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ME: Wait for me
The same shoulder I clotheslined Jesse with shoves open my old bedroom door like I’m a fireman on his way to save ten babies. Spinning around, I lock it. If Jesse so much as touches the knob, I will murder him.
Pulling up my flannel shirt, I yank my undershirt out of my jeans and flop onto my bed, not even bothering to take off my work boots. Setting my phone on my chest, I wrench open my fly and gasp at the relief of freeing my cock and the feel of my hand around it.
CAM: Okay
He waited. For me. It’s the first time I’ve smiled since I last saw him.
ME: I’m here
Staring at my message, I realize how awkward and vague that sounds. I want to hit the video call button so badly, but I don’t want him thinking he should do that with some dating app stranger. He thinks I’m a gentleman. Gentlemen probably don’t video voyeur. Gentlemen probably also don’t send sex toys and ask to see them in use.
ME: Tell me what it feels like
As the typing bubbles dance, I hold my breath and stroke my cock. I’m leaking profusely and lather my flesh in the fluid, but it’s not enough. I want no resistance. I want it to feel smooth and completely slick, like it would slide effortlessly into something without causing anyone any pain.
Wrenching open my old nightstand drawer, I don’t know what I expected to find. There’s a travel-size bottle of baby lotion that has that disgusting coagulation at the opening when some oozes out and oxidizes. The thought of jerking off while using lotion that most likely was for my niece or nephew seems wrong, so I continue my mad search, but come up with nothing except a few small bottles of hand sanitizer. Of course, teenage me never had any lube. I was a clean freak who didn’t get laid until college. Fuck my life.
Glancing frantically around the room, I return a guilty look to my hand as though I’m disappointing it. It’s calloused and still dirty from my day in the orchard. I probably shouldn’t even be touching my dick with it right now until I clean it off, but then a thought strikes me. I give into it before I can dissect how unkempt it is, spitting into my palm.
“Oh, yeah. That’s better.” I sigh when the warm saliva helps coat the dry parts of my cock. “Gross, but better.”
CAM: Well, it’s long but narrow. It didn’t hurt at all putting it in. Thank you for that, btw. Good choice.
His gratitude has me preening that he’s acknowledging my thoughtfulness. He likely has no idea how much thought I put into finding him something that would be better than that rubber rocket he showed me. I went online again yesterday and ordered more toys. My credit card company is probably going to think my card was stolen if I keep this up.
I ordered one of everything I sent him, so I can see them firsthand, feel them. I shouldn’t have sent him things that I hadn’t inspected myself beforehand, but I won’t make that mistake again. I have no idea if he’ll even want the new items that I ordered, but figured I should at least be prepared, in case he asks for more help or advice.
I’ve veered so far off the path of guilt over not telling him I’ve never been with a man. I can only hope that he’ll find what he’s looking for, so I never have to mention it and embarrass him and myself. A gentleman would probably tell him right now, instead of spitting in his palm again and reading the next message like it’s a racy magazine article.
CAM: Sorry. Hard to type, but that nub it has on the end, it’s like the perfect shape and softness to hit the prostate.
ME: Tell me what you feel, not about the toy
CAM: It feels…almost like I’m going to piss myself, but not.
What the fuck? That’s not good.
CAM: Like there’s this pressure that kind of feels like your bladder being full, but then you realize it isn’t. It’s this urgent sensation of needing relief, and then it spreads down your legs and back up through your groin.
I want to feel what he’s feeling. I want to see what he’s feeling. Closing my eyes, I squeeze myself harder, stroke faster, swirling my grip around my cockhead. I imagine the sounds are the same that he’s hearing with his slicked-up toy. I pretend that the moan that leaves my lips is his. And maybe, just maybe, I imagine that it’s my slathered-up cock that’s tagging that spot inside of him. My phone dings, holding back my urge to release.
CAM: It’s incredible. So fucking incredible. I’m so hard. I feel like I’m going to come for days.
ME: Do it. Come for me.
I scroll frantically back up to the image he sent, now able to revel in the sight of it without interruption. It’s so damn surreal. I never imagined I’d be drooling over the sight of another man’s hole, his balls, or the thickened base of his cock, but my saliva is flowing like a rabid dog. I spit in my hand again. It smells like my cock. I probably have apple fungus on my freaking face and my dick now, but I don’t care. All I can think of is that purple silicone sliding in and out of that oddly beautiful pucker, accompanied by those needy sounds he makes when he’s about to come. I’d give anything to see his hooded eyes right now, peering up at me like I’m the answer to all his prayers.
CAM: Coming. I came. Fuck.
My hips buck off the mattress, into my grip. My ass clenches. Every muscle in my lower half stiffens and molten heat propels up my thighs, through my nuts, and up my cock. A strangled cry erupts from my throat, and I have the wherewithal to stifle it with my forearm, so it doesn’t bring my mother or Jesse up here, thinking I’m being attacked.
My shirt is covered in my release. My head is spinning, but I don’t think it’s from the one glass of moonshine I consumed. Yanking off my top, I toss it in the hamper, mentally cataloging to bag it up and take it home lest my mother find it. Rolling onto my side, the feel of my biceps against my face reminds me of Cam’s warm skin against mine on my bed Monday night. If he was here, I don’t think I’d move this time. I inhale the scent of my sheets, but they don’t smell like Snuggle. They smell like my parents’ house, a far less enticing aroma.
CAM: That was…insane.
Chuckling, I palm my phone and smile at his assessment.
