53. Elliot
Elliot
Things are going from bad to worse. My living arrangement is completely unbearable.
I’m doing my best to be polite, but Stuart is making it so fucking hard.
He has something to say about everything.
I haven’t gotten laid since I got here, and my dick’s gone into such shock it’s decided to chub up every time Stuart so much as looks at me.
I’m a fucking mess.
I can’t go on like this, so I’ve made plans to go out to rectify the dick problem, at least.
“Lukeyyyyy!” I yell when I see my best friend, Luke, across the bar.
I look at his fiancé, Jessie, raising my eyebrows expectantly until he finally relents and replies, “Pookie.”
His delivery is far from enthusiastic, but I know from experience it’s the best I can expect from Jessie. This little greeting might seem dumb to most, and it is, but I started doing it when Luke and I were nine, and I can’t stop it now. Luke loves it.
I grab Luke in a bear hug and crush his huge frame until Jessie’s eyes narrow. I’m not saying Jessie’s response is the entire reason I do it, but I’m also not saying it isn’t.
I work the room between each drink, and unfortunately, it looks like I’m going to strike out.
Well, not strike out exactly. I have options.
Believe me, I have options. I’m just in one of those moods where I can’t decide if I want a girl or a guy.
I think it’s called the bisexual dilemma or something. I feel it a lot.
I know we’re all supposed to be cool with everything and accept ourselves as we are, but in my case, it bothers me quite a bit. I have this deep yearning for something. I’m always looking but never quite sure what I’m looking for.
A lot of the time when I hook up, I get that feeling you get when your back is itching like crazy, so you ask someone to scratch it, but they keep missing the spot.
That’s what it feels like to me. A lot of the time—most of the time, if I’m honest—my hookups feel like they scratch a little too high. Or a little too low.
It’s fucking frustrating.
By the time I land on a decision tonight, Luke and Jessie are making a big show of yawning.
“Wow, is that the time?” asks Luke, looking at his wrist and giving me the impression he and Jessie spent some time rehearsing their exit strategy before they left home this evening.
I try not to be too bleak that they’re heading home early because I know they’ve come out tonight purely because I asked them to. I know they’re worried about everything that’s happened in my life recently and are trying to be here for me. I appreciate it.
Luke and Jessie are at a stage in their lives where they don’t really enjoy being out late during the week.
It irritates me, but I can’t get fully mad at them because of how adorable Luke is.
He’s the best. No joke. He might actually be the best person in existence.
He’s like bottled sunshine. Like everything good in the world got rolled up and then molded into the shape of a man.
Jessie is very different. It took some time to come around to him, but I have to admit, he does have his moments. Over the years, he’s surprised me by becoming a way better friend than I ever thought he would be. It’s not easy getting to know him, but once you do, he’s a really solid guy.
When I first met him, I was a little pissed about him and Luke getting together.
It put my nose out of joint for a while.
And not only because I may have had a slight crush on Luke at the time, or because Jessie is his stepbrother, but because of the fact that right from the start, they were both so fucking whipped.
I hate it when my friends meet people and get pussy whipped, or ass whipped, or whatever kind of whipped does it for them, and stop coming out.
It’s the worst. It really gets on my tits.
That’s not the only issue when it comes to Luke and Jessie.
They’ve been together for years, but they still haven’t managed to get over that stage where they’re only out for a few hours before something happens between them and Jessie gives Luke this thirsty look and whispers, “Can we go home, please?” in his ear.
I hate it.
Tonight, all it takes is Luke telling us a story about something that happened at his work.
I think it’s one of those situations where you had to be there because the punchline doesn’t hit all that hard.
Neither Jessie nor I laugh very much, but Luke absolutely cracks it.
He laughs so hard that his eyes shut completely and I can see the pink of his gums above his front teeth.
Jessie watches him intently, and I literally see the precise moment he gets hit with the horniness stick.
It clunks him solidly on the back of the head and leaves him looking vacant.
By the time Luke has finished wiping his eyes, Jessie is leaning in, begging to go home.
Ew.
I’d tell them to get a room, but experience has taught me that they won’t hesitate to take me up on the offer.
It’s not just me who minds it. It drives our whole friend group crazy.
