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I wanted to go back. I wanted to see all of it. I’d let myself coast for too long now, just going through the motions, never experiencing anything new or exciting. I’d hate myself forever if I passed up the opportunity to explore this fantastical side of the world that hardly anyone got to know about.
But mainly, I wanted to see Holt again. I wanted to find out what this weird, blossoming thing between us could become.
Imagining the possibilities was what sent me into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
Open for Business
Despite going to bed convinced that my newfound knowledge of what existed in the world would make me a different, more interesting person, I found myself falling straight back into the same boring routine the next morning.
Maybe it was a comfort thing. Some normality after such a wild couple of nights. Or maybe I just didn’t have it in me to be a part of that world. I was pretty sure a more interesting person would not be spending their Saturday doing laundry and cleaning their apartment after learning that monsters existed.
And that a group of them worked as hunky professional wrestlers.
The methodical tasks were helping me work through it all, letting my mind wander and come to terms with it. Although, when I went to buy groceries, I did find myself eyeing everyone with suspicion.
Was that woman buying apples in the long, flowy dress half goat? Were the couple and their two rambunctious kids running up and down the aisles a family of werewolves? Was the suave, darkly handsome dude who smiled at me in the frozen section an incubus who wanted to steal my life force by siphoning my jizz? Why was that thought kind of hot?
I found myself nervously glancing at the cashier who rang up my groceries. Was he really just a moody goth kid, or was he actually a vampire? Was there a way to tell? I’d gone almost forty years on this planet not even considering the possibility that some of the people around me weren’t human, and now I was wondering just how many non-humans I walked past or interacted with on a daily basis. All those people who’d been watching the wrestling had to live and work somewhere.
As I was picking up my grocery bags and turning to leave, an orange bounced off the belt of the register next to me and rolled into my foot. I bent to pick it up, and when I straightened, my pulse jumped as I stared into the wrinkled face of the sweetly smiling old woman in front of me.
“Thank you, dear,” she said in a wavering voice.
I couldn’t answer, too busy wondering if there was a big purple lizard hiding somewhere in that tiny, hunched body. Maybe she was friends with Ethel the Cackling Lizard Granny. Maybe there was a big network of Lizard Grannies who got together on Friday nights to party. Maybe they were the Mafia.
I could just picture Cackling Lizard Granny in her pink floral dress, leaning back behind a big mahogany desk and steepling her big lizard claws together as she stared down a meekly cowering gargoyle or incubus, calmly threatening them for asking for a favour from the Lizard Granny Mafia on the day of her lizard daughter’s lizard wedding or something.
Gulping, I set the orange down on the conveyor belt, ducked my head, and hurried out of the store clutching my grocery bags. I’d have to ask Holt if he paid some kind of protection fee, and whether I should pay it too if I didn’t want to wake up with a severed werewolf head in my bed.
I stayed in my apartment for the rest of the day, which wasn’t unusual anyway. I distracted myself by roasting a chicken. While it was in the oven, I set up my ironing board in front of the TV and ironed and folded all my clean laundry while watching old episodes of EastEnders.
Here I am, I thought, still ironing my underpants despite recently learning life-changing secrets of the universe.
I had done one new thing, though. I’d bought myself ice cream, and I’d felt pathetically giddy and rebellious as I grabbed the tub of rocky road from the freezer at the store.
Here I am, excited about eating dairy products as a treat on a Saturday night despite recently receiving a handie from a hot monster man who owns a wrestling business and wants my balls in his mouth.
I wondered what Holt was doing as I ate my dinner in front of the TV, then took a shower and put on my PJs. I’d agonised over texting him all day, and hadn’t yet plucked up the courage by the time nine p.m. rolled around. I knew he’d be busy now, with the wrestling about to start, and I didn’t want to be the sad loser texting him on a Saturday night while he was… I dunno, having a pre-show orgy with all the big hunky wrestlers or something.
I mean, I knew he wouldn’t actually be doing that, but still. Maybe he’d hired another stripper for the night, or got that guy back to satisfy whatever craving he currently had. Avid reader with a gift card in a bookstore, maybe. Or gambling addict on a winning streak at a poker table. Horny groom at a strip club for his bachelor party.
Highlighting just how sad I was, I ended up falling asleep on the couch before I even got to eat my ice cream. I woke up in the middle of the night with drool wetting my cheek, the TV still droning in the background, and the sound of rain hammering against the windows.
After turning off the TV, I rolled off the couch and shuffled my way to bed with my eyes still half closed. When I woke up again, it was morning, and the day looked grey and cloudy through the curtains despite the rain having stopped at some point in the night.
I groaned and scrubbed my eyes, feeling heavy and groggy from the disruption to my routine over the last few days. When I dragged my knee higher to get comfortable again, my morning wood rubbed against the mattress, making me flex my hips with a lazy bolt of arousal.
Rolling onto my back, I reached into my pyjama pants and gave myself a loose stroke, then shuddered. God, I was painfully hard. Dipping my other hand into my pants, I cupped my balls. They were already firm and tight against the base of my cock.
Well. No point wasting an impressive morning erection. As I started to jerk off, I licked my lips and closed my eyes, imagining Holt. Imagining they were his long, elegant grey fingers wrapped around my dick, his hot pink eyes all heavy and lusty as he stared at me from between my legs. He was the one cupping my balls, crooning about how symmetrical they were and how hot that made him.
I decided he was naked in this fantasy. That seemed appropriate. I had no frame of reference for his body, but he looked lean under his suit, and besides, I found him ridiculously attractive regardless. So I just imagined a vaguely Holt-shaped, grey-skinned body, his hard cock twitching and leaking between his legs as he jerked me off and felt all of it—every wave and tingle of pleasure.
I was getting ahead of myself, picturing my cock shooting long lines of cum all over my stomach, which would make him come without even touching his dick. The visual of him coming hands-free, just from jerking me off, made me explode for real.
I gasped, shuddering as I came in my pyjama pants, heels digging into the mattress and hips straining up. I pushed my fingertips firmly against my taint, just behind my balls, and whimpered as one last stream of cum flowed weakly from my cock.
