8. Malcolm
MALCOLM
S omething happened last night.
It was an accident. Sort of.
Or I thought it was, but when Ryan peeled off his sweater to show Bailey his bare upper body, I realized something unshakeable about myself. I want to touch him.
In a way, this isn’t anything new. We were very close when we were kids, and for as long as I’ve been with Kaylin, I’ve never felt as close to her as I used to feel with Ryan. He was my favorite place. My favorite person. He was the best and worst thing to ever happen to me.
Last night was a perfect storm. Work was insane this week.
Not just dealing with Isla’s cold shoulder or trying to decipher her terrible spreadsheets, but the mental effort I had to put in to stop my mind from wandering had me feeling like a hamster on a wheel—if the hamster was on crack. And the wheel was on fire.
Since Monday night when we started the TikTok project, I keep getting these mental flashes of Ryan at random moments—like of him leaning on the wall with his triceps flexed, his hazel eyes hooded, body positioned for maximum seduction.
And then there are the daydreams. I’d see the perfect knot of his tie and think about his fingers undoing it at the end of the day.
Same thing with his belt buckle. I’ve thought about whether he wears boxers, briefs, or boxer briefs.
I’ve thought about how flat his abs are and whether he’s built enough to have that vee that leads down to his cock. Cum gutters. Fuck, I’ve thought about his cum gutters at least twice a day. And now I’ve seen them. They exist. They’re as real and defined as the rest of him is.
When I found myself daydreaming at work, I stopped myself. I redirected my thoughts to my next TikTok video. I looked online for things Stephanie can wear so I didn’t think about Ryan’s body. But all bets were off last night when I got home from work to an empty apartment and went to jerk off.
It started in the usual way. A hot shower, some long, slow strokes to wake up my dick.
A few squeezes of my balls. I don’t typically fantasize when I masturbate.
No porn. No spank bank. Just sensation. I have seven flesh lights that are currently in working order.
With any one of them and the variety of different sensations they offer, I can get off efficiently with a clear mind.
The one I used last night has a mouth shaped insertion point, ribbing up and down the channel, and variable suction. I hardly have to do anything. Once it was lubed, I slid inside, braced my hand on the tile wall and thrust gently into the toy.
It felt good. I didn’t need to do what I did, but I also needed to get it over with, or the idea was going to continue plaguing and distracting me for another endless week.
Closing my eyes, I gathered my courage, reminded myself no one had to know, and pictured Ryan untucking his shirt and unbuckling his belt.
The idea was to give in to this one fantasy, figuring if I played it out, I’d get repulsed.
I’d lose my erection, and that would put the question to rest for good.
Not that I would ever lose an erection in that particularly well-conceived toy, but I could have puked and that would’ve told me something.
Anyway, the fantasy went on once the belt buckle was open.
In my imagination, he didn’t open his pants, just put his hand down the front, and took hold of his own cock.
I hissed as my dick throbbed hard in the toy at the image of Ryan’s fist moving behind wool fabric—at the idea of a light sheen of sweat on his lower abs exposed by his now open shirt.
Gritting my teeth, I’d shoved my impossibly thicker cock into the toy and pictured running my fingers through his happy trail, flattening the hairs to his skin.
And then it was like he was in the shower with me, his hand was the flesh light, and my hand was moving up his chest, squeezing his firm pec.
I imagined what his nipple would feel like against my tongue, and before I could get to the point where I might have grabbed his ass, my body lit up like a circus, nerve endings blasting, a cry bouncing off the tile as I came so fucking hard, so fucking fast it was like getting the wind punched out of me.
The massive load of cum I left in the flesh light took me five minutes to wash out. Five minutes where my thighs and hands were shaking and I could barely catch my breath.
So that happened. I went there. I jerked off to Ryan, and I came harder than I’ve come in my entire fucking life.
Tonight, when he pulled off his sweater, and I saw what I saw—cum gutters and happy trail in the flesh—the goddamn sword pointing straight to his cock—that very particular light bulb in that very particular place in my head that’s been flickering all week blared bright.
I can’t ignore it. Or maybe it’s truer to say, I don’t want to ignore it anymore.
It’s too hard. Too exhausting. I give up. I tried.
I tried for ten fucking years, which is by far the longest I’ve ever done anything I didn’t genuinely want to do.
