Page 2 of The Key Holder

No one’s here.

“Dylan?”

Heading back into the foyer, I thought I heard something upstairs. Maybe Dylan was playing a video game or something? He probably had his earphones on and couldn’t hear me. I took the stairs two at a time.

But at the top, the sound was coming from our bedroom, not Dylan’s.

A few steps later, I heard a deep voice say, “Take my big cock, you little slut.”

What the fuck?

Melissa was cheating on me!

In a flash, I mustered the required courage to beat the shit out of whomever was fucking my soon-to-be ex-wife and blasted the bedroom door open.

But instead of a strange man in our bed, I found Dylan—alone and naked—kneeling on the bed, holding a jockstrap to his face, and jacking off.

What the fuck?

“Shit!”

In a tumble of lithe muscle, he fell backwards, away from me and off the bed, crashing onto the floor. “Fuck!”

“Are you okay?” I took a step forward and stopped.

Our bed was covered with…underwear?

“You’re dick’s so big.”

The man’s voice I had heard wasn’t someone fucking Melissa, it was some ripped tan dude plowing a guy wearing football pads. On Dylan’s laptop.

“Get on your hands and knees!”

I stood, mesmerized by the gay porn.

“Fuck me, coach! Fuck me with your huge cock”

“Can you close my laptop, Ford? For the love of God, pleeease!”

My eyes darted over to find Dylan, hiding on the other side of the bed. I could just see the top of the back of his head; he was facing away from me.

I swallowed, my eyes transfixed on the cock sliding in and out of the younger man’s ass, but did as Dylan requested, ending the titillating verbal exchange.

But now that I was closer, I could see the bed was covered with my underwear.

Calvin Klein, Under Armour, Ralph Polo Lauren, Pump.

“You aren’t supposed to be home,” Dylan said.

“I came home. Early.”

“I noticed.”

“What were you doing?” Not that I really needed to ask, but it's what came out.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Dylan.”