Chapter 3
Three
Patrick
H-e-double-toothpicks! Walking back to my house is slow going because I’m still trying to pick my jaw up off the floor.
His naked body was dripping wet all over and I felt like I was going through a drought.
My mouth was so dry I couldn’t speak, and for a few minutes I even forgot how to move.
The man was a masterpiece, chiseled and hard everywhere.
His muscles had muscles, and his cock was bigger than any toy I’ve owned.
I told him I was going to eat but food was the last thing on my mind.
Entering the house, a cool breeze welcomes me inside.
I fill Mr. Wiggles’ bowl with the food I brought with me and glance at the soup cans, turning up my nose.
I’m about all souped out for the week. There’s peanut butter and bread in the cabinet, though, along with a bag of pretzels.
Reaching for all the items, I set them on the counter, but my arousal outweighs my hunger the more my sexy neighbor flashes in my mind.
He was hard and veiny. Good gravy. What was turning him on?
No way could it have been me. Maybe the wind came through at the right time or he was thinking about someone while swimming.
Only, he didn’t have an erection until after we started talking.
My heart stammers. Closing my eyes, I imagine he’s peeking through the window behind me, and his gaze is drifting all over my body waiting for me to show him how much I love being watched.
Shivers run down my spine and I open the front of my pants. Wrapping my fingers around the waistband of my underwear, I yank them down, and my cock springs free and hits the countertop.
Rocking forward, I rub against the cool marble and imagine he’s giving me orders on what to do next.
“Touch your cock slowly,” he says
Wanting to be good and earn his approval, I wrap my fingers around my length and take my time. My strokes are gentle and don’t pick up their speed until I’m told to.
“Such a good boy,” he purrs. “My good boy.” Oh, how I’ve waited so long to be someone’s good anything.
“Keep going, baby,” he commands, his voice deep and smooth like honey. I picture him touching himself to the sight of my bare ass, and I rock my hips, spreading my thighs a little.
“Fuck your hand for me until you come.”
My skin vibrates and I increase my speed, slamming hard between my fingers and fucking against my palm.
Heat pools in my center and pleasure spirals inside me.
The cool and warm sensations sweep through me so fast my body shakes.
Tugging at my balls with my other hand, I come hard, and my arm rests against the counter as I go off balance.
My legs are like Jell-O and my head is buzzing, my ears feeling as if they’ve been submerged in water.
My lids flash open, and not ready to leave my fantasy, I strip out of my clothes where I am and pretend he’s still watching me.
I don’t turn around to glance back at the window and keep walking toward the bathroom.
When I flip on the light, I open the blinds, wishing the moving branches of the trees weren’t caused by the wind.
Turning on the shower, I wait until the water is warm before stepping in, and I leave the shower curtain partly open.
Soap suds form between my skin and the washcloth, and I scrub my body slowly like I’m putting on another show.
It doesn’t matter if no one is actually there, because in my mind he is.
My head goes to weird places sometimes, and my ex-boyfriend wasn’t always a fan of some of the things that turn me on.
I asked him to follow me around for a few days and watch me dress through my bedroom window, to stay outside in his car for a little while at night while I watched TV and walked around the house.
For him to also randomly show up at my house without telling me he’s there, and to watch me masturbate alone in my bed while he touches himself in my closet or the hallway.
After a while he didn’t want to participate anymore and asked why we couldn’t have fun the normal way.
A lot of what he said hurt, and the day he finally ended the relationship was very eye opening.
He wasn’t right for me. Would anyone be?
I worry no one will ever be able to fully accept who I am.
A little bit of fear and anticipation is my foreplay.
I want to feel the danger lurking in the corner and to have a little bit of it in my house.
It’s crazy. At times I try to push my thoughts away, only to have them come back days later.
Turning the shower off, I dry myself and dress in a pair of sweats and a black undershirt. I run my fingers through my wet hair, forcing it to move in one direction, and grab a bottle from the counter to spread lotion on my overly dry skin.
The pollen has made me super itchy, and whenever I’m outside for too long my skin burns.
The house is quiet as I enter the guest room, where my sorry excuse for a bed is twisted into a large mess on the floor.
It felt weird sleeping in my brother’s room, and I didn’t want to spend too much time in there in case of what I might find.
Who knows what kind of skeletons he has in his closet, or if he’s into some weird kinky shit I’d rather not know about.
It’s not something I want to discover while he’s fighting for his life in the hospital.
Gripping my fingers around my laptop, I carry it into the kitchen and set it on the counter before pushing back the screen.
Hoping to get a signal, I log in and type in the Wi-Fi password.
The half bar allows me to fully access my music account, and I waste no time selecting one of my many playlists.
Music fills the room, and I mouth the words to “Kiss it Better” by Rihanna while boiling water on the stove to make tea.
My brother doesn’t have a kettle, and I still have too many boxes to unpack.
