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As I reach down and roll my balls in my hand, a myriad of dirty images flood my brain. My imagination is wild with the ideas I have for Jarred. I wonder if he’ll like being on his knees for me, or if the pink on his cheeks extends to other parts of his body, and if he’ll be eager for my cock.
I imagine that he’ll beautifully present himself to me. He’ll be a greedy little cock slut for sure, bending over and spreading his cheeks. Maybe I can even get him to play with himself in front of me, to shove some of those thick fingers into his hole, and get himself ready for me.
I bite my bottom lip painfully, muffling my groans as my hand speeds up. Will he whimper? Will he cry out for me? Will he beg me to get him off?
Will he take what I give him with a please and thank you?
That thought sets me off, and I come against the shower wall. As I breathe deeply, the water washes away any evidence of my solo session. That’s what it is and will probably only be—a solo session.
Despite wanting it, I don’t think Jarred will ever cave to what he really wants. Despite the arousal in his deep brown eyes, he had been scared. I’ve been with guys in the closet, and I don’t think I want to do that again.
After years of being disregarded and mistreated by my asshole parents, I’ve decided that I’m no one’s dirty secret.
I quickly finish washing just as the water turns freezing. I step out and wrap my towel around my waist, gathering my supplies and heading back to the bunks. Sure, I get some weird looks from the counselors as I walk half-naked through the woods, but I don’t give a fuck. I’ve never been shy or ashamed.
Patrick and I end up waiting over two hours before Kendall finally comes to check in with us. We give her a half-assed lie about going to bed early, and she accepts it eagerly as she goes to find Bryce and Joshua. Fuckers didn’t even bother to make an excuse about where they are, and I can only assume they’re already at the party.
We head over there, using flashlights to guide our way in the dark, and I snicker when I see that the rock is indeed shaped like a dick. Once we round the corner, a bonfire appears and almost every counselor is gathered around it. Red solo cups litter the floor and the smell of booze and sweat permeates the air.
Just my kind of scene.
“I’ll get us some drinks,” I tell Patrick over the music, giving him a little shoulder check as I head to the makeshift bar. I pour myself a generous amount of some sort of pineapple vodka and soda while skimping on Patrick’s a bit. I can only guess that he’s not a drinker, and I don’t want him trashed by the end of this.
“Is that for your boyfriend?”
I roll my eyes as I turn to Bryce and sigh. “Look, I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with me, but it’s best to just leave me alone unless you want your ass kicked again.”
He snorts and snatches a bottle of rum off the table. “I don’t have to resort to that to get what I want. Just fucking watch your back, faggot.”
I honestly have no idea what Bryce’s problem is with me. I turn and leave him with those parting words. If he thinks he can get to me, he’s wrong. He can sling however many insults he wants as long as he doesn’t fuck with my friends.
I see Patrick in the corner of the party, awkwardly twiddling with his fingers as he waits for me to come back. He looks so lost and out of place, so tentative as he makes some sort of weird attempt at dancing, but it’s endearing all on its own.
I smile because, yeah, friends sound okay.
“Here,” I say, handing him his cup when I reach him. “I didn’t put too much in it, so you should get a nice buzz.”
He smiles as he accepts the cup and takes a little sip. “Thanks, Noah.”
We stand there for a bit and just watch the party unfold around us. Damn, how did I forget that Catholic teenagers can party? Everyone’s drinking, beer pong is set up by the bonfire—which is a stupid choice—and couples are grinding together to the beat of the song playing in the background.
If this is what camp is like, I might not hate it as much as I thought I would.
When I reach into my jacket and pull out the rolled joint I brought, Patrick gasps. “Is that marijuana?”
“Yeah, it’s just a little weed,” I tell him as I pull out my lighter from the pocket of my beanie. He looks at the joint intensely and I laugh. “You want some?”
“Will it…?”
“What?” I ask, lighting up and taking a deep drag, holding it in my lungs for a second before blowing it out.
“What does it feel like?”
“Really fucking good, man,” I laugh, already feeling the premium bud kick in. “No pressure, but you can have some if you want.”
When he reaches for the joint, I pause. I take a look around and see that no one’s noticed I’ve sparked up yet, and I want to keep it that way. It’s not that I’m against sharing, but I only brought so much weed with me to last me through the end of camp. I don’t mind sharing with Patrick, but everybody else can fuck off. “Here, come with me.”
Patrick willingly follows me into the woods, not too far from the others, but far enough where they won’t notice us. I take a seat on a large boulder and hand him the joint. He stares at it for a second before taking a drag. Then another. Then another in such a quick succession that he coughs like he’s hacking a lung out.
