CHAPTER 12 #2
OnlyNewRadicals_69: guess i'll just have to keep trying to corrupt you then ??
Need_Tailor_Chicago: Good luck with that.
I set my phone on my chest and stare at the ceiling.
All of this is getting out of hand. Confusing. Overwhelming.
I really need to talk to someone. Get some guidance. A therapist, maybe. Or Groover.
Yeah, Groover would be cool about it. Well, obviously. And Groover would have advice, and good advice because he's, well, Groover.
But Groover's at the bar right now, fucking up someone's drink as we speak, and I don't even have a therapist, and…
Well, this guy is right here. Available. And more importantly, anonymous.
I run my palm over my face, then pick up my phone.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: I lied.
OnlyNewRadicals_69: rude. what about?
I stretch my fingers like I'm preparing for a five-hour-long crocheting session and start typing. I stare at the message. Then delete. Type it again. Delete.
I'm being ridiculous. They're just words. I suck in my lower lip and hit send.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: About being straight.
Then, I keep typing.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: I think.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: I mean, I don't know anymore. That's the problem.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: There's this guy at work, and…
Need_Tailor_Chicago: I don't know, I guess I just think about him a lot? And I just don't know what to think.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: About the thinking.
Only now do I realize I've just rapid-fired a million messages in a row.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: Sorry. I'm rambling. This is stupid.
Well, I'm stupid for spilling my guts to a stranger.
A stranger who, undoubtedly, will just use my breakdown as an excuse to flirt and—
OnlyNewRadicals_69: hey no. not stupid at all
OnlyNewRadicals_69: sexuality is a weird thing. and confusing. i mean, so i hear, personally I always knew ??
OnlyNewRadicals_69: tell me about this guy
My pulse has kicked up a few notches. I choose to ignore it.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: He's... I don't know. Different? Confident. Funny. Kind of crazy.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: He's driving me crazy.
OnlyNewRadicals_69: good crazy or bad crazy?
Need_Tailor_Chicago: Both?
OnlyNewRadicals_69: lol liar
OnlyNewRadicals_69: okay real talk though
OnlyNewRadicals_69: do men turn you on?
I stare at the message.
Do they?
Shit. I should at least know this much, shouldn't I?
On one hand, I have never, ever thought about a guy like that. Never had a crush on a guy. My heart's never skipped a beat for one. I've never stared at one when watching porn.
But then, of course, I got hard when kissing one and haven't been able to stop thinking about him since, so… The jury's still out, I guess.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: I don't know. Maybe? I'm just so… confused.
OnlyNewRadicals_69: ok here's what we're gonna do
OnlyNewRadicals_69: i'm gonna help you figure it out
OnlyNewRadicals_69: scientifically
I'm now somewhere between laughter and mortification. What wins is curiosity.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: Scientifically?
OnlyNewRadicals_69: trust me
My feet are restless as I stare at the screen. For a minute. Two minutes. Three.
Did he just get bored of the conversation?
I scoff. Of course he did. He probably just—
A new message pops up, and I nearly drop my phone.
It's a picture.
A torso. A man's torso. Lean. Defined, but not bulky. Hairless.
The photo cuts off at the chin and ends an inch or two below the navel, just where a dick would be, right outside the frame.
No face. No dick. Just…body.
OnlyNewRadicals_69: to help you decide ??
This is… weird. Is it weird?
I should probably close the app now. Delete the message. Delete the app from my phone.
But I just keep staring. And the more I stare, the more I panic.
Because yeah, technically it's just a picture of some random guy's torso. Nothing outrageous, nothing new.
What's new is, how my brain immediately, without my permission, superimposes Devon's face onto it. His messy hair. Piercing eyes. Those lips that rarely stop moving.
I let my gaze trail down, taking in the body again, now with a different kind of interest.
My dick twitches against the towel wrapped around my waist. Fuck.
I take in the subtle outline of muscle, the narrow waist, the vertical valley along his stomach. The defined obliques disappearing somewhere outside the frame.
The towel's getting uncomfortable. I shift one leg, adjusting, but it only makes it worse, the plush fabric brushing against the head of my cock that's now filling with blood. Fuck.
I put down my phone, close my eyes, and suddenly, it's not an anonymous torso anymore. It's Devon, standing right before me in my mind's eye, shirtless, pants hanging low. So fucking low.
Yeah, Devon's hot. How was that even ever a question?
I suck in my lips, bite down, roll my palms into fists, and last like that for maybe three seconds before my hand moves to my lap, palm pressing against the towel where my dick is now fully hard and making itself known.
This is probably not smart. It'll only make things more complicated. More confusing. But then, there's Devon's face again, in the forefront of my mind, and it's too late. I'm too fucking horny to care.
I get rid of the towel and, without preamble, wrap my palm around my cock.
Damn. I'm aching already.
I stroke myself once, slow, my hips bucking up involuntarily.
Why is this so fucking confusing?
Why is my mind refusing to come up with any image other than Devon's face and his imaginary body?
Why am I so fucking hard?
I stifle a moan even though I'm alone in my own apartment, my hand moving on its own accord, up and down my dick. For a second, I consider getting some lube. But then I imagine what Devon’s face looks like when he comes, and it's no longer necessary, pre-cum spilling from my tip, dripping down my length abundantly, easing the movements.
My hand speeds up, and I imagine kissing him, properly this time, without an audience. Taking my time. Feeling his body pressed against mine.
I imagine his hand replacing mine. His grip. His rhythm.
Fuck.
I'm moaning now, out loud, my imaginary Devon straddling my hips, grinding down against me. Our cocks pressed together, brushing against each other, fast, shallow motions, making my hips buck up, making me want more.
Harder.
Faster.
I watch, in my mind's eye, as my imaginary Devon stretches back like a string, head falling back, cock pressed against mine, hard, so hard—
Fuck.
I come with a groan, my hand sliding up and down my cock so fast my muscles ache. I jack myself through my orgasm, hot cum spilling on my stomach in waves, and I don't stop until I absolutely have to, until I can't take it anymore, my entire body all but thrashing around my bed.
Fuuuuuuuck.
I should breathe now. Do I even remember how to breathe anymore? In, out, in, out, I try, but my breaths come clipped, ragged barely there, making my head spin.
And it doesn't stop spinning for minutes on end.
Then, it's over, and I have to force myself to open my eyes, because I know that once I do, Devon will be gone.
The room feels strangely quiet. Judgmental.
But there's only one judgment that really matters right now. My own.
I glance at the absolute mess on my stomach. At my softening dick still in my hand.
The jury's back—definitely not as straight as I thought.
My phone buzzes somewhere next to my head, and I jerk, momentarily feeling caught before I remember I'm alone. I pick it up.
OnlyNewRadicals_69: so... verdict?
I stare at the message for a few seconds, then bark out a laugh.
Need_Tailor_Chicago: I might be slowly inching toward answers. Thanks, I guess?
OnlyNewRadicals_69: ohhh to be a fly on the wall
You know what? Fuck it. Maybe I'm just overthinking shit. And so, pushing all thoughts aside, I open the camera app, angle my phone, making sure my face and dick aren't visible, making sure nothing identifying is in frame, and take a picture of my stomach.
Of the mess I just made.
And I send it. No caption. No more words necessary.
OnlyNewRadicals_69: well my night just got significantly better ??
OnlyNewRadicals_69: also HOLY SHIT
I put down my phone, stare at the ceiling, and laugh.
I've probably gone insane. And it doesn't feel bad at all.