9. Jorge
Jorge
Tower
I tilt my phone horizontally to get a clearer view of the video I’m watching.
There’s nothing, not even a tingle in my dick, but I still study the two men fucking the life out of each other.
How is it that I got hard watching Oli sleep, which then resulted in me jerking off in his shower, but two dudes going to town does zilch for my libido? It doesn’t make any sense. I try to picture myself as either of these guys, and my stomach feels funny. I can’t decide if that image is good or horribly wrong.
When I decided to watch gay porn on purpose , I was worried I’d find Eli’s videos by accident. But then I remembered Phoenix telling me that Eli isn’t doing porn anymore. He’s taking ballet and enrolling in online classes for business, I think? I hadn’t been paying attention because I was in the midst of existential dread over keeping my budding attraction for his little brother a secret.
So, thankfully, I don’t need to have the image of Eli dickin’ down burned into my retinas.
No, thank you.
I don’t get who decides to be the top and bottom. How does that work?
Phoenix had said once that he never bottomed. Does he just not like his asshole played with? Is that how it’s decided? It seems like a logical deduction, but I’m just not sure that it’s as cut and dry.
Maybe it’s about the individual. Who is more domineering versus submissive? I think back to when I was with Riley. What role did I play? I’m a giver; I know that much. I like to please my partner thoroughly. But I’m also naturally a pushover. I think I could be dominated and be into it.
Oh, well hello, you.
I glance down at my dick, slowly rising in my briefs. Yeah, I stripped down into my underwear, just in case. You never know when the mood will strike, and you need to bust a nut. I was fairly certain I wouldn’t need to do that before, but now… I go back to my original thought. And, of course, because I’m still confused about all of this, I imagine Oli in my daydream.
What would he do? Would he lay there and take it? Like the guy bent in half currently, or would he be riding my ass like this buff guy. My eyes flutter shut while my hand snakes into my underwear.
I don’t think Oli would just let it happen. It’d be a fight to get it to happen, and when it did, I think he’d crack apart. I’d have to coax it out of him, seduce him, and make him frantic for a taste. A wild animal would be set free.
He’d bury his cock so far up—
“Oh fuck,” I gasp, coming in my fist after like…four pumps. What the fuck is happening to me? I squeeze the tip, milking the last few drops out before my mind goes right back to the little movie it’d been playing.
He’d be firm but tender, I know it. His hands would be reverent. An ownership exchange would happen.
I drop my phone, not caring anymore about the video.
Wiggling out of my underwear, I get them down to my ankles before spreading my knees. I examine the milky fluid on my fingers, an idea forming before I can stop it. Lowering them past my balls, below my taint, and in between the crease of my ass, I swipe at my hole.
My nipples harden the moment I do it, and my cock tingles.
Huh. That’s new.
So I do it again, but it's slower this time. Every muscle in my body tenses with anticipation. My spent dick is rallying fast, plumping up and thickening. I bite my lip, swirling my wet finger around and around, eyes crossing with how deliciously sensitive it is down there. There’s a voice purring in my ear to shove it in, just fuck onto it, but I rip my hand away as panic settles deep in my chest.
“No way ,” I say to the ceiling. “Holy shit.”
I’m in shock, cock hard as steel once again. Nerve endings are firing off like Christmas lights. My hips absently thrust into the air, needing more. How have I never done this before?
Creeping my hand back down to my ass like I’m going to get caught, a high-pitched moan escapes me while I play with myself some more. My dick is oozing from my slit, pouting and whining. I’m writhing on my bed, denying myself what I want because I still can’t believe I’m into this. But eventually, it gets to be too much, my body demanding that I just do it.
As soon as my finger pushes through, my toes curl, and my ass clenches greedily, sucking the whole digit inside. I’m panting, moaning, cock bobbing, and leaking all over me. It’s a big fucking mess, and I’m stuffing my own cum soaked finger up my ass looking for that magic spot I know is in here.
“Oh fuck,” I cry out, finding it a moment later. I hammer against it like a madman, sensations I’ve never felt before consuming me alive. It’s fucking addicting and mind-altering, and I can’t stop pressing on it.
“Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” I chant, balls drawing up tight, micro tremors quaking in my thighs.
“Fuck me, fuck me,” I yell as my back bows off the bed, knees holding me up as I come so hard that I shoot myself in the face.
I tremble and jerk, slowly easing my finger out of my ass and collapsing.
“Well,” I say to no one. “That fucking settles it.”
T here should be some panic, right?
Life-altering realizations like these don’t come without a sprinkle of heart palpitations, nervous sweats, and existential dread. My whole life, I’ve never once looked at another man and thought, "Yes, take me. "
I’ve found them to be objectively handsome. There was one time when I thought maybe I could try it out if I were severely drunk, but I never tried—never had a reason to.
