Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Ashton
Searching for gay porn is a lot more complicated than I expected.
Sure, there’s plenty of it online, but no one warned me about the sheer number of subcategories.
My brain goes a little numb as I scroll through thumbnail after thumbnail, each one more overstimulating than the last. Phoebe told me I should experiment a little, so that’s exactly what I’m doing.
Before I can chicken out, I click on a video and watch the screen buffer while my heart hammers against my ribs.
I’m not sure which scares me more—liking it or not liking it.
If I don’t, then maybe it’s not just that I’m not into women.
Maybe it’s something deeper. Maybe I’m just…
dysfunctional in a way that can’t be fixed.
Still, I guess it’s worth a shot.
I settle back against my pillows, itching in my own skin. My hands ball and flex as I try to shake out the nerves. God, why am I so anxious? It’s not like I’m actually hooking up with a guy. I’m just… observing. For research purposes.
Finally, a man appears on the screen. He’s objectively handsome—dark hair, thick beard, tattoos and piercings scattered across pale skin.
I’m not sure what the plot is supposed to be, if there even is one.
Judging by the navy-blue jumpsuit and the very obviously painted-on grease smudges on his neck, I think he’s meant to be a mechanic.
Sighing, I drag the cursor forward, skipping through the unnecessary cinematic buildup.
When the second man enters the frame, he drops a cheesy line about not having enough money to pay for his car repairs.
The “customer” is slim and delicate-looking, wearing denim shorts that are definitely too short.
My breath catches in my throat as he starts unbuttoning the mechanic’s jumpsuit, leaning in to kiss slowly along his neck. He pushes his clothing down just far enough for his erection to spring free. And—holy hell.
The mechanic has a massive cock, thick and veiny. The customer can barely wrap his fingers around it. He gracefully drops to his knees, eagerly sticking out his tongue while he gazes up at the mechanic with wide, lust-filled eyes.
I don’t even notice when I start stroking my dick.
It’s like my hand has a mind of its own.
I push down my boxers and take out my achingly hard cock, shock waves of pleasure tingling through my veins.
Rutting against my own palm, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth as a soft sound slips out of my mouth.
Wait, since when do I whimper?
On-screen, the mechanic fucks the customer’s mouth, snapping his hips and tugging his blond hair.
The customer swallows him greedily, eyes rolling back while he gropes the mechanic’s ass, urging him even deeper down his throat.
Wet noises and eager groans play through my laptop speakers, sending shivers down my spine.
I’m jerking myself in earnest now, lotion spread across my palm. My other hand toys with my balls, rolling them between my fingers. I stroke my cock as the mechanic grabs the customer beneath his armpits, hauling him up and manhandling him with ease.
Why does that turn me on so much?
The mechanic pins the customer against a workbench, shoving a toolbox onto the floor with a metallic clatter. He pushes between his shoulder blades and bends him over, rubbing his cock against his shorts. The customer moans and grinds back against him.
The mechanic takes off the customer’s shorts, practically ripping them from his slender body. The camera pans over to his hole, pink and glistening, probably pre-lubricated and stretched. I know pornography isn’t realistic in the slightest.
He pushes inside with one smooth movement, sheathing the smaller man on his cock.
The customer grips the workbench while the mechanic plows into him, hips bucking with the sound of his balls slapping against his ass.
The bottom gasps and screams in pleasure, rocking back to meet his partner’s thrusts.
Christ, what does that feel like?
I thought this part would make me cringe—that I would hate the idea of penetration—but to my complete surprise, my cock is practically weeping at the sight. Precome slowly slides down my shaft, and I rub my thumb against the leaking slit, moaning softly.
I don’t even last until the finale. Before the men on-screen climax, my orgasm rolls over me with toe-curling intensity.
I come hard as I arch off the bed, gasping and fucking my fist. Come dribbles out of me in thick ropes, coating my fingers.
My eyes clench shut as pleasure courses through me, wave after wave, and it feels like it’ll never end.
Struggling to catch my breath, I slam my laptop shut and push it aside. I stare up at the ceiling, mind numb as I lazily stroke my softening cock, riding it out.
Fuck, that was the most intense orgasm of my life.
I grab a tissue from my nightstand and start cleaning myself up. Halfway through, an unexpected sob rips out of me. Tears spill down my cheeks as my body trembles, completely out of my control. I can barely catch a breath, gasping for air as a sharp pulse of panic floods my chest.
The terrifying truth slices through me like a knife. I didn’t just like watching that—it altered my goddamn brain chemistry.
I’m never going to be the same.