Maybe that makes me anot-fucker.
God, the pressure in my nuts has been building up to something astronomical, and it hasn’t even been twelve hours since I last jerked off. I let out a thick, labored hiss as I cup my aching balls through the coarse fabric of my flannel PJ pants, straining my ears to hear if Jeremy is still at home, or if he’s already left for Thanksgiving break.
When I get nothing but silence and remember he had an early flight out of Manchester, I sigh, pushing my pants off and leaning over to pull my nightstand drawer open. There’s quite the collection inside, built up over a while to give me a little more variety than my fist, and I reach for my trusty little dildo.
Jesus, I want to be fucked again.
Screw it—I crave getting railed like nothing else, but that doesn’t make up for how empty my head feels when I get someone else to try.
But damn, it was so freaking amazing when Josh had done it, and even then, he had to drag me into eventually feeling excited about anything.
“Come on,”he'd said. “You said it yourself—you need to get off all the time. Why can’t we do it together?”
I couldn’t argue with that, or the hand he slipped into my jeans right after. And a few weeks later, he was vindicated after things clicked for me, so I just…ignored the unease I had at the beginning. A year and a half of relative normalcy, of screwing each other’s brains out every chance we got, but getting to that point was too damn uncomfortable for me to stomach it for a second time.
Besides, what reason do I have for risking it again? If my history holds true, I’d get tossed aside like I’m disposable. I might have friends, but for anything serious beyond that, I’m just not worth the work.
If it was just my parents, I could maybe write them off, and for the most part, I don’t care about them in isolation anymore.
But someone I chose, and who was supposed to choose me back? That’s harder to come back from, and it’s not clear if I ever will.
Hence why I’m slicking up a dildo and easing it into my hole,alone. The pleasant throbbing of my ass as I slide in the lubed-up rod serves as a handy, paltry replacement for getting railed. The thing vibrates, too, sending a tantalizing jolt of arousal up my spine when I hit the button at the base.
Then I lie on the bed, bracing myself against the sheets and relaxing around the fullness in my rear. My half-hard cock leaks a steady trickle of precum, begging me to give in and bring a hand down, but I hold out.
I have a day with the house to myself, and hell if I won’t spend a good portion of it coming my brains out. My core burns with sweet, tight ecstasy with every passing second. I bite my lower lip to silence myself before releasing it in a moan, losing track of time and relishing in blissful, brainless pleasure as I give in and run a couple of fingers up and down my shaft. I’m only skimming the surface, not even moving any skin or touching the head, but yeah, this fuckingrocks.
Slowly, I ease the silicone further into me, wincing in pleasure as it stretches me open even more, until I bottom out and let the vibrations do their thing. With my toes curling, I relax once again and let bliss consume me as I lie on my back, sinking into the mattress.
I wonder if Dean would fuck me on my back or on all fours?
What the hell?
Groaning, I shake my head and reach down to flick the button on the bottom of the plug, kicking the power up a notch. My breath hitches and my legs flex as the vibrations slam my prostate.
That only serves to give me an answer, one I wasn’t looking for: the imaginary Dean in my brain has me on my back, giving me a view of him thrusting faster, in time with the buzzing inside me.
If I wasn’t already messed up about the guy, this takes the fucking cake. He’s great. He’s nice, he was my friend until yesterday, and Iknowhe’s hot. His height and those long, toned arms, mixed with the pretty-boy smile he flashes at everyone would make a normal, red-blooded gay guy’s mouth water, but I get nothing, at least not in real life.
Except for a stupid little curiosity I had no business pursuing, because it screwed things up, and even if I didn’t let myself get curious again, it wouldn’t have been fair to Dean if I made him wait for who knows how long?—
But if hedidwait, maybe he’d hold me down and screw my brains out.
God, I can’t do this anymore. My damn horny brain is going off the rails and sending me into a damn tailspin. I reach down and pump my cock, letting the divine sensation build and travel down into my balls. Then I tighten my fist, making hard, frustrated strokes to coax my eager body toward climax.
It doesn’t take long for me to come with a clipped yell, spasming around the toy and shooting all over my torso. I lie there for a while, switching the vibrations off and sinking into the bed, letting myself bask in the sheer relief.
Groaning, I force my arms and legs to prop my heavy body up to wipe my chest down with a handful of tissues. Hoo boy, I made a damn mess of myself, but hey, it’s all part of the fun.
And I’m not fantasizing about Dean anymore—the mental image of him banging me is nowhere to be found.
Look at me, getting some much-needed post-nut clarity.
Then the other part of clarity slams down on me.
Itshouldbe easy for me to do this with someone else.
But it isn’t. I get horny so easily from fantasizing or watching porn, but the second someone’sreal?No dice.
