18 investigating the closet
“Will you chill the fuck out?” Alyssa finally snaps.
It may be the four-thousandth time I’ve changed position since we started watching this movie.
Possibly. I can’t seem to get comfortable.
Nothing specific in my body hurts, but it all feels extra itchy and out-of-place today.
It doesn’t matter how I sit, I’m convinced my joints are about to all pop out of place. Nothing helps.
I hold up my hands and mouth sorry at her, but she only sighs and pauses the movie. For every last penny in the world, I could not tell you what this movie is about; that’s how distracted I’ve been.
“You need to go do something about this,” she says, still staring me down in that unnecessarily piercing way she does. “If for no other reason than the smell.”
I raise an eyebrow but resist the urge to sniff myself conspicuously. “What smell?”
She huffs with that specific Tanner is stupid but adorable like a lost puppy sound she makes, and then she’s the one to scent the air demonstratively.
“Like frustration. Like raw sexual frustration. And I gotta tell you, I’ve got my own frustration right now, I don’t need to borrow any of yours.”
There’s a little snap to her tone that makes me wonder if she’s genuinely pissed instead of just teasing, and I shrink into myself on instinct. Which is embarrassing, so I correct my posture immediately and sit up straight.
The whole thing is very unsubtle.
“I didn’t realize I was frustrated,” I lie.
The long pause tells me it wasn’t convincing.
“How about you go to your room and finally make use of that bag of shit I bought you? And I promise to sit here and read with my headphones in for like… at least an hour. Then we can eat. Wait—then you can shower. Then we can eat. Deal?”
I’m pretty used to being scolded for random shit but being essentially sent to my room to go jerk off is a new one.
I nod, and then hightail it into some privacy before I can second-guess myself or get more bashful than I already am.
Once the door clicks shut behind me though, I realize what I’m doing.
Alyssa’s right. I can’t keep jerking off the way I have been, it’s clearly doing nothing for me.
My body feels like it’s screaming at me all the time for nothing in particular.
I assumed that was just part of the deal, but if there really is a way to bring myself a little relief from the constant discomfort, I’ll take it.
I mean, I’ll take this level of discomfort over the soul-destroying sickness that came with the suppressants, but still. If I could have a day when I’m not hyper-aware of every cell in my body and how they’re arranging themselves, that would be fucking great.
You didn’t feel like that when you were with Gray.
The little voice at the back of my head loves to remind me of that.
This time I don’t even bother to shake it off, because the voice is right.
Being with Gray made me feel correct in a way I’ve never experienced before.
I was hoping I would stop missing it after enough time had passed, but right now, that ache is so acute, I’ll do anything to stop it.
It takes me a minute to grab the bag from the closet—still untouched—and after a second to consider my options, I dump it all out on the bed.
Go hard or go home. And I really can’t go home anymore.
A lot of the things here are intimidating in their size. Which is stupid, because Gray is intimidating in his size, but looking at him always makes the desire outweigh any nerves.
A few images flit through my head from the last time I saw him in person, and that general thrum of anxiety shifts to sit a little lower in my body. It’s amazing how quickly everything inside me flips to go mode, and I can feel the tell-tale tingle that precedes my slick.
God, I’m so easy for him. I’d care more if it didn’t feel so good right now, and if I weren’t so desperate to feel anything other than vaguely shitty.
I don’t let myself overthink it. I grab the smallest item from the pile, push everything else to the side of the bed, rip off the packaging and then collapse back onto my pillows. My phone gets thrown on the nightstand, and I shimmy out of all my clothes before I chicken out.
Yep, that’s slick all right. I should probably put a towel down or something, but I know if I get up now, I’ll lose my nerve.
The toy seems pretty simple. It’s a smooth, moderately sized plug with a teeny tiny remote. I haven’t explored my new downstairs situation very much, but I’m confident I can get this thing inside me. And it supposedly vibrates, which means I don’t have to be an active participant in this.
Perfect.
I’m not sure what the best position for this would be.
At first, I lay back and spread my legs, because that seems like it’s “natural” or whatever, but apparently my arms are not as long or as coordinated as I thought they were.
Instead, I roll onto my side and hitch up my knees.
Somehow, this feels more demeaning, but at least I have access.
And once again, my junk has not gotten the memo that this is mortifying, because I am motherfucking ready. to. go.
