17. Benji
BENJI
THIS IS ME
I didn’t turn on the light in my room when I arrived.
Sam’s scent was still all over the place, faint but enough to let me pretend he was still here as long as I didn’t see the empty space.
I wish I could’ve stayed at his apartment, let him hold me longer, held him longer myself.
But it couldn’t be. If I hadn’t been home in the morning, it would only raise questions, and we were nowhere near ready for those.
Dropping onto my bed, I tugged my shirt up and stopped just as it hovered over my face. His scent clung to it, like he’d worn it while I wasn’t looking, like he’d left that trace on purpose so I wouldn’t forget him. I inhaled again and flopped back as the drug that was him flooded my body.
Every second of what we had done in his apartment was burned into my head: how his fingers caressed my skin, how he moaned and trembled as I licked his armpits, his dick, his balls, how he came right before my eyes.
I didn’t know what had come over me to go this far so quickly, but I didn’t regret a thing.
Just thinking about it sent waves of anticipation through my body, making my dick hard again. I pressed the shirt deeper into my face with my right hand, trapping what was left of his fragrance there, and kneaded my resurfaced erection with my left.
Nothing we did felt wrong. On the contrary, if he were here right now, I’d do it all again. And more. Believe me, there was so much more I’d like to feel, see, and taste...
My hand slipped under my jeans' waistband, wrapping around my shaft. I had no time to unbutton, unzip, or take off anything. No—what I needed to do was to move my fingers over my glans, up and down, to relieve that urge.
Third time tonight; that was a new record.
But as I stroked myself, as much as I enjoyed getting close to yet another orgasm I needed so freaking much, I couldn’t help noticing that my fingers didn’t feel quite like his.
His hand was so... soft, yet his grip was firm, almost a little more confident than mine.
When he ran his fingers up and down, he didn’t just focus on the tip; he worked my whole shaft.
Maybe that was why I came twice as fast as usual?
Not to mention, I never came from someone else wanking me before.
The orgasm felt so much more intense. But why?
Because he’s a guy and knew what to do? Because I had to give up control?
Because the kiss alone, the one we shared while we touched each other, was like a mini-orgasm?
Oh man, those kisses! He was so good at it. It was like wrestling, but with our tongues. So good.
I moved my hand down further (as far as I could with my pants still on and unbuttoned), trying to imitate his touch, but I couldn’t get it right. I guess doing it alone just wasn’t the same anymore. Not that it mattered. I was so horny I could’ve slapped my dick against a wall and would’ve cum.
I breathed deeply and brought back the image of his body twitching as he shot his load.
My mouth fell open, hoping his tongue would magically appear and join mine to make this moment even more intense.
Five more strokes with that image were all I needed.
The warm wetness flooded my hand and my boxers.
I twitched, just like he had earlier, and accidentally let out a moan that I quickly choked back.
No use denying it now.
If that didn’t seal it, I’d be fooling myself. There was a high chance—no, it was certain—I wasn’t just into guys; I was totally into him.
And so many things made more sense now: why everything I tried with Chalsea and Sarah felt like a chore, why I wasn’t even interested in kissing them unless I had some liquid courage.
Not that it felt bad, but what I did with them came nowhere near Sam.
With him, it was exciting. I honestly forgot everything: all my problems, the stupid prank, my guilt.
I even forgot who I was, and after we were done, I emerged with a clearer image of myself than ever before.
I was the guy who had a crush on Sam. And I was going to do everything to be worthy of being his crush, too.
The longer I lay there, the more things started to make sense: why I enjoyed wrestling with Gordy more than cuddling with my ex’s, why I always got a boner in communal showers, why I liked watching a dick erupt in the adult movies, and why I only got aroused by scenes where you could actually see the guy’s whole body.
I thought it was because seeing his enjoyment made what they did on camera more real for me.
I’d never even considered the possibility that I might just like watching guys.
I couldn't help letting out a necessary and freeing chuckle.
Lightness spread through my chest, and that was entirely thanks to Sam.
If I could only turn back time and undo the prank, get to know him without having to lie about the one thing that had brought us close together.