I have no idea how long I’ll be here, and I’d rather not have to take everything out only to put it all back in later.
Returning to my computer, I plop down on one of the wicker stools.
Glenn sure has interesting taste in decor, with his old floral-patterned curtains in the living room and seashell wallpaper in the bathrooms. I scroll through my social accounts and a few posts from sex workers I follow have me looking at several sites for farm porn.
When none of the guys in any of the videos look like my neighbor, I exit out of all the windows and rush toward the steam floating off the hot pot.
Switching the knob to off, I pull down a random mug and fill it to the top.
The front reads Miami and has a palm tree next to the M.
Glenn has a whole collection of cups with various state names, almost like he purposely searches for them or requests them as gifts.
Does he have friends? We aren’t exactly close in the normal way siblings are.
Sure, we chat on the phone on occasion and have each other listed as an emergency contact, but we don’t know a whole lot of personal stuff about each other.
Our talks normally consist of “How are you?” and “Have you visited Mom’s grave recently?”
Not much is usually said aside from that and basic work questions. It’s hard to have a lot to say when you don’t really have anything in common. Water splashes a little outside the cup when I dip the tea bag in. Swirling it around, I watch how the water changes from clear to brown.
Unable to ignore my growling stomach any longer, I fix myself a peanut butter sandwich, placing a handful of pretzels next to it. Rain patters against the windows as I eat my food. The sky is gray and gloomy when I glance out the window above the sink and it kind of matches my mood.
My phone vibrates, and I stand up to grab it from the table once I’m done shoving my last piece of sandwich into my mouth.
A message from my bank, about the last check being deposited from my old job, shows up on the screen.
I frown at the amount. How the hell am I supposed to make it through the next few weeks?
Glenn has some money in his checking and savings but it’s barely enough to cover the mortgage, let alone his hospital bills.
Sensing my distress, my dog rubs his face on my knee.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do for money, boy.
” It’s not exactly easy to get a new job when I have to watch and work the farm.
Besides having animals, Glenn sold at the farmer’s market, ran a hay farm a few towns down, and helped manage a feed store, but his business partners didn’t feel comfortable giving me his share, even if it meant keeping him from losing everything he worked hard for and receiving the best treatment in the hospital.
Neither of them had heard of me before. Never have I felt more damn special in my life than when they said, “Patrick who?”
I’m tempted to start sending the bills their way soon once I run out of options.
Sighing roughly, I drop the phone on the table and pinch between my brows.
A loud sound comes from my computer, and when I walk over to investigate, I realize I forgot to close out of one of the sites I visited a while ago.
An ad with a guy wearing a cowboy hat while jerking off and resting his back on a hay bale plays, and I step closer to the screen as an idea fills my head.
No. Shaking my head, I laugh to myself. It’s ridiculous. But I wouldn’t be considering it if I had other options. Could I really masturbate for a bunch of strangers on the internet, though? Would I have to do more than that?
Browsing a few sites, my eyes bulge when a few profiles I stumble upon list the number of subs and tips these guys receive.
Would it really be so bad to do it, just temporarily?
It’s not like anyone knows me around here anyway, so what do I care about a reputation I don’t have.
I don’t have to worry about my family accidentally stumbling on my content since I don’t have any.
It was always only my mom, Glenn, and me for as long I can remember.
Then after a bad stroke took my mom’s life, it went from three to two.
More research and content watching leads me to creating an Only Fan’s account, and hours later I finally have a photo I’m happy enough with to use for my profile. I’m sitting on the wooden porch swing in my black jockstrap, and my fingers are under the front of my waistband.
Scooting to the edge, I place my feet on the ground to keep from rocking forward and upload my new flirty image. I can’t believe I’m doing this. We’ll see if I’m attractive enough to pull it off. All my piercings can’t hurt.
Standing up from the swing, I walk back into the house and dress in a clean pair of clothes.
Shoving my feet into my boots, I walk out through the back door and head for the shed.
On the way to grab two hay bales, I think about what type of content I want to make.
Tonight, I could post a few pictures, create profiles on other platforms for advertising, and maybe film my first video for when I actually get some subs.
I have a little time to work with, and in the meantime, I can fill my brother’s spot at the farmer’s market.
Glenn usually sells eggs, jam, fruit and a few vegetables, but I haven’t been the best at keeping up with caring for his garden.
I need to do better. I will definitely have to watch videos on how to make jam out of the strawberries and peaches growing in his yard.
He keeps his garden fenced off from the sheep and I’d hate for it to be torn apart when he returns.
Adjusting hasn’t been easy for me. I feel like I’m living in an alternate universe at times.
I’ve been playing this all by ear as I go, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stay afloat.
This has to work. If it does, I won’t have to worry about finding a full-time job while I’m here, and instead I can focus mostly on everything involving the farm and house.
My brother used to tell me I wasn’t very reliable, and I want nothing more than to prove him wrong.