“I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”
Callum smiled gratefully.
Dylan yawned and checked his watch. “We’ve got another hour or so before we get there. I might try and sleep more.” He rested his head on Callum’s shoulder. “You should too.”
Callum shook his head. What he needed to do was think about things that would help make his cock flaccid again. He needed the mental equivalent of an ice-cold shower. Acknowledging that sent his thoughts hurtling in a completely different direction and he found himself unwittingly imagining what would happen when—if—he told his mum and Molly he was bi. It was the perfect antidote to his predicament, as their spectres screamed hateful obscenities at him.
He rested his cheek against the top of Dylan’s head as his eyes welled with tears. Looking back over the past few weeks, he realised he’d been more relaxed than he had been in years. He’d been happier. And it was all because of Dylan. He’d found someone he could be himself with, without having to hide behind bravado, without having to feel ashamed for the things he’d done. Although, as his gut pinched, he realised he still carried the weight of guilt with him, but the load felt lighter.
He held his boyfriend’s hand. Dylan made him feel happy, safe, and loved—things that had been lacking in his life for so long. He swiped at the tears that trickled from his eyes, trying to get a grip of himself. From hard-on to tears. God, he was a mess and he was pretty sure it was because he was falling in love with the man beside him.
He slipped his phone out of his jacket pocket and ran his thumb over the screen. There was so much he wanted to know and learn. He could ask Dylan, of course. His crash-course in how to play with Dylan’s nipples had been amazing. Callum had definitely had fun practising his technique and, from the sounds Dylan made, he had too. But aside from that, and daring to give Dylan hand jobs, he hadn’t progressed the physical side of their relationship any further, and Dylan hadn’t asked him to.
It wasn’t that Callum didn’t want to go further. If his dreams were anything to go by, he obviously did. But his dream self didn’t have to worry about how mortifying it would be if he gagged the first time a cock went anywhere near his mouth. Nor did it have to worry about whether to swallow, spit, or get coated in cum, or whether he had to do anything different because of Dylan’s cock piercing. As for sex—it wasamazingin his dreams, but even he knew there was a lot more to anal than slipping it straight on in there. Dreams were like porn—hot and sexy to behold, but totally unrealistic.
He hadn’t watched any gay porn. He was curious enough to want to—if his reaction to watching Taylor and Logan kiss was anything to go by, he’d enjoy it—but he also didn’t want a porn video to set up his expectations for what giving a blow job or having sex would be like.
“Dylan?”
Dylan didn’t stir. Hopefully, that meant he was asleep. Callum took a deep breath. He wanted to give more of himself to Dylan, but to do that, he needed to educate himself and, hopefully, set some of his worries aside. With a shaking thumb, he opened an internet browser on his phone and began to search for honest, first-hand answers to his questions.