I keep waiting for the weight of it all to crush me. I’ve got to be a little gay. A morsel of gayness. The lowest number on the scale. I can’t even say I’m bi-curious because only one man is invading my sexuality. I’d be more inclined to slap a label on my forehead if there were a good handful. It all seems unnecessary, yet I keep trying to understand it.
Oli was a crusty teenager. He had acne, greasy hair, and was tall and gangly like Phoenix. Being three years younger than Phoenix and I, he didn’t even register on my radar as someone who’d grow up to be this disgustingly attractive.
It’s ruining my platonic energy.
How am I supposed to continue this friendship? Before, it was just us. A mutual bond. Camaraderie, damn it. I can successfully hide things if I need to, after all, that’s what I’ve been doing for the past year. But it’s always hiding from other people. I’m so brutally honest with Oli.
Like right now.
Right now, I want to tell him that his thighs look like they could pop my head like a grape. And those jeans he’s wearing only emphasize my point. He grabs a wad of the material covering his quads, yanks them up, and squats.
It’s such a dude thing. Something one wouldn’t even notice, but I do— am.
Creeping around the dingy bike he’s fixing up, I casually glance down at his ass. It’s not as good as mine, but it's still pretty good. Nice handfuls.
Dear god. I need to get a grip.
He’s sweaty right now, a wrench or some form of tool in his hand. Those long, dirty blond strands are in a knot at the base of his neck. I can see the sweat droplets rolling down his thick throat. His biceps are bulging without even trying. And don’t get me started on the washboard he has for a stomach. I know he still goes to the gym but hasn’t gone lately.
Don’t abs go away?
Subconsciously, I rub at my stomach. It’s a little pudgy these days. I don’t have any abs. No, I have the torso I’ve always had. Flat, barely even noticeable. I poke at my stomach a little harder, determined to find evidence of those grueling two months of going to the gym with him.
Nada. Well, that’s rad.
Now I’m worried I need to get in shape. Does he even like men that are in shape?
Lightning hits my skull, and my lips start flapping.
“Do you have a type? When it comes to men?”
He stops tinkering with… the bike. I won’t even pretend to know what all these parts and wires are. Slowly, his head cranes to look up at me. Those green eyes look so sparkly right now. They usually are when he’s doing something he likes. The fuckers are almost neon when we play Magic: The Gathering.
The sun chooses this very moment to beat on the top of my head; the sweatband I’m wearing to keep my curls out of my face feels ungodly moist.
“Why?” he asks suspiciously and stands.
Now I’m looking up at him and feel stupid for asking. Why can’t I just keep my squirrel brain thoughts to myself? “No reason. Just curious.”
His lips twitch. “Curious kitten.”
I cough loudly to disguise the moan that almost slips free. I thought he forgot all about that. Obviously not. “Well?”
“Thirsty?” he asks, snatching up his water jug from the floor and offering it to me.
“Thanks,” I croak, chugging down long glugs before giving it back.
Hooking his fingers through the handle, he rests the other hand on his hip and thinks about my question. The muscles in his jaw feather, light catching on his beard, making it more yellow than normal. “I don’t really have a type. My attraction stems from the person, not the parts.” He shrugs, but his eyes watch me carefully.
“Oh.” And I gulp like a loser. “But you do think men are hot, right?”
“Sure.”
“Have you ever had a boyfriend?”
The light dims from his eyes. “No.”
Why is the light dimming? Why is he going back to his motorcycle? Wait, what did I do wrong? “Oli?”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend, Jorge. Never had a girlfriend either.”
“Are you a virgin?” I blurt before I think better of it.
The tool in his hand drops to the ground, and his eyes slam shut. Every muscle in his body ripples and tenses. “I’m not a virgin,” he breathes and visibly shakes now.
The refusal to look at me, his body language, and his voice send warning bells ringing in my head. Oh fuck . Fucking fuck. I’m an asshole. The biggest, gaping sphincter. How have I not connected the dots sooner? It all makes so much sense. I can only stare at him for a few beats, stunned stupid. Something terrible happened to Oli. And now that the door has been blown open, every little detail I overlooked as him being strange seems so significant.
His touch aversion should’ve been my first clue.
The next should’ve been how his eyes glaze over whenever I bring up anything sex-related. As much as he tries to act unfazed, he isn’t. He’s fucking traumatized, and I’ve been gallivanting around this friendship without a care in the world. There’s so much I want to ask, to say. I want to make it all better despite him not openly admitting it. But I see it.
Oh, I see you, beautiful.
Something like unbearable rage and soul-crushing sympathy presses down on my heart. My fingers twitch with the need to comfort him, to soothe and show him the only way I know how that I realize what he’s been trying to tell me this past year. I can’t throw around my words like they don’t bear weight and aren’t a constant reminder of whatever happened to him.
