Chapter Four #3
It was my loss. I would’ve loved to work out with him. We did almost every morning we were away together, but I couldn’t. Not when my attraction to him was that strong. The last thing I needed was to pop a boner over his forehead while spotting him.
I figured I’d rub one out to lessen my raging hormones, but jerking off thinking about him would only make it worse. I didn’t think of that until I was brushing my teeth and realized my phone was plugged in on the nightstand.
Alec was snoring before I finished brushing. If he was already asleep, did I have to beat off in the shower? No. No, I didn’t. I crept out of the bathroom to find him on his side, snoring. Alec sleeps like the dead after a few drinks, but still wakes up before his alarm.
I felt like a kid getting away with something as I snuck back to the bathroom and sat on the toilet with my phone.
Holding the entire compendium of human knowledge with a growing erection meant I needed to decide what to look up.
I considered a woman with big tits, a tiny waist, and a wet pussy playing with herself, but no.
It had to be guys. That would scratch the itch and ease some of the pressure I felt toward Alec.
I typed “twinks getting railed” but didn’t like a single thumbnail. Passive viewing wasn’t gonna do it. I needed the thrill of a live person. Someone to send me images and videos of themselves and fawn over the ones I sent them.
I like it when they send their faces, but I never send mine, so I didn’t ask.
But the guys with a face as their profile pic were to be avoided at all costs.
They were the true owners of gay hook apps, where I was a bottom feeder.
They don’t give a shit, and like to fuck.
I’ve been called out for wasting their time more than once because I was.
There were a lot of faces in my feed. Which was a bummer. A bunch of chests and abs too, but I didn’t have time for a long-winded conversation with a faceless torso. I wanted a blank profile with no name or any other text.
Faceless torsos, like me, are the best, but blank profiles are my bread and butter.
Though they are very hit-or-miss. You never know if it’s some cannibal, or your senior year English teacher cheating on his wife.
Most likely, it was some married guy just indulging in a fantasy, or someone not out yet.
They’re rarely twinks, and usually had hairy, manly bodies that didn’t do it for me.
But dick was dick when I was hungry for it.
Most don’t respond, but if they do, they’re only into trading pics and talking dirty.
There was no one and nothing. I went back to my saved messages to find someone I had chatted with in the past. I found the perfect one, if he was around.
There was no bullshit with him. Just pictures of our cocks and some mutual fawning.
That’s all I needed. Maybe I could get him to send me a video of him nutting, but I didn’t get my hopes up, and sent, “Hey.”
I was about to leave the chat to find another profile, but I heard buzzing from the bedroom. It was dead silent in the bathroom—I heard the pads of my fingers tapping on the screen. Alec’s phone vibrating on the nightstand sounded like a fire alarm.
It couldn’t be what I thought it was. Alec probably got a text or email weirdly at the same time.
I’m no connoisseur of the male sexual psyche, outside of having one myself, but Alec had never given me that vibe.
Yeah, I’ve caught him peeking here and there, but that’s nothing.
Even a lingering glance, even a bit of genuine sexual curiosity, was miles away from having a gay hook-up app on his phone.
I went looking for another profile, but couldn’t stop thinking about it. What if I sent one more message, just to be sure. Just to clear my head so I could focus on getting myself off.
I never double text. It’s not in my nature, and a waste of time. If a guy, or a girl I’m seeing in real life, doesn’t have the time or interest to text me back, so be it. But this wasn’t a double text. It was an experiment. I was a doctor running a test.
“You up?”
It was pure cringe, but it was all I could think of. As soon as I hit send, Alec’s phone was rattling away on the nightstand.
My heart stopped, and my pupils dilated. The air was stale with a lingering permanent humidity that clung to my skin. I was aware of the moist, semi-metallic scent of the shower, and the nearly imperceptible flicker of the ceiling bulb.
How? And why? But also, what in the actual fuck?
There was no mistaking it. Two for two… but wait. No. There was still room for error, right? One is nothing, two is weird, but three would be definite.
I’d have to try again. But even a third perfectly timed message delivery wouldn’t convince me.
Alec was as heterosexual as they came. I call myself straight, but not heterosexual.
Alec liked women. I’d seen his eye wander to a pert, round, female ass, followed by the look of self-admonishment.
Or peek a little too long down a cavern of cleavage, just to get red and do literally anything else. That was a straight guy.
His checking me out wasn’t checking me out. It was always an evaluation. Maybe he liked what he saw a little bit, but—fuck it—I’m fucking hot. Men, women, heteros, homos, and everyone in between have given me a once-over. I’ve been given dirtier looks by retirees in my dentist’s waiting room.
If I was going to be sure, I had to see the screen.
If Alec’s phone buzzed with the notification, the screen would show something, too.
I couldn’t remember ever feeling so nervous in my life.
The last time I crept out of the bathroom to the nightstand between our beds, it was fun and exciting, not a roiling stomach ache.
I typed out. “No?” Also so cringe it was painful to read, but if I was wrong, and I hoped I was, I didn’t want to ruin a good sexting mate. But if I wasn’t, I didn’t want him to suspect I knew.
I held my breath and hit send. Fractions of a second later, his screen lit up. The app’s icon and “Three new messages” appeared.
That was it. That was all. I had sent my boss pictures of my penis, and he sent me some in return. My stomach ache got worse. So sick that I felt dizzy and faint. I laid in bed, not bothering to be quiet, but not needing to care anymore.
Alec told me to keep my nose clean on the job. To not shit where I eat. That messing around with anyone even tangentially related to work was messy. How much messier could it get than trading explicit messages with my boss?
I’d probably be fired. Alec is smart and would figure it out. If he didn’t already. Oh fuck! What if he knew? What if he always knew? I had my torso on my profile pic. It was from a few years ago, and I’d packed on some muscle since, but what if he recognized me? Fuck.
He said he liked my cock, though. Enough to swallow it whole.
What did that mean? On its face, nothing more than if we met under different circumstances, we might’ve fucked.
But we didn’t. He was my boss. And straight.
And married. And a large, muscly, hairy, masculine man.
All of those things meant we’d get hard for one another, but nothing more.
I didn’t have the space in my crowded, freaked out head to remember how amazing his cock looked, but my dream self did.
It took me a good hour to fall asleep, but I dreamt of Alec.
His cock and his body. Sliding into him over and over.
Tasting him before he released the biggest load I’d ever seen all over my face and in my mouth.
Dream-me didn’t think it was wrong or weird. He didn’t care Alec was as far from a smooth fem twink as a person could get. Dream-me only wanted more of him in every possible way.