So this is me—giving up. Admitting defeat because whatever I’ve been telling myself is no match for what’s underneath that sexy black sweater, which, I’ve decided, I want to touch.
“Kaylin’s going to Europe next week and she’ll be gone for the rest of the month,” I say unprompted. “Don’t worry, it won’t affect having the dog. I was already gonna watch her, so she’ll be here.”
“What do you mean by a break?” Ryan asks.
“Yeah…it was in the works. I started thinking about it before the internship anyway. I wanted to be able to focus and figure out…you know…what’s next.”
Ryan plants his hands on the counter and pushes back on his stool. “I should go.”
“Could you not?” I ask, annoyed. “We’re talking.”
“You’re talking,” he says. “I’m listening to shit I never asked to hear.”
“Well, what do you want to talk about?”
“Dude—I don’t. I want to go home.”
I shake my head. He’s not getting off that easy.
I just told him something important about me.
Matter of fact, I’ve said a lot since that forgiveness phone call, give or take.
It’s his turn. “I don’t believe that. I also don’t think you’d have agreed to team up with me if you wanted nothing to do with me, so here I am. Deal with me.”
“Deal with— what?” he asks. “You’re being fucking weird.”
“Just say what you need to say.” Or do what you need to do, I want to tell him. Anything.
“What?” he asks, looking disgusted. “That you’re a total fucking asshole who punished me every single day for years over one mistake I made? That having to see you now reminds me of the worst fucking times of my life?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.” I guess that is partly what I meant. Not exactly something I love hearing, but I feel like it’s important that he got that off his chest, even if it wasn’t pleasant for either of us.
“Well…there you go,” he says.
Pressing, I ask, “What else?”
He glares at me. “That’s it.”
“Is it?”
“What else would there be?” he asks warily.
Okay, here goes. Step one. “If I said I wanted to try being friends again?—”
“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head and standing up. “I know how you treat your friends. No fucking thanks.”
“Ryan—Listen?—”
“Nope.”
Damn, he moves fast. I catch him by the arm before he gets to the door.
The heat of his arm blazes against my palm.
The sinew and muscle are as firm as stone beneath my touch just like I knew they would be.
If I let go, which I should, he’ll leave, and I don’t want him to.
Not yet. I’m ready to push through whatever this wall is and get to the other side.
I might have trouble following through with pretty much everything, but I seriously hate what I did to him in high school and afterward.
It was based on a lie I told him and myself.
Maybe I used to get off on making him jumpy and nervous around me, but it’s not doing it for me anymore. There are better ways to get his attention. There have to be. I’d rather he just be honest. Then, maybe, for once, I can be honest, too.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask.
He shoots me a glare over his shoulder. “Why the fuck would you ask that?”
It’s what we were just talking about, isn’t it?
It’s a normal question. “Has there been anyone serious for you?” Okay, maybe that’s less normal.
This must be what it feels like to be taken over by a parasite.
Are these thoughts actually mine? They’re familiar in a way, but also foreign enough that I’m not sure what to do with them.
Ryan moves with a hell of a lot more confidence than he used to. He puts his other hand on my wrist and physically removes my hand from his forearm. “Again, none of your business.”
“Why can’t I ask?” We have to figure this shit out. If we don’t, I’ll drive myself nuts. I’m halfway there already.
“Because…” He stops himself, then takes two long, deep breaths. Before I understand what’s happening, he grabs me by the hips and slams me against the wall. It knocks the breath out of me, and heat instantly floods my face. Adrenaline spikes, my body ready to fight back.
But he doesn’t hit me. He crowds me. First with his body, firmly pressing itself to mine, then his face. It’s so close, his hair touches my forehead. His hands on my hips clamp down so tightly, it hurts. His harsh breath lands on my mouth as the world around us stills and quiets.
My heart slams frantically in my chest as he very deliberately grazes a line down my nose with the tip of his. I let out a delayed gasp that leaves me depleted and utterly empty.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, breathless. My hands are on his shoulders, and I’m squirming. I need to get away from him, but if I wanted to, I could—couldn’t I? I don’t think I do want to. I mean—of course I don’t. I’m getting exactly what I asked for.
“I’m showing you why you shouldn’t ask so many fucking questions.”