5. Chapter 5 #3
I should tell him to go fuck himself. I should end this now and block him.
I really should do anything that gets me to end this madness and throw my phone into the sea because I don’t deserve the access to the internet.
Not right now. I’m not making sane decisions.
My skin is so, so hot, my brain is confused whether I'm annoyed, angry or gutted that I may actually be an after-thought to my girlfriend.
Unless there's nothing to sing about. Couldn't tell through all your clothes
I know he's baiting me, teasing for a reaction but I'm too wound up on whatever this mixed emotion is to think clearly.
@Inkedreaper: Like I'd let you anywhere near it
@yourghostboy: Afraid I wouldn't be able to find it?
@Inkedreaper: You’d fucking choke on it
@yourghostboy: Prove it…
@Inkedreaper: Like fuck am I doing that, you could show it to anyone.
@yourghostboy: I would never do that, baby.
Here
I think my entire brain finally combusts, as I stare at a long, thick penis with a striking vein running down the side. The masked stranger just sent me a dick pick.
Holy fucking baby jesus at a circus.
My body feels like putty as I melt into the bed, all the heat burning my skin flowing down to my crotch where I've become painfully hard.
How am I this hard? I've never been this hard before.
I can't stop staring at the photo, his dick sitting against his pale stomach and the tip looks slightly wet with precum.
Is he masturbating right now?
My balls tighten and before I can think it through, I palm my own dick through my sweatpants.
An overwhelming heady haze settles over me, my nerve endings alight and I can feel everywhere my skin touches my sheets.
My waistband feels too tight, my socks too constricting and I want to crawl out of my own skin just for relief.
I need to gulp down air, throw myself in an ice bath, anything to stop how out of control I feel.
All my senses have honed in on the picture until I can practically feel it against me, inventing an intoxicating scent that would be all male.
Male and…I inhale a huge drag of the scent lingering all over my bed.
I'm not gay, but my god that is a very good looking dick and even thinking that to myself is scary. A familiar sense hits me, like an old memory that tickles at something in my chest. It rises, spreads, saying hello again to feelings I’d forgotten I’d once even had.
Focusing on the photo, I’m not as thick as him, but our lengths look the same and I wonder in some alternative universe if it would feel similar in my hand.
Fidgeting against the bedding, I've already slipped myself into my hand, grabbing my base, the contact sends a rush of desire through me.
The reasonable man on my shoulder is trying to scream at me to stop being insane, but the other lets go of my shaft to fully glide my sweatpants down my legs.
Dark tattoos of wildlife and animals frame around my lower half, the only part of me not inked.
Definitely recognisable, but I can't quite care enough not to do this. I stroke down just once but I’m painfully hard already, taking the base again, I open the camera and take the picture.
Not stopping to overthink anything in the shot, I hit send and there it is, my own cock sitting right next to his in our chat.
I'm on fire as I squirm, clutching the phone like a lifeline, leaving my pants around my calves. His response is immediate, as fucking always.
@yourghostboy: Baby you're so beautiful
The praise washes over me like a soothing balm to my sensitive flesh, but it’s also the cold water I crave to bring any sort of sense back. In a panic I close the app, sitting up as everything seems to tilt and it’s like my world starts to tumble.
Shakily I pull up my sweats, ignoring how my dick still throbs and push back the signals it’s trying to transmit for me to fix how it nearly pulsates for my touch.
Nope—I am not getting myself off right now.
Breathing hard, I run a hand through my unruly curls and sit with my head slumped and legs spread off the bed. What was I thinking?
Like a magnet my phone pulls me back, but I stay away from the social media app, turn off do-not-disturb and scroll down the notifications I received before this entire mess happened.
A couple of messages are there from the rugby group chat, a few from the guys when they had been on their way home and one heavy message from Grace.
I am such an arsehole.
Tugging at my nape, I open the message and the breath I was exhaling dies right in my throat.
Grace : Hi Casper, I’m sorry this is happening over text. You’re a great guy, but I’m just too busy trying to keep on top of my course load to be in a relationship right now. Once I’ve completed this term's assignments we can talk if you’d like? Leave things on good terms as friends.
The guilt twisting in my gut mocks me as I see the time stamp was almost three hours ago.
Fantastic, so I’ve felt like a monster for a potential sexuality crisis when in reality I got dumped over text before it even started?
Maybe I am as dense as she thinks. The polite, nice boyfriend that doesn’t even deserve a conversation in person.
Groaning I face plant into my pillow, deciding that I will in fact take a nap, maybe then I’ll stop feeling like a fucking loser.