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The next morning, I wake up thinking about it again. I'm back in my bed and Daniel is just down the hall. He is probably still asleep, relaxed and beautiful. A mountain of masculine energy.
No. I should go take shower. I should get to class.
I get up and grab a dark pink, a-line dress from a hanger. I pull a fresh pair of panties off the stack in my drawer, and a clean cotton bra. It fits nicely in my shower caddy, folded between the shampoo and conditioner. I’m all set. I should definitely get ready to go to class.
But standing in the hallway, I notice that he has left his door open a crack. That's different. He usually doesn't do that.
I wonder if he's asleep. Maybe I woke him while moving around and getting ready. I should probably check.
I push his door open slightly with my fingertips and stand there, almost holding my breath. He is still asleep, his forearm over his head, one knee lifted. He's wearing boxer shorts — charcoal gray, of course — and no shirt. I watch his abdomen rise and fall slowly, staring at the light dusting of hair that spreads out over is thick pecs. His jaw is almost blue with beard stubble and I want to touch it, to run my fingers against the rough texture. Instead I gnaw on my thumb knuckle, glad to have something hard in my mouth.
He definitely looks different than the guys in the videos. Those guys are practically hairless, and they seem somehow smaller in every way. Even the guy with the soup can.
Their muscles are tight and sort of different. Daniel’s muscles look thick, solid. I guess there's a difference between young men muscles and older men muscles. This is the sort of body I could lay on top of without worrying that I would crush him. This is the sort of person who would stand in front of me if something bad ever happened. I could climb him like a tree.
As he is breathing, I notice the way his jockey shorts tent out at the center and remember that men get erections in the morning sometimes. Totally normal physical response. But it has me overwhelmingly curious.
Padding over to the bed, I bite my lip hard. I can't stop looking at it. With each slow breath, his cock strains against the cotton fabric of his jockey shorts. Taking a chance, I drag my fingers along the waistband of his shorts, just slipping my fingertips below the fabric. It's so warm there, and his skin is so soft, yet firm.
I hear his breathing change and realize I have woken him up, but he doesn't say anything. I slide my hand the other way, pushing my hand deeper below the fabric, feeling the wiry patch of hair, following it down to the base of the shaft. He draws breath sharply with a shuddering sound.
Emboldened by this, I reach even further and loop my fingers around the base, squeezing lightly to feel the pulsing veins, the velvety smooth skin. Just like in the video, I hold it in my hand and drag slowly toward the tip, exploring every ridge and bump.
He moans softly as I stroke him. When I use both hands to pull the jockey shorts off him, he pushes his hips up to release the fabric.
There it is. It's so much more beautiful than I expected, with a fat, dusky tip glistening at the slit. The shaft is paler, crisscrossed by veins and proudly jutting toward me. His balls nestle underneath, moving slightly under the roughly textured skin there.
I'm fascinated, but I don't want to just stare at him like some idiot.
“A little harder, please,” he says in a low rumble. His hand covers my hand and exerts more pressure. “Like this.”
I nod, thrilled by the instruction. Under his hand, he draws mine up to the tip and then back down with this slightly circular motion. The glistening jewel thickens, the dome so big it looks like it's going to slide right off.
Without even thinking, I dip my head down and touch my tongue to it, slurping up the thick liquid. It tastes like salt.
“Oh my God, yes,” he groans and I feel his hips buck underneath me.
He begins to thrust toward me, his other hand sneaking around through my hair to the back of my head. I concentrate on his instructions and hold the shaft in my hand as the thick head stretches past my lips and fills my mouth.
Nature just takes over, and we find a rhythm together. I pump the shaft against my palm and work my tongue in circles around the head as he presses in and then withdraws. If I relax the back of my tongue, he can press even farther into my mouth, emitting moans that rise quickly in urgency.
Just like when I saw him in alone in his bedroom, his whole body flexes as he's guiding his cock to the back of my throat over and over again, working like a smooth, mechanical piston. His fingers dig into the back of my scalp firmly, but not painfully as he thrusts into me.
Then suddenly his taste changes. He withdraws for a moment, clutching my hand against his cock at the base, pinning me there. His member slips out of my mouth and stands straight up, veins bulging. I hold my breath and watch his beautiful, shining shaft as it explodes, sending streams of pearlescent cum arcing out that land on my chin and slide down my neck. It is an unbelievable sight, like nothing I've ever seen before.
“Oh, baby, baby,” he groans as I take my T-shirt off and use it to wipe the semen from my skin. “What a beautiful surprise,” he continues. He holds his arms out. “Come here, come lay with me.”
I crawl up under the covers with him and he flings them over us, drawing me close as he shudders a few more times. Our skin is sticky, but he doesn't seem to mind. I guess this is just how people are. Sort of sticky, sort of sweaty. It's nice.
“That was such a wonderful surprise,” he sighs into my hair, kissing my head and stroking my shoulder. “What time is it? Are you going to be late?”
“I'm really glad you liked it,” I whisper against his neck, rubbing my nose along his stubbly, strong jawline.
He nods, sighing again. I love how our bodies just fit together, how we are just so comfortable like this.
“I wish you didn't have to go,” he continues. “When is your first class?”
I just shrug.
