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Wilby:What is it?
Col:I flew down to the Gold Coast.
Col:I'm in my hotel room.
Col:Lying on my bed.
Col:Naked.
Col:Touching my hole.
Col:But it's not giving me what I want.
Col:Which, in case you haven't figured out by now, is your big, juicy cock sliding in and out of me.
There.
I leave it at that. Not a bad effort for my first time dirty texting. Wilby should be nice and hard by now.
The bouncy dots appear then disappear a few times. Yep, he's having trouble thinking.
I smile. Perfect.
But then:
Wilby:Pic?
Fuck. That ain't happening. Thatcan'thappen. I'm not in my hotel room. I'm fully clothed and making my way through baggage claim.
Col:You go first.
I wince. Shit. That's not really a solution, more of a stopgap measure. But maybe he's out in public, too, so can't send me one, either.
I make it through the airport and order myself a car when another text comes through—a close-up shot of my favorite cock in the world. It's a great pic, too. Right angle, lighting, everything.
Col:Where are you?
Wilby:At the pub. With a mate. On the Gold Coast.
I shake my head. Got to give him points for keeping up the ruse.
Wilby:Snuck away to the toilets.
Wilby:I was hard just thinking about you and what you're doing and was able to take the shot quickly.
Wilby:Good thing, too.The guy who came in as I was leaving started dropping a massive stink bomb.
"Ew, gross," I mutter to myself.
Wilby:Now it's your turn. Pic please.
Annnd I'm back here again.
Col:What pub are you at? I can get dressed and we could meet up? I'm kinda hungry.
I stare at my phone, hoping my second deflection tactic works better than my first. My car pulls up so I drop my luggage into the trunk and get in.
I don't hear from Wilby until my phone buzzes as we're pulling up at the hotel I hastily booked. I grab my bags, thank the driver, and check my phone.
