AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I try not to fool around with guests too often, but considering my choices are that or my co-workers, I find guests to be a far safer option. After all, the owners had been good to me and done me a lot of favors, so dipping my pen in the company ink and potentially causing drama seems like a pretty poor way to repay them.
And besides that, with a co-worker in an environment like this, it’s a little hard to keep things casual. Kind of hard to avoid awkward run-ins after a fling when you both work at the same resort and live on an island the size of a small town. So while I’ve become good friends with several of them, there are some lines I choose not to cross.
Even if I were interested in fooling around with guests, though, most of the people that come through here are happy couples. So in general, most of the action I get comes from one of two places: lefty or righty.
Occasionally we get singles, mostly men, although as a bi man, that’s just as well for me. So once in a while I’ve kept a lonely businessman’s bed warm for a night or two, and since polyamory is so widely embraced here, I’ve even joined in with a couple or two.
But none of them stirred me on sight the way these two have. It’s like I’ve been starving for weeks and suddenly someone’s dangling steak and cheesecake in front of my face.
I don’t really know when I figured out that I was bisexual, I think part of me just kind of always knew. But considering the reaction I’d gotten from my father when he first found out I was taking dance lessons, I don’t imagine he would have taken too well to having a queer kid under his roof.
So it was my dirty little secret, just like the dance lessons I continued and kept to myself until I was fifteen and got the job at the studio. And even then, the truth about the dance lessons came out, but I never did. Not to my family, at least.
I was so desperate to get out from under their roof, I moved into the studio on my eighteenth birthday and stayed there temporarily until I found an apartment and a roommate. I haven’t been back since, or spoken to my parents.
But for as long as I could remember, I’d felt the same level of attraction and appreciation for both men and women. I know it’s not the same for every bisexual, some people lean more one way or the other, but I honestly couldn’t declare a preference.
I certainly have some favorite traits on either end of the spectrum, though. I like dudes with bigger frames in general, whether they’re super sculpted and muscular or closer to the “bear” stereotype, although I’ll admit to being a little more attracted to the former. And in women, I love curves and softness, and I’ll admit that I’ve got a particular weakness for blondes.
So Hazel and Brendon? The two of them are like Kryptonite, hitting all my weak spots. Hazel’s soft curves and long blonde hair make her seem almost angelic. And then Brendon, dark hair and icy eyes and wicked smiles, is pure sin and sex on legs.
Just thinking about them has my blood pooling south. My dick strains against my boxers and shorts, tenting the fabric. I need a shower anyway, so while I’m semi-reluctant to get up from my comfy spot, I force myself to sit up and strip off my clothes, tossing them in the laundry basket as I make my way to the bathroom.
While I’m waiting for the water to warm, I absently stroke my erection, my mind wandering to some of the scenarios Brendon might have had in mind when he mentioned having “plenty of alone time” with Hazel.
I imagine what might have happened when they got back to their room last night after the mixer, her shoes kicked off and his jacket tossed aside. I can picture Hazel undoing Brendon’s tie and slowly working her way down the buttons of his shirt until it was open, exposing his chest. I see him pulling the pins from her hair, letting the blonde waves cascade down around her shoulders.
I step into the warm shower spray and my absent-minded stroking turns into a more deliberate, measured rhythm, pumping my cock with a tight fist while I picture Hazel and Brendon undressing each other.
That snug velvet dress of hers hadn’t left much about the shape of her body to the imagination, but there’s still plenty that my brain has to fill in. Like what exactly she wore beneath it, among a dozen other mysteries.
The same went for Brendon’s body. Despite the tailored suit, and some sneak peeks I’d gotten in those rather snug shorts he’d worn to my class, there were still plenty of things to wonder about.
Even so, my mind creates an image of her splayed on the bed, blonde hair strewn across the pillows, legs parted and waiting as Brendon straddles her.
I’ve always had a vivid imagination, and the scene playing in my head is crystal-clear and in surround sound. I can imagine her moans, his grunts, the slapping of skin on skin as he drives into her.
Or maybe she likes to be on top, I find myself thinking, and my brain conjures another position for the pair, with Hazel’s huge tits bouncing and her hips pumping as she rides his cock.
For a while, my mind flashes between those two, before conjuring a third in which he’s got her bent over the bed and he’s pounding her from behind while her fingers dig into the mattress, and she screams his name.
My fist moves faster and faster along the length of my cock and my breathing grows ragged. This fantasy playing in my brain is hotter than any porn I’ve ever encountered, and before I know it, I’m blowing my load, spurting a fountain of hot white cum over my hand before it drips down the drain.
I cum so fucking hard it nearly knocks the wind out of me. My legs are shaking a little and when I remember how to breathe again, it sounds like I just ran a fucking marathon.
Maybe that was part of the problem. It had just been a while, too long, and I was backed up, so that was why these two were affecting me so strongly. But as I’m cleaning myself up, I can’t help but feel a little disgusted with myself for thinking about them that way.
After all, they’re guests here, and I’d at least planned to do more private lessons with them, although it occurs to me that we never actually settled on anything. I can’t be having feelings like this for them, so whatever’s going on in my brain needs to shut off, and soon.
I finish cleaning up and fix myself some dinner, putting on a movie while I eat and zoning out. Mercifully, my little shower scenario seems to have scratched the itch enough to let me relax and disconnect for a little while.
Although eventually, my mind wanders back to lunch. I’d told them some things about my life back in the city, and they’d told me about some of theirs, and they’d sort of shared some things that had changed since I’d left.
I found out that one of my favorite pizza places had shut down about three years ago, and in its place now was a taco spot that Hazel swears is amazing. I know it’s a big city, constantly changing and evolving, but to actually hear some of it was definitely bittersweet.
After all, I’d never really wanted to leave, and I think part of me always planned to go back someday, but when “a few months” here on Jalokivi Meren turned into a year, then a year turned into two…Eventually I guess I just grew roots here.
But hearing about it, talking to fellow New Yorkers, takes me right back there, and I feel an ache in my chest.
