Stabbing a pen into the seam, I drag it down like I’m tearing open a secret I’m not supposed to have. The tape gives with a rip. The flaps pull back.
I lick my lips without thought as I stare at the dildo.
Almost too real. I reach in and lift it out like it might be delicate, but there’s nothing delicate about this thing. It’s heavy in my hand, thick, solid. I hold it up to my forearm for comparison, eyes widening.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, a little breathless.
I wrap my fingers around it—slow, curious. Stroke once. Then again, my thumb brushing over the smooth head like I already know how it should feel. It’s not warm like skin, but it looks close enough to mess with my head. The way the veins curve beneath the surface. The way it gives slightly under pressure.
I glance up.
The mirror across the room catches me in full. Shirt wrinkled, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“One hour,” I say out loud. “Plenty of time.”
My clothes come off fast, one piece at a time. T-shirt. Sweats. Boxers. Gone. I’m bare before I even think to hesitate, the air against my skin sharp with anticipation.
I reach into the side drawer and pull out the bottle of lube I keep tucked behind junk so my mom won’t find it.
I think back to all the things I searched for on eBay that night—half drunk on nerves, logged in under the account I made with my dad’s name. Stupid? Probably. But I couldn’t stop myself. I knew what I wanted.
Eight inches.
Tan—not quite my tone. Darker. Like his.
And the suction cup. Definitely needed that.
I kneel in front of the mirror, the toy upright between my knees, my hand circling the base like it belongs to someone standing in front of me. Someone real. Someone I know.
Someone like Dante.
My throat tightens just thinking about him. His dark brows. The way he lifts one—just one—every time he catches me looking for too long. Like he knows. Like he sees me.
My grip tightens. I stroke the shaft slowly, imagining what it’d be like to have his body close. His eyes on mine. His voice low and amused.
“You thinking about me, Grant?”I think, and swear I hear his voice in my head.“Yeah. You are.”
I bring the toy to my mouth, testing. Licking. Exploring. The mirror watches me as I close my lips around the tip and move—just a little. Just enough. My heart hammers. My body aches.
I’ve never had a blowjob before.
Jessica Stammers almost gave me one at a party last month. We were outside, making out in the dark near her pool when she asked if I wanted one.
She got far enough to jack me off a little and one lick before her parents came back early and busted the party up.
It wasn’t until I was zipping my pants that I saw Dante watching from under a tree. The orange ember of a cigarette lit his face in the dark just enough for me to see he was looking at me.
That got me harder than Jessica did.
I think about that lick—but not on my cock. On his.
I moan, softly, dragging my tongue along the side, then back up to the head. I wrap my lips around it and push it into my mouth until I gag on it, then I pull it out, blinking away the tears in my eyes.
After a deep breath, I press the suction to the hardwood, checking the grip. Firm. Steady.
With a line of lube into my palm, I slick it over the toy with slow, deliberate strokes, coating it from base to head. It glistens as afternoon sun brightens my room, practically begging.
I hesitate—just for a breath.
