Once Reed rounded the corner, I more or less sprinted—well, limped as fast as my knee would go—in socked feet to my room and yanked open my bedside table. After digging out the lube, I unzipped my jeans, not wanting to think too hard about what I was about to do.
My cock, which had been simmering on thoughts of Skylar all morning, went from half-mast to fully erect after I slicked it upand down. Still not thinking about what I was definitely thinking about, I tightened my grip, pumping up and down as my mind went back to the tanned skin of his back and the juicy curve of his ass.
My knee gave another twinge, enough of a warning that I begrudgingly released myself and lay on the bed, my jeans halfway down my ass and my big toe poking out of one of my holey socks. For about half a second, I considered getting undressed, but then remembered what it felt like to hold Skylar against me and didn’t have a lick of patience to bother with clothing beyond where I was.
Instead, I sent my fingers to my nipples, pinching and tugging on the sensitive nubs, attempting to extend my personal time as my length bounced against my belly. I normally enjoyed a little edging, but my need would not be ignored for a second longer. I let out a groan as I ran a slicked fist up and down my cock, not able to make sense of a goddamned thing.
Why the fuck did it feel so good to imagine him underneath me?
I thought any latent attraction I had to Skylar was just because he was so feminine. Today, though, without a stitch of makeup on while wearing scrubs and sensible white tennis shoes, it was all I could do not to push him up against that pretty car of his and have my way with him.
Fuck. I wanted to kiss his face, to feel his stubble under my lips. I wanted to press up against him, to know how it would feel to rub my hardness against his. To wrap my hand around the two of us, and stroke us off together.
Then turn him around and . . . fuck, the idea of sinking into his hot body . . . burying myself in him over and over again. Would he like that?
He would if I did it.
I sped up, pausing only to add more lube. In my mind, I could see Skylar looking over his shoulder and giving me a little smirk before pushing out his ass to encourage my unhinged behavior. God, how I wanted to take him apart, show him what he was missing with all of those selfish sugar daddies.
I wouldn’t stop until he was panting and coming all over himself. That visual alone was enough to push me over the edge. Imagining his pleasured cries, I gasped, and a brutal orgasm ripped through my body, weakening my knees as cum splattered against my ridged abs.
Sticky with cum, sucking in oxygen like I’d been holding my breath for the last three minutes, I blinked at the ceiling a couple of times before I could convince my body to move. Slowly moving this car wreck to the bathroom, I disrobed, dumping the week’s dirty laundry on top of my cum-stained clothes to hide my shame. Once the shower was steaming, I stepped into the large, tiled cubicle and let out a big breath, groaning as the scalding water reached my still-sensitive nipples, then turned my tired muscles to melted bliss.
Having almost gone ass over teakettle in here a couple of weeks ago, I took hold of the shower-safe cane, shifting my weight to it as I washed my hair and scrubbed off all of my shameful business. Skylar would no doubt praise me for finally using proper support.
Good job, cowboy.
Imagining his sweet tease was enough to make my cock sit up and take notice all over again. I adjusted, letting the strong water pressure beat down on me until I was fully hard.
Having already taken the edge off, I gave myself a little extra time, letting the sensations run through my belly and groin, ignoring as best I could the ache in my knee. I started to numb out under the hot water, so I grabbed the shower head from itsholder, adjusted the flow to the massage setting, and used my elbow to turn down the temperature on the water.
Running pulsing, chilled water over my nipples was a favorite secret pastime, and I inhaled sharply at the temperature differential. Between balancing my weight on the cane and holding the shower head, however, I had a small conundrum. I couldn’t touch myself. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
Aiming the cold water over my cock, I lost my erection from the chill even as I craved the staccato water pressure. When I was fully soft, I redirected the water to my chest, scrunching my toes on the cold tile as the sensations made my nipples hard, almost painful. My cock rallied, and I cooled it down once more.
When I gave my nipples a final, pulsating rinse, my cock resurrected, and I put the shower head back in place and switched the temperature to hot again. My muscles, relaxed from the heat, released my knee, enough for me to set aside the cane, and I took myself in hand. Using a bit of soap, I cradled my balls while I stroked myself, aiming the head toward the insistent pulse of water.
I could easily imagine Skylar in here with me, on his knees, ready to take me into his mouth. I groaned at the visual, quickly working myself up to the edge of a powerful orgasm. God, how I wanted his mouth on me. All it took was imagining how intensely he would suck, how eager he’d be to swallow my load, and I was coming all over again.
I’d never been as attracted to anyone as I’d been attracted to Skylar, and that I’d just come by my own hand—twice—while imagining our shared pleasures? I’d never questioned my sexuality, ever. Had never even considered another man, let alone thought of myself as anything but straight. Now, I was left reeling, not sure if anything made sense anymore.
Shutting off the water, I toweled myself off and stepped into the generous bathroom, regretting the wall of mirrors over mydouble vanity. This new truth rattled around in my head until I summoned the will to look at my reflection.
I shivered as I took in the stranger looking back at me.
12
SKYLAR
My first patienthad been a crotchety old guy whose wife’d secretly arranged for me to come out. He wasn’t super thrilled to see me, but did admit that his elbow felt better after I worked on it. I even got him to sign up for my subscription service, where I’d email weekly exercises and come by once a quarter to check on him.
As it happened, he knew a couple of other old crotchety dudes who needed similar help, and now they’re all signed up.
I was probably right about not wearing any makeup to my first session, but by the end of the first week, I had determined to slow play these ranchers. I’d get them used to seeing me, then add a touch of makeup with each new visit. By this time next year, I’d be back to full glam.
Talk about your gay agenda.
The rest of the week went a little slower than I’d hoped, but I’d seen six people by the end of it. I’d still be living off my savings for a while longer, but I was still counting this week as a win.