The toy slides inside me with shockingly little resistance. There’s a moment where it feels weird and everything in me tenses, but I force out a hard breath and then relax.
Shit. Shit that feels good. It’s not even turned on yet, but having it there is just…. mmph.
The stretch of having it inside me is the same as a stretch that hits the exact right spot on a sore muscle. I wanna crawl inside this sensation and fucking live there.
My breathing picks up a little as my body starts to buzz with endorphins.
I’m not even fucking myself with it, it’s just sitting there, and I’m getting worked up.
My cock is rock hard and begging for some friction, but if I’m going to do this, I might as well do it right and explore the other parts of my situation that I haven’t had before.
Even though I am getting lost in the simple pleasure of it, images of Gray flash through my mind again and again.
I miss him. I miss him in this profound, aching way that nothing seems to relieve, and that should be stupid, because I barely know him.
I miss how safe he makes me feel. I miss how wanted he makes me feel.
I also really, really wish this vibrator was his knot. Although that would be a much bigger stretch.
In the pile of toys I cast aside, I see the fake knot. The extra-large one that I swapped for the smaller one Alyssa initially put in the basket. The one that definitely makes me think about Gray when I look at it.
I pull the knot a little closer to me. Not to use. Just to have in arm’s reach, in case I change my mind.
Once that’s moved, I reach for the little remote to get this show on the road. Shifting makes the tip of my cock drag against the sheet, and I’m so hypersensitive right now that even that sensation makes me gasp. But when I look at my hand, it’s not the remote I picked up.
It’s my phone.
I keep pretending I’m not thinking about it, but I am. It’s all I’m thinking about.
I want Gray.
With trembling fingers, I swipe to bring up his contact and then hit video call. I turn off the video on my end immediately, because no way am I letting him see me like this, and hope that he’s alone.
Fuck, what if he’s with my dad?
The thought makes my boner wither a little, but my panic is interrupted by Gray answering.
God, he looks good. He’s wearing a sweaty gray t-shirt and there’s paint smudged on his cheek and beard. He looks even more tan, like he’s been working outside a lot, and I can tell from the background that he’s at his place.
Thank fuck. This is humiliating enough without interrupting him doing something important.
“Tanner? What’s wrong? Where are you? Why’s it dark?” he says, panic clearly written on his face.
I bite my lip to keep myself from smiling, and shift around the plug still sitting inside me. It’s hard not to find this shit endearing.
“I have my camera turned off, you can lower your hackles,” I say, failing to keep the teasing out of my voice.
“Oh.” Gray relaxes a little but is still furrowing his brow at the darkness on the screen. “Are you okay?”
He’s calmer this time, but still concerned, and I’m fucking living for it. Shame went out the door when I shoved this thing up my ass, apparently.
I can already picture the way he would touch me if he were here—large, warm hands checking me for injuries like a worried mother hen, then probably stepping back abruptly to put some space between us once my scent really settled in his nose.
Then he’d stare at me in that way he does, like he wants to take me apart piece by piece but is determined to keep his hands to himself anyway.
Then maybe he’d take that step back toward me, holding me close so I could feel him getting hard in his pants?—
“Tanner?” he repeats, and I realize I drifted off.
A blush warms my cheeks, and I’m grateful again that he can’t see me.
“I’m fine,” I blurt out. “Just, uh…”
My breathing has picked up, and my body is fucking screaming for some stimulation. Just seeing his face has me swimming in arousal, but now that I’m here, I realize it’s a little difficult to explain myself.
Without thinking about it, I reach for my aching cock and start to stroke. Just a little to take the edge off while I figure myself out.
The pleasure hits me like a brick wall, and I make a little whimpering sound, clenching around the vibrator without meaning to.
Gray tilts his head to the side and continues to stare into the screen, even though there’s nothing there.
“Tanner… what are you doing?”
“Um,” is all I get out, but the way the corner of his mouth lifts tells me he’s figured it out. “Nothing.”
Mature, I tell myself.
“Then turn the camera on.”
The faux innocence on his face is award-winning, and my face is fucking flaming.
Screw it.
“Okay, okay, I might be doing something dirty. And I thought to myself ‘who’s the dirtiest motherfucker I know?’, and obviously my thoughts went to this pervy old man I keep talking to.”