I couldn’t decide if I was regressing or had unwittingly stepped into an alternate universe. Not that it mattered. I really fuckin’ loved my new life in Elmwood. I mean, c’mon…there was little to no stress, everyone was friendly, and the guy across the street gave unbelievable hand jobs and BJs.
I didn’t give Bryson a chance to put any distance between us after our foosball happy ending. In the spirit of reminding him that we could keep things light and friendly, I continued my role as the mildly odd new guy who collected flyers in town and wedged them in his doorjamb along with a treat. Apple fritters and a coupon for donut holes from Henderson’s Bakery, a sponge and five dollars off your next car wash at Cooper’s Car Cantina, and my favorite…a dog bone with a brochure for a new dog-walking business a few seniors from the high school had started.
This was how it worked—Bryson would bring the flyer and the treat du jour to my house, and ask why I’d left junk on his doorstep. I’d shrug innocently and invite him in for a beer, ramen, or foosball. The second I closed the door, we’d be all over each other, humping and grinding, bouncing off the walls and tearing at clothes in a mad effort to be skin to skin.
We never lasted long. Anticipation messed with my stamina. That was my story, and I was sticking to it. Just the thought of touching Bryson set fire to my veins. I burned for him—the scent of his cologne, the feel of his cock pressed against mine while I sucked his tongue and squeezed his ass. I wanted inside him again, but I wasn’t in a hurry. It was enough to get to know him…the man behind the perfectly ironed shirt and pressed khakis.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this hyperaware of another person. I thought about Bryson all day long, looked for his car in his driveway, listened for his name in town…
Yeah, people talked about him and they had nothing but complimentary things to say. Bryson was a great guy, an amazing dad, a wonderful friend. But it seemed like they all had an idealized notion of who he was. C’mon, no one was perfect. And though it was cool that he was widely regarded as an exemplary parent and citizen, I wanted to know the real Bryson.
So, I did something I hadn’t done in for-fucking-ever and asked questions over after-work barbecued chicken and foosball games.
Bryson liked the color red, but he didn’t own a single piece of red clothing. He liked to swim, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a pool…or to the ocean. He loved Star Wars, apple anything, full moons, and had a weird affinity for the number three. He loved Fleetwood Mac and U2, hated pistachios and olives. Oh, and he liked puzzles.