Usually, I give them hell when it happens, but right now, I’m so exhausted by everything else that I don’t bother.
I call an Uber and spend the ride home quietly shitting myself that the payment will bounce and I’ll have to wake Stuart up and ask him to pay.
I can only imagine the lecture he’d give me.
He’d probably sit me down in the study. I bet he’d do something stupid like threaten to call my mom or dad.
I must be drunker than I thought because, for some hard-to-explain reason, my dick twitches at the thought.
When I get home, I find Stuart stretched out on the sofa, head tilted back, bottom jaw ajar. He jumps to his feet when he hears me close the front door.
“Are you all right?” he asks as if I’m the one battling for clarity through a haze of sleep. “Did you have a good time?”
Yeah, I had a great time, thanks, Mr. Wiseman. Went out with a rock-hard cock and now I’ve come home with it too. Just livin’ the dream, you know.
Obviously, I don’t say that, but I want to.
He makes a big production of setting the house alarm and fussing with the app on his phone, talking me through the process as if it’s something I might find super hard to follow.
I’m still feeling amped from being out, so after he stumbles up the stairs, I take his spot on the sofa and watch TV for a couple of hours.
“Shall I make you a smoothie?” he asks. Again. Every goddamn morning we go through this shit.
“No thanks. I’ll pick one up on my way to work.”
He pinches his lips together and scoots them to the side in a textbook aw-shucks look. “You know bought smoothies can be a calorie bomb, right? Most places add syrup or a ton of sugar. There’s a reason they taste like that.”
“Nah, it’s all good.” I feel myself bristle, but I do my best to contain it. “I get my smoothies from Tumeric. If it’s good enough for A-list celebs, it’s good enough for me.”
I head upstairs to finish getting ready for work, accompanied by the hum of him muttering something about the cost of bought smoothies. A dull pressure forms at the base of my skull. Despite the fact the last thing on Earth I’m in the mood for is another dose of his face, I’m not upstairs for long.
“Stuart!” I try not to yell, but it’s hard not to. I can’t find my fucking work shoes. I’m going to be late again because this guy seems hell-bent on spending his life moving my stuff. “Have you seen my shoes?”
He sighs heavily and says, “I’ll check the laundry room.”
I stalk after him as he marches down the hall, fully intending to ask him why the hell he thinks I’d be dumb enough to put my shoes in the laundry room.
As I approach, I hear him muttering to himself.
He does that—can’t remember if I’ve mentioned it before, but in case I haven’t, the man talks to himself.
This is the kind of shit I’m dealing with here.
“Unbelievable,” he says under his breath. “Fucking unbelievable…”
I stop moving. It’s the first time I’ve heard him swear. There’s something husky and guttural about his voice when he says it that gives me pause.
“…never seen anything like it…all my life…never seen a clearer case of a boy asking to be taken in hand…no, not asking, begging.”
Every synapse in my body stops firing. I’m nothing more than a bag of bone and blood for three or four seconds, and then every synapse fires at once.
I’m alight. On fire. My blood boils and rushes to my cock so fast that I put my hand on the wall to steady myself.
My mind races, struggling to decipher his words.
Did he just say that?
Did that just happen?
“…needs the seat of his pants heated up…that’s what he needs. Needs a little lesson in humility, among other things…”
I can’t breathe and I can’t move. I’m still bracing myself with one hand on the wall, and the other has flown up and is now tightly clamped over my mouth to keep me from making a sound.
Approximately three million thoughts fly around in my head, crashing into each other, jostling wildly for position.
I can’t tell if my brain just had a factory reset or if something more serious has happened.
Turns out, it’s neither here nor there because my dick hits the override button.
My thoughts go dull. Blood rushes. Blood vessels expand.
My dick feels hot and so hard that I don’t know how to explain it.
The seams of my pants are straining, pinching my foreskin, barely managing to contain the boner threatening to punch through my zipper.
I realize Stuart has stopped talking. I hear one footstep and then another. I slink away from the wall and hobble down the hall as fast as possible, getting as far as the guest bathroom. I close the door and slide the lock shut using my left hand.
I don’t have a choice.
My right hand is already stuffed in my pants.