He grunts and nods, shifting in an attempt to adjust himself.
“Well, I guess I’ll be on my way now. I’ll see you tomorrow when it’s my turn to touch that big, beautiful, pierced dick of yours. Don’t forget to fill out my form! This is very important stuff, John,” I remind him, throwing a wink over my shoulder as I walk out the door.
Now to head back home with only the image of John, stroking himself to the words I just wrote on that page.
16
JOHN
What the actual fuck was that?
Just when I think Chad couldn’t possibly surprise me any more than he already has, he shows up with a fucking wishlist of kinks he wants to try, printed and hand-filled out, with little notes and everything.
I reluctantly pick up the stack of papers again now that he’s gone and read through it more thoroughly. My cock is growing harder by the second as I confirm what I suspected when I first started skimming the list while he was here.
His answers would match mine exactly if I did take the time to fill it in. Minus all the underlined bits and exclamation marks because that shit is uniquely Chad. But the answers themselves about what he wants to try line up perfectly with everything I already know for a fact I’m into.
I don’t know what the fuck to do with that information because Chad and I are a mistake. I knew it the moment we woke up with those rings on our fingers. Two near strangers don’t just drunkenly get married during their best friend’s bachelor party, and then what? Actually end up together? Live happily ever after? That’s ridiculous. Especially considering it’sus. Chad and I are as different as two people can be. Complete opposites.
Except now, this fucking list has me questioning everything.
What if those differences are actually a good thing? I’m not suddenly over Luke and ready to move on. The idea of being married to anyone other than him still feels so fucking wrong. But the story I’ve been telling myself, that Chad and I are fundamentally incompatible, that he’ll eventually see through me and realize I’m not the person he’s been building up in his head for the last two months and stop wanting me altogether… What if that’s not actually true?
What if we’re a better fit than I’ve been willing to admit? What if I seriously entertained the ideas he put in my head in Vegas? That Luke would want me to be happy without him? That I should embrace things that are fun and add joy to my life?
What if I wasn’t still so broken after Luke’s unexpected death that I could actually offer Chad everything he deserves?
“Fuck,” I spit out, dropping his list as I abruptly stand from my chair. That line of thinking is stupid. It’s been almost ten years, and I’m still not over it. Even now, there are days where I roll over in bed and am surprised he’s not there. Times when my phone rings, and for a split second, a part of me expects to see his name on my screen, and then I’m devastated all over again when I remember he’s gone.
Chad deserves someone whole. Someone who can give him their entire heart. He deserves so much more than I could ever offer him. I couldn’t possibly be a partner to him while someone else still holds so much power over my heart.
I stare down at the list and imagine Chad taking the time to print it out, to write all those notes. He probably needed to look up some of the things on there because I don’t think he has experience with any of it.
He’s a natural, though, with how confidently he’s approaching everything. I shouldn’t be surprised, Chad’s alwaysenthusiastic, but I sure as hell wasn’t that confident when the guy I was hooking up with introduced me to all this five years ago. It’s honestly incredible how unfazed Chad is by things that usually make other people uncomfortable. He has no reason to be ashamed for wanting to try any of it, obviously, and I’m the last person to judge him for kinks he might have. I normally try to be so clear about my boundaries with him, dismiss any advances beyond the rules we now have in place for our no-feelings arrangement, but I’m worried he might take it the wrong way if I try to dismiss this list.
I’ll never be good enough to be his husband. I know that.
But I don’t want to stop him from exploring kink if that’s something he’s actually interested in. Maybe I can help him figure out if he actually likes the things he wants to try, and then one day, he can confidently tell his future partner—someone who’s more emotionally available—exactly what he likes instead of having to guess.
I’m not filling out the blank one though. I don’t need to give him any ideas about us being made for each other or some delusional shit like that. That’s exactly where his mind would go, and I need to be the levelheaded one between us.
I gather the forms and bring them with me upstairs, shoving them in the desk I rarely ever use in my room. I need to shower; I had a long day in an unair-conditioned attic, rewiring an old house my brothers are doing some work on. A part of me misses the more modern jobs I used to get sent on when I lived in a bigger city, but I hated my supervisor, and always having to answer to someone wasn’t my style. My brothers know better than to try to boss me around like that. We aren’t close by any means—well, I’m not close to them, but I’ve been gone for so long they sure seem to be with each other—but I made it clear when I moved here that I would be an independent contractor, not their employee, and they’re fine with the arrangement.
As I strip out of my sweaty work clothes and step into theshower, I can’t stop thinking about Chad looking up everything on that list. Did it turn him on as much as reading his answers did for me? Did he touch himself even though he said he wouldn't? Would he tell me if he did?
After I’ve washed my hair and body, I’m still entirely too worked up; my dick is rock hard, and I picture how Chad’s face lit up as he told me I could only jerk off if I was thinking about him. The idea obviously made him happy, so I don’t feel guilty at all as I reach for the lube I keep in here.
I squeeze some out into my hand and fuck my fist as the hot water cascades down my back, almost hot enough to hurt. I picture it’s Chad’s throat I’m thrusting into as ideas of him crawling for me, of him restrained, blindfolded, and using ropes or nipple clamps fly through my mind. It isn’t long before I’m coating my shower wall with my release, reminded of how pretty it looked leaking out of Chad’s ass last night.
Chad only wants me to come if I’m thinking about him? Easy. After those fucking forms, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to jerk off picturing anyone else.
I dry off and wrap a towel around my waist before heading back to my room. Is it even late enough for me to go to bed yet? I pick up my phone to check the time, and my heart drops as I see three missed calls from Chad. Shit, how long was I in the shower?
Before I can even call back, the phone is ringing again. I hurry to answer, mind racing with worst-case scenarios. What if he crashed on the way home? What if it isn’t him calling and he’s in an ambulance or at a hospital and I’m listed as his fucking husband on some form?
“What’s wrong?” I demand as soon as the call connects.
“Oh thank God you answered, John. I was starting to get really worried,” Chad answers.
