Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
I send the message and lie back. It’s been a frustrating day. I’m tense and in need of release.
SinnerThree asked me to consider how I felt about getting blown by a dude. It’s still hypothetical at this point, but the hypothetical me doesn’t hate the idea. I mean, at the end of a day, a blowjob feels great, right? Does it really matter who’s blowing you? Won’t it feel great regardless?
So many factors to this hypothesis… Good thing I’m a scientist. Because scientists aren’t afraid to experiment, right?
So that’s what I’m doing as I close my eyes now. I’m picturing a vaguely handsome guy leaning over me. And I’m imagining how good a guy could be at giving head. It takes a dick to know a dick, right?
Then I step on the third rail and let myself imagine a masculine face looking up at me as he deep-throats my cock with a dirty gleam in his eye.
And…hmmm. That image is more art than science. And I like the idea a whole lot.
My phone pings with an incoming message. I pick it up immediately. And I’m just a little too stoked that SinnerThree has messaged me back.
SinnerThree: Well? Did you ace my assignment?
LobsterShorts: I’m working on it right now.
SinnerThree: And?
Lobstershorts: I’m doing fine.
SinnerThree: Fine? Like B- work?
LobsterShorts: In my family a B- means a lecture and public shaming. I study to get an A.
SinnerThree: Bunch of nerds, are you?
LobsterShorts: Sure. But not the kind that gets shoved into lockers. I’m supposed to be the kind of son who dominates every competition just because I can.
Christ, I don’t know why I shared that. We’re getting off topic here. I signed in to talk about dicks, not my screwy family life.
SinnerThree: It could be worse. Smart assholes are more fun than dumb assholes. Trust me here.
LobsterShorts: Noted. You’re surrounded by dumb assholes?
SinnerThree: Only when I go home. Which I never do unless I can help it.
Lobstershorts: Smart man.
SinnerThree: But enough about those losers. Let’s get back to the fun stuff. Are you ready?
Lobstershorts: For?
SinnerThree: Me, dropping down on my knees in front of you. I tug on your manly lobster trunks and pull them off.
I sit up and fire back a message.
LobsterShorts: Wait. Are you hating on my favorite bathing suit?
SinnerThree: Are you stalling? I’m seconds away from touching your dick, and you want to talk about your preppy bathing suit?
The man has a point, I guess. But then again, he doesn’t know me.
LobsterShorts: If you were seconds away from touching my actual dick, I don’t think I’d stop for a convo. But just so you know, lobsters are cool. And they don’t need an app to find sex.
SinnerThree: Okay, I’ll bite. How do lobsters find their playmates?
LobsterShorts: The female pees into the male’s shelter. And the dude is like OH BABY. Then they both pee on each other. She enters his den and molts. He kicks her clothes away like a prom dress. Then they do it missionary style.
SinnerThree: That’s a lot of detail, dude. I don’t know whether to be terrified or turned on.
Great. Now I’ve probably scared him off with my encyclopedic knowledge of crustacean sex.
LobsterShorts: Please carry on. My lobster shorts are discarded.
SinnerThree: Are you at home right now?
LobsterShorts: Now who’s asking for too many details? Does it matter where this fictional dick-sucking happens?
SinnerThree: I meant are you ACTUALLY home. So you can shut the door and stroke yourself while I talk to you.
Whoa! My cock feels heavy by the time I finish reading the sentence. But even as I roll off the bed and click the lock on my door, I’m not sure. There’s a line between chatting and touching that he wants me to cross.
Am I really going there right now?
I unzip my jeans and kick them off. And—fuck it—I drop my boxers, too. I sit on the edge of the bed, naked from the waist down. Then I answer him.
LobsterShorts: Okay, door is locked. Shorts are history.
SinnerThree: Well, done, rookie. I wasn’t sure you’d want to play along.
I’m not sure about anything, really. But I’m pretty curious about my response to his little homework project. And I suppose this is a harmless enough way of exploring the idea.
LobsterShorts: Let’s do this. Talk to me.
SinnerThree: I think it should be the other way around. You tell me what you’re doing, and what I should do to you.
Oh.
That’s a different story, isn’t it? This fantasy has to be in my own words? I set my phone to silent and wonder how to start. Jacking off in my room isn’t exactly a new activity for me. But my pulse is elevated anyway. Because jacking off with help from a guy is.
And maybe I’m taking too long, because he nudges me.
SinnerThree: Am I naked too?
LobsterShorts: No. But now I ask you to take off your shirt. And you pull it over your head.