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Yes, I am dying here, but I’m not sure it’s for the music anymore. “Hey, uh, Kent?”
“Promise, I just gotta tune the high E, and then—”
“Kent, I was wondering if—”
He turns his head to say something else.
I crash my lips into his instead.
The twanging ceases instantly. His lips respond with a small kiss of his own. Our eyes are closed, and the only bliss I know now in the whole world is Kent.
Kent and this kiss.
This kiss and Kent.
God, his lips are so soft and supple.
I have kissed maybe six or seven different guys in my life, that’s it. But now that I have had a taste of Kent, I am certain I have never truly kissed anyone at all before.
All memory of past kisses is wiped away with this one.
He remains surprisingly still as we gently kiss, like he’s as shocked by it as I am, and any sudden movements will spook this moment of perfection away.
He opens his mouth wider with the kiss.
I respond by pressing my mouth deeper against his.
The guitar finds a home on the floor suddenly, and I feel him shift on the couch. Our lips locked, I lean back by instinct, and Kent crawls over me. His hands drag down my sides, then back up, cradling my head, fingers tangling themselves in my hair.
We don’t stop kissing for a single millisecond.
Breath like ocean waves crash and recede in my ears.
His breath. My breath.
I reach around and dig my fingers into his back. I grasp a handful of his shirt, maddened with desire for him. Soon, my hands are under his shirt, greedily gripping his smooth skin. He is so firm and strong. Does this guy even have any body fat?
My hands drag lower and cup his ass, squeezing with hunger and thrusting his hips against mine.
Kent moans against my mouth.
He’s hard as a rock. So am I. The only thing between our throbbing cocks is the thin and nearly nonexistent material of our shorts.
I don’t know when it happens, but suddenly I’ve got my hand on his crotch, massaging, and he’s reached down to take hold of mine and do the same. We’re right back to where we left off in front of the lighthouse.
“You taste like spearmint,” he moans against my lips.
Only Kent can make a random declarative statement like that sound sexy. “You taste like sex,” I say back.
And my statement didn’t even make sense.
Not that it’s a competition.
His hand slips down the front of my shorts, and when his fingers wrap around my cock, I freeze. “Wow, cold.”
Kent lifts his head from mine. “Yeah?” His lips curl up suggestively. “I’ve got a way to warm you up.”
He scoots down—causing me to let go of him—and at once, my shorts are to my ankles, and his mouth wraps around my cock, engulfing it in warm wetness.
Pleasure races through my body at the sensation of his skillful tongue on my sensitive dick. I gasp, rock my eyes back, and grab onto his hair.
That only seems to encourage him. He starts going up and down on my cock, sucking its full length. I resist the very sudden urge to squirm beneath him, instead focusing on the ridiculous, undeserved amount of pleasure he’s giving me right now.
Then the question explodes from my lips. “Are you a top?”
Kent stops blowing me at once and lifts his head. “Say what?”
“Are you a top? That feels really good, by the way.”
“Yeah,” he answers. His hand wraps around my slick cock and slowly starts to stroke, driving me crazy. “I’m a top. I mean, I’ve tried bottoming once before, but it was weird, I didn’t come, I was too tight. Topping I’m better at. I take it there’s a reason you’re asking?”
“I want you inside me.” I lift my head up off the couch and stare at him. He still looks confused. “Right the fuck now. I want you inside me. I want you to take me to your room, slam me onto your bed, and make me feel like I’m nothing but your toy. I need you to make me feel alive. I need you to fuck the me out of me.”
For one breath, I fear I’ve gone too far.
The next moment, the most diabolical look fills Kent’s face as his lips curl up. “Oh, Jonah, Jonah … You have no idea what you’ve just asked for.”
I pray I do.
He takes hold of my hand, rips me right off that couch like a Band-Aid, and we fly down the short hall and into his bedroom. I have exactly half a second to appreciate its minimalist aesthetic: just a bed, a mismatched dresser with different colored knobs (and one missing), with a set of opaque, greenish curtains covering the window.
Then all I see is the ceiling as I fall back onto the bed. Kent pulls open a drawer, snatches a condom, tears off its wrapper, then drops his shorts to put it on. I stare at his cock—which I’m now seeing for the very first time, by the way—and I catch myself marveling at how gorgeous it is. It isn’t that he has some kind of unrealistic, porno-standard monster of a dick; it is just literally the most aesthetically-appealing cock I think I have ever seen. Smooth, straight, proportionally-plump mushroom head, sized precisely for his shape and build, fits perfectly in his hand …