.. But I had to live with that now, or come clean before it consumed me and accept whatever consequences the truth would bring.
Of course, this couldn’t be easy. Life never missed a chance to be a bitch.
A bang jolted me awake, so loud and building-shaking that I wasn’t sure whether it was a bomb, an earthquake, or a car crashing into our living room. The silence that crept through the house right after left my mouth tasting sour.
I sat up, my heart racing as if I’d never slept.
The corn field behind the house lay gray under the cloudy sky. The sun couldn’t have been up for more than half an hour, and, judging from how dark everything looked outside, it also wasn’t going to break through the clouds today at all.
I climbed out of bed and stumbled into the hallway in just my sleeping shorts, searching for the source of that ear-splitting sound, and to my relief, I found no smoke, no cries, no sirens.
So far, so good—although something definitely was wrong.
Every step I took was strenuous, as if I had to fight through thick air, needing two breaths for the oxygen of one.
And when I turned into the living room, I saw why.
Our front door hung there, attached only at the lower hinges now, the top broken off, leaning against the fly trap door outside.
Dad sat on the couch, bare-chested but at least in shorts, his whole body hunched, rocking back and forth, his phone pressed to his ear.
“Yes,” he said, not acknowledging me at all.
Mom, still in her nightgown, hid in the kitchen, sitting on the chair farthest from him, our dining table between them like a shield.
“Yes, I understand,” Dad said again, his eyes flicking to me briefly before he got up and paced to the TV and back to the opposite wall.
His hand raked through his hair, his jaw tight, the phone clutched in his fist as he ignored me like I was the last person he wanted to see right now. “I’ll call you back.”
I took a step toward him, the floor creaking under my weight. His head snapped up, his glare burning into me like a hound of hell had taken over his body.
“What the fuck happened?” I asked.
“ You ,” Dad growled. “You— fucking —happened. Anything you got to tell me?”
My thoughts jumped to Sam and what we did in his apartment, but there was zero chance they could know about that. I glanced at Mom, who had her lips pulled into her mouth like she couldn’t speak even if she wanted to.
“Can we please not play any fucking games and you just tell me what I did wrong now?” I barked back.
“Roland called. You still remember who that is, right?” Dad’s hands trembled as he held his phone out, as if I wouldn’t understand what he was saying without optical aids.
I understood all too well. Calls from my uncle were never good. And especially after my run-in with Pete yesterday, I knew exactly where this was going.
“Well, do you?” Dad screamed.
“Would you cut to the chase?” I yelled back.
“Is there any brain left in your head? Pete is in the hospital. They’re doing X-rays right now. Possibly a broken arm. A cracked bone, if he’s lucky. Does that ring a bell?”
“A broken arm?”
“Don’t you dare deny anything. Your mom cleaned your bloody shirts yesterday. Doesn’t take long to add one and one together.”
My head snapped toward the kitchen. Mom buried her face in her hands, a sting cutting through my chest.
“Mom, I?—”
She shook her head like she didn’t want to hear what I had to say. A reaction like this from Dad, I would’ve understood. He never listened to me or gave a crap about my truth. But her?
“I did not break his arm, I swear,” I said, taking a step toward her, but Dad lunged forward and grabbed my wrist to hold me back.
“Oh no. You don’t hide behind your mother this time.
You’re talking to me now.” I yanked my arm away, his fingers snapping close on empty air.
The sudden loss of control flushed his face an even deeper shade of red.
“So would you explain why you decided to attack your cousin-for-fucks-sake , out of nowhere? Do you beat up people for fun now?”
“Out of nowhere?” My head snapped back. “I didn’t attack him out of nowhere!”
“Don’t you lie to me.” Dad puffed out his chest, surprisingly unafraid even though he knew I could easily knock him down if I had to. He took a step toward me, then another, each one daring me to prove I’d sunk so low I’d raise a hand against my father.
Not eager to take the bait or to let him anywhere near me, I took a step back, slamming my heel into the wall. A sharp jolt shot through my spine, crying for attention I couldn’t give.
“I’m not lying,” I yelled.
“Then please enlighten us with the glorious story of how Pete’s arm got magically broken when you didn’t attack him.”