I want to know who did it.
When?
How?
Every detail he hasn’t shared with me. To do that, though, I have to shelve my sexual awakening and be his friend.
I can do that.
“What is that?” I point to the motorcycle, and he relaxes.
“The crash bar.”
I let him explain the part to me, forcing myself to remain calm. It’s difficult to pay attention, though I do try. I try really hard to learn and listen. To shut my fucking mouth for once in my life. Lowering to squat beside him, I watch the light slowly return to his eyes as he goes over what he needs to fix, where and when he plans on doing so, and time passes.
When he’s done for the day, and we go back inside his studio so he can shower, I feel the need to scream. To find whoever hurt him and make them bleed.
My sister was assaulted in her early twenties. Some asshole drugged her drink and felt her up. Thankfully, a good samaritan saw the writing on the wall and got her away from the creep before anything progressed. But it really shook Sonia to her core and made her lose trust in a way that she still struggles with. Just like I held her while she cried and told me everything, I want to do the same for Oli.
I’d protect him if only he'd let me.
Would that even matter? Could a good, long hug ease even a fraction of the hurt he carries?
“Jorge,” he says loudly, and I blink out of my stare down at the wall.
“Sorry.” I rip the headband off, and my curls fall directly into my face. I shove them back and behind my ear, walking over to his sofa and plopping beside him. “Refreshed?” I try to joke, but it comes out flat.
“Sure.” He gestures at the TV. “Movie?”
“Why don’t we go see one at the theater instead?” I ask, wanting a dark space to hide away in while thinking about how to handle this.
He studies me for a few beats. “You never ask to go there.”
My hands are sweaty, so I swipe them down my thighs and huff. “Yeah, I know. But I was going to try something new.”
“It’s not new. You don’t like the movies.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him toss the remote down and face me fully. Wetting his lips, he blushes and asks, “Why did you ask about my preferences?”
I twist to face him too, bringing my knee up onto the cushion separating us. The last thing I want is to scare him off, but I don’t want to lie to him. However, the truth might be too much pressure. So I give him half of it. “Well, I have been curious about my sexuality.” I shrug like it’s no big deal.
“Really?” His face gives nothing away, but his voice is almost…hopeful.
“Yeah. I think I might be into dudes. Or a dude. Singular. Which doesn’t count, I don’t think. Can your sexuality change because of one person?”
The bob of his throat bounces as he swallows hard, his knee only half an inch away from mine as he shifts slightly. “Possibly. W-Who is it?”
God, he’s adorable. I want to squeeze him. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease and my chest flutters.
“I do want to know. If you’re comfortable telling me, that is.”
“I tell you everything,” I say without thinking and then wince. Shit.
“But you haven’t told me this.”
Now, it’s my turn to gulp. “You see,” I croak, my eyes desperate to flick away from his. He’s so intense right now. I don’t think he’s even breathing. “Are you breathing?”
He huffs and smiles. “Yes. Tell me.”
I don’t think he realizes it, but he’s scooted closer. The tips of our knees are touching, and it’s like a shot of pure dopamine through my system. Butterflies swarm low in my stomach as I refrain from pointing it out. Instead, I take in a breath, cheeks heating as I prepare to just say it. He asked, right? Unless he doesn’t think it’s a possibility, and my admission ruins everything. I don’t even know what I feel for him yet, only that it’s definitely more. More than it should be.
“Once I say it, there’s no taking it back,” I tell him.
“Is it Phoenix?” he asks, a flash of hurt spearing through his pretty eyes.
“Ohmygod,” I groan, palming my face. “Why does everyone think I want to fuck Phoenix?”
“Because it’s a simple deduction. You were all over him in high school. You held hands .”
“I hold hands with anyone who will let me,” I defend, then rewind what he said and how he said it. It's almost…like…he’s jealous, which spearheads my thoughts back to high school. Did he watch me back then?
“You remember that? Like, me in high school?” I ask, completely shifting gears.
“Why wouldn’t I? You practically lived at my house during summer vacation.”
I scoff. “Did not. We alternated.”
“So it’s not Phoenix,” he circles back to the topic.
“No. It’s not him.”
“Alright. You made it seem far more serious.”
“It is serious. To me, anyway,” I say and blush harder. Oh dear, this isn’t going well.
“You don't have to tell me. Forget I asked.” He shuts down, disappointed.
My hand shoots out, and just before it makes contact, I pull it back to my lap. I really have to get a hold over my body. Maybe I should duct tape my hands to my legs. “No, I want to tell you. It's been driving me nuts not being able to tell anyone.”
“Okay,” he breathes.
“Okay.” I close my eyes for a few seconds, nervous and terrified this will all blow up in my face. “Lately, I have realized that I am attracted to…you.” The last word slips past my lips, almost too low to be heard.
I still haven't opened my eyes. I can't look. Can't see the end of our friendship that's grown to mean the world to me. He means the world to me. My eyes burn behind their lids, and my nose tingles as a ball works in my throat. I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t want me around anymore. If this is now awkward and no longer fun. If he doesn’t need me.
Fuck, it feels like my chest is caving in. It’s just a silly little crush. I can make it go away if I need to. I’m sure of it. I—
Something is touching my chin. Warm and gentle. A featherlight touch, but I feel it down to my toes.
Slowly cracking open my eyes, I meet Oli’s. His index finger is easing my face higher up. I didn’t even notice I’d tucked it into my chest. There’s a crackle in the air; all the tiny hairs on my arms stand erect while he looks conflicted, maybe even hesitant.
“Me?” he whispers.
I suck in a harsh breath, not sure what to do now that he’s touching me. This is so much more than a boop on the nose. My voice won’t cooperate, so I grunt instead of saying a word.
Those pretty green orbs scan me reverently. “I’ve been attracted to you since I was twelve,” he admits softly and takes his hand away.
I feel the loss of it like a punch to the gut. “Twelve?” I ask, smothering my neediness for the moment.
“Mhm,” he hums, balling up his fists. “Everyone thought you’d end up with Phoenix until Riley came along, anyway.”
Ew, don’t bring up my ex right now. “How come you never said anything?”
His lashes flutter as he shuts his eyes and says, “Because I knew you’d never see me that way.”
“I might have,” I argue. Checking in with myself mentally, I flip through all the weird stuff I was into as a teenager. Yeah, I’m confident there was a good 50% chance I’d have seen him as more than Phoenix’s little brother. “You could have told me, Oli. I’m not…you know I’m not like that .”
He knows what I mean. I’m not prejudiced or a dick. Even if, for some reason, I wasn’t interested in him that way, I’d have been as gentle as possible with letting him down. I’d have been honest. We could have been friends like this ages ago.
“It wasn’t just that, but it was the biggest hindrance.”
I nod, understanding. Especially with what happened to him. His overdose, whatever traumatic thing he’s going through, and his addiction throughout his adult life. “What do we do now, though? This attraction is mutual.”
“I don’t know, truthfully.”
This is so not like the movies. There’s no embracing or happy tears. No kissing or spontaneous fucking. Consider me mildly disappointed. Despite being confused, we're more distant than ever. This is the best outcome I could have hoped for, so why is he cagey again?
“Is it because of our secret?”
He shakes his head and then nods. “Yes and no.”
“Explain it to me,” I coo, stuffing my hands under my legs so I don’t grab him.
My heart is pounding, and the fluttering in my stomach keeps ramping up in intensity the longer I have to stay still and not show him how attracted I am. Just thinking about touching him in any capacity has my cock tingling. Pretty soon, I’m going to have a full-on boner.
I want him.
Want.
Need.
Give me.
“For one, I don’t know what you want,” he starts, and before he can take a breath to say the next sentence, I growl, “you. Obviously. ”
He blushes while his lips twitch. “But what part of me? You can be attracted to someone and have it remain platonic.” I scoff. “And another thing, I just…well. I don’t think I can do anything about it, Jorge. It’s complicated.”
This coyness isn’t lost on me. Oli’s fishing for fucking answers. “Let me put it bluntly,” I say, and my hands fly through the air while I talk. “I want you,” I point at him, “in any capacity. Obviously, I’d be more than willing to do everything , but I get it if you don’t want that. You set the pace, and I’ll keep up.”
His eyes flick to mine in shock. “You’d do that?”
“Of course. Have you met me?” I puff out my flat chest, and he huffs a laugh.
“But you’re so…” He gestures at me.
“Sexy? Devastatingly handsome?” I tease, and he rolls his eyes.
“ Sexually active .”
“I’m really not. People think I’m this big ‘ol whore because I love affection, but I haven’t had sex since before we went on tour.”
He winces. “Didn’t need to know that.”
“You asked. And I wrapped up. Before we went to Europe, I got tested at the clinic. STDs freak me out. So I’m good. Squeaky clean. My dick shines. ”
That makes Oli toss his head back and howl in laughter. I can’t help but join in, too; so fucking happy we’re back to us. This is fucking us. Yeah, I want him to do naughty things to my ass and cock, but I won’t lose this. Our magic. “Your laugh is so nice, Oli,” I tell him once we sober up.
“Yours too.” He beams at me like a fucking star.
“I really want to hug you.”
“I know,” he sighs. “Give me time, yeah?”
I cross my heart. “Promise. I’ll wait for